My mouth on his mouth, searching. Thinking, This could be the last time. Leaning across the gear stick into his lap. Remembering the afternoon last summer when he came to get me on a whim, and we drove from my rented room in the city back to the Old House, itching to touch. Prickle of sweat on the back of my neck, thighs sticking to the leather seat beneath my dress. We took the long way back, along the old highway, past the rolling hills and apple orchards, and parked the truck along a quiet stretch of the Hume, making love with the windows down and the radio tuned to an old country station,
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