A man sat inside the doorway, smoking a pipe, listening to the rain. ‘Do you know about the little girl killed here a few years ago?’ Wim asked. T...e man drew his pipe from his mouth. His clothes were patched. His gray beard was too sparse to cover much of his face. ‘Aye, she was my granddaughter.’ Wim’s tongue turned to wood. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said, at last. The man nodded. ‘What happened to her mother?’ ‘Died last winter, heartbroken.’ Tears welled in the man’s eyes. Wim attempted to offer. Her breath caught in short, wild gasps for air, her legs quivered, and she hung there in his grasp, waiting … Waiting. Hovering there, held, the cool air drifting across her hot, needy flesh. Waiting for him to fill her. Instead she felt him pull away, felt the mattress dip as he shifted his weight felt the fiery wet slide of his tongue between her legs.Slowly with great care and control he lifted his hands from beneath her bums and held her breasts firmly. Squeezing them alternately his. More

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