Brad splayed his wet palms against the slick wall of the elevator and bumped his head three times. What the hell had he done? Sure he'd been thinking about kissing Ms. Hope Milton since the very first moment he saw her--stuck up and prim behind her executive desk. Sure he'd intended to thank her for keeping him on--giving him a stay in his employment execution. But going down on her while he was on the clock? That was something he never thought would transpire. But he couldn't control himself. She'd stood there glaring, arms crossed, tits inviting--how could he not bring her down a notch? Competition and winning were in his nature, they were the very reasons he loved the law. He adored an argument when he damn well knew he was right. She wasn't the first girl he'd pleasured that way, wasn't the first girl he'd fantasized about. But Hope was the first one who'd made his knees shake, his heartbeat rev and his cock feel like you could land a plane on it all at the same time. "Get control, Simon," he muttered out loud. "You came close to blowing it." He raised his eyes to the ceiling of the elevator when he thought about the irony of that one. Technically, he'd just treated Ms. Milton to a female version of that very thing--the quintessential blow-job. He smoothed his disheveled hair in the wavy reflection of the chrome elevator car. "Go sell your damned shoes and stay out of her way. And maybe, just maybe, she'll be embarrassed enough to stay out of yours and not fire your ass." Hope snuck down a back stairway and through a service entrance. She'd managed to make it to her office without anyone spotting her. Once safely behind the heavy mahogany door, she splashed water on her face, reapplied her makeup and smoothed her hair. Then she called Pam in lingerie and asked for a new pair of pantyhose to be sent up. She glanced at herself in the powder room mirror. Who exactly was she? She was furious for one thing--a furious woman. Brad Simon had no right to take advantage of her that way. No right at all to force himself on her and make her succumb. She blew a puff of air and her wispy bangs lifted. No, that wasn't exactly accurate. He hadn't forced himself--he would've stopped had she really asked, she knew that for certain. And he hadn't forced her to succumb--just come. Boy oh boy, did she ever. Hope wriggled the hose over her sensitive and enflamed sex. There. Everything was fixed, repaired, back to normal. Except for the puddle of juice that Brad had extracted from her core. Brad flew threw the doors of Milton's and punched in twenty-two minutes late. He'd had a damn shitty day. It started when he'd overslept and missed his alarm. Even given the fact that he'd studied until five a.m. he was still pissed at himself. Then he was faced with the hardest exam of his life at eight o'clock. He hadn't finished because it had taken him fifteen minutes to decipher one question. Usually he was prepared; lately his concentration had been off. He'd forgotten his wallet because he'd been trying to avoid the super in the hallway--he knew the guy was going to harp about him being late with the rent. Consequently he was hungry. The day just continued to deteriorate. Dr. Abernathy, the hard-ass of Ethics, pegged him to answer a question about a rare and unusual case. He quoted the wrong precedent and felt damned pitiful when the chick in front of him turned around, fluttered her heavy lashes and whispered, Call me. He'd managed to steal an hour after Abernathy's class to check in with a reading tutor at the library--a luxury he rarely indulged in since the sixty-four-year-old woman who smelled like mothballs charged thirty bucks an hour for her time--but he was desperate. Far better students than him had been known to choke, bail out at the finish line--and they could read more than six words a minute. He'd scraped together some change and grabbed a bag of chips from a vending machine and hightailed it to his car after the library session. He had eight minutes to get to work but his ten-year-old Nissan with the touchy clutch didn't give a shit. It refused to turn even after he lovingly stroked the wheel and promised not to lie on the horn during rush hour traffic. Thankfully Marla Krebs, the honey from Ethics, walked by as he was striking a deal with the rusty black hunk of metal. Brad was at her mercy and agreed to coffee sometime soon. He promised to call her after tomorrow's test in Corporate Law. What the hell harm could there be in getting laid? Maybe it would help him relax--it'd been a while. His encounter with Hope had been three weeks ago and he'd done everything to avoid her. He didn't have the time to indulge in fantasies he reminded himself. He was a broke, dyslexic law student in danger of failing at least one course. He was also lonely for his family--he hadn't seen them since the day after Christmas when he'd returned early for an accelerated session of a class he'd done only mediocre in last semester. Around his sixth week away, he always seemed to long for a fix of Wisconsin. All things considered, there was absolutely no time for a bitchy boss who looked like an angel and tasted like sin to hone in