Her husband of twenty years was out of town on business again. He had left on a Qantas flight from Tullamarine that morning, promising to be back in three days, kissing her good bye with affection but no passion. He was no longer interested in making love to her and no matter how hard she tried to seduce him, she failed, put off by excuses that at first confused her, and later humiliated her with their transparency. In truth, their sex life had always been predictable and boring and she had lived with that, uncomplaining. But now that she was getting older and hadn't been properly made love to in over a year, she had become unbelievably obsessed with sex.

That morning, she’d stood nude in front of her mirror and examined her body. Nothing near to like a young girl’s, but still attractive enough. Yet time was running out for her, and she knew it, felt it. Feared it. The ticking of her biological clock told her to savor whatever time was left for lovemaking, for seduction, for carnality and lust. Of late, her private thoughts had turned wanton, even lewd. Since she'd had no success at convincing her husband to take her to bed, she had begun looking at strange men and imagined herself making love to them. The merest glimpse of an attractive man became a fantasy, she pictured them between her thighs, their breath warm on her sex, or herself on her knees before them. She swore she would stay within the realms of fantasy, that no matter how much she was tempted, she'd never give in to her desire and actually do anything. She'd just look….and imagine. Pretend, God help her, just as she had when she was a young and inexperienced virgin.

The man she watched that day was young, much younger than she was, and was a neo-Nazi skinhead, if her guess was correct. She had seen their kind occasionally in Melbourne and knew enough about them to give them a wide berth. Even now, if she had not been sitting there half-crazed with lust, she might have had the sense to be wary of him. As it was, all she could think of was taking him to bed. She sat on the bench in Middle Park and watched him stride toward her, his long black coat blowing open in the brisk wind that flared up suddenly from the bay. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him and she laughed at herself, though her lips barely flickered in a fleeting smile.

She took in all the details: his hair was extremely short, just a slight stubble over a beautifully shaped skull. His cheeks were shaggier than his head; they were dark with a few days growth of beard, but the look suited him. His neck was muscular, but not bullish, marked with stark black tattoos. Her eyes dropped to his shoulders and chest, broad and well muscled under a T-shirt tucked into white jeans that were short enough to show off his Doc Martens. He wore no belt, but his pants, tight and clinging to his long legs, were hitched high on his waist. His feet seemed especially large, encased as they were in the black high-laced boots. There was a dangerous air about him, something menacing and cold, but she thought him magnificent and could not help imagining his mouth hot on hers. She couldn't tear her gaze away from him, not even when he caught her looking and stopped to stare back, bringing the full power of his eyes to bear on hers.

"My God," she thought, "what eyes." They were piercing, gorgeous, aquamarine blue, and locked on hers.

Mesmerized, she simply stared and her tongue slipped out of her mouth and licked her suddenly dry lips. He caught it and grinned, one eyebrow rising sardonically. She could hardly believe it when he started toward her, and though she knew she shouldn't be, she was glad.

He sat down close to her on the bench, his expression cocky and amused.

"What ya lookin' at, sweetheart?" he said, and she thrilled to the sound of his voice. A deep baritone, low and sensual, its timbre vibrated inside her like the thrum of classical music. She tilted her head and smiled at him, outwardly calm, inwardly liquid with excitement.

"I'm looking at a splendid specimen of Australian manhood. I'm looking at you, sweetheart," she said, throwing his mocking use of the endearment back at him.

Hando grinned, pleased by her answer and her attitude. He appraised her with an insolent eye that grazed her from head to toe. She was older than he by about fifteen years, but she looked good for her age. Her hair was longish and streaked blond, her skin smooth and fair. Her eyes were beautiful, a clear, sparkling blue fringed with long dark lashes. She wore a tan Burberry, undone and gaping open, and he could tell she had a nice pair of tits. They strained at the fabric of a black knit jumper; her clearly outlined nipples drew his eyes. She looked completely fuckable to him.

The rest of her body was covered by the coat, except for her legs. They appeared to be good legs, one crossed over the other, long and shapely in tight blue jeans tucked into black leather boots. His hand itched to pull the lapels of the raincoat apart to have a look at the rest, but she was not the usual fresh peach ripe for the picking, and there was a copper with his eye on them not twenty feet away.

