They decided to throw out the idea because it would have been too expensive.

It had been very hot all the trip, the hottest Nick had ever known; in Venice, for all its dazzlements, they had moved in a heatwave stink of decay […]

Over a sonata by Schubert he — well, I suppose I must not say that he moodled, or maundered, or anything of that sort.

Excitement rushes through me as he tongue-fucks my asshole.