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"Sign and date here, and again, right there. These papers will transfer the title of the house into your name." The attorney offered her a gleaming gold pen. Taking the instrument in her hand, she carefully signed her name on the highlighted areas. The counsel gathered the paperwork, confirming that her signature was affixed to all of the appropriate lines on the document.

"Echo," he peered over his tortoiseshell glasses, the corners of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. "That's quite an unusual name. I was wondering if there was a story behind it."

There was that same stupid question again. Echo twirled her carroty locks around her index finger wishing she had a more interesting answer. The truth was Echo didn't have a clue why she had been saddled with the strange moniker.

"No story really," Echo replied. "I suppose I should make one up and have it ready for every time someone asks me that very same question."

Echo loved to watch people's expression when she said that. The attorney's confused visage told her that he wasn't certain if he had been insulted or not.

"The truth is, my parents are old hippies, very 'into' planetary alignments, and such. I consider myself lucky that they didn't name me something like Spring Rain, or Karma."

The attorney tilted his head to one side, glancing over his spectacles as if she were a piece of prime rib he was sizing up for dinner. "Well, it suits you, somehow."

If you only knew the half of it buddy, Echo thought.

As long as she could recall, Echo had "heard" things; snippets of conversations, ramblings, rants, and whispers. They were echoes from another world,bouncing off of the fabric of time into her ears.

When Echo was a little girl, her Grandmother, a darling but exceedingly superstitious woman from the old country, urged her not to worry. Gran would tuck her in at night whispering stories of mythological Celtic gods and the gifts they bestowed on mankind. But Echo knew that it was just a grandmotherly fairy tale designed to quell her fears.

Conventional medicine had provided no answers to her questions. Physically, she was sound as a dollar. In desperation, Echo had visited The Chicago Center for Paranormal Research. There it was confirmed. She was a Clairaudient.

The researcher explained that a clairaudient was a sensitive, gifted with the keen ability to perceive sounds or words from outside sources, such as spirits or other entities. A gift? It felt more like a damned curse.

The messages she received never seemed meant for her, and Echo didn't know how she was supposed to act on them. They were an annoying form of psychic eavesdropping, like conversations overheard in a restaurant--interesting perhaps in a voyeuristic way, but soon forgotten.

The purpose of this so-called gift, if there was a purpose, eluded Echo. The researcher advised her, that with diligent training, she would be able to control the communication. Echo had no desire to control anything. She hated making decisions and right now she hated her life. If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she hoped one day the condition would just disappear.

When her parents insisted she take their house in the suburbs, Echo reasoned that she was doing her parents a favor by taking the property off of their hands while they raised their consciousness in far-flung corners of the earth. In fact, she was sure she was subconsciously trying to hide, hoping the voices wouldn't follow her here.

The attor ney dropped the keys to her parent's old Victorian into her upturned palm. His fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist. A shiver vibrated through Echo like tiny ripples on a still lake.

"You're dreamin' girl and you don't even know that you're asleep."

"Excuse me," Echo stammered, "Did you say something?"

"Congratulations, I said congratulations on the house." The attorney leaned over his desktop towards Echo. "Are you alright? You just went a little pale."

The damned voices again, actually, this particular damn voice. It had been haunting her for months.

The attorney stretched his hand across the desk, bringing it to rest on Echo's forearm. "Would you like a drink? I think I have some bourbon stashed around here."

Echo peered through his conservative spectacles into his grey eyes. The attorney's gesture was friendly, almost fatherly. Echo's intuition sensed that it held the promise of more. A vein in her neck pulsed against her throat.

It had been more than a year, sixteen months to be exact, since she had felt the touch of a man. It was not for lack of suitors for there were many who pursued her. Her celibacy was self-induced.

Average men were bores. Few she met knew how to talk to a woman, much less seduce one. She found them to be unskilled and selfish in the bedroom; laying their full weight on top of her while they pumped away with a predictable rhythm. Sweaty hands roughly kneaded her breasts; sloppy, smothering kisses crushed her tender mouth. Some whimpered like wounded puppies when they climaxed. It wasn't pretty.

Echo wished that one of them, just one, would read a book on the subject or at least aspire to some form of sexual higher education, but they appeared entirely content, even boastful, of their present skill level. Echo sure as hell wasn't; she wanted more.

Willful and lusty, she had not yet met the man who could handle her. She was born the only child of over-indulgent parents. Some might say that she was spoiled--rotten.

Her expectations were high. Finding no man that could live up to them, Echo decided to bench her booty until the right man came along. No sex was better than disappointing sex, she concluded. Besides, she was no stranger to taking care of herself in that department. It wasn't exactly the same, but it helped to keep the horny wolf from her door until she found a suitable mate.

Echo considered the attorney's offer. He was handsome in a suburban sort of way. Neatly trimmed hair, cut into an acceptably short style. A paunch around his middle spoke of hurried meals from fast-food sacks.

Echo scanned the paper-strewn office. Stacks of legal briefs teetered precariously like paper monuments. Framed diplomas and licenses crookedly lined the walls. Her eyes came to rest on top of a bookcase where plastic sci-fi action figures were arranged in battle.

Oh shit, I'm throwing this one back in the water, she concluded.

Echo withdrew her arm from her counsel's touch, uncrossed her long, lean legs and rose from the chair. A single bead of perspiration crept from beneath her thick curls, slipped down her neck, and then disappeared like a phantom between her breasts.

"Jaysus lass, you are such a dreadful girl!"

That voice again, it seemed to be taunting her, pointing out her faults. In her gut, Echo knew that this voice was not a remnant of an overheard conversation, leaking through the veil of the otherworld; this particular voice was distinctly closer, and it was speaking directly to her.

"I really should be going now. I'd like to get over to the house before dark and get settled in. Thank you for all of your help on this matter." Echo shook hands with the attorney before walking out into the unseasonably warm autumn evening.

The daylight hours were fading. Echo turned her face towards the last rays of the sinking sun and inhaled the dewy air deeply into her lungs. It bore the sweet smell of a new beginning.

Echo stood in front of her newly acquired Victorian painted lady. Her parents had purchased it only two years before. A stab of guilt cut through her belly. She had never found the time in her schedule to visit her parents here. Now they were off in some foreign land, doing wonderful, altruistic things for mankind, and she was still stuck trying to figure out her place in the world.

Echo was amused by the sweet serenity of the idyllic neighborhood. Leaves glowing with the blush of late September cruised to the pavement like fairy ships on a sea of air and lay scattered along the tree-lined street. Stately, well-kept Victorian homes soared three stories high into the darkening sky, their windows aglow in the twilight.

"Well, this is just like a sappy Thomas Kincade painting," Echo mused aloud.