on his well-ordered wreckage of a life. But why the hell did he get a hard-on when he heard her voice behind the gift-wrap counter when he punched in? "You're late," Doris whispered over his shoulder. Brad slid his card back into the holder. "I'm sorry. My car wouldn't start." Doris punched her card. "It's all right. I couldn't wait any longer though. My husband and I are looking into a time-share in Boca Raton tonight! Someone is coming by with films." "Cool." Brad tightened the knot of his tie. He hoped that no one would notice he was dressed less than Milton's perfect. He generally wouldn't have chosen the soft denim shirt for work but he had no choice. He'd been so late this morning, he'd forgotten to grab an extra outfit. Thank God his jeans were black--maybe they could pass as Dockers--and he'd found a Marvin the Martian tie lying across his back seat when he'd gathered his books before climbing into Marla's sporty Kia. Doris pulled her keys out of her purse. "You're on alone tonight." "Great." Brad trotted toward the sales floor. "Oh, and Brad?" He turned but continued to walk backwards. "Yeah?" "I had to tell Hope that you were late. I had to get her permission to leave without my coverage. She's with Mr. Jordan--city zoning. She's trying to sell him on the restaurant." "Great," Brad said again and made a mad dash to the shoe department. It was difficult for Hope to determine whether or not she was having an effect on Donald Jordan. He wasn't a vibrant man and it was hard to tell if his, Uh Huh's and I see's were genuine interest in the project she'd made her baby or if he just wanted to hurry through the tour and get onto the dinner date she'd promised him. "As you can see." Hope extended her arm to showcase the men's department, "Milton's is very proud that we have generous styles of active wear, casual wear and formal wear for men." Donald tapped a long finger against his rosy lips. Could he be wearing gloss? His hair was thick and dark and he would probably be considered appealing to most females but try as she might, Hope felt no ripple of desire for the six foot tall man who liked himself far more than she did. She cleared her throat and moved on toward the main aisle bustling with shoppers. "I'm sure if you were to check other similar stores, you'd see formal wear and casual wear but almost no active wear. Milton's prides itself on maintaining its traditional excellence while moving forward into a new century at the same time." She sounded like a television commercial. Donald crossed his arms and followed Hope's lead, stepping out of the way of a group of teenagers. "Impressive so far," he said and Hope felt his stare land on her bottom that was covered in nicely fitting navy blue pants. "We think so." She halted her step a bit so he would be next to instead of behind her. "I'm sure you've shopped at Milton's--seems everyone has--but it's different to really feel Milton's, isn't it? To understand what we're about." Donald smirked. "I agree. But I'll be honest, Hope, I'm still not sure this is the place for a restaurant." Okay, so he wasn't making it easy. She'd figured as much. She had several angles to approach and as a very last resort she'd decided to sleep with him. Though she detested the thought that she could actually be one of those women who slept her way to the top, she believed strongly in the project. Usher's historic shopping district was almost non-existent now. So many upscale restaurants as well as stores had left in the last few years as malls gobbled up shoppers and corporate industry moved out of the downtown area. Milton's Garden Room, as she'd already affectionately dubbed it, would fill a void. Ladies would use it as a luncheon spot. Executives would enjoy the oak bar and quiet ambience. The less sophisticated shoppers who were lured to Milton's for its basement-level bargain store would still flock to the snack bar as they always had. The Garden Room would be about privilege. She'd do what she must to see it come to fruition. Even it meant closing her eyes and trying to remember her Latin verbs while boring Donald Jordan had his way with her. It would be a smart and strategic career move. "Well, Donald, I certainly hope that I can persuade you to change your mind." He smiled a smarmy smile and reached into his pocket. A moment later he pulled out a breath mint. Hope laced her fingers behind her back and tilted her head toward the shoe department. She'd put the area off until the very last, hoping that perhaps Donald would say he'd seen enough and of course she could have her permits. Instead, he followed her. Hope had answered a page a few minutes before which informed her that Brad was seventeen minutes late for his shift. She cursed her heart for beating a thick pattern at the simple sound of his name. Hatred, she decided. It had to be. Hope saw him the moment she crossed from the main tiled floor into the carpeted area of shoes. He hurried from the storeroom with a stack of four boxes. She noticed instantly that his pants were denim, not linen. She was trained and educated to spot inappropriate attire from as far away as the entrance of customer service. It