He lovingly rubbed his towel across her slightly hidden tattoo, almost tracing it line, by colorful line. He was in a trance and not noticing her eyes...looking deep into his face, her lips opening to speak but rather she thrusted her lips upon his, her tongue probing for his. Once she found it, she pulled it in her mouth to suck him down in her smooth motions. His hands reached for her breasts again. Taking both in his hands and feeling her nipples rubbing across his fingers, he needed to taste. " Not sure where she was going with this I said, "So?" "Well I just have to tell you," she went on, "She asked me lots of questions about how we met, what you were like and who were your friends then. How did you dress and where did we go when you we first went out etc. I was puzzled by her questions and answered her honestly, I hope I said nothing wrong Miss, she seemed quite curious about you, and even invited me to sleep over. But I didn't and I did nothing wrong Miss, I couldn't reach you. ’ Horace Walpole, the prison guard who had looked after Marty after Marty had stepped in and held another prisoner in check after he had stabbed Walpole in the throat during a riot, sighed. He picked up the pants and held them up against Piatkowski. The cream-colored slacks still bore some of the bloodstains from the beating the police had given Marty in subduing him that day over eight years before. Horace admired the material. ‘Nice slack’s, Marty. What is it, Italian?’ ‘Armani.’ Horace. Every time he looked at it, his restlessness rose. He wanted to do something about it, but could he? The Excel document screen, on his laptop, began to swim before his eyes. He had been working on the new store projections for the last three hours. A break was needed. He poured the remaining coffee into his half filled cup and turned off the coffee maker. The luke-warm mixture tasted bitter. His stomach felt queasy. He was anxious. However, he knew his feelings had nothing to do with the coffee.