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He’d taken her right there on the couch, their bodies moving in sync as they sought release from the haunting specter of mortality. Guilt on one hand, that he was betraying the memory of Erin, and arousal on the other as Cheyenne seemed to taunt him with her very presence. The sound of her breathing grew heavier as she worked, each huff punctuating the air with intent and determination. He glanced around, taking in all the clutter that had accumulated over time, each item a reminder of what he had lost. This was more than a piece of clothing; it was a fragment of a life that had woven itself into the very fabric of this room. She coaxed his body to rise from the sofa with a surprising ease that belied her slender frame. The silence in the house was deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of settling wood or the distant hum of traffic. He reached down and rubbed her clit and she went off like a firecracker.