didn't matter that in this instance the inappropriate attire covered the most desirable of places. "So this is shoes?" Donald surveyed the area. "Yes." Hope straightened a pair of hiking boots when Brad's unnerving glance came her way. They'd only made eye contact a few times since that horrible, wonderful, wonderfully horrible day on the graveyard. No, now she would refer to the deserted fourth floor only as The Garden Room. But it was too hot--too provocative--to remember Brad's touch, his steady intent to take her where he knew she needed to go whether she was aware of it or not. He'd locked eyes with her that day as he drove her into oblivion. Now she looked away. "Only one person mans this department?" Donald asked, pulling Hope back to the moment. "Generally Monday evenings are quite slow so we only have one associate on." "He looks efficient," Donald said. If he only knew how efficient. "Yes, that's Brad Simon. He's relatively new to us and I'm sorry to say that he's not following procedure at the moment. I need to speak with him. You're welcome to join me or you can wait here. It makes no difference." Donald's upper lip uncurled into a smirk. "Oh, I'd love to see your claws come out." She loathed the double entendre--especially with him--but Hope made her way to Brad with Donald at her heels. "Mr. Simon." Brad spun around. He looked tired and unbelievably appealing. It took all the control she had not to reach out and touch his cheek, his rumpled thick wave of hair, his eyelids. Instead, she sucked in a breath. "You're late and you're not dressed in proper Milton's associate attire." Brad set the boxes down on a chair and shifted so the elderly man who waited patiently for his loafers wouldn't hear. "I'm sorry. I had a really crazy day and it won't happen again." Brad glanced toward Donald. The contrast between the two was startling to anyone who cared to look. Donald was polished professionalism in Armani. Brad was wind, rain and earth wrapped up in denim. It made Hope sad to know that she'd find her way into a man's arms tonight--but not the arms she desired. "Crazy days aren't acceptable excuses, Mr. Simon." Brad's gaze shifted to Donald who was smirking. He twisted so his back was to him. "I said it won't happen again. You have no idea the kind of day--" Hope lifted her hand and bit back the genuine regret she felt. She was truly being a bitch and why? Simply because Brad Simon moved her. "I don't care what kind of day you've had. A demerit will be added to your file. You're fortunate that it's not two." His sleek, tawny eyebrow hiked up. "How do you figure two?" Donald had moved closer now. Hope could hear his mouth-breathing behind her. "One for your tardiness and two for your black Levis. I noticed them instantly. Go into men's and pick up a pair of dress slacks. Do you have an employee charge?" Brad shook his head as the elderly man waiting said, "Young man, I've been here ten minutes." Hope crossed her arms in front of her. "Then the price of the slacks will be withheld from your next check. I believe I'm entitled to some gratitude for not forcing you to purchase a shirt as well." Hope turned abruptly and hoped that Brad didn't hear Donald say, "I've seen enough. Are you ready for dinner?" Brad flung his backpack to a mangled director's chair and kicked his apartment door shut. He'd just dropped five borrowed bucks on a long, grueling bus ride and he was pissed as hell. Hope Milton was the biggest bitch he'd ever known. Who the hell was she to act like judge and jury? She wouldn't even listen and that made her a shitty boss. Brad snatched a beer from his refrigerator--the only thing in it aside from a half used bottle of ketchup and a jar of grape jelly. He debated and then twisted the top. Sure he had hours of cramming ahead but something had to take the edge off. He was an easy going guy. Not much bothered him--true anger had descended so few times he couldn't even find a pattern. But he was fuming now. Hope Milton made him livid. Brad flopped on the couch and took a long, satisfying slug from the bottle. The apartment was filled with the ugliest furniture he'd ever seen but it'd come furnished, it was cheap and it was only four blocks from campus. The old and rundown block was actually nicknamed Legal Row. He closed his eyes and swung his arm over his brow. Man he really hated her--everything about her--especially the hard-on just the thought of her caused to form under his expensive new pants that he couldn't afford. "Shit." He hoisted up. Hours of studying awaited and if he was going to get anything done he'd better start with a cold shower. And he damn well better not think about Hope out on the town with that cardboard cutout of a guy. Donald raised Hope's hand to his mouth. "Let's head back to your place." Hope flopped against the headrest of Donald's Lexus and gazed out the window at the cold, clear March night. She longed for the quite comfort of her living room. But if she allowed Donald to touch her tonight, Brad's seduction wouldn't be her last sexual encounter and she was feeling bad enough to believe that she deserved Donald's advances. The way she'd treated