"So ya think I'm splendid?" he asked, grinning. "I think so, too." He leaned closer and looked long at her mouth, then spoke quietly, his voice reverberating like a cello. "You should see the rest of me, love. You'd like the bits that are covered even better."

Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse leapt. The way he looked at her chest and her mouth was driving her mad. Oh, she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to lick those beautifully shaped lips, so delicate and pretty they were almost like a woman's, and drive her tongue into his mouth. Instead she fluttered her lashes down to cover the hot light in her eyes and murmured, "Would I? Are you sure?"

His grin widened. Not a fresh peach, but ripe for the picking all the same.

"Bloody oath. Come with me and I'll prove it," he growled, and picked her hand up from her lap.

She watched, disbelieving, unresisting, as he sucked her middle finger into his mouth and ran his tongue over it. She could not help gasping as the heat exploded in her belly. After a long moment he released her finger, sliding it slowly over his lips. A fever possessed her, making her fearless. With her eyes fastened on his, she brought the same finger slowly to her own mouth and sucked it herself.

His eyes flew open in surprise...he had not expected her to be so bold...and then slitted, darkening with need. "Fuck..." He flickered a glance at his groin, then jerked his chin impudently. "You've made me crack a fat, watching you suck your finger. What else would you suck for me, love?"

She said nothing, just dropped her eyes to his crotch. Sure enough, there was a bulge there that swelled as she watched. Hando covered it with his hand and stroked over it several times. She saw him lengthen and twitch under the covering of cloth, and her groin tightened.

He stood up and extended his hand. "Are you coming then?"

She thought of her promise to keep to the fantasy, thought of her husband and the vows she'd made to him twenty years ago, and decided in the span of two ticks of the clock. She gave him her hand and rose from the bench. "Where?"

"To the squat, love. Good a place as any. Unless you want to slip behind the bushes there." He nodded toward the dense tangle of trees and shrubbery behind them.

"I think I'm a little beyond that," she said, and brought his hand to her cheek and rubbed it against her face, delighting in its size and rough skin. "Let's go to your place. I want you alone." She made no protest when he slid his index finger into her mouth, but sucked, laving it with her tongue. His breath hissed through his teeth.

"Fuck..." he groaned, and his eyes changed from ocean to dark gray crystal, boring into hers. He grabbed her hand and started back the way he had come. "Come on. Hurry up then, love."

They walked quickly and in silence for a long time. At least, it seemed a long time to Elizabeth. He never let go of her hand, as if he thought she might suddenly drop anchor and refuse to go any farther. Finally they reached a seedy warehouse, long and low, that appeared to be deserted. There were no cars in the car park outside and no lights on inside that she could see. Warning bells clamored in her head. This man could be a murderer for all she knew; he was almost certainly a criminal. Why had she let her lust lead her into danger? She had no answer, except that desire was a powerful thing, especially long-thwarted desire. Hers had blazed up at the sight of him, and made her do what she never would have ordinarily done.

He led her impatiently up a flight of iron steps to a metal door and unlocked it with a key. She had a fleeting thought to turn and run back down the stairs, just run away from him, but some peculiar sense of fair play kept her standing meekly at his side. She had deliberately enticed him into wanting her and now she felt bound to give him what he had every reason to expect from her. She knew he was not the sort of man to stand passively by and let her change her mind when he was so close to consummation.

Once inside the building, he led her down a short hallway and then through another locked metal door. Inside was a small apartment of sorts, a kind of one room efficiency. There was a tiny refrigerator and sink, a microwave, and hot plate on a minuscule counter. Across the room was a double bed, neatly made up. A telly sat on a low wooden table near two plastic garden chairs. There were books everywhere, piled on the bureau and in neat stacks on the floor. There were two doors on the far wall; one stood open and she saw bathroom fixtures inside. Everything seemed remarkably neat and clean, but what caught her eye was the large Nazi banner that hung over the bed, along with an ornately framed photograph of Adolph Hitler, and what appeared to be some very old posters recruiting German men for the army. She looked at it all and then at him.

"You have a problem with my flag?" he asked, his tone belligerent, his eyes hard and challenging.

"I don't much care for it," she shrugged, "but I knew what you were when I saw you in the park. I'm not going to ear bash you about it."

He snorted in derision. "No bloody fear! I don't take shite like that from anybody, especially sheilas."

