The searing kiss against Chelsea McCain's lips was unusual, she wanted more, needed the man whose whiff tickled her hairs, his playful touch.

It was eccentric, she didn't want this moment to stop, but then it had to.

"Louis, stop," she whimpered straightening her spine.

Louis had a square look, gaped but dare not utter a word. He looked like a stuffed pumpkin, overripe to the core but squishy all the same. His expression brought a witty smile to Chelsea's parted lips.

"Let me clear the table and return to sleep, I'm exhausted," she offered to start to rise.

She had a grip on her crutches, it was quite weird,...