A gust of wind whistled through the treetops, raining yet more dying leaves onto the bricks.

"It's the perfect place to go unnoticed"

Damn that voice! Would she ever be alone? No matter what she did or where she went, she never had the luxury of privacy.

Okay who ever you are, please give it a rest. W.E.C.H.O. is signing off for the day! She warned.

The illumination of the street lamp shimmered over the intricate stained glass window on the front door. As Echo turned the lock, a voice with a vague familiarity declared, "Let me be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood."

The voice was not in her ear as it usually was, but came from directly behind her. It had the same distinctive softened vowels and haunting musical lilt as the voice that had attached itself to her in recent days.

Echo whirled around in the direction of the sound. In the shadowy light of the rising crescent moon, she discerned the figure of a man with inky-black hair strolling up the walkway towards her. He was perhaps six foot two in height with broad shoulders that tapered down in a "V" to a pair of slender hips.

Advancing towards her, he extended his right hand in a cordial gesture. Echo rummaged in her purse for pepper spray.

"Please forgive me, I must have startled you." He stepped into the porch light. "My name is Flynn."

His voice was uncannily similar to the one haunting her. But that was impossible; unless this was a dead man standing on her porch, and he most decidedly did not appear to be a corpse. He was practically the most beautiful specimen of the male species Echo had ever seen.

Indigo eyes peered out from behind thick lashes that were black as a witch's cauldron. A lock of raven hair dangled with careless abandon above his knitted brow. Echo restrained the compulsion to reach out and smooth it back into place with her fingers.

His smile, which tilted to one side, was warm and inviting. It caused Echo to think of rainy afternoons and the things that happen under the covers on those afternoons. A tingling, heavy feeling crept into her pelvis.

"Come on" he said, "I don't bite." He thrust his hand nearer, beseeching her to grasp it.

"Well, girl, are you going to let your neighbor stand here all night with his arm out like he's tryin' to hail a taxi or are you going to give it a polite shake?"

A neighbor, ah ha, he was a neighbor. Living in the city had made her jumpy. She felt a flush of embarrassment spread across her freckled cheeks. She was grateful for the darkness that concealed the blossoming redness of her fair skin.

Echo grasped his outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Flynn. I'm Echo Sullivan."

A sense of being protected and secure washed over her as his hand enclosed hers. A fleeting image of his hands exploring her body passed through her brain. Somebody's horny, she thought.

"Echo? Isn't that a fine name, and aren't you a lovely lass!" he exclaimed. Pointing towards an expansive, turreted dwelling to his left he explained, "I live in the house four doors down and I was taking a stroll on this glorious evening when I spied you, and thought, now that is a lovely lass! So tell me, what is a lovely girl named Echo Sullivan doing in my neighborhood?"

She hadn't been called lass since her grandmother passed away. Was he for real? She just had to ask, "Are you Irish, by any chance?"

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. Was it my accent that gave me away or am I smelling of Guinness again?"

He definitely did not smell of Guinness. He smelled like beefcake in a wrapper.

Echo laughed, "No, it was your accent." A bit flustered, she had forgotten the original question. "I'm sorry, what was your first question?"

Echo examined his left hand--no wedding ring. Hmmm, single man, Hollywood good looks, lives in a Victorian ... probably gay.

"The neighborhood ... you ... here," Flynn reminded her.

"Oh, well, my parents own ... er, I mean owned ... this house. They moved out of the country and needed me to take over the mortgage. I needed a change of scenery, and well, here I am, living in post-card U.S.A."

Flynn surveyed the neighborhood. "Yeah, you're right. I guess I never thought of it. It is quite picturesque. I haven't been here that long myself, I just moved in a few months ago."

He had the gift of gab; she had to give him that. Oddly enough, his rambling wasn't bothering her at all. She liked the sound of his voice, in fact, she liked it very much. He was easy on the eyes too, so that made it even more tolerable.

"I had hoped that someone would be movin' in soon. An empty house is not good for property values." He leaned forward whispering. "Drives 'em down, you know. People think the neighborhood might be filled with undesirables when they see a house standing empty for months. You're not one of those undesirable characters, are you?"

Was that a mischievous twinkle glittering in his sapphire blue pools of lust? The glint in his eye made Echo want to look away. It was as if he knew her secrets--as if she had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar, or in this case, the nookie jar.

"You appear completely desirable to me," he concluded.

The boldness of his compliment sent up a flirt alert for Echo. Okay, maybe he wasn't gay. She was pretty certain he was coming onto her, and she didn't mind.

"Yes, I mean, no ... I guess it all depends on how you look at it. Anyway, I'm just a loner, freelance journalist looking for some peace and quiet. I sort of need to refocus my life, you know; figure out what works and what doesn't work anymore."

She glanced up at the imposing house. "I thought this might be the place to start."

"Well, you've come to the right place. This neighborhood is mostly populated with double income families. They leave for work at the dawn of day and don't return home till sunset. Then it's off to soccer practice, or band practice, or the PTA. All very boring, and full of scheduled activities for the family-minded. I assure you, if it's privacy that you're lookin' for, then this is your destiny. It's the perfect place to go unnoticed."

The perfect place to go unnoticed? She had heard those words spoken just minutes before! Suddenly, feeling ver y uncomfortable, Echo realized that Flynn still held her hand in his. Awkwardly withdrawing from his grasp she excused herself. "I should be getting inside and settled in."

"Of course, of course. Nice meeting you, Echo Sullivan. I hope you find your first night in your new home an enjoyable one." Flynn winked at her as if signaling that he knew something she didn't. He waved a casual goodbye over his shoulder as he departed.

Echo assessed him as he walked down the sidewalk, her critical gaze summing up his physique. He was a physically powerful man, perhaps in his late thirties. His dark hair, which he wore slicked back from his forehead, ended in small twists of curls that lightly skimmed the top of his starched, folded collar. He had an exceptionally nice caboose.

His confident stride oozed sensuality. It was almost feline. Echo would not have been surprised to see him spring lithely over a wall, or slink beneath a fence.

Tango dancers in Argentina carried themselves the same way. She recalled gliding across the floor of a Buenos Aires milonga, the Tango beat pounding out the rhythm, in the arms of an Argentine dancer--strong, sure and demanding--leading the dance, asking a question with his body, and she answering him with hers.

Echo's skin prickled with lust.

"If that was the Welcome Wagon, I'm ready to hop on board," she muttered. She kept watch until her fascinating new neighbor was enveloped by the lurking shadows.

Echo stepped into the foyer. Her eyes followed the wide oak staircase that wound its way to the second story as she maneuvered her way around the few boxes that held her personal items, stubbing her toe on the corner of one of the boxes.

"Uggg," Echo grunted, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep into her muscles. "I'll deal with unpacking tomorrow."

