Helena hesitated for only a second before taking Lisa's hand, her fingers trembling. As they walked away, I watched them go, a slow, satisfied smirk curling my lips.
I also walked around the base to see how everyone was doing.
And then I saw her.
Agatha.
She moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a woman heavy with child, her loose gown clinging to the swell of her belly, the curve of her hips, the weight of her breasts.
The fabric was thin, doing nothing to hide the dark, erect peaks of her nipples, straining against the material like two desperate points begging for attention. Her thighs rubbed together with each step, the friction making her bite her lip, her fingers pressing into the small of her back as if to ease the ache between her legs.
When she spotted me, her face lit up, her dark eyes gleaming with something between devotion and hunger.
"Dexter!" Her voice was warm, melodic, like honeyed wine. "Where have you been?"
