He'd embarrassedly wept, moving away from her and turning his back. Shirley had tried to console him, forcing her own needful arousal into the background with soothing whispers of understanding. He'd been so long without physical love, she'd breathed into his ear; there was nothing for him to fret over or be ashamed of… in the morning it would be different… but it hadn't been, nor were the dozen attempts that followed, no matter how she tried to inspire him. Once, in near-desperation, she'd begun to move down over his big, age-softening body with oral intentions, but he had caught hold of her and stopped it there, suddenly bolting from the bed and their room to leave her not only in frustration, but shamefully so. He'd despised her sincere aggressiveness as perverted and wanton, she felt certain, and although there were a few more futile tries made on his part, Shirley had forcibly controlled her desire, resigning herself to the fact that their marriage had been a terrible, terrible mistake.
Lately, he had taken to sleeping in another room, or drinking himself into oblivion after dinner, and that generally in his study. How he managed to carry on with his company demands amazed her, he was drinking so heavily, but he did… and now Vincent Rivers, with his dog, Nomad, had arrived on the scene as business house-guests… a business Shirley didn't like the least little bit.
The beautiful animal, she had immediately taken to; who wouldn't? He was a handsome, lovable dog. There was actually an acute sense of over-intelligence about him which gave her an odd sensation, almost as if she were in the presence of a human being when he was with her. But his master…?