She was face down, her head wedged at an uncomfortable angle because she was still wearing her tiara, which now felt like an instrument of torture. She still had her clothes on. Her wedding dress… she paused to remember why she was still wearing her wedding dress, and as she recalled all the horrors and indignities of the last twenty-four hours, Jane wished she were still comatose. All of her was sore; from her feet, which ached from too much walking in limo shoes, to her head, which felt like it had pincers crushing her skull, and all points in between. Especially in between. Fuck me into the mattress. Leo had taken her at her word. Fucked her long enough for Jane to realise that despite all the foreplay, all the build-up, she wasn’t going to come. It didn’t seem like he was going to come either, not even after she’d faked an orgasm. Two orgasms! Then at last he’d come and Jane had pretended to fall asleep while he crashed around their suite doing God knows what. He was asleep now.
What do You think about After The Last Dance (2015)?
