Had she forgotten to eat? Had she emptied that cereal bowl yesterday or the day before? She couldn’t remember. OK. She’d eat. She passed the firep...ace en route to the kitchen and flicked her cigarette butt into the ashes. Little bits of charred lace of the coverlet from the bed were still visible. If she could have found a way to set fire to the mattress without damaging the rest of the apartment or her building she would have burned that, too. It’s not like she could ever sleep there again…not. Under the coverup was a purple and green bikini, completely form-fitting but modest for this resort. She turned away a moment to show the full bottoms, colored light green and trimmed in black bands and a stripe of purple. Her legs were not long, but sculpted to show she worked out or ran. Turning back to me, she gave a wonderful view of the C-cup breasts tucked into a bandeau top, almost bursting out.I could have applauded; it was my first instinct. And though I’d tried to look like I was. There was a king-size mattress on the floor, and tons of pillows, and black satin and red and purple velvet bedclothes. Tons of tall iron candle holders and tons of candles. Other than that, no other furniture or even a kitchen she could see. She grinned, and thought "Well, this is familiar territory, the usual goth hovel, I feel right at home." She flopped down on the bed, leaned back on her elbows, and crossed her ankles. Of course, her skirt rose to show of those gorgeous lace stocking tops,. Every day I tried to get home as early as I could, learning to delegate more. I took my wife out to a few dinners and lunches, and we even managed to take in a show at the Princess of Wales. We spoke more and more everyday, finding things to joke about, to argue over, to discuss in depth. I found myself eager to get home and spend time with her. Allison fast became my priority. Even my assistant noticed the change, commenting one evening that she was glad I finally found something other than.