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salesman, doubtfully.
    “Oh, yes…” Her nether regions thought so, anyway. Christ, how on earth was she going to survive the full moon? This sounded almost as good as Lawrence’s bike, plus, she could feel the car purring under her palm. Okay, it was thundering rather than purring, but that was fine too. “I’ll take it.”
    “Well, wait … I haven’t exactly agreed to—”
    Lydia pulled a wad of notes out of her rucksack’s side pocket and determinedly shoved it at him. “Do I fill out the papers here, or is there an office?”
    He regarded her in total silence for a few seconds, then finally exhaled in defeat and shook his head. He opened the passenger door on the car and reached into the drawer in the dashboard, coming back out with the service book and ownership papers. “Do you want a job here?” he mumbled as he pulled out a pen.
    Ha! She’d like to see the look on Lawrence’s face if she went back home telling him she’d found a job as a second-hand car dealer. She hated the maître d’ job he’d thrust upon her, but found herself tied, because she wanted the money and the independence of earning it, and hadn’t been able to discreetly get away to go job-hunting for other employment.
    She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about cars.”
    He shot her an amused look. “You’ve just proven you don’t have to, to make a sale.”
    That was a genuine compliment, and she beamed him her thanks, then froze as a familiar, unwelcome scent caught her attention.
    Aunt Gladys!
    She spun around towards it, scanning the area, but saw no Aunt Gladys.
    Could it have been someone wearing her brand of perfume?
    No one wears her brand of perfume – she must have concocted it herself, it’s always smelled so god-damn awful…
    “Are you going to fill these out?”
    She turned her attention back to the salesman and her new best friend, the Toyota pick-up. Lydia grabbed the pen from him. “You betcha.”
     
    ~*~
     
    He had a few hours before his meeting with The Trident. He hadn’t spent too much time in the presence of the new leader, but from what he’d seen, the man wasn’t to be trifled with. Why Amil had been called in though, was a mystery. And it almost always meant bad news.
    Pushing the looming appointment out of his head, he dropped his coat onto the arm of the sofa that sat under the window of the B&B. The Holiday Inn suited him just fine. Admittedly, he’d rather have stayed in a more friendly, personable guest house, but he needed the anonymity and no curious glances or questions asked about his comings and goings … and right now, he needed to come bad.
    Sarah’s scent haunted his mind.
    Kicking off his shoes, he fell onto the bed, undid his trousers and made quick work of shedding them, along with his briefs and socks. With a groan, he gripped his heavy cock in his right hand, half of him unwilling to play this game of resistance and surrender; the other half simply craving the relief.
    Fuck the waxing moon.
    And fuck his dick.
    Amil pumped himself hard.
    She’d crept under his skin in a way no one ever had, so much so, that he felt bad for lying to her. She was a sweet woman.
    “So god-damn sweet,” he growled under his breath, as the memory of her aroma created all-too-real visions of her in his mind, hardening his shaft even more against the palm of his hand.
    Hell, it was as if she lived in him somehow; she was always so near the surface…
    “ Sarah,” he whispered, and he hazily wondered if her name was some kind of magical key, because suddenly, she was there as if one hundred percent solid.
    A portion of him knew it was nothing more than a figment of his highly creative imagination. The rest of him couldn’t give a flying fuck as she slid her curvy, naked body up his, her lips – which always tasted a little floral – leaving wet traces along his navel … abdomen … chest…
    She tongued his left nipple and pre-cum coated his fingers.
    With a moan, he grabbed her