Brad had been unforgivable. "I left my car at the store. I need to get it and I have to be in very early tomorrow morning." Donald's eyes trailed to her gray sweater set. She knew what he wanted and she knew what she was willing give. But suddenly The Garden Room didn't feel so utterly important. "I'm sorry, Donald. Really. Perhaps another time." His tongue slathered her knuckles. He moved her hand from his mouth, unfolded her fingers and began licking her palm. "Some other time then," he said and started the engine. When they reached the parking garage, Hope had planted a chaste kiss on Donald's shining mouth before she hopped out. She waved once as he peeled away. The jerk didn't even wait to see if she'd gotten safely into her car. She started her SUV and paused before backing out of the parking garage. She loved the wild, untamed vehicle. Her grandparents had purchased it two years ago for her twenty-fifth birthday. Though some seemed surprised by her choice, the dark blue Cherokee made her feel bold and sure even if it didn't coincide with her image. Hope signaled and pulled into the night. She was tired but in a weary way more than a sleepy one. She'd often snapped at employees in the past--even before she'd become general manager. But why was she feeling so guilty about reprimanding Brad? She hadn't been out of line--he'd breached policy. But he'd also done something even worse. He'd wormed his way inside of her reserve. And her reserve was what carried her through, helped her to succeed. She'd readied herself to sleep with Donald. Though she wasn't excited at the prospect, she'd been perfectly prepared to make good. But she'd said no. She could be beneath him now, bringing herself and Milton's that much closer to securing The Garden Room and that was a reality she needed to live with. Hope stopped for a red light. She knew the answer--knew why she'd sent Donald home. It was because she couldn't forget the look in Brad's eyes. She couldn't forget his intense focus when he'd made her come and she couldn't forget the wounded flicker when she'd humiliated him hours ago. Hope fixed the radio on a love ballad station. She took a moment to spritz on her favorite Cherry Blossom scent from an atomizer in her purse. The light turned green and she pointed her SUV toward an area of the city affectionately dubbed, Legal Row. She'd memorized his address months ago.She parked in front of a sad looking row house. Twenty or so made up a block. A few were dark but most possessed a single light glowing from a distant room. Law students hard at work with the midnight oil burning. She located number thirty-one, stepped over a pitted sidewalk and proceeded to climb up rickety steps. Two doors were positioned on either side of the main entrance. The foyer smelled of stale beer and old pizza boxes. She turned to the two mailboxes placed cock-eyed in the plaster wall. A crinkly plastic sticker stuck over one read, O'Hara. The other box was blank. She'd never been big on chances but Hope knocked on apartment B anyway. No response came and she knocked again. She glanced around as she waited, spotting a mangy looking dog peeking around a tattered screen door. "Hi." Hope bent slightly as the dog inched near. She turned when the apartment door opened and the dog scampered off. She stood up and found herself face to face with Brad dressed only in red sweatpants. He didn't say a word, just dangled his arm against the panel of the door. She gathered her leather coat near her chest. "Hello." He still didn't speak. Just stood there, staring. Hope cleared her throat and regretted her decision to stop at the dismal house on Legal Row. "I wanted to apologize. I was unfair and it was wrong of me." He nodded just once and raised a bottle of beer that he held with his left hand to his lips. A bolt of fiery light shot through her system as she watched his capable mouth nurse the brew. "I just wanted to tell you that." Was it possible to make it to the car without rolling around on the floor like a cat in heat? "Don't you live uptown?" he asked when she turned. Hope glanced back. "Yes, I do. I was just going home and I felt that it was important to talk with you. You're not on tomorrow and I didn't want to wait another day." He shifted and leaned against the dingy frame of the door. "How is it that you know so much about me, Hope? Do you know where all of your employees live and their exact schedule?" Just for something to do with her trembling hands, Hope pulled a pair of gloves from the pocket of her jacket. "You're newly hired. Your information is fresh in my mind." He smiled then. Not a warm smile, more a sinister one. Trepidation spiraled through her. "I'll be going," she said, but his arm snaked out and grabbed hers. He didn't pull her toward him, but kept a firm hold. His fingers buckled around her forearm. "I don't think you want to do that, Ms. Milton." Hope studied his face. The sharp distinctively male features that could appear so affable were muted now--blended into something rougher and darker. Though he'd never struck her as the Wisconsin farm boy that he was, he'd never seemed dangerous before either. Hope attempted