Disclaimer: I really, really want Alex. All the others are welcome to go home once he's fucked them!  If 1013 and Chris Carter want to sue me for defaming their characters, they will find only debts, and squidge_lots of squidge.

Plot: In the first Guilt Edged,, we saw Fox rape Alex and leave him in the cold
to get his arm lopped off.  The Rat is not downcast!  He always bounces back.  He is going to bounce right now, beginning here.

WARNING!  ****AWOOGA! AWOOGA! HETSMUT! AWOOGA! AWOOGA!**** Sorry, Amy, but he will play nice later!  Right now, he needs to get home.  This story contains graphical sex between a male and a female.  Not nice I know, but it will get better, I promise.  Give it time.

Beta: Orithain betad this for me at gunpoint while I stood over her and listened to her whimper.  Under the circumstances, I think the odd mistake is permissible! 

Thank you to so many people for help and support in the production of this story.  Ori, Aries, Nicole, Frankie and Paula all gave me encouragement and information.  Spike yelled rude things at me and my husband Russ told me about stuff that will be very useful in later sections of the story.  While a subtitle of this epic could be called "Alex screws the FBI" I hope I have remained within canon, and explained stuff the Surf Nazi didn't want us to know.  You are free to argue with me and throw things at me, but if they are edible I will eat them.  Thanks to Tirinar for bribing me.  You ARE going to bribe me, aren't you?

This story is NC17.  It will offend you if you don't want to read about sex.  GO away and visit the Muppet home page.

Feedback:  Please give me feedback.  I love feedback.  I need feedback.  If I don't get it I will die, and then I'll haunt you.  You'll never be rid of me.

Guilt Edged 2 Part 1:  "She Ain't Pretty, She Just Looks that Way."           Dr. Ruthless
********************************************************************* Things to do in St. Petersburg when you're dead.  Alex Krycek had arrived earlier that day from the frozen green wasteland that was Tunguska, and the smell of the city was sour in his nostrils after the tundra.

He was mildly angry at having to be here but knew that the only way he could get back into the game was to return to the US, and now he had something worth the trading.  All it would take was a little patience, and patience was something Alex had learned over the years.  It was cold, and sleet was lashing down on him as he stepped out of the car that had been sent to convey him to his hotel.  He nodded to the comrade behind the wheel before turning towards the facade of one of the city's better hotels and picking up his suitcase.

He supposed he could not grumble, but he hankered for the relaxed existence he had enjoyed in the US.   He had scores to settle too, and he could not even begin to address them from an out of the way facility like Tunguska.

As he was conducted to his room, one of the better rooms the hotel had to offer, his skin tingled with anticipation.  He had waited so long for this, and now everything was getting under way for him.  The tingle along his veins and the buzz in his head felt as if he was on a high.  It was like the Earth's first quickening after the winter.  He felt suddenly alive and powerful again, as if he were breaking free from the confines of the chrysalis that had held him cocooned since the early winter.

His left arm itched unbearably, and, frustrated, he drove his fist into it again and again.  The hollow thud of his fist on the plastic only served to infuriate him.  He was devastated that this had happened to him, and that brought him to his next reason for wanting to get back to the good old US of A.

Fox Mulder.

He was the sum total of Alex's murderous aspirations.  He had been the cause of all his woes.  He had beaten him, kidnapped him, raped and abused him before abandoning him in the ass-end of the universe and bailing on him when the local peasants (and he sneered as he named them that) had hacked off his arm.

Krycek had been in many unpleasant, even painful situations since the unfortunate (for him) Skyland Mountain affair had forced him out of his comfort zone and into the shadows.  Most of these occurrences could be directly attributed to Fox Mulder.

Because of Mulder he was a cripple.  Because of Mulder he had been forced to do whatever it took.  He had sold his body in exchange for whatever services he could gather to him.  Because of Mulder he had lost most of the things he valued, and he was at last looking forward to equalizing the score.

The night they had cut off his arm, he had vowed that some day Fox Mulder would pay for this, and at long last it seemed as if he had the means at hand.  Just let him get through this meeting tonight and he would be all set.  He had the means, he had the opportunity, and he had the motivation.

God, yeah, he had the motivation.

Fox Mulder would pay.

As he arrived in his room, he threw his case onto the bed, taking little notice of drab furnishing and peeling paintwork.  He threw off his heavy winter coat, hat and boots, opened his suitcase and began to lay out clothes.

