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James yearns for a repeat with Matt and Laura.

She stretched. She wasn't tired, but she was hungry. It was late at night. It was summer. She needed something.

Sometimes art imitates life. Sometimes life imitates art.

Nicole stood in front of the open refrigerator. She had a drink of milk from the bottle. Nothing in there seemed appetizing. Her hunger grew. It's not my tummy that feels empty. This hunger is lower.

Nikki smiled faintly. Her eyes filled with need. She was beginning to recognize this feeling. Without a moment's hesitation, she did what she had done hundreds of times in Skyrim. Nicole stripped naked. She removed the band holding her hair in a ponytail. Shaking her head, her hair fanned out dropping across both shoulders. Her appearance became wild and untamed with her hair like that. She smiled, moving soundlessly across the carpet and quietly mounted the stairs.

She was accustomed to the dark. It wrapped her in a cloak. Tonight, it would obscure what she was planning to do. Like a shadow, she moved down the hall towards her dad's room. This night, there is no lightening to break the darkness that hides me in this hall.

"I can do this!" She closed her eyes for a moment, then Nikki's lips whispered a silent invocation.

I am the need that burns in the night. I am the eyes that see in the dark. I am the night wind that rustles no leaf. I am the shadow that leaves no trace of passing.

I take only what I need.

He will not wake. He will not see. He will not know.

It was Nikki who moved towards her father's door, but t was Lady Swallow who crossed the threshold to the King's royal bedchamber. This house's guardian, a giant and fierce bear, lay sleeping down the hall. The King is unprotected. He lays there under the covers, defenseless, before me. The man is tired. Like all tired men, he snores.
Her heightened senses reached out. She saw the whiskey glass next to his bed. Taking a deep breath through her nose, sniffing, she shifted closer. The glass is empty. The air carries just the slightest hint of an elixir called bourbon. His slumber will be deep!

Her father stirred. Suddenly restless, Jack Grant moved sensing something, some unidentifiable change in the room. There is the slight fragrance of some fruit. Sweet. He smiled in his sleep. It's the smell of peaches.

Swallow was so slight of frame and crept so lightly onto the bed that it barely moved. As she lay next to her prey, she examined his face. Leaning nearer, she inhaled, shutting her eyes and smelling the slumbering man. Underneath it all, a King or a Father is only a man. Brut and a little sweat. The snore is almost heavy with bourbon like when he's tired and hard to wake on a weekend morning.

Laying a hand on his chest over his heart, Swallow felt the rhythmic, regular deep slow beat. She brought the side of her face to his chest, closed her eyes, and listened. Strong, powerful, even at rest.

She brought her mouth to his neck, and kissed tenderly. Her lips felt the drumbeat-like pulse of his carotid artery. She felt each beat against her lips.

Swallow's thoughts were not evil in their intent, but they tended to the wicked side of humorous. She grinned. She reached out tentatively with her tongue, licking a small spot on her dad's throat. Bringing her lips back to his neck she sucked tentatively. Then a little harder. She kept the suction up. Lady Swallow marked her prey. This is mine!

Nicole gave her dad a hickey! The red bruise on your neck in the morning will let you know you are not safe even in your own bed, Father.

Once more she turned her face, placing an ear on his chest. Listening to the force and rhythm of his heart, she moved her hand downward under the covers. Across the chest hair, down the flat abdomen, across his belly button till she felt a forest of hair.

She found it.

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