Boards creaked beneath her feet as she padded along the hallways inspecting the darkened rooms. The house was eerily quiet, too quiet for Echo's liking.

I'm going to have to get a cat, she thought. The silence around here is deafening.

Despite six months of vacancy, the household appeared as if the previous owner had just stepped out on an errand. Linens, toiletries, pantry items, everything had been left in perfect order.

The kitchen was spacious and bright, much more pleasant than her one bedroom walk-up in the city. She located the necessary items to brew a cup of tea. A cup of tea in a Victorian, how quaint, she chuckled.

In her wildest dreams Echo had never thought she would be living in the 'burbs, and drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but life is a funny thing, she admitted.

Giving a little hop, she sat on the counter and raised the cup to her lips. Breathing deeply, she filled her nostrils with the soothing scent of chamomile. She wearily rested the back of her head against the white painted cupboard. Echo allowed her mind to drift: unpacking, changing the utilities to her name, opening a bank account, registering her car, her new neighbor, Flynn. An unconscious grin appeared on her face. Thinking of her hot new neighbor seemed more preferable right now than the other mundane tasks demanding her attention.

She needed to assess him awhile and consider whether or not he was going to be playing the starring role in her next fantasy Jill-off session. She recalled his wry smile and the twinkle in his eye, and the way it caused a guilty, feverish feeling to rush over her. She especially liked the way he said her name, not pronouncing it with a harsh "eh" sound, but drawing it out softly ... "Aayko". That could come in handy in a fantasy.

He oozed the confidence of a guy who had a big cock and knew how to use it. I wonder if he has a big cock. Hmmm, I'd bet my next paycheck that he does.

Had he been flirting with her or was he just the overly friendly sort? Either way, he'd made a lasting and lust-inspiring impression. Echo recognized a warmth crawling around inside of her that had nothing to do with the chamomile tea.

She started to feel a little neglected. It had been ... well, it had been a long time since she'd been laid. Echo squeezed her legs together and wondered what Flynn was like between the sheets.

The wind picked up outside. Barren, skeletal tree branches scratched against the kitchen window like ghostly fingers clawing at the glass. Startled, Echo awoke from her reverie. Placing her empty cup into the sink, she slid off of the countertop and landed with a soft plop on the linoleum floor. The temperature of the room had dropped to a chilly degree. She shivered and chattered her teeth before extinguishing the light.

Briskly rubbing the cold from her arms she climbed the wide, wooden staircase that led to the second story. When she swung open the bathroom door an ancient radiator hissed angrily in the cor ner. A caver nous claw foot bathtub beckoned.

"Sweet!" she exclaimed. "Let's see if the folks left some candles stashed around here."

Finding a box of candles in the vanity, she turned them over.

"Well, peace, love and understanding," she laughed, "Patchouli!"

Echo lit them, placing them one by one around the room. The earthy aroma wafted in the air. She turned on the tap, testing the water with her fingers. As the bathtub filled with hot water, vapor enveloped the bottom half of the room in a dense fog.

She undressed before the full-length mirror, critiquing herself. She was vain, but had good reason to be. Her ginger hair cascaded in natural waves that tickled the base of her bare shoulder blades.

I could use a trim, she criticized, twisting her body to view the back of her hair.

Her legs lean and toned from years of Yoga practice, stretched up from the floor, and traveled to her firm, rounded bottom. Echo placed her hands on her flat stomach. She blinked at her reflection. The twin pink buds of her C cup breasts stared enticingly back at her.

If nobody loves ya, guess ya gotta love yourself. Echo lightly circled the palms of her hands over her erect nipples, pausing to tease each with a fingertip. "I can give you what you don't yet know that you need." There it was again. The voice, muffled but discernable, rudely interrupting her fantasy.

Really, mused Echo. Unless you can deliver that delicious neighbor of mine into my bed, I seriously doubt that you can give me what I need right now. I'd like a few moments of privacy, so beat it, will ya?

Testing the bathwater with her toes, Echo determined it to be to her liking; not too hot to be uncomfortable, but just temperate enough that she would have to gingerly ease her body into the bathtub.

After acclimating herself to the steamy water, Echo reclined against the cool porcelain. It was time to choreograph her fantasy.

The candles flickered in the moonlit room. Echo squirted viscous drops of perfumed gel, watching them sink into the holes of a yellow sea sponge. Her hands, slick with the syrupy mixture, stroked the sponge leisurely along the length of her neck. Above the waterline, her breasts bobbed buoyantly in the chilly air. Echo massaged the fragrant gel onto her breasts, drifting into a carefully orchestrated fantasy scenario starring her new neighbor, Flynn.

She visualized him standing over her, leering at her in a most lecherous way, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sweet six-pack. In her mind's eye he watched her bathe, telling her what to do and how to do it ... and she did each thing he commanded.

"Oh, lovely lass," she imagined him saying, "That's it, touch yourself. Work the soap over your breasts until they glisten."

Echo deposited the sponge into the water and rubbed the slippery gel onto her aching tits with her fingers, kneading them tightly against her chest. Her breasts were magnificent, heavy, round and ultra responsive to touch.

"Very nice," her fantasy Flynn encouraged. "Now show me how you excite those mouthwatering nipples."

Echo rolled her buds between her wet fingers, squeezing and tugging the tightening nubs until they rose from her breasts like firm, pink gumdrops. Echo's hips writhed beneath the water, her buttocks tightening and tilting her pelvis upward in supplication.

This wasn't going to take long. Echo knew her body like a well-read roadmap. She knew the time-saving short cuts as well as the more leisurely scenic routes.

She settled deeper into her vision.

"Hmmm, are you stirring yet? Do you recognize that aching in your pussy?" Flynn prodded. "Search below the water Echo, to the soft down between your thighs where it's warm and luscious."

Echo glided her hand down her stomach and crawled her fingers over her dewy mound until her fingers encountered the lubricious fluids of her arousal. She envisioned Flynn kneeling near her, his breath tickling her ear as he watched her pleasure herself. His sonorous voice urged her onward.

"Spread your legs. I want a peek at your sweet pussy."

Echo draped her legs widely over each side of the bathtub. Warm, soothing waves of water lapped enticingly at her cunt. In her mind's eye she conjured the image of Flynn's cock springing to life as she opened her legs for him.

Echo's breath came faster now. Her breasts rose and fell with each deep inhalation of the scented air. She squeezed her eyes tight, her fingers encouraging the blossoming sensations of orgasm. When she traced small circles around her clit, it swelled with delight beneath her touch. She swiped her folds with her fingertip, picking up more lubrication and swirled the slick juice over her throbbing button until her pussy ached with emptiness. She wished she had unpacked her favorite eight-inch toy, but no matter.