to free her arm, but Brad's grip tightened. He pulled her into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind her. "I can see I made a mistake by coming here." She prayed that her voice showed neither fear or interest--both which she felt tenfold. He shook his head and smiled another sly grin. "Uh Uh." "Excuse me?" She wriggled her arm. "You know exactly why you came here. You were a bitch and even you couldn't stand yourself." Hope gave a mighty pull and her arm was free of his grasp but she was well aware that he had let her go. He had the power to reel her back in an instant. "I apologize, Brad and I sincerely hope that we can put all of our past--difficulties--behind us. I'm willing to try and be civil." "Civil?" He pulled the jacket from her shoulders. "I don't think you want civil anymore than I do. You want it tough and rough and a little pissed off." She'd been so wrong. She wanted him to accept her apology, perhaps steal a forbidden kiss in the hallway and maybe some innocent flirtations at the store when no one else was around to see. "I'm leaving," she said and inched to the door. Brad's palm slammed above the knob, pushing the panel closed again. "I want you. I want you like I had you that day at the store. I want you begging and dripping and out of control. I'm crazy with wanting you, Hope. I've got a shitload of work I should be doing, but all I can do is think about you. Even though you're not very nice." His words were spoken into the softness of her hair. She knew with every fiber that to think would only kill what she could otherwise feel. She twisted and caught his mouth as his arms still surrounded her, pinning her against the door. She darted her tongue between his lips, pried them open and lapped at the bitter taste of beer. He pulled away then, his eyes narrowing, his heart hammering. "Did you do him?" "What?" She couldn't have heard right. "The guy, the suit. You were obviously trying to impress him when you rapped my knuckles with your boss ruler. I wanna know, did you fuck him tonight?" He was serious and he wasn't budging. Hope's prickly instinct told her to remind him that it wasn't his business but for some reason she needed him to know. "No." "Are you sure? I told you before I don't like being lied to." "I didn't," she said, noting the crack so evident in her voice. "Tonight or ever? I don't want to taste another man, Hope. Tonight or ever?" "Ever." He stroked his body against hers. "Ever what?" Her nipples cried out from under the layers of her silky peach bra and sweater set. "You're confusing me, Brad. I said no." "No what?" His devilish grin told her that he was enjoying this. Enjoying making her squirm in so many ways. "No, I didn't have sex with him." His smile widened. "I never asked if you 'had sex', I asked if you fucked him." She teetered between pain and seduction. "I didn't fuck him." She stared directly into the green meadow of his eyes. "Aw, Hope." Brad nibbled her neck. "That sounds so damn sexy. That word, the word, coming from your ladylike lips." She laced her fingers through his hair and lifted his head. "I don't want to be a lady tonight." A groan ripped from his throat as he scooped her up in his thick arms. He hesitated near a battered couch but apparently reconsidered because he passed it by and flung her to a lumpy double bed mattress lying on the floor of a bedroom. A computer with what looked to be a term paper on the screen sat on top of a metal desk. A small coil lamp burned next to it. The bulb gave off a glaring light and Hope took in the sight of Brad's sculpted muscle. His wide chest was brushed with just a few wisps of kinky hair over his breastbone and circling his brown nipples. She couldn't stop her tongue from darting out and lapping at one. "You're gonna kill me," he moaned and adjusted so she'd repeat the assault on the other side. As she licked and teased, his hips began a gyrating beat against her pelvis. She could feel him now, so glad that she wouldn't be deprived of his maleness as she'd been the last time. She pressed against him in answer to his movements but Brad pulled away. "Take off your clothes," he growled. "I want you to take them off of me," she said in a tiny voice. The innocence of it surprised her. Brad balanced on his knees. His cock jutted out and his sweatpants looked like a tent stretched over a steel rod. "Not this time. I'm still mad at you." "But--" Brad covered her mouth with two fingers. "Take your clothes off, Hope. Now." She nodded and he lifted his hand. She set to work pulling off her sweater set and kicking out of her pants. She met his eyes to gage his reaction when he noticed the peach-colored garter belt and matching demi bra she'd bought the day after his first seduction even though she'd convinced herself that she hated him. Brad sucked in a breath but he was a pro. "Keep going," he said, his voice not cracking, his body not moving. She unhooked the bra and let it fall back against the mattress. Then she began to unfasten her stockings from the garter. Brad's tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he watched. She thought of that tongue and the things it knew how