But something separates them. What is this thing that separates them? Where does each woman’s morality – or lack thereof – originate? Where does...it come from, this sense of right and wrong? The personality? Her upbringing? A soul? Is this the very essence which seeped out of David James Barrow’s shell when he died? His soul? Is it a soul that gives Catriona Hamsun her identity? Or is it, perhaps, memory? Memory and experience? With the loss of her memory, Catriona Hamsun seemed to lose whole. It hadn't been easy, but it sure had been fun.He had made good on his promise that she would enjoy giving her virginity to him. He'd had no idea, though, that he would also enjoy the best lovemaking session that he'd ever experienced.As he looked at the sleeping beauty beside him, damned if his cock didn't start to harden again. He had to admit it to himself. He was falling in love with Patty Robertson. He hadn't been fucking her. He had been making love to her. And he wanted her again.Patty. More

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