He thought he knew her well enough by now to suspect Marne wasn't about to come on with any ridiculous condemnations of incest. Marne was very much like Creagon, very easily able to cast aside any and all taboos that might stand between her and a good time. Wasn't she? Hell, yes! Hadn't Marne already admitted that the only thing that had kept her from fucking with her brother had been the fact that he was too painfully shy, and she was too busy fucking up a storm elsewhere to really press the matter?

"Do you find any of this particularly shocking?" Creagon asked. In spite of his thinking he knew the answer, he wanted his wife's verbal assurance. Because, Creagon had long since convinced himself that what he and Melissa had done had really not been all that shocking… sinful… or degenerate at all.

"The only thing I find shocking is that I somehow never suspected Melissa of such sexual daring."

"But you did expect it of me?"

"Come now, Creagon," Marne said, tapping her finger playfully against her husband's chin. "You know what I mean. You remind me of me-and you always have. Melissa has always reminded me of John-or, rather of how John used to be. I can see you doing most anything, just as I could see me doing the same. But Melissa? I've always found her a bit on the sedate side, for as long as I've known her."

"Father never let her forget what we'd done," Creagon said.

"He found out, then?"

"Oh, yes. Quite an awakening he had, too," Creagon said with a laugh that held very little humor. "He came back unexpectedly from a business trip one night, came up to give us a good-night kiss (if you can believe that), and found me with my cock pinning Melissa's cunt to her bed."

"Jesus, he must have crapped!" Marne said, well imagining how the super-staid William Davenport must have reacted.

"That, I would say, is the understatement of this year and next."