Nodding in satisfaction, he stripped off his heavy uniform, turned to the sink in the corner of the room and began to wash himself clean of the journey, rubbing hard with the coarse soap in his attempts to work up a lather.

Seen naked this way, Alex Krycek was a handsome man.  Little remained of the smooth-cheeked junior agent who Fox Mulder had been so taken with when he had been assigned to him as a temporary partner.  That Alex Krycek had been shy appearing, with gawky body protruding, stork-like from his ill-fitting suits, gel-coated hair and power tie.  His aspect was now that of a man who had undergone suffering and come through it stronger.  His face was fuller and more
determined.  A chin that had once appeared weak did so no longer, and he now wore a piratical look on his face.  His most outstanding features were a pair of large, wide-set green eyes, thickly fringed with dark lashes. 

A retrousse nose over a pair of mobile, perfectly bowed lips set off a face that had more than its fair share of charm.   His hair was now worn short, brutally short in a buzz cut that revealed the finely molded shape of his head.  As he began to dry himself, his back muscles rippled and slid taut beneath his skin as he moved and twisted, now graceful, now ungainly in his single-armed struggle.

Dried at last to his satisfaction, he turned to the clothing he had earlier distributed on the bed and began to dress himself, beginning with faded denims beneath which he wore no underwear, and a pair of dark-colored, silk socks.  Pausing to fix his prosthesis into place, he reached for a shirt made from fine, white cotton, slipping into it but for the moment allowing it to hang loosely open around his waist.  Finally checking his watch, he drew a paperback from the pocket of his overcoat and settled back on the single bed to read.

Maybe an hour had passed by when the phone beside his bed rang, and he put down his book, reaching eagerly to pick it up.  He listened for a few minutes before he spoke

"I'll be there in five minutes.  Sure...wait for me."  Scrambling to his feet, he swiftly buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his jeans.  Inserting his feet into a pair of casual leather slip on shoes, he grabbed for the black leather jacket that lay at the foot of the bed, ready.  Scooping his wallet and keys into his hand, he strode quickly to the door and out, allowing it to click shut behind him.

Arriving downstairs in the restaurant, he caught the eye of more than one person as he paused in the doorway to study the diners.  As he looked around, something in the set of his face and the way he carried himself made people lower their gaze again, and he was left alone to check out the diners until finally he noticed the woman sitting alone in the corner.  She was half hidden from the main dining area as she sipped white wine behind a large display of parlor palms.

The woman was fine porcelain, translucent skin fine-grained and stretched over the knife blade cheekbones and the long column of her throat.  Her neck was slender and arching to the smooth, spare planes and angles of her diamond-cut face.

Fair-skinned, blond and with eyes as clear and expressionless as the summer skies Alex recalled from his youth, she did not by one wit acknowledge him as he approached her table.  He swung a chair out in order to seat himself opposite her.  They looked at each other for a short while, and finally Alex's mobile mouth spread wide, flashing white teeth in the kind of smile that would usually let you know that your death was already a matter of record.

"I see you brought your American ass."  The voice was cool, expressionless as the rest of her.  She did not drop her gaze, and her hands lay placidly on the table, betraying no nervousness.

"Yeah...you gonna kiss it for me later?"  The sneer was unmistakable, and for the first time Alex saw a slight cloud pass across the china blue gaze fixed on his.

"You requested this meeting, Krycek, come to the point."  The edge to her voice was unmistakable.  She wanted him.  Glory Hallelujah!  She wanted carnal knowledge of him.  He could do that.  That was not a problem.  That in fact made things so much simpler.  He looked her up and down.  She could have been a duchess, sitting there in her silk with her single strand of pearls and her ice-queen elegance, but the vague, faint tremor of her hand when it moved to pick up her wine betrayed the fact that she wanted him.  She was discovered.  She wanted the dirty boy with the big green eyes and the bulge in his jeans.

His grin widened and he licked his lips slowly, eyes still on her face.  The waiter appeared to take his order, and he ordered sparingly.  No alcohol, just pasta and water.  He needed to keep his wits about him tonight.  Drinking wine would make him careless, and he had to remain in control.  This time, Alex would be in control to the last degree.  This time he would win.  It was all within his grasp now, and he would have it. 

