Her Husband's Brother

Llana has not been pleasured properly in two years.Not the lazy Tuesday night four minute kind. Not the rolled over and grunted into the pillow kind. Not the box ticking, eyes closed, get it over with kind. Properly. Hands in the hair, mouth on the throat, headboard against the wall, can't walk straight in the morning kind.Robert used to do it. Robert used to be hungry. Robert used to look at his wife like she was the most extraordinary thing he'd ever been allowed to touch, and then somewhere around year three of marriage he stopped looking at her at all. Now Robert eats his pasta in front of the football. Now Robert kisses her forehead like she's a labrador. Now Robert has a soft stomach and a soft handshake and a softer cock and Llana, twenty nine, dark hair, grey eyes, a body that men still walk into lampposts looking at, has become a very expensive piece of kitchen furniture.And then the doorbell goes at quarter past eight on a Monday.Mitch is twenty eight. Mitch is two inches taller than his brother, two stones lighter, and freshly broken open by a girlfriend who didn't love him anymore. Mitch has red rims around his brown eyes and a soft hoarse voice and a way of looking at a woman's face when she speaks that Llana has actually forgotten men can do.Mitch is staying in the spare room.