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Sex and feelings were at once intertwined and separate. I had no problem with my partner having other sexual relationships at the same time. In my opinion, sex was simply a release. Yet… inexplicably the emotional connection could blast my sex drive through the roof. It had truly been a magical weekend and it changed things for me. No longer did I want to sit back and watch this enchanting creature stumble through life on her own. No… I wanted to be alongside her. When life would dare to blindside, I wanted to be the bulwark. After all, isn't that what a sheepdog is all about? I'm the good guy here, right? Sarah smoothly stepped outside and turned to lock the door. With a practiced turn of the hand, the lock smoothly latched in place. Actions she had done a thousand times. The good guy had been locked in his cage. Tonight… there was only predator… and prey! The wolf hunched, waiting to lunge in ambush. Four steps between it and the successful completion of the hunt. Step one, wait. The woman had scrambled to her feet and was brushing off her clothes by the time I had wiped my blade on the dead man's coat and sheathed my bayonet. She was breathing hard, quite a pleasant sight, and looking at the man at her feet and his shriveled privates. I checked the bodies quickly, pocketing the sergeant's hefty purse, and then took her arm, pulled her dress up to her shoulder, helped her don her heavy cloak and led her back to the road where the soldiers' horses stood tethered. She was shaking but quiet."Can you ride?" I asked her, offering my hands to boost her up to the saddle. She nodded and stepped up, attempting to sit side-saddle but then swinging her knee over the horse's back and hitching up her heavy skirt between her legs. There was blood and bits of brain on her legs and boots as well as mud. She pulled her cloak forward to cover her legs, struck her feet in the stirrups and smiled down at me. Her legs were long enough that I did not have to adjust her saddle.
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He boosted himself onto the railing of this, standing. Reaching up, he climbed to the second floor balcony, and then, pulling himself up, affected his arrival onto the third. He moved slowly, but still hurriedly, and as quietly as humanly possible. After first checking the sliding glass door for a stick on the inside, he sprayed the track of the door with WD-40. He then used his MasterCard to pop the flimsy latch, and quietly let himself inside. On the thick pile carpeting in the apartment, he was soundless. A man’s apartment, but he had known that when he trailed his quarry from the restaurant. He looked around in the half-light, noting the decor. It was neat in the small living room, but the couch cushions were on the floor. A few DVDs were piled on top of the television, mostly action films, and a framed Rothko print was on the wall over a leather chair. Nice. A copy of Men’s Health Magazine was on the glass-topped coffee table, and he bent down to check the address label – Mel.

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