She peered into the Angel’s face and tucked a strand behind her ear, fulsome lips trembling, hardened breasts thrusting, big doe eyes blinking, urging Him on. She had a Glock-9 stuffed hot and heavy into the ass pocket of her tight blue jeans, but it was dead to her now.
The Angel leveled His own weapon and a throb of longing rose between her thighs.
His mark went down limp, like the bitch he was. She turned to face the Angel, expectant.
Now He was on her, heaving and alive, pumping her full of His vitality. Violent waves of ecstasy overtook her. She was going to cum.
And why the hell shouldn’t she?
She turned to gaze on the corpse that lie beside her, its face spattered and gaping, a feckless, starry-eyed adventurer who’d soldiered ten years through the wild only to discover a heart of darkness.
Her body surrendered and started to convulse. She let it take its course.
When the Angel finished, He stood up and pointed His weapon at her head.
She turned again to the corpse, reached out her hand, stroked the familiar, listless face. After all these years, could she say she didn’t love him?
Still, when the Angel bid her follow, she knew she had no choice.
She pressed her lips tenderly against the pallid cheek, and kissed her husband goodbye.
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