She looked at him, debating whether or not to retort, and at last decided to let it go. "No, I can see that you don't much respect women," she agreed quietly. "But I didn't come here so you would respect me, did I then, my beautiful Nazi?"

He pulled her roughly against him and leered down at her. "No. You came to get fucked."

She leaned forward and kissed his throat, right on the tattoo that said 'skinhead'.

"Yes. I did indeed come to get fucked. And I think I picked a champion," she murmured, running her hands inside his coat and over the width of his back. She could feel the muscles rippling under his skin.

"Too bloody right, you did." He laughed darkly, shocked her when he squeezed her breasts through her jumper and weighed them on his palms. "What's your name then, love?"

"Elizabeth."

"Liz," he breathed against her neck. "Liz, I'm gonna root you till you’re blind," he promised, his fingers pulling at her nipples through her jumper and bra. He slid one hand behind her, his palm pressing flat against her arse, and grabbed her jaw with the other. He forced her to look into his eyes. "My name is Hando. Don't forget. I want to hear you scream it when you come for me," he said, the cello playing in his voice.

At his words, both threatening and enticing, her sex began weeping, readying itself for him. She threw back her head, exposing her throat to his mouth. He licked her from collarbone to earlobe. He surprised her; nobody had ever licked her skin in place of a kiss. She found it wildly exciting and realized she was about to indulge in sex in its basest form, and she silently admitted she couldn't wait to begin. When he moved his mouth to hers Elizabeth thought at first he might be rough, but he wasn't. His kiss was intense, demanding, insistent, but still tender somehow, and her sex flooded, soaking the crotch of her knickers. His tongue traced her lips and then slipped between them into the warmth of her mouth. She moaned and rocked her pelvis towards his.

"Do you want me already, darlin'?" he whispered, grinding his hard cock into her belly.

"God, yes," she murmured.

"Tell me then. Tell me what you want me to do to you. Say it!" he ordered, when she didn't immediately reply.

"I want you to do it all to me, you gorgeous bastard. Do it all; lick me, fuck me, and I'll do it all for you. If I'm going to go blind, by God, you're going to need glasses," she said, and Hando couldn't help but laugh. He reached down and grasped the hem of her jumper and tugged it up over her head. He stepped back to look her over, his head cocked, his eyes flickering over her body.

Just as he'd thought, her breasts were large. He reached out with one hand, undid the front fastener of her bra and slid it off her shoulders. Her breasts were white skinned, slightly sagging and pear shaped, the nipples large and pinkish brown. He looked at them and decided he liked their shape and their softness; they were a nice change from the firm tits of the young girls he usually took to his bed. He leaned in close and, as Elizabeth watched, extended his tongue and licked first one nipple, then the other. They immediately peaked and sprang out to meet his mouth, and he made a low sound of appreciation, deep in his chest.

His hands were busy at her waist, unfastening her jeans, tugging the fabric down over her hips. He pushed at her, backing her up until she felt his bed behind her knees and then, with his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her down. He bent to pull her boots from her feet, one by one, then hooked his fingers in the waist of her jeans and yanked them impatiently down. He reached under and grabbed her arse in both hands and squeezed. The flesh was loose there, too, not all muscle and ligament like the young girls he fucked. She was soft, had a rounded belly, and her hips flared, but he found her tremendously sexy and his dick was straining at the fly of his jeans. He still wore his coat, and he shrugged it off, pulled the braces from his shoulders. His hands reached for the button on his pants, but Elizabeth swatted them away.

"Let me," she breathed, her face so close to his groin he felt the heat of her breath through the fabric. He let his hands fall to his sides and watched her take the zip down. She pulled them down past his hips and stared at his cock as it sprang free. It was big, much bigger than her husband's, thick and long and entirely gorgeous. Slowly, she leaned toward it, her lips parted, her breath warm on his skin.

Hando's hands moved to the back of her head, his fingers slid into the thick hair at the nape of her neck. He fisted a handful and pulled, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to control. He pushed her toward his cock and she went willingly, her tongue extended and flattened, her lips open. She took the bulbous head into her mouth and laved it with her tongue, just as she had licked his finger.

Hando’s cello voice spurred her on. "That's it...suck me. Suck me good. Fuck, what a tongue ya have on ya! Do it, lick my cock, love." His eyes blazed down at her, watching as she did as he commanded, gasping as she swirled her tongue over his cockhead and down his shaft to his balls.

