"I have never seen a pussy like a mermaid's," he said. His voice, low and warm, carried the siren resonance. The words, which were both observation and compliment, made her flush deeper.
His cock, which had been soft, was hardening. The shaft, growing, pressed against her belly. The head, the dark crown, was at her navel. The heat, the 'his-cock-is-on-my-skin' heat, was immediate.
The moment she felt it, the full length against her stomach, the recognition hit her again. The shape. The size. The heat. The 'it-is-the-same' certainty that was also the 'it-cannot-be' denial. Her husband, her dead husband, had felt the same. The cock, the organ that had taken her virginity, had been the same size. The same shape. The same heat.