The meal passed slowly.  Marita appeared bemused as it went on.  Alex was charming, attentive, and they exchanged only pleasantries as the time went by.  Finally, however, tossing a sheaf of banknotes onto the table, Alex rose and ushered his companion out of the restaurant.  As they went, he made the pleasing discovery that the dress she was wearing plunged steeply down her narrow back, revealing the tantalizing bumps and hollows of her spine right down to her waist and a little below.

Alex's eyes flickered down from the bell of her hair over the slope of her neck to the slender, fine downed shoulders and on to the dip at her waist where folds of beige silk lay draped.  Moving forward to crowd her a little, he carefully placed three fingers from his left hand onto the bare skin between her shoulder blades, guiding her forward, noting the shiver that she gave as the plastic of his prosthesis made contact with her sensitive skin.

"Where can we go to talk?"  His husky voice dragged across her awareness like a silk scarf on naked flesh.  She turned in towards him, unconsciously drawing closer to him, inhaling his scent and feeling her pulse quicken as the certainty dawned on her that she was definitely going to get to kiss the sweet American ass that was moving so sensuously alongside her.

Alex felt the shudder go through her and flexed his fingers, bestowing a cold caress on her spine, at the same time leaning in to whisper intimately, hot breath in her ear as his lips moved.

"You could come to my room.  It's not bugged.  They wouldn't dare."  His fingers worked in small slow circles on her spine now, moving ever lower as the two of them headed for the elevator.

"I was thinking of mine.  It's so difficult to find nice linen in Russia.  I brought my own sheets with me."  As they stepped into the elevator, Krycek brought his index finger up to caress her from the lobe of her ear, down the side of her neck to her collar bone resting sharp as a blade in the well-turned elegance of her decolletage.  She moistened her lips and offered him a frozen smile.

Once inside her room, they paused.  She perched herself in an armchair, sitting as primly as if she had been at a cocktail party, composed and cold.  He moved at once to her bed, first sitting, and then rolling to sprawl on it, boneless and relaxed in cat-like ease.

"When you contacted me, I was wondering what you wanted.  The Consortium thinks you dead.  What do you need from me?"  Now they were talking business, and her demeanor was brisk, but he could still feel her eyes on him as he lounged back on her bed, and he adjusted his pose so that his excitement would be evident to her.  Her eyes flickered, and her small intake of breath told him she had noticed.  The slow flush that followed made him secure in his knowledge that she knew he had noticed.  He was enjoying this.

"I'll cut to the chase.  I want to come home.  I'm prepared to bring something very valuable with me, but I'll need safe conduct and more.  I'll need a position within the team."  His voice drew the hairs on the back of her neck as if there were electricity in the air.  She studied his wanton sprawl, the tawdry glamour of him, she felt the blood rush to that spot between her legs she had been attempting to ignore for the past several hours.  Her mouth had dried up, and she suddenly felt gauche, clumsy, not something she was used to feeling.

He awaited her response with the fixed stare and the benign air of a cat toying with a small mammal.  Unable to suffer his gaze any longer, she stood, smoothing down the silk of her skirt.  Moving to stand beside the window, she studied the street outside, where snow had begun to fall, settling on the sidewalks and whirling through the dim lighting like so many butterflies.

Abruptly, she closed the drapes on the cold night and whirled to face him.  "I can offer you a means of returning to the US.  There is a certain ship you can take."  She moved to the dresser, where she made rapid notes on a jotter with a slim, gold pen before tearing off the top several sheets and passing them across.  "I am not able to give you assurances about any deal or future position once you arrive.  The number you need to phone on arrival is on the sheet."  She offered a chilly smile as she finished speaking, and he tucked the folded sheets into the inside pocket of his jacket before reaching out with his right arm to snag her wrist, drawing her down to rest beside him on the bed.

She hunched defensively as he bought her down to him, and he made up his mind at that point, sliding his hand up her neck to twist in her hair.  He pulled back her head, exposing her slender, white throat.  He kept her there, open to him, for what seemed an eternity, and then, he leaned forward slowly to bite, causing her to cry out sharply.

Then, and only then, did he transfer that supple mouth to hers, plunging his tongue into her as he bore down, bruising her lips with the ferocity of a kiss that had nothing of the lover in it.

Her facade of untouchability crumbled at this point, and she rolled around to meet his body, pulling him down against her with an urgency that surprised him.  Sliding the silken, knit fabric from her shoulders, he dropped his head down to her breasts, fixing his lips over one rosy nipple as his fingers moved to roll the other between finger and thumb.  Her breathing deepened and she arched back, holding his head between her two palms as he lapped and tongued her breasts.

