She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. Strike the gag, Blueskin. She could feel his penis pressing against her, half-erect under the starched black tuxedo pants. ’ Melusine’s heart leapt, and as swiftly clattered into dead stillness as the implication of the second name hit home. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces.
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