In their short marriage and within the scarred battleground of their South Orange home she had never experienced a cruelty so visceral as their marria...e falling apart. Her devotion to Preston came first, above all things. Poetry came a distant second. As Preston became obsessed with his work, she grew scared of him, especially when he descended the creaky stairs to their second floor bedroom and made love to her, as though she were some depersonalized vessel for him to spread his seed, only to. Fuck. This wasn’t going to work if she was wound up so tight. His mind raced back over their previous encounters, searching for the clue to the openness she’d given him each time. What was it that triggered it? Him taking control? Taking her control away? Is that what she relaxed into? When he took instead of asked? He had to shift in his seat as the mental pictures flitted past. Damn it, his dick was hard already, and any blood left in his body had gone back to pounding in his ears. Because. More

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