Deep down, though, I knew the truth. Our connection was way too deep for her to move on just like that. That wasn’t Books, and the way her pussy walls clenched to my soul, all the confirmation I needed was there. This pussy was very much still mine. She leaned back at an angle against the window, so that the top of her shoulders rested against it, as I moved in and out of her with intention. Each stroke meant to steal a piece of her soul in exchange for a piece of mine.