She pushed two fingers of her left hand inside of the dewy folds causing a small, breathless "Oh" to escape from her throat. Savoring the sensation of partial fullness, her strong vaginal muscles tightened around the probing fingers as she worked them deeply into her pussy

In her vision, Flynn stood up and eased his swollen prick into her mouth. It tasted so good. It was huge too ... monstrous. He rocked it in and out of her lips. She matched the imagined rhythm of his thrusting with her fingers. Her legs shuddered and gripped the porcelain, raising her hips. Close, she was so close to orgasmic release. A little more pressure on her craving clit and she would be there.

"Stop! You wicked little vixen, stop that right now! You don't come until I tell you to!"

A draft whistled through the leaky wooden window, extinguishing the candles and leaving Echo in darkness.

Echo opened her eyes, returning to reality. What the hell? That wasn't supposed to be in my fantasy!

She pouted in the blackness, the only illumination coming from the glow of the waning moon. She mumbled irritably, "God, I'm pathetic! I can't even Jill-off without being disappointed."

Echo hurled the sea sponge across the bathtub. It split the water's surface sending foamy droplets splashing onto her face. The spell was broken. Feeling foolish and embarrassed, she pulled her legs inside of the bathtub in defeat.

Later in the unsettling quiet of her bedroom, she drifted into a restless sleep.

In a deep state of dreaming, she wandered over an unfamiliar land. Drought-cracked earth stretched for miles in every direction. The barren landscape was dotted with the blackened corpses of long-dead trees. As she walked, the crunch and snap of the parched ground crackled in the still air.

With each step, the earth beneath her bare feet crumbled and broke away, falling soundlessly into a dark abyss. Scrambling to stay one step ahead of the crumbling earth, Echo frantically searched the lifeless horizon for a safe haven. Far in the distance, she spotted an immense rock formation, rising from the arid ground like an ancient monument. It stood red against the white-hot sky, its surface jagged and steep as if hewn by some great sword. Its time-worn face seemed solid and secure, strangely out of place in this fragile environment.

Blood pounded in her veins, as she raced with breakneck speed towards the protection of the rock formation, raining clods of pulverized earth into the colorless void.

She didn't dare stop or look back, only pressing onward until breathlessly she flung herself onto the cool, hard surface of the rock base.

Clinging to the stone, she looked backward. The path she had run was now a bottomless crevasse that split the earth in two. No matter what lie ahead, she could not go back the same way that she came.

Echo pulled herself up to a jagged ledge, the flint-like rock lacerating the tender pads of her fingers. Perhaps if she could get to the top, she might be able to view the land from all angles and find a way out of this horrid place. With resolve and determination, she climbed to the next ledge and the next. The sun burned hotly against her fair skin as she searched for footholds on the steep surface. As she ascended, patches of deep green moss sprung up, cooling the soles of her feet. A dense cloud obscured the top of the formation. From here, Echo could feel its misty dampness on her face. She must be close now. The promise spurred her onward and she found the strength to pull herself onto a smooth outcropping, where she rested for a moment, quenching her parched flesh in the cool vapor of the cloud.

Her eyes searched the endless sky for signs of life ... a bird, an insect, anything that would tell her that she was not alone. But the sky only mirrored the emptiness of the landscape below.

Echo examined her hands and knees, scraped and bleeding from her climb and wondered how she had come to such a forsaken place. If only someone would come along and tell her what to do ... which direction to go. But there was only one direction left--up. Echo stood on the ledge, tilted her head skyward and stretched once again, her fingers grasping for a sturdy hold. Finding one that she felt would support her weight, she propelled her body upward, passing through the cloud line where she found herself standing on the apex of the mountainous boulder.

She sighed with deep relief and satisfaction at having made it to the top. Walking to the opposite edge of the rock, she surveyed the landscape below. Stretched out as far as her eyes could see was a mad scene of utter chaos. There was no order to anything. Abstract structures, with walkways and wings constructed in a willy-nilly fashion, teetered and collapsed beneath their own weight. People wandered aimlessly in every direction. Everyone and everything was acting of its own accord. No one was in control.

Echo shouted out directions and commands to the swarming mass, but her words frustratingly faded into the atmosphere unheeded. She called out for help to no avail. She remained unseen and unheard--solitary and lost.

Far away, across the clouds, the faint call of her name reached her ears. Echo peered in the direction of the sound and noticed a road winding through the sky which hadn't been there before. There was a signpost on the side of the road marked with bizarre symbols. Scratched into the sign was a single word. Tir-na-nog.

"Are you going there?" queried a small voice.

The wispy figure of a woman floated above the rock's surface. Long tresses of white blond hair billowed around the soft features of her pale face. She wore a diaphanous gown of emerald green, which whipped around her in the wind, although Echo could feel no wind at all.

"I ... I don't know. I don't know which way to go. I think I'm lost." Echo confessed.

"Well, I have found that if you are lost, it often helps to just wait for someone to direct you."

"How about you ... you're here right now." Echo petitioned.

"No, I don't think so. I think it is best if you just wait for someone else."

"What if no one else ever shows up? What if I never get out of this godforsaken place? What if I die here all alone?"

The lady in green laughed, "If, if, if ... so many ifs. Balls, said the Queen, if I had 'em I'd be King."

"What in the hell does that mean?"

The green lady clucked her tongue. "Silly girl, it means that sometimes you just have to accept things for what they are, surrender and trust that the universe holds you safely in the palm of its hand."

Leaving Echo with that enigmatic statement, the ethereal lady floated into the distance.

Before she could think on what she had been told, the rock gave way sending her plummeting into darkness. Deeper and deeper she tumbled into the colorless abyss. She tried to cry out, but no sound emitted from her mouth. Hurtling downward, her descent jerked to an abrupt halt and she found herself suspended in mid-air, face down, her arms and legs splayed apart, held in suspension by iron shackles that encircled her wrists and ankles. She realized that she was nude.

She wanted to go back to the safety of the rock, but it had vanished. Weeping in panic she thrashed about, wailing at the top of her lungs for help. Her cries bounced back to her across the black horizon. The more vigorously she struggled, the tighter the shackles bit into her flesh. She tried to relax and reason what her next move should be. When she relaxed, she discovered a peacefulness had come over her spirit. At that moment she realized that the shackles were not elements of punishment, they were instruments for her safety. If they were to vanish, she would plunge headlong into the chasm.

As she willed the terror from her body, submitting to the security of the chains that bound her, a roar, like the sound of a passing train, arose from the depths. A mighty, sultry wind buffeted her naked body. It swirled and moaned, wrapping her skin in sensual sensations. The cyclone licked at her buttocks and fluttered between her legs. It caressed her breasts and tickled her thighs. Her panic subsided as she succumbed to the sensual wind. She hung in the atmosphere, suspended by the restraints, as the zephyr delighted and explored her secret, sensitive places. It was as if a multitude of tempestuous tongues teased and pleasured her flesh until she surrendered to orgasmic release.