He was fully hard now, his straining penis a dagger poised between his legs to stab the scrawny bitch's heart out.  He was not averse to pleasuring this woman, but he did not like her and was going to make sure that the sensations he invoked in her would be crude and harsh.  He would not raise his game for her.  She must lower hers.

She was pulling now at his shirt, and he took her fingers instead to the buttons on his jeans.  "The shirt stays on," he said throatily before taking her mouth again as roughly as before.

She unbuttoned him with staggering speed, pulling on the fabric of the waistband of his jeans and plunging her hands down inside to cup his buttocks, squeezing and kneading them as she gripped him.

He had been going to fuck her like this, still clothed, uncaring if he saw her as he drove in, but her apparent lack of concern for his boorishness made him reconsider, slow down and draw back from her, prompting her to free herself from her dress.

She lay on the bed as he studied her breasts, gilded by the lamplight, ribs clearly delineated and the mysterious hollow of her navel quivering as her breath drove it in and out.  She had on only a scrap of pale blond lace anchored by silken strands, and he bent to her groin, tonguing her through the flimsy fabric, the sounds of her arousal amusing him.  He continued to suck and lick at her through her panties, monitoring her moans and whimpers with satisfaction.

He finally drew away, inserted thumbs under the strings of her panties and exerted the downward pressure required to peel them, soggy as they now were, from her moist crotch.

Kneeling over her, cock jutting from the open denim of his Levis, he dragged the balance of her clothing from her, leaving her clad only in her stockings.  He remained above her, idly thumbing her clitoris as he studied the planes of her body, the golden fluff of her pubis, and the gleaming fuchsia of the cleft between her legs.

She whimpered, and he returned his attention to her, grinning again and pulling her up to sit before grabbing her hair with his right hand and offering his cock, angry and dripping, to her mouth.

"Suck me."  She glared up at him through lust drugged eyes.  A shudder went through her system once more as she heard his words.  She leaned forward to take him in her mouth, sucking and drooling as she moved her head up and down on the shaft of him, causing him to jerk sharply with his hips as he held her head to him.  After a few minutes, she croaked a protest, but he ignored her, continuing to fuck her mouth for a while longer.  He could see that she was becoming red in the face, and his balls were starting to tighten in the sweet climb towards release.   He jerked her head away from his by now twitching cock and leaned forward to anchor his lips to hers once again, tongue searching and probing as he savaged her mouth.

He pushed her back and lay over her, denim scratching the fair skin.  Alex continued to kiss her roughly, and she folded her hands around the back of his head, nails embedding into his scalp.  He felt the sting of it, and then the trickle of blood that ran around his ear to drip down his cheek.  As it trickled, she raised her head and applied her lips to the blood, licking it away from his face with an amazingly rough tongue.

He growled and plunged his by now dripping cock into her, surprising her into a low cry as he moved fiercely.  Then suddenly he withdrew from her to position his cock at the further entrance pushing, pressing until it slid into the tighter opening, moving her hand down between them to work her clit again.  He jerked, pushed, spasmed, and shot into her as she screamed out her own release.

Collapsing onto her, he felt a certain satisfaction quite apart from the intensity of the orgasm he had just experienced.  This woman was his ticket out of here, out of Holy Mother Russia and back to good old Uncle Sam.  He was moved suddenly to tenderness and turned her face to him, feathering her features with small, moist kisses.  Her arms went around him, and they lay together for a short while kissing gently.

"I have to go, thank you for your help."  The smoky voice sounded loud after the fast silence of their lovemaking.

"I'll see you when you get to New York."  Her voice had shed what passion he had heard in it previously and was once more matter of fact and cool.

As Alex withdrew from her to stand fastening up his fly and rearranging his clothing for his trip back to his room, he studied her lying there on the bed.  Her arms and legs were an artless sprawl on the bedcover, her mouth swollen and reddened from the force of his kisses.  He nodded to her as he turned to leave.

"I'll be there, don't you worry."  With on last glance at the woman on the bed, he checked his watch and left her alone.

**************************

Alex returned to his own, less luxurious accommodation and set to work, packing his small bag with his civilian clothing and pausing from time to time to check his watch.  As soon as he had finished, he rumpled the bed, hung up the uniform in which he had arrived and headed out of the door.

