You should stop this now, cease before you burn. (But maybe that would be a good idea. Rot with your husband and your son and their sicknesses. But. But. They broke your heart. *They* are why you couldn't resist turning an act of kindness – her hand on yours, her lips brushing against your forehead – into deviance.)
You arch against her mouth as she curves a palm over your breast. You twist a lock of hair around your finger; dig your fingertips into her scalp. You might be hurting her, but you don't care.
(Sinners don't deserve mercy.)
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