Flynn paced the floor of his bedroom. From his window he could see the ginger-haired woman carrying bags of groceries from her car. Chivalry nagged him to rescue her from the burden of the parcels, but he refrained. He had flustered her last night with his bold introduction; it had been a stupid move. You just didn't go around startling women in the dark at their doorway. He considered himself lucky that he avoided a face full of pepper spray.

He should probably take things more slowly, but time was running short. There was so much to do and so few days in which to make it all happen. He had waited longer than his memory could search. He had bided his time for her to be in this precise place at this precise moment in her life. His desire, coupled with the urgency of his business, had caused him to act rashly.

All in all it was a satisfying initial meeting, but something had spooked her near the end. He needed to concoct a plan that would allow him to spend time with her today without scaring her off. He would need an excuse, something not too threatening, and not too flirtatious. It was imperative that he gained her trust. Without that, nothing could go as planned.

Flynn screwed up his courage, tried unsuccessfully to put the disobedient lock of hair back in its proper place on his head, and winked confidently at his reflection in the mirror.

A mammoth bouquet of hydrangea blossoms greeted Echo as she opened the door.

"Delivery for Miss Sullivan."

The dusty pink and amber of the October blooms obscured the deliverer from Echo's view.

Echo was certain they had the wrong house.

"Who are you looking for again? I think you probably have the wrong house."

"No, right house, right girl ... these are a housewarming gift."

The deliverer laid the flowers in Echo's arms. Golden rays from the afternoon sun silhouetted the man standing in the doorway. He beamed a sparkling smile in her direction.

"Oh my God, Flynn ... you have to be kidding me? I can't believe this. You shouldn't have done ... I barely know you." Echo stammered.

"Echo, please, before you go getting your conkers in a knot, it wasn't any big deal. I ... uh ... well ... I sort of nicked them from your garden." Flynn shrugged his shoulders, crinkled his eyes, and raised one eyebrow in a boyish, 'sorry 'bout that'.

Echo chuckled to herself. This guy was so adorably smooth he could charm the panties off a Puritan.

"Oh really?" Echo replied. "Well, at least you're an honest thief, if there is such a thing."

"I may be a thief of sorts, but you, girl, have terrible manners," Flynn teased. "This is twice now I have tried to be neighborly and you have left me standin' at the door."

"Well, this is twice that you have taken me by surprise, so I consider us even."

"You have a valid point." Flynn confirmed.

Echo wondered who made him the manner's police anyway. "Look, I don't know how it's done in the suburbs, but where I come from women not only do not invite strange men into their homes, they use a triple set of deadbolts to keep them out. I don't mean to be rude...

"No, I was wrong. I'm not as familiar with your country as I should be. I'm not used to being regarded with suspicion. Where I come from, we don't even lock our doors."

"Geez, that must be nice." Echo couldn't imagine a place where they didn't have to be concerned about muggers and rapists and terrorists, or any of the other million and one fears that she had grown accustomed to living with.

Flynn shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes cast bashfully downward. "I guess I'll just be on my way then. I'm sorry to bother you. You know where I live if you would like to pop over for a cup of tea sometime. The door's always open."

As he turned to leave, Echo realized that she didn't want him to go. He really did seem like a nice guy and despite his confidence, he appeared sort of lost. He had been so polite and she had acted like the Ugly American.

"Wait," she called out, grasping his elbow. "How about I throw caution to the wind and invite you in for a bit?"

He turned, one eyebrow raised in a questioning look. "No, I don't want to be a pest," he protested. "I'll just take off."

Echo tugged on his elbow, directing him into the doorway. "I insist. Won't you please come in?"

He smiled, his perfect white teeth contrasting sharply against his tanned skin. "If you insist ... I'll come in for minute, but I promise I won't stay too long." Flynn had to turn sideways to get through the door so as not to crush the bouquet in her arms.

As he passed, his scent mingled with the sweet, green fragrance of the flowers. He smelled unpolluted and wild, as if he had just emerged from some great forest with the aroma of earth and leaves and pine needles still clinging to his skin. The feminine atmosphere of Echo's house now crackled with testosterone.

"Watch your step. Sor r y about the boxes," Echo apologized. "I was just starting to unpack them when you knocked. I better put these flowers into some water. Would you like something to drink? An ice tea, maybe ... cup of coffee, shot of tequila?"

"Seein' as it's only three in the afternoon, I think I'll opt for the coffee, but you go ahead and have anything you like." He sure was a sarcastic little bugger. "Thanks for the permission. Follow me to the kitchen and I'll take care of the flowers and you at the same time."

Echo wanted to thrash herself in the head with the hydrangeas. What in the hell did I say that for? That sounded like a line straight out of a soap opera. Oh God, he probably thinks I was coming on to him! Just start walking, maybe he didn't catch it.

As nothing never, ever got past Flynn, he had picked up on her Freudian slip and suppressed a laugh, but could not stifle a mischievous grin.

"In truth," explained Flynn as he took a seat at the yellow kitchen table. "I was thinkin' that perhaps you might be needin' some help unpacking and getting things set right around here. I drive a pretty mean screwdriver when I want to and I am not bad with heavy lifting either."

"You don't say?" exclaimed Echo, setting the cup of coffee on the table. "Sugar?"

"No trouble at all ... darlin'."

For a split second Echo was confused, and then feeling foolish, she realized that he was teasing her. Why did she act like such an imbecile when this man was around?

"You are quite the kidder, aren't you? Echo goaded. "You know the old saying, that the world can tolerate a dumbass but nobody likes a smart ass. Well, mister smartass, you're on. You have just snickered your way into a heap of manual labor."

Flynn sipped his coffee, peeking innocently over the rim of the cup.

"You can finish your coffee, and then come and join me in the foyer. I hope you ate your Wheaties today because I love to read, and I have lots of boxes of heavy books."

Echo walked out of the kitchen door, calling over her shoulder, "Be careful what you wish for, Flynn ... you just might get it!"

Echo detected his scent before she heard his footsteps in the hallway. Bent over a large carton marked "Bedroom" in fat red marker, she looked up as Flynn walked towards her. He had removed his shirt. The vision of unabashed virility put Echo in a state of suspended animation. Swelling pectoral muscles and wide, brawny shoulders sloped into the flat, undulating surface of his abdomen. A trail of small black hairs began just below his navel and traveled southward, vanishing beneath his belt buckle.

