Word: fredericke
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...Frederick approached her on unsteady feet. She turned and rose to meet him. His breath hot in her face, he reached past her and stubbed out his cigar on one of the turtle’s moonstones...
...With perfect control, she grabbed his collar and ripped open his shirt. She heard the buttons skitter to the floor as she stared at the damp hair clinging to his pallid chest. She paused, breathing heavily, as Frederick blinked at her. Almost trembling with contempt, she pursed her lips and spat in his face...
...Uttering a guttural noise, Frederick took hold of her arms and threw her roughly to the floor. Their eyes met, and something passed between them that both had thought dead for many months. As Felicity looked up at him, breathing quickly and growling in anticipation of pleasure, Frederick lowered his trousers and descended upon...
...Frederick grunted with pleasure. Then, suddenly, he stopped. Felicity opened her eyes and looked at his face, which was frozen in horror. Without another word, Frederick released her arms and tore himself from her body. He stood unsteadily, and, with his back towards her, pulled up his trousers, which were drooping at his ankles. He fastened his belt in silence and left the room without a word—stepping over her naked body on his way out the door. For an instant, Felicity lay there numbly. Then, with a curse, she picked herself off the floor and pulled...
...something entirely different had happened. At the moment when Frederick had begun to feel his anger transform into something like ambivalence or even happiness, an image had flashed through his mind. Despite the visual feast which lay before him–the flickering light, the bejeweled tortoise on Felicity’s dressing table, the nude voluptuousness of his wife–it was a vision of that stable boy, shirtless, standing knee deep in a lake, playing a violin, which had appeared before him. It was this image above anything else which had brought him to the brink...