"Take it all now, swallow me down." he commanded, groaning his approval as she did just that. She hummed as his cock glided deep in her throat so the vibration and the sound would pleasure him. As she slid her mouth back up his length, she curled her hand round the root and stroked, tightening the ring of her lips around the head. Her tongue pressed and tickled, prodded into the slit to taste his fluid.

Above her, Hando threw back his head and growled out his pleasure. Hips pumping into her face, he fucked her mouth, and Elizabeth let him do it. Never had she been so excited, so consumed by lust, so thrilled by a man’s loss of control and domination. She reached behind him, flattened a palm on one cheek of his flexing arse, and pressed him closer. The scent of his skin, the scent of his lust drove her wild; she inhaled to breathe him deep. Grunts of pleasure came from deep in his chest, his legs trembled and locked as his time drew close.

When the thick hot jets of his semen exploded, instead of pulling away like she had always done with her husband, she kept him tight in her mouth. He pumped her full, his thrusts slowing, until at last he pulled away. She swallowed everything he had given her, not at all put off by the taste, then reached out with a lapping tongue to lick him clean. His hand tightened in her hair and he forced her to look up at him. He bent his head and kissed her, his tongue pushing its way inside to taste himself. It drove her mad, that demonstration of his complete lack of inhibition. She found it shocking, astonishing, and most of all, wildly erotic. Her sex was swollen and weeping for him; she thought surely she was soaking a spot on his coverlet.

Hando pushed her back so that she half lay on the bed and knelt before her. Grasping her legs, he pulled her towards him and draped her thighs over his shoulders. With his eyes on hers, he dipped his head and extended his tongue. He licked her, sometimes sucking her swollen lips into his mouth, sometimes grazing lightly, sometimes nipping her sharply. She moaned and rocked her hips toward his face, but he teased her. He avoided the place she wanted his mouth the most and drove her crazy with wanting until she knew it would take only his breath on her clitoris to make her come.

"Please," she begged him. "Please."

"Please what?" He thrust two fingers inside her dripping cunt and began to fuck her with his hand.

"Please let me come. I want to come," she whimpered, and at last, he took her clit into his mouth and sucked. Elizabeth thrashed, her orgasm a relentless tide of pleasure, rippling over her body until she jerked uncontrollably and finally, screamed out his name.

"Hando!"

She felt him smile against her thigh, just before he bit the soft skin.

She thought they would rest a few minutes at least, but he stood and dragged her further up the bed, and then pushed her knees so far apart she thought she would split. His cock was rampant, high and hard, bobbing like a questing snake.

"Watch it, watch me put it in you," he said, and she lowered heavy lidded eyes to watch him stroke it roughly and then guide it into her. She almost came again at the sight of his hand on himself, but when his cock disappeared into her, she bit down on her lip to keep silent. He thrust inside and paused, and when he felt how ready for him she was, he drew back and thrust again, going in to the root. Exquisitely sizzling sensation shot along every nerve; Elizabeth threw back her head and moaned.

"Touch your nips for me." His cello voice caressed her, orchestrating their coupling. "I want to watch you play with your tits."

She didn't even consider saying no, though she had never touched herself in this manner before. She raised her hands to her breasts and with her fingertips, circled her nipples in decreasing rings until she began pulling at them, twisting them, rolling them between her finger and thumb to increase the sensation. Reaching with one hand, she touched him through the shirt he still wore, doing to him what she did to herself. She pulled at his nipple and felt a surge of wild desire when he threw back his head and hissed in pleasure. His hips pounded into her, grinding and slapping, and excitement coursed through her, the tension building again, spiraling upwards. She rocked her hips to meet his thrusts and their bodies collided and slapped, their lovemaking as violent as a fight.

"Fuck me hard..." she panted, unable to remain silent. His tempo increased, spurred on by her helpless begging. He began talking to her, using words and his voice as another means to arouse her, to arouse himself.

"You love it, don't ya?" His eyes were riveted on hers, blazing with heat. "You want your cock rough? Well, that's good, cos I like to give it to ya rough. You're so hot, so fuckin' hot, ya make me wild. I'm gonna nail you to the fuckin' bed, you sweet bitch."