Taken aback by the sight, Echo stared with mouth agape. Absentmindedly, her hand slackened, releasing a box cutter which fell to the floor, nicking her toe on the way to the ground. A stinging sensation throbbed in her toe, but it could not distract her attention from Flynn's sexy six-pack.

"Hope you don't mind, but it's awfully warm today, and that is a new-ish shirt," Flynn implored.

Uncharacteristically speechless, Echo stared, spellbound by this specimen of sublime masculinity.

"Well, it's white, too," Flynn continued. "You know how hard it is to get a stain out of a white shirt?" Flynn's expression changed to one of surprise. "Oh, Jaysus, you're bleedin'!" He exclaimed.

The urgency of his voice awakened Echo from her daydream. What was he talking about? She followed the direction of his gaze to where a pool of blood was forming under her lacerated foot.

Flynn rushed to her and grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her to her feet. "Come on, come on, girl ... let's get a look at that!"

Flynn hoisted Echo up, supporting her on his arm as he led her towards the kitchen. She leaned helplessly against him, feigning a pain that she did not feel, and gripped her hand around his flexed bicep for support. The muscle tightened and rippled beneath her palm. Echo squeezed the dense bulge, testing it for firmness. It was beautifully non-yielding.

His arm encircled her waist, and scooped her off her feet, then deposited her atop the kitchen counter.

"Swing your foot up into the sink," Flynn instructed, turning on the water and testing the temperature with his hand.

Echo placed her foot inside of the bowl. Flynn supported her foot in his hand as the water rushed over the laceration. She watched the ribbons of blood, first brilliant red then fading to pink, wash against the white porcelain and swirl in hypnotic arcs down the drain.

No one spoke.

She shifted her gaze to rest on his unclothed form. Her lecherous gaze spellbound, enticed by the droplets of water splashing on his naked chest. She had the urge to lick them, one by delicious one, from his damp flesh.

Flynn leaned his body into hers. Echo closed her eyes, turning her face upwards in anticipation of their lips meeting in a kiss.

"Excuse me there darlin'," Flynn cooed, "but could you skooch over just a bit so I can reach those paper towels sitting behind you?"

Echo's eyes snapped open. Oh God I am such an idiot! Please tell me I did not just do that! I'm behaving like a hormonal teenager!

Echo scooted to the right and Flynn retrieved the towels, wadding them up and wiping her foot dry. He dabbed at the cut until the blood began to clot.

"There, that should hold it for a second," he said, swiveling her around so her legs dangled off the edge of the counter. Brandishing a finger in front of her face he scolded, "Now you stay here. I will be right back with a bandage."

For a split second, Echo thought he said that he would be right back with a bondage. Echo mustered a weak nod.

Flynn dashed off to rummage in the bathroom for first aid supplies. Echo sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, absentmindedly chewing her fingers in a state of sexual tension. Not only was Flynn the hunkiest man she had ever met, but she was astonished to realize that she really liked him! He made her laugh, he made her think, he was thoughtful, and caring. So far he added up to the total package. She marveled that just the night before she had been sitting in this very same spot fantasizing about this very same fellow, and here he was right now, half-naked, and fixing her boo-boo to boot.

A disembodied female voice boomed into Echo's ears. "This is not a man you will be able to wrap around your finger, Delores!"

That was completely random--and a bit rude, too. Her blood simmered at the unseen interruption of her daydream.

"If I see Delores, whoever that is, I will be sure to tell her," Echo hissed to the ghostly visitor. "You don't have to scream."

Flynn strode into the room proudly displaying mercurochrome, a cotton ball and a roll of white tape. Echo imagined playing doctor with him. She'd like to show him where it hurt.

He stood between Echo's dangling legs, lifting her injured foot to his chest. His skin was comfortingly warm against the sole of her foot. A single drop of blood oozed from the cut and ran down the side of her big toe, sliding onto Flynn's chest.

While Flynn busied himself with bandaging, Echo's eyes followed the path of the blood as it descended his torso. The thick crimson droplet coursed along his stomach, trailing a sticky scarlet ribbon over his rectus abdominus, dipping in and over the rolling hills of his muscles. It veered just to the left of his navel, and then silently disappeared beneath his trousers.

A wave of internal heat caused miniscule beads of perspiration to blossom on her skin.

"There you are. All bandaged ... oh, I almost forgot ... a kiss it to make it better." Flynn lifted her foot to his lips and placed a kiss on the injured area. Even though his lips only touched the bandage, Echo did feel better, much better.

He lowered her foot. He was standing between her legs, her knees touching his hips. His penetrating gaze honed in on her face, mesmerizing, but unsettling at the same time. What was he staring at her for? Was there something on her face? Echo wiped her cheeks, searching for the offending crumb.

"I have the sudden urge to kiss you," he said. "Would you mind if I kissed you ... on the lips?" On the lips, on the neck, Echo would have allowed his mouth to roam anywhere that he desired.

"Oh, yes," she breathlessly agreed. "I think I'd like that."

Flynn lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, drawing her to his body. Before he could press his lips to hers, Echo's mouth lifted to his.

She parted his lips with her tongue and explored his warm, open mouth. Her hands surveyed the anatomy of his back, 'seeing' the outline of his muscles with her fingertips. She felt his heartbeat drumming against her chest and hers pounding a refrain like a million fluttering birds. The dam, which had held back her hunger for so many months, crumbled and released the rising waters of her pent-up passion. She was glad her gauzy prairie skirt veiled the wicked secret of her sodden panties.

Flynn's hands stroked her sides, his thumbs grazing the swell of her breasts enticing Echo's nipples to jut out against her tight-fitting tee. She knew Flynn could feel their hardness brushing his naked flesh, just as she could feel his hardness below, pressing against her pelvis.

Unexpectedly, Flynn put the brakes on. He pulled away, sheepishly dropping his head. "I should go."

Echo had been enjoying the kiss and didn't like it one bit that he had taken his mouth from hers. However, she had to admit that she was a little relieved. If he hadn't stopped, she probably wouldn't have either. Her admiration for Flynn grew. He had to have known that she was willing, and yet he held back. In her opinion, he showed considerable self-control.

She didn't want him leaving on such an awkward and tenuous note.

"No, don't go ... please." She wiggled her bandaged toe in his direction. "My foot is banged up. My plans for the day are shot to hell. Let's forget about those boxes and just hang out for awhile."

Sliding off of the counter, she lowered her feet to the floor, wincing as she touched the injured foot gingerly to the ground. Flynn reached to steady her, but she waved him off in a display of independence.

"Look, I'm not sure what just happened here, but guess what--I like you. I don't know a single soul in this entire town, and I enjoy your company."

A glimmer of a grin crossed Flynn's face.

