Chapter Nine
Appetites
“A good bed dive is worth a thousand words.”—James the Strong
Five years on
Aggie looked at the blank face of James the Strong. He was staring at the ceiling like he always did after a decent night’s shagging.
James the Strong’s appetite, like his father’s, was huge, but it was so different, a much more robust form of thrusting. The sort that had Aggie yelling like a banshee taming a wild horse, which for some reason spurred James the Strong on, like a wild horse with a whip.
In fact, she often used one.
Five years bouncing from father to son like a ping pong ball in a tornado was not how Aggie had planned her life. Remembering the names, their little ways, could tax even the finest memory, and father and son were as different as soya and hemp, but she had man