He dropped his mouth to hers, stabbed between her lips with his tongue, fucking her mouth just as he fucked her cunt. She sucked his tongue, her fingers still pulling at his nipples and at her own. Her body coiled around the fire burning low and hot in her belly and she shuddered uncontrollably, broke their kiss to whip her head from side to side, moaning his name over and over: "Hando.... Hando, Hando...yesss..."

And just as she was about to come, he pulled out of her and with easy strength, turned her over and yanked her hips up to meet his groin. He shoved his cock roughly back inside and began pounding again, his balls slapping against her thighs. His hands grasped her waist, forcing her arse back against his belly with every thrust. Elizabeth braced her elbows on the bed, her head hanging between her shoulders, grunting every time he slammed into her. She heard the arrhythmic rasp of his breath, the low groans from deep in his throat, and she moaned in excitement, knowing what was coming. She came on him, shuddering, twitching, almost weeping from the power of her orgasm. He growled wordlessly as he pumped his seed into her, and then collapsed across her back. They sank to the mattress, drained, his cock still sheathed in her, his trembling arms around her waist.

After a while, he withdrew from her body and got up from the bed. He went to his coat, still lying on the floor where he had dropped it, and fished in the pockets for his cigarettes.

"Fag, love?"

She nodded, and he put two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them both, handing her one. She drew the smoke deep into her lungs, savoring the sharp bite of tobacco, thinking that there was nothing like an after-sex cigarette, whether you smoked at any other time or not. After a few drags, Hando put his fag into an ashtray beside the bed, stripped off his T-shirt, and threw it down on the floor. He stood naked before her, almost preening, proud of his body, sure that she found him beautiful.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she took in his tattoos. She had seen the ones on his arms and hands and neck, but now he seemed to be covered with them, all sorts of them. Stark against his pale skin, she examined each with her eyes: Nazi swastikas on his back, a black rose on his shoulder, marks down one arm that looked like bones, a large red and black crucifix and crossed flags in the center of his chest. There were even tats on the sides of his long-muscled thighs. Her eyes flew up to meet his.

"What?" His voice was flat, hard, as he waited for her comment. He knew it would not be complimentary.

"What are all those?" she asked, indicating the tattoos with her cigarette. "God, you're covered with them!"

He bit off a laugh. "Not covered. Not yet. Fuckers are expensive." He leered at her. "You a rich lady? You wanna buy me some new ones?"

She shook her head. "I'd say you have enough. Such a beautiful body shouldn't be hidden, not even by tattoos."

He grin was white and feral. "You really do fancy me, don't you, love?"

She looked at him, her blue gaze candid. "Fancy you? I'm mad for you. Absolutely mad. You may believe this or not, but you're the only lover I've ever had, except for my husband. This type of thing, this picking up strange men, is not a habit of mine. I've never done it before, but I knew when you looked at me today that I had to have you."

He arranged pillows and dropped down heavily on the bed, set the ashtray on his stomach. "You seemed to know what you were doing," he smirked.

Was he taunting her? Elizabeth looked him right in the eye. "Don't be nasty. I don't want to be sorry I came here."

"I'm never fuckin' nasty." He glanced at her sidelong, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Don’t ya know skinheads are as sweet as a biscuit? Take it as a compliment, Liz. If you haven't had the practice, then it must be natural ability that makes you fuck like a pro."

She laughed, blew smoke toward the ceiling. "It's not me, Hando. It's you, it’s what you do to me. You're the one who's making me fuck like a pro."

He leaned in and slowly dragged his tongue along her collarbone and over her shoulder, grinning when she shivered. "I make you hot, don't I, darlin'?"

Her eyes slitted half closed. "Yes." It was all she could say around the unbelievable fluttering in her belly, the quickening sensation in her cunt that told her she wasn't finished with him yet.

His nostrils flaring, he sniffed her like a wolf. "Christ, you smell good, better than any sheila I ever had. Perfume and cigs and sex....strong on the sex. I like it." He crushed out his cigarette and taking hers from her hand, did the same. "Come here, Liz," he purred, his eyes on hers, hypnotic and commanding. She moved toward him, crawling on all fours, her breasts dangling, enticing. His hands went to them and cupped, squeezing until she gasped.

"Sit on my face," he commanded.