Echo's hands seemed to have a mind of their own. She wanted so badly to glide them around his naked waist and caress his flesh with her fingertips. Fearing the compulsion to grope him, she folded her hands in prayerful supplication. "Say that you'll stay for a little while. What am I going to do all, alone in this big house with this bum foot?"

It was so quiet in the room that she could hear the soft scritch-scratch of whiskers as Flynn rubbed his chin with his hand in thoughtful contemplation.

"Besides, it is your fault that I nearly amputated my toe!" Flynn's eyebrows arched in confusion. "If you hadn't walked in looking like," Echo waved a finger up and down his body. "Well, you know ... how you look; I would have never dropped that knife."

Flynn's eyes shifted to his shirt which hung guiltily over the back of a chair.

"Another valid point," Flynn conceded. "Alright, you win. I'll keep you company and do my best to keep my knickers on."

Many hours and three bottles of Pinot Grigio later, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only a trace of a harvest glow in the sky. Echo and Flynn were sprawled like comfortable old friends across the sofa. Both of them being Irish and well in their cups, they fell into a melancholy and reflective mood.

"Ever thought about what you want from your life?" asked Flynn.

Through bleary eyes Echo drank in the vision of the man sitting next to her. His hair was now a bit unkempt, his body relaxed into the sofa, his long legs stretched for a mile in front of him. He thoughtfully traced the rim of his wine glass with a long, tapered index finger. She was certain that what she wanted most from life at this moment was to pin him to the sofa for an extended snogging session, full of wet kisses and groping hands.

Echo tossed her head back, chuckling. "I know exactly what I want," she exclaimed. But no amount of alcohol could have loosened her tongue enough for her to confess that she wanted to jump his gorgeous bones. She decided, instead to lighten the mood and hopefully change the subject. Holding her wine glass aloft, she proclaimed, "I want to rule the world!"

"Of course you do." Flynn laughed, the deep rolling sound as infectious as his speech.

She had made him laugh. He found her amusing. A warm sensation glowed inside her. She didn't often show her silly side, and it was nice to feel comfortable enough to let it out.

"But, darlin' I'm asking what do you want for yourself ... for your soul?"

In emphasis, Flynn placed Echo's hand over her heart.

Echo blinked, trying to better focus her eyes. The touch of his hand on her chest was so warm and tender; it filled Echo with a sentimental emotion. It had been so long since someone had touched her in that way. Now she knew exactly what she wanted from life. Her head buzzed with fuzzy concentration as she struggled to put it into words.

"I suppose that in the end," she began. "I just want to love and be loved ... although, I'm not exactly getting my hopes up. Things haven't worked out so well in that department. I hear that I am too picky." Echo paused for a moment, reminiscing over the men in her past. She had drifted through a life of serial monogamy, finding reasons, or perhaps excuses, to discard them all.

"Well, maybe I am too picky. But if I already know I'm going to be disappointed, why try anymore at all? Isn't that the definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result? I think I may be ready to go the fuck 'em and forget 'em route. It sure couldn't be any more heartbreaking."

Flynn wrapped his arm around Echo's shoulder and snuggled her to his body.

She relaxed into his embrace. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open and it felt as if weights were attached to her lashes, tugging on her lids.

"Don't give up the ghost yet, girl. In the words of John F. Kennedy, 'what's the use of being Irish if the world doesn't break your heart?'"

Wasn't that the damn truth? Echo's throat tightened and burned. Flynn's insightful words had worked their way through her tough exterior and struck at her soft, vulnerable center.

Oh, God, she didn't want to tur n into a drunken, blubbering fool in front of him. Fighting the urge to feel sorry for herself, Echo quickly changed the subject. Wiggling her empty wine glass she asked, "Want some more?" and then answered herself. "Thank you, I think I will." Echo sloshed the last of the golden liquid into their goblets.

She had sat up too quickly and now her head swam. Whoa! Echo grabbed onto the edge of the coffee table, her hand slapping down sharply on the glass as she tried to regain her coordination.

"You are positively circling over Shannon drunk!" hooted Flynn. "This could work to my advantage. Let's see ... what'll it be.... oh, I know ... since you can't hold your liquor like a proper Irishman....

"Wine," she interrupted. "We're drinking wine, not liquor."

Flynn narrowed his eyes. "As I was saying ... since you are obviously an amateur Irishman, I challenge you to answer any one question that I ask."

Echo realized that she had gone beyond being tipsy ... she was bordering on shit-faced. She put her wine glass on the table, vowing not to drink another drop. She straightened her spine and tried to appear sober.

"Oh, you are an evil, tricky man!" Echo scowled. "Okay, Mister Smarty-Pants, give me your best shot."

"Alright then, and you have to answer it honestly ... no fairy tales. I want to know your deepest, darkest, most erotic fantasy."

Echo rolled her eyes and set her jaw. Of all the questions he could have asked, he chose that one! She doubted he was ready to hear what she had to say.

"You just had to go there, didn't you? I don't know," she hesitated. This was delicate territory. For a moment she considered inventing something because the truth might be too much for him to handle, but as she tried to concoct a lie her muddled, wine-soaked brain wouldn't cooperate. There wasn't any way she would be able to weave a believable story in her condition.

"You have to promise not to think that I'm a wanton degenerate. I am going to be honest with you and you can't use it against me later, alright?"

Flynn nodded.

"Promise?" Maybe she could stall him long enough for him to forget what he had asked or maybe he, too was intoxicated enough not to be shocked ... or worse ... repulsed.

Flynn covered his heart with his hands, and looked skyward. "I promise on my dearly departed mother, God rest her sainted soul."

"Oh, since you're swearing on your sainted mother, I guess it's okay for me to tell you all of my dirty little secrets, although I doubt your mother would approve." Echo's voice dripped with sarcasm.

What the hell, maybe it's time I got this off of my chest. Then she was struck with a brilliant notion, sex talk can lead to sex acts. Since their passionate kiss in the kitchen, Flynn had been the picture of gentlemanly behavior. Perhaps some scintillating conversation would change that.

"Alright, I'll tell you, but I'm warning you, it is deliciously depraved."

"Mmmm," Flynn responded rubbing his palms together. "I can hardly wait."

"Here's goes." Echo took a deep breath.

"Okay, I fantasize that I am being dominated by someone. I don't mean someone who abuses me because that is not cool at all." She shook her head, screwing up her face in displeasure. "I would have to trust them. That's an important prerequisite. I do have my boundaries," she clarified.

She checked Flynn's face for a negative emotion but found only a hint of a smile. He might actually be enjoying this! Was it turning him on? Just thinking about being dominated was turning her on. She needed to feel the reassurance of his body next to hers as she immersed herself in the details of her fantasy.