to do. She pleaded to the gods of sea and land and air that he'd do them again tonight. He spoke softly. "You've got beautiful tits. Big, but not too big. Just perfect." Hope tugged her stockings from her feet. "Thank you." "Do you like them?" he asked. "I don't know." She instinctively covered her breasts with her palms. Brad caught her hands and shook his head. "You played with your nipples the last time. After you came. Remember?" She nodded, helpless to lie. "Do that for me now." "I'd rather you did it." He leaned near and gently bit her bottom lip. "Now." Hope reached up and touched the very tip of each nipple with her index fingers. "Flick them," he commanded. She did, hesitantly, until she realized how nice it felt and increased the friction. Her French manicured nails raked tiny scratches over the tips. She masturbated often--even enjoyed a vibrator--but aside from the one daring time Brad had witnessed, she'd never incorporated her breasts into her play. Now with him urging her on, she brought herself close to climax before he pulled her hands away and pinned them at her side. Hope thrust her chest, begging his mouth to take over. Her nipples itched with unfulfilled need. He squeezed her wrists. "No." "Please." She bucked, but he shook his head. He tucked her hands under her bottom and slid his beneath her breast. Then he pushed. It was uncomfortable at first and Hope flinched before she realized what he was doing. He was lifting her breast with the leverage of his hand so her nipple would reach her mouth! "Suck," he said when the bud was just a breath from her lips. It felt so wrong. So naughty. "I can't," she whispered. Brad flashed a sly smile and shook his head. "Yeah, you can." He pushed until her mouth opened and the tingly tip entered. The sensation was like nothing she'd ever known. Her own breast being ministered by her own mouth. She groaned at the deliciousness of the feeling. A puddle formed between her legs as she sucked herself into an orgasm. Brad watched every second. "Tell me what it felt like," he asked when the rushing waves had subsided and the nipple slipped from her lips. "It was nice." "Are you going to do that when you're alone and think of me?" Hope's hips gyrated. She needed him deep inside. "Yes, yes." She muttered, pushing close, holding on. She ground against him but he halted her. "You didn't tell me what it felt like." She could play this game. "It felt like you were sucking on me. Now I understand why men like the feeling of a woman's nipple in their mouth." Brad released her hands. He looked up at the ceiling and took a rich, deep breath. He must be close to coming and he was trying desperately to regain control. "Are you all right?" Hope lifted and balanced on her elbows. "Lie down," he barked and she did. She ran her hand along the beefy ridges of his back. "What would you like me to do now?" Brad's eyes met hers for a moment before they trailed down to her distended, raw nipples. Then his gaze traveled further south. He studied every angle and nuance before he looked back. "Finger yourself." "Won't you?" Hope lifted her hips. He shook his head and reached for her hand. "Finger yourself, now." She glanced over at the glaring bulb of the study light and wished he'd turn it off, but then he wouldn't be able to see and judging by his greedy look, he needed to see. She used both hands to separate the lips of her pussy and allowed the air to hit the inner folds so it tingled. But she knew he needed more. Her index finger found her clit. She traced little circles around the slippery nub, pulling liquid from her hole to lubricate it. "Oh, Christ," Brad groaned. Hope increased the rhythm; his cry urging her on until the sensation was so real and wild that she forgot it was a game. "Inside," he demanded. "Slide it inside." Hope obliged, stuffing one and then two fingers into her core. The sharp slice of her nails caused a ripple of pure painful delight. She generally used her vibrator for penetration and she called to mind how nice it felt when she literally sat on it and allowed it to hum toward the front of her pussy. She lifted up to a sitting position. Her fingers then played and probed in wonderful places. An orgasm built as Hope panted and quickened the pace. "I wish this were you inside of me," she murmured just before the wave pulled her under. Lights flashed, horns beeped, sirens wailed--then there was heavenly calm. She was certain she'd dozed for a split second. When she saw reality again, she was no longer sitting but lying back with her fingers still buried deep inside. Brad looked as satisfied as a dog with a juicy bone. Had he come? She hoped not--she hoped he'd still take her tonight with wild abandon. She began to withdraw her fingers but Brad stopped her again. "Taste yourself," he whispered into her ear. "Enjoy the flavor of you." She didn't begin to argue this time. She pulled her fingers out and took each one individually into her mouth, licking it off like barbecue sauce on a spare rib. "Now you?" she asked. Brad reached to the floor and grabbed her discarded clothes. "Now you go home."

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