Descending to the foyer, he approached the concierge who had been idly lounging beside the check-in desk.  Flashing his ID, he smiled gently as the man snapped to attention.  "I want to check on a container that should have been delivered to me here.  Would you know where it is and how it has been handled?"

Picking up the telephone, the clerk made a couple of inquiries and finally nodded to Krycek.  "It has indeed been delivered and is even now awaiting your approval to unload it."

Obtaining directions, Krycek made his way down through the service areas to the loading bay at the back of the hotel where a flatbed truck with a large, rectangular wooden crate lashed to the back of it waited in the quiet.  Krycek nodded his approval, climbed into the cab and started the engine.  In a few more minutes he had pulled the truck out of the bay and had vanished, truck and all, into the thickening blizzard.

Some time later the truck, sliding a little despite the snow tires, pulled into the dockland area where for the most part, the hard top had been ploughed.

He began to search for the Uroff-Koltoff Star of Russia, the vessel Marita had named.

The dock was vast, stretching for mile after mile, littered with containers, vehicles, machinery and all the paraphernalia of the docks.  Alex, by now extremely tired, continued to drive the truck along, its precious cargo still lashed to the back.  He had almost given up hope when he finally arrived alongside the ship he had been seeking.

Killing the engine, Alex hopped out of the cab and went swiftly in search of the master of the ship.  A check on the time showed it to be 4:30am, and he yawned, listening to the cracking of his jaw with grim amusement.  The ship was due to sail in only another hour and a half.  He was not quite home free yet.

In a further hour he was feeling almost free of the jitters that had infested his mid section for the past day.  His crate was now residing in the warmth of the boiler room.  Not up to the standards of the Hilton, perhaps, but it was warm, and that was a plus.  He had opened the crate and folded back blankets and cotton wadding to reveal the still, drugged form of the boy, D'mitri.  Alex had checked the boy's pulse points and nodded, satisfied, before offering him water.  He seemed glad of the moisture, though it was plain to see that both his eyes and his mouth had been stitched closed.

Alex bent and scooped the boy out of the crate, arranging him on blankets. As he surveyed the frail, bruised form of the sorry piece of humanity that lay on the ground at his feet, he felt pity, quickly and ruthlessly suppressed as he thought of everything the boy symbolized for him.

//Not human, not human any more.//  but he knew what he had done, and a small part of him wept for himself and the things he had found it in himself to do.

//We'll all be like him soon enough.  This is no time for repining.  He's only a vessel.  A vessel can be full or empty.  He'll love the US.  I'm doing him a favor.//  The surge of cold in the pit of his stomach gave his thoughts the lie.  He turned back to the packing crate, rooting amongst the debris within until he located the phial of amber liquid that gave this boy at his feet a chance for survival and him a chance for redemption.  He swiftly dropped it into his pocket, checked that all was as it should be and left the room, pocketing the key to the door after securing it behind him.

The days at sea were uneventful, and it was almost with regret that Alex heard the news of their impending arrival into New York.  D'mitri, though much thinner, was still healthy, and Alex was beginning to take fire at the thought of what lay in his future.

The change in the motion of the ship had seemed to unsettle D'mitri, who for the first time on the journey appeared to be restless.

A seaman's head poked briefly around the door and presented the information that they had docked.  He didn't wait for a response before withdrawing once more to go about his business.

Alex was packed and prepared.  His waiting was over, and he was anxious to have at it, to get going.  A brief, absurd image of himself as a knight on a white charger slipped unbidden into his mind.  His laugh of sheer amusement caused D'mitri to stir again.

//It's as if he knows...as if IT knows that the game is about to start.//

The white knight, head full of nonsense, turned to the telephone and reached for the handset.  He paused to splutter with laughter again as the image of a damsel fair with a tall pointed hat with a veil on the end of it tossing him a favor turned out to be Fox Mulder.

Pausing to get himself straight, and finish with his giggles, he picked up the phone and dialed.  The voice of the man at the other end of the line sent a frisson of excitement down his spine.  It was the Brit.  He had expected the Smoker, but he had gotten the Brit.  Oh, this was excellent.  This was better than anything.  He knew what kind of hold he could secure over the Brit, and he spoke...

"Well," sarcasm piled on.  He was so happy, so very happy! "Look who's answering the batphone."

