One moonlit evening, Jacob kept his eyes on the road and smiled a Cheshire-cat grin; as he concentrated on driving, Vivian concentrated on driving her tongue along the highway of his neck—kissing it, flicking it, nibbling on it—her journey continued around the curve of his ear. Vivian cradled his unresponsive hand in the ICU and whispered, “My God, what have I done?”
Suddenly darkness descended upon him, choking out the formerly burning pain. Next time he went motorcycling, James was sure to remember eye protection.
Camile thought nothing of the four figures walking together at the side of the road, other than perhaps it wasn’t the safest idea in the middle of the night with only headlights to illuminate the road. It was only when she glanced to the left that she saw the graveyard that stretched into the darkness, and when she looked again for the figures they were gone.
What is the man in front doing? Screech, turn, panic, safe.