Then she sees it.
At long last, the little rowboat is alighting on the white dock.
The two figures emerge, clambering off, fastening the boat. One of the figures is larger — a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette in the midday heat.
He reaches in and takes out a pair of gleaming, diamond-shaped slabs — espadon swordfish, their catch of the day.
She smiles. She returns her gaze to the typer.
She estimates how long it will take the distant figures on the beach-head to cross over the sand, ascend the hill, wend through the little town, and make their way to the villa.
Maybe there’s a little time.
And maybe there is one thing left.
Images tumble through her head… Delicious fragments… Lust-soaked flashes…
Yes, that is where she will leave this.
A short catalogue of those last events on that lusty afternoon.
The final hours of the Hotwife Games…
—
Final chapter coming soon.