She felt better once she was back inside. She stripped off and crawled into Dale’s bed. She found her wallow in the mattress and settled down. She h...gged Dale’s pillow and sighed when she smelt his scent. At least this room smells right, but something was missing from this room too.“Fuck!” she screamed into the empty house as she flopped onto her back.She had never been in this bed without Dale being here. Even the house felt as if it was just waiting for him to get home. She had not realised. He looked across at Ilsa and saw her watching him closely.He threw the champagne in her face. She yelled, falling back on the bed. Clegg dived for his jacket, wresting Ilsa's pistol from his pocket.Ilsa, wiping the champagne from her eyes, blinked as he threatened her with the weapon. "Please put your hands up, Mrs Lazlo," he said. "Or should it be Miss Lund or perhaps, even, Irena Lanz?"Ilsa glowered at him."Out of bed, please," he ordered. Ilsa got up from the bed, completely naked, her hands. Throwing on a pair of kicks, with no socks. Skipping the shower, as discretely as I could—didn't want the other guys to notice, or catch on. Then jet home as quickly as I could. It was like a race going down the stairs to the basement, pulling my kicks off, and huffing on them like a d**ggy huffing glue. I would take deep whiffs, inhaling my own foot funk. It got better throughout the year as the sneaks got more and more dirty, and thus more and more stink. My jeans would come off quickly—then. She drooled so much saliva down her chin so that it dripped on her chest and slid down her flat stomach. The gagging and grunting sounded almost like a rooting hog. It wasn't romantic, but then this wasn't about romance. It was obvious she wasn't trying to prolong my pleasure. There was no teasing me and then backing off. Abby was hell-bent on sucking me off as fast as she possibly could. Maybe she figured this old man wouldn't be able to get it up again. I don't know, but I wasn't going to.
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