"Sweet Jesus!" she moaned, shaking. Just those words were enough to set her ablaze. She felt herself starting to get wet all over again, and without hesitation, she crawled up his body, stopping to lick and suck the head of his cock until it rose to half-mast. She dragged her tongue up his belly to his nipples and licked at them until they too rose up, the flesh turgid and slickened. He took hold of her arms and dragged her towards his face.

"Come on, love," he said impatiently. "I want to lick you again. Up here, now."

Elizabeth knelt above his face and slowly let herself down on him. She felt his lips, his tongue, his nose, in that most sensitive of places. He lapped at her, running his tongue along the outside of her lips, then forcing it into her while his strong-fingered hands gripped her arse. His fingers kneaded her cheeks, then pulled her down forcefully onto his mouth. His lips grasped her clitoris and sucked, gradually increasing the pressure until she could no longer remain still. She ground and rocked into his face until her orgasm exploded and she came streaming into his mouth. She was trembling, shaking all over, so weak that she thought she might faint. She slid weakly down and curled up into a ball beside him. Hando rolled onto his side and stared at her. He was hard again and wanted to fuck her, but she seemed almost out of it. He wondered briefly if she was old enough to have a heart attack from too much sex.

At last she looked up at him, her eyes glinting behind drooping lashes. "I...." She stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say to him.

"Yeah?" he prompted. "You what?"

"I don't know. I think I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? Fuck's sake, what for?" He narrowed his eyes. "What is it, love...doesn't your husband root you like I do? Doesn't he root you enough?"

She lowered her eyes in humiliation. "He doesn't root me at all."

A look of incredulous disbelief crossed his face. "Never?"

She rolled over and hid her face with her arm, almost cringing from shame. Her voice was almost inaudible. "Never. I don't think he cares about sex any longer."

"Bugger that!" cursed Hando. "I can't imagine not caring about it. Half the time, it's all I can think of."

A half smile played on her lips. "Well, you're young yet. He's not."

He scowled and reached to pull her arm away from her eyes. "Look at me. How old is he? Bloody hell, don't tell me you married an old man?"

"He's not old...at least, no older than I am, really. Only two years older. He's 44. He just...doesn't want to make love anymore. I think perhaps it's my fault. I don't...excite him...like I used to."

He barked a short laugh. "Take this to the bank, love. It's not you." He leaned over and nuzzled her neck. "I've just spent the past hour fuckin' you, and believe it, I know. It's not you."

She looked at him, her eyes soft, silently thankful for his assurances. There was nothing so gratifying to a woman as being wanted, having a man tell you how much he wanted you. Especially a beautiful young man like this one. They lay awhile, not talking, barely touching, but comfortable together. Before long Elizabeth noticed Hando's breath coming softly and evenly, and she knew he had drifted off to sleep.

Silently, she rose from the bed and went into his bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror and almost laughed out loud, for her face looked completely different. Her eyes had the contented, languid look a woman gets when she's had a good seeing to. Her lips were swollen and dark, pursed as if she wanted more kisses. Even her skin looked clearer and had a rosy flush that took ten years off her age. She whispered to her reflection, "I look wonderful! I feel wonderful!"

She felt no guilt, no remorse for her actions, and fleetingly wondered if she was so depraved as to be beyond self-condemnation. Perhaps, but she would save the examination of her conscience for another time and place. Right that minute she was more concerned with the cleanliness of her body than her soul. She was sticky between her thighs and, despite Hando's penchant for her scent, Elizabeth thought she smelled bad. There was a washcloth and towel on the rack by the sink; she ran warm water into the lavatory and washed herself clean.

Finished, Elizabeth stood uncertainly, wondering what to do. She wanted to stay, but didn't know if she should. Perhaps this was all that there was to be, perhaps she should just slip away before Hando awakened and she saw that he wished she was gone. Elizabeth shuddered. She knew she couldn't take that, not after he'd made her feel so alluring, so desirable, so...deliciously female. Better just to leave while he was sleep, and cherish the memory of this afternoon for the rest of her life. She padded quietly into the bedroom and retrieved her scattered clothing, and taking it with her back into the bathroom, she began to dress.

She had just slipped into her panties and was shaking her bosom into the cups of her bra when she felt his hands slide around her waist. "What are you doing?" His voice was low and tinged with anger.

"I'm dressing, getting ready to go. I thought I'd let you sleep, just slip out and catch a cab home," she murmured.

