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The barbeque and after.

lk when you feel ready?"

"Thanks." His eyes were full of gratitude. With some care, he leaned over and put his arms around me. When he pulled away, he seemed to hesitate over his next words.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just -- thanks." With a clumsy wave, he stepped out of the car and left.

For the second time that day, all I could do was sit there.

* * *

Several hours later, the phone rang. It was Mark.

"Can I come over?"

"Yeah, sure."

He didn't sound so good, and when he arrived, the look on his face suggested things were indeed pretty bad.

Without bothering to ask, I put a hot mug of chamomile in his hands.

"Tell me. What's going on?"

"Let's, uh, let's go sit down."

We sat on the couch. My eyes were wide with worry. Mark rubbed his face.

"Lisa, I don't know how to tell you this."

I held my tongue. He took a gulp of tea.

"My lawyer said he was trying to find me anyway. There's a reading on Monday."

"A what?"

"A reading, as in, of a will. Apparently Doris, ah, left me money in her will."

One would not think a man would be so glum upon winning the lottery. One would think wrong.

"So the police must think..."

"Yeah." He met my eyes, his face a mask of despair. "It goes 'motive, means, opportunity,' right? Or something like that."

My expression mirrored his. "This looks pretty damning."

The formal reading of the will was slated for Monday. It was Saturday night, so we'd have Sunday to cool our heels. The police had warned Mark not to leave town. Though not yet formally charged, he was definitely under the "umbrella of suspicion."

We talked about the situation for a while. In the movies, we would have gone out and solved the mystery ourselves, but neither of us was really up for that. If Doris had had scaly bark and a dripline, I might have lent some insight. She didn't. And Mark's talent did not extend to necrophilia, even if the dead could be persuaded to kiss and tell.

He told me about the fateful night she had dropped her purse. They had been fooling around in a back room at an art gallery. The circumstances didn't exactly cheer me, but strangely, neither did they depress me. Maybe when all this was over, I would feel differently ... maybe not. I had been honest with Mark: judging his past held no interest for me.

"She kept talking about how they were all vultures. Something like that," he remembered.

"Did she mention anyone specifically?"

"No ... she did say one thing, though. She said something like, 'All of them but you.' At the time I had no idea what she meant. I thought she was just rambling."

We looked at each other. Suddenly I started to laugh.

"What? What's so funny?!"

I couldn't stop chuckling. "She paid you to screw her, because you were the only one not trying to screw her!"

Mark started to laugh, too. We practically laughed until we choked, releasing some of the terrible tension. Finally I had to go blow my nose.

In the bathroom I saw that my shirt was wet. One of my nipples was leaking.

Mesmerized, I stared at my wet nipple. Slowly I circled the tip. The fabric was saturated. The hard little bump stood out. Gently I squeezed, milking myself. Between my legs, my sexual engine began to throb.

Mark appeared behind me. Our eyes met in the mirror. We watched as his hand drifted to my other breast and began to massage it also. I could feel his erection growing against my ass. The twitching of his member aroused me more.

I lifted my shoulders and lolled back my head, watching as Mark increased his attack. Now he was using both hands, squeezing my tits and rolling them around. "Ummmm..." I moaned.

"Feel good?" His voice was a near whisper.

"Yes," I lifted my chest to push against his hands. "You know it does."

He started in on my neck, where I am very sensitive. His lips made love to the humming blood in my veins, nibbling, nipping, murmuring words of desire.

I turned and embraced him tightly.

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