Every cell of my body cried out to grasp his black dick as I restrained myself from touching him knowing that to do so would seal my fate no matter if...Jack came to his senses and wanted me to stop. I wanted to hear my husband tell me to violate my wedding vows and become the slut I knew I wanted to be at that moment. I knew I was lost, unable to prevent what was about to happen and I hoped he was still ok with it because I couldnt turn back, not now. Willie was fucking my emotions and my mind. She was still painting the lush foliage of the Malayan jungle, but her painting was now being done in monochrome—in white and shades of gray and black. Just like a photograph, just like those other photographs, the one on J. Harvey Kincaid’s nightstand and the ones she was receiving of Hugh’s family. And, like the photographs, her paintings were study of subtle but clearly understood concern and fear for the future as much as the present. In all of this, Stanfield was her intellectual touch. More

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