This one packs one punch after another - intense, bruising and teetering on the edge. It's impossible to remain impartial - but whom can you trust? Expect oscillating sympathies, a tortured twist of emotion and expectation - and lots of sex. What's more, I didn't see that final fatal blow coming at all.
He's been running. His shorts are saturated. When did he slip out? Why didn't she see him? Did he see her? He hauls himself over the little wall. As his shorts strain, she can see the outline of his cock. He pads across the terrace like a puma, then he's gone. Out of sight. She can hear the squeak of his sweaty palm on the door jamb as he supports himself with one hand and flips off his trainers with the other.
