My husband made love to me then, as I said before. He was slow and deliberate and his kisses through the fine lace of my veil nearly beguiled away my ...esolve to be lifeless. His touches were sensitive and only with difficulty did I make no sound of pleasure or protest; allow no movement to betray my intentions. I let him mold me to the shape he desired, spreading my legs and lifting my dress, exposing my bare sex to his kisses first and later his turgid penis. He made love to me for hours it. I went on and on about Jake and me, about things we hadn’t done, things we couldn’t talk about, and things I so desperately wanted to experience. Hillary listened intently to me, and at one point, she grabbed my hand. She held it as I spilled my most intimate thoughts, unaware that my mouth was running faster than my brain. I stopped and choked back a gasp. “Oh wow. I’ve said too much.” “No, no you haven’t. And I’d dare say that you’ve been holding that inside for a while.” “Yes.” “You need. More

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