Snuggling her head against Flynn's chest, she closed her eyes, envisioning the details of her fantasy, and the words tumbled from her mouth. "It goes something like this, my partner knows that it excites me when he takes control, and I am a little frightened ... not of him, just of not knowing what is going to happen ... and that makes it all the more exciting. He tells me what to do and how to do it, and then he makes me do it. All the while, everything he commands is aimed at giving me pleasure, even if it doesn't at first appear like that.

Because I trust him, he is able to get me to try all sorts of exotic things I've never experienced before and I love it. I do everything he wants me to do. I allow him to dominate the hell out of me and it drives me wild with passion. He is white-hot with desire when I submit to him, but he stops short of screwing me to the bedpost until he has me moaning and writhing, begging for it. I offer my body to him to do with as he wishes and he teases and taunts me, controlling my response until he gives me permission for release.

We go beyond the usual sexual experience into something more exciting, more fulfilling, more ... dangerous! It's an entire erotic lifestyle that goes past the bedroom door and spills into my daily life. Just imagine any day of your life, and then imagine the same day, but every minute of it has this underlying sexual tension that builds and builds until finally we ... I mean, me and my lover unleash it."

Echo braced for Flynn's reaction. "There you have it. You think I'm freak, don't you?"

Flynn coughed nervously, his cheeks flushing a rosy red. "Not at all, I find it quite, um, stimulating ... and I can prove it. Look at my wanker." Flynn leaned back against the couch revealing a substantial swelling in his trousers.

Bleary eyed, Echo focused on the bulging fabric of Flynn's crotch. Good Lord, this man was packing heat. A wide hillock extended from between his legs, traversing upward towards his belt buckle. Its girth pushed the waistband of his pants away from his skin. Like a Moray eel emerging from the seafloor, it snaked towards his navel, the swollen head trapped between his trousers and the coarse black hairs of his abdomen.

I knew it! I just knew he had a giant-sized jackhammer! Echo was impressed, and flattered. A shiver ran through her body when she considered the pummeling promise of what lay beneath his pants.

She leaned into him, drunkenly punctuating her words by poking Flynn in the chest with her finger.

"That ... my friend ... should require you ... to carry a license."

Flynn shifted in his seat. "I'm glad that you approve." He adjusted his pants to conceal his enlarging prick and nervously cleared his throat. "So back to this fantasy of yours, have you thought about playing it out for real?"

Echo had indeed thought about it. It was on her top-five list of things she wanted to do, right beneath winning the lottery and partying with Jack Nicholson.

"Oh that ... sure, I've thought about it, but I don't really see myself ever being in the right ... hic ... Excuse me ... circumstances for it to happen. Plus, I think I might be too big of a chicken."

"But what if everything was right? The right person, the right circumstances? Do you think you would give it a go?"

"I don't know. What are you suggheshting?" Echo slurred. Damn, slurring her words was her personal red flag that she was past the point of no return.

"Nothing, just asking."

An awkward silence ensued. Echo wondered where he was going with this line of questioning. Her head swam from too much wine and the need for sleep nagged at her eyelids. Leaning against the back of the sofa, she closed her eyes.

After a protracted moment, Flynn patted Echo's knee. "I better get you to bed and call it a night."

Flynn lifted Echo's slackened form into his capable arms. A blissful state of drowsiness descended upon her body. Luxuriating in the sensation, she nestled her face into his muscled neck and filled her lungs with his intoxicating scent.

While Echo basked in his manly essence, Flynn ascended the stairs which led to her bedroom, then deposited her on the bed.

Echo watched him through one drowsy eye. She considered it entirely possible that he was even sexier when she was drunk.

"Where are your nightclothes?" Flynn whispered into her ear.

His breath tickled causing lovely little shivers to spiral down her spine. Echo nestled her face deeply into the cool comfort of the pillow and mumbled, "Don't have any ... I sleep in the nuuuude."

The wooly weight of a blanket parachuted onto her body. Flynn's hands slid beneath her back as he tucked it around her. Echo was about to lift the blanket and invite him inside of her cozy cocoon when she heard him say, "Okay darlin', I'm just going to go now."

Flynn began to tiptoe towards the door. "Thanks for a terrific evening. It was grand, really it was."

What! He was leaving just like that? Without as much as a kiss? Enough of this gentlemanly act. Talking about her fantasy had made her horny as a high-school senior and she wanted to fall asleep with the taste of his tongue in her mouth.

Echo was fully alert now. She may have been drunk but she wasn't stupid. She batted her lashes and engaged her most pathetic puppy-dog expression. "Flynn, aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?"

Flynn halted mid-step.

"Oh, how terrible of me to forget." He said. "No tucking-in is complete without the required goodnight kiss."

Echo tried to hide the hint of a smile that pulled on the corners of her mouth. Her little scheme had worked. Flynn approached. Tilting her face towards his, she licked her lips, parting them slightly, and waited for his kiss.

Bending low, Flynn placed a peck on Echo's forehead, followed by a disappointing pat on the top of her head.

Echo's body squirmed from the frustration that w as building inside of her. Dammit, here she was offering herself to him and he seemed impervious to her charms. Now he was just fucking with her--and maybe making fun of her a little bit too. Not nice. She was determined to have the last word. There was not a chance in hell she was going to allow him to scoot out of her bedroom like this. Before he left tonight, she wanted to give him something to think about ... maybe even something to go home and jerk off to. Yeah, give him a little hint of what he was missing.

"Not from way up there," Echo pouted, thumping the mattress with her palm. "Sit here. I want a proper kiss."

Echo's game was transparent and Flynn determined to give her a taste of her own medicine. Conjuring his best predatory countenance, he leered unblinkingly into her eyes. She leered back, with an expression of victory on her face.

Flynn pounced onto the bed, capturing her hips between his knees. A startled gasp escaped from Echo's throat. Flynn stroked her hair, which fanned out across the pillow like the coral rays of a sunset. She arched her neck, turning her face upward and closed her eyes.

Flynn knew that he could have her tonight if he chose to. He would have liked nothing more than to tumble between the sheets with this lovely lass. She was the epitome of what he desired: flowing red hair, translucent skin, spectacular breasts, all wrapped in one lusty package. But tonight was too soon. He wanted to be more than a brief encounter to her, another notch on her bedpost. She might fuck him, but he wanted to make certain that she would never forget him.

Entwining a fistful of Echo's hair in his fingers he tugged it sharply backward. The startled look on Echo's face was priceless. At first she was wide-eyed with shock, but her expression quickly melted into electrified anticipation. Her nostrils flared and a fire burned hotly in her eyes. Flynn knew he had struck a chord in her. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing quickened also struck a chord in him and he felt a stir at the base of his prick. Dominating her in this way was unexpectedly arousing. Masculinity seemed to surge through every cell of h