It wasn't time to catch the bus yet. It was time to smell the pillow to check if it still smelled of her. He would go for the next one.
It did smell of her still. He pressed his face deep against the cool red fabric and inhaled. Then he began writhing around on his back, the pillow pressed firmly against his face as he stifled an anguished howl. He was now addicted to her musk.
He would go downstairs, he would pour a glass of wine. It wasn't time to catch the bus yet.
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