Melanie had died. She knew it for a fact. And she had slaughtered the best lover she’d ever had. She lay upon the chest of the dead man and listened to his heart continue to hammer just as hers did. She’d never felt such a release, had never so lost herself to the act of s*x.
She almost blushed at the thought. Calling what they had just done “s*x” was like calling Josh’s gourmet eggplant lasagna a Stouffers frozen dinner.
When making love, Melanie always had retained control, maintained command. Even when appearing submissive, she still stood a half-step aside to monitor, shift, or shape the moment. Not this time. Dieu! Not anywhere close to control. She’d thrashed like a wild woman, taking everything he could give and begging for more.
And now they were both dead. Had to be after that
