Thomas's heart ached as those familiar lips pressed and pulled against the skin of his neck desperately, and he was unable to hold in the moan of pleasure that escaped him. This made Lucille's movements more passionate and intense, as he knew it would.

"Moan for me, my sweet little Thomas" Lucille purred against the lobe of his ear, sending waves of desire through him. "You have such beautiful sounds of pleasure."

She then pressed her lips messily against his, and he was unable to resist sliding his hands down her naked body, lingering over her breasts, nipples hardened from both the cool air and the pleasure, down to hold her waist. She was on top of him, already moving her hips aggressively up and down with practiced ease, the dark hair around her vagina mingling with his own.

Still, his heart was aching, and with every back and forth motion, every rock of the bed, he was further away from recalling why. Another, deeper, longer, moan escaped him, momentarily relieving him from the pain before his heart ached again. This couldn't be wrong if it felt so good, but at the back of his mind he knew that the next morning he would hate himself more for giving in to Lucille once again.

She tugged at his hair, panting as much as him, and arched her back as she reached her peak just as Thomas released himself inside of her.

Lucille.

"My beautiful, beautiful baby brother" she praised him as she collapsed onto him, satisfied.

The aching. Thomas strained to find the cause of the aching.

Ah.

Edith.

Engulfed by guilt, pain, and self hatred, Thomas drifted into another restless sleep, with a last fleeting thought of how soft Edith's hair had felt in his hand that one night.