In a few short sentences, he defined his terms, and having done so, he hung up and prepared to wait.  He was good at waiting.  His mind ran onto Fox Mulder once more and the interesting things he had lined up for him later.  He felt his cock begin to harden as his mind dwelt on the things Mulder would be doing at his behest.  It was going to be payback time, and payback was a bitch.

The door suddenly opened, and there she was, a little disheveled but still the icy beauty he recalled.  He rose to meet her, and a couple of long-legged strides took him to her.  He took great pride then in mussing her up, painting broad strokes of chaos over her ordered beauty through the medium of his bruising mouth and his clutching hand.

Once again the fury of her response astonished him, almost un-nerved him.  She gave as good as she got, and he yelped as she bit down on the angle of his jaw.  Her hands convulsed to work the shirt from his jeans so she could reach the flesh it concealed.  His earlier thoughts of Mulder torture had made him hard, and this would be good.  It would be brutal and cleansing.  He invaded her mouth again, leaning her hard against the bulkhead as he ran his hand over her.

"Let's get out of here."  Taking his hand, she led him away to the small, austere cabin he had been using, and without ceremony he raised her skirt, tearing underwear in his haste to be in her and pumping.  She did not seem to mind, and he raised her up, seating her on his dresser while he fumbled with button and zipper. 

She smacked his hand away to one side and finished the task herself, pulling his jeans down to mid thigh and seizing his study cock, smoothing it, jerking it roughly once, and then pulling him to her insistently until he slid into her heated depths and lost himself.

Mouth on mouth, no gentleness here, they tore at each other in their haste to reach completion.  She had her legs wrapped around his waist, and her long red nails were scoring his back as the two of them drove furiously at each other.  Their breath came in gasps and grunts.  Alex felt the build up as a physical entity inhabiting his loins, curling and uncurling within, sending shudders through him until at last it burst out through his skin, flooding him, flooding her as he arched, spurting, and then collapsed, slack-mouthed against her.

She remained wrapped around him, legs locked in the small of his back as he slumped over her.  Her nails dug into the back of his neck, and her mouth whispered into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

"The bed, come on, let's take it to the bed.  It's cramped here."  He shook his head, trying to clear it, attempting to concentrate on something more than the drumming of blood in his ears.  He scooped her up and moved, still joined to her, over to his bunk where he finally laid her down on the covers and stood flexing his spine until the joints popped and snapped.  Finally he stripped down until he wore only his shirt.

She watched him as he skinned down and reached out to take hold of his now limp penis, still glistening from the combination of their juices.  Pulling him towards her, she rose and pushed him down to lie on his back beneath her as she began to move over him, teeth and tongue, sharp nails and smooth skin bringing him back to throbbing readiness.  She seemed to be making him cry out, groan and forget everything in the fog of moist pearl with which she enveloped him.

He lay, allowing her to work on him as she pleased, a slight smile parting his lips as she ran through her repertoire of caresses.  She touched him, stroked him, squeezing and licking as she moved.  She slowly worked her way down to pay attention to the area between his legs, scraping those nails from perineum to testes and following on with her tongue.  She licked him like a cat, and it felt good.  To be honest, it felt wonderful, her tongue on his balls and then suddenly lower as she probed the rosette of puckered flesh between his buttocks, pulling his cheeks wide as she jabbed her tongue into him again and again.

He was lost.  His guard was down and at that moment he almost loved her.  She swarmed over him, silken moisture pulling sensation from him like a genie from a bottle.  Every muscle in him locked itself tight until he finally called her by name for the first time ever, begging her to let him come.

At last she seemed to be satisfied with the wreckage of him that she had wrought and let herself kneel above him, idly drawing the tip of his cock up and down her labia as he whimpered, beyond any coherent speech.  He thrashed his head from side to side, and she smiled her superior smile and sat down on him hard, her cunt stretching over him like a glove.  Its rippling, clutching moisture sucked the sensation from him and invoked a scream from him that sounded even to his ears as if it might have been a prayer.

At the end as she squirmed and wriggled on him, he finally could no longer hold back, and the riptide of sensation swept him as the flood poured through him, out of him, and into the deep recesses of her body.  As she came to rest, he lay, totally exhausted.

//Fucked!// he thought, //I'm completely fucked!//

Climbing off him and allowing her skirt to fall back around her thighs, she pinched his cheek, a sharp reminder of her viciousness that marked him, though he didn't feel it right at that moment.  She stooped than and kissed him, licking over parted, gasping lips and

"See you on shore, lover, hurry along now, won't you?"

...left the room.

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