“Connor turned to Vanda. “I’ll need to check yer bag, too.”“I thought you’d never ask.” Vanda tossed her bag onto the table. She was ready for him this time.He opened her silver evening bag. His eyes widened.She was quite proud that she’d managed to squeeze a pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, her back massager, and a bottle of Viagrainto such a tiny handbag. She smiled sweetly. “Something wrong, Connor?”

“I love her handbag. Inside are papers and her wallet and cigarettes and at the bottom, where she never looks, there is loose change, loose mints, specs of tobacco from her cigarettes. Sometimes I bring the bag to my face, open it and inhale as deeply as I can.”

“What is 45 minutes to an old goat like you?" - Vanda"I believe it is still 45 minutes." - Connor”

“His eyes narrowed on her and the bag. "Why?" he asked cautiously, afraid she was trying to steal his treats.Just what kind of sick game was she playing?”

“He entered her in a single hard thrust, opening her, stretching her and forcing a moan of surprise from her. She was ready, so ready, and yet totally unprepared. She’d been wrong. She was still virgin to this, to his strength and her need, to the pleasure and the pain and the sheer triumph of having him. He drove into her and she rose to him, clutched him tighter, harder. Her nails raked and dug into his back, her teeth into his neck.”

“She dug around in her bag, found what she was looking for, and brought the little stuffed dog back to bed with her. Childish, yeah. She didn't care. He was soft and cuddly-unlike Jones-and she had a need for soft and cuddly right now. She'd like to meet a woman who could breeze through a shotgun blast and not need something to hold on to. Even if it was just an old stuffed pup.(...)She swallowed hard,then caught her breath when he opened his eyes, turned his head on the pillow toward her. He searched her face in the dark."Come here," he whispered.When she hesitated, he reached for her. "The dog can come, too.”