She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. As he felt the threshold of soft wetness he froze and said, “Lucy, are you sure?” She whispered, “Yes,” and guided the top of his penis into her vagina. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste.
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