." It was almost as if the mentioning of his name brought him to her, his eyes sunken into his ancient skull, his skin so pale she could see the veins...thrumming stretched out over his bones. His clothes where rumpled and bloody and through his open mouth she could see his fangs glistening...fresh blood at the tips. "Igor stop! No! Not again! Stay away from me!" Then she turned and fled down the alleyway, but he was far faster and soon had her flat on her back on the soaking cobblestones, his. Starting at my collarbone, he will begin to anoint my body with the sweet-smelling oil and massage me from head to toe. His touch is sometimes soft, sometimes ticklish, and other times meant to work out the stresses and strains of my day. He knows every inch of my body by touch: the inside of my elbow, the indentation of my belly button, the crease where my butt meets my leg all the way down to the soft padding on the tip of my toes. There isn’t a square inch of flesh on my body he hasn’t. More

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