"Why? What's your fuckin' hurry? Is the old man gonna whinge if you're not back by tea?" His tongue snaked into her ear. Obviously, he was not ready for her to leave and a relieved Elizabeth leant back against him as he bit her neck and sucked the soft flesh into his mouth.

"He's not at home, he's away on business," she whispered, her gaze riveted to their reflections in the mirror. Her eyes followed his hands as Hando hefted her breasts on his palms, then bent to lick her shoulder. She shivered with renewed desire when he pressed his burgeoning erection into her from behind.

"Then you don't need this." He grabbed the bra out of her hands and flung it on the floor, peeled her panties down. "I want you to stay here, and I want you in the nick. I want to fuck you all night, Lizzie. I’m gonna make up for everything you've been missing." He ground into her from behind and she gasped, loving the feel of his hardness against her.

"I want you to suck me again, and I'm going to take you in the arse," he told her, his voice dropped lower as his hands went to the V between her legs and his fingers slid inside her. He bent his head to her neck and kissed her, sucking her skin so hard it hurt, and then licking the spot to soothe it. "I've just put my mark on you," he whispered, his voice deep and smoky. "You're mine now, Liz. You're mine and you’ll do as you’re told until I say you can go."

She turned in his arms and threw a leg around his hip, balancing on her toes, and his hands cupped her arse, squeezing and pressing her sex into his. She kissed him and said, "I'm yours until day after next. Then I'm going home."

So swiftly she could hardly believe the change in him, she saw his eyes narrow and darken. His tone became deliberately hard and menacing. His grip tightened on her arse, hard enough to bruise. Elizabeth stilled.

"You'll bloody go when I say you can," he grated. "Don't argue the toss. I fuckin' hate sheilas who do."

She stiffened in his arms and withdrew her leg from his waist. "Never mind then. I'll go right now." She turned away.

He grabbed her roughly and shook her. "I said, you'll go when I fuckin' say you can," he hissed, his eyes like ice, boring into hers.

Elizabeth pulled away and though she half-feared him, she said smartly, "You can leave off with that shite right now. I'm no schoolgirl you can frighten with this bit." When his teeth gritted in fury, she tried to appeal to his good sense. "Hando...think. I am offering myself to you, giving you all I can give. You don't have to force me. For God's sake, I want to be here! And I want you. But I'm not going to be ordered around and treated as something to abuse, like some pathetic town bike."

He stared at her for a long moment, and then his lips twisted into a sardonic grin. "So you aren't afraid of me, pet?" he purred, his voice going hypnotically lower, deeper. "You should be. You should have been all along." He relaxed his grip on her shoulders, stroked down her arms with his fingertips and up over her breasts, grinning indulgently when her nipples hardened into points. Suddenly he twisted them, almost but not quite hurting her, and his hands moved to her throat and squeezed, albeit gently. "Take care, Lizzie," he hissed. "I can turn on you like a snake."

Her hand shot out and grabbed his testicles, squeezing them hard, her long nails pointed like weapons into the flesh. His fingers froze on her throat. "Aren't you afraid of me, pet?" she questioned coolly. "Because right now, you're the one who should be afraid."

His eyes widened in stunned surprise but instead of becoming angry, he seemed amused by her quick-witted turnaround. "Bloody hell!" he laughed, "If you aren't boxing clever! Leave off, Lizzie, before you ruin our fun for the next two days."

"You've already ruined it, you bastard, with your juvenile threats. That's no way to make a woman want you."

He grinned down into her irate face. "Bugger it, here comes the ear bashing. I'm for it, I reckon. Are you going to give me fucking lessons now?"

"I'm going to give you a lesson in manners, you hoon, " she spat. "I'm trying to tell you I don't need to be abused to stay with you. You'd have much better of a chance of getting what you want from me if you'd only be nice." She shook her head. "It's obvious you have no idea how to treat a lady."

He looked at her speculatively, thinking, though not admitting, that she was right. He didn't know how to treat a lady. He had never associated with ladies, except for his Mum and his Auntie, and that so long ago he had only been a child. The bints he spent time with now could not be called ladies, not by any stretch of the imagination. He thought of Cora and Deb, the drack bitches that ran with his infant gang, and their wild, promiscuous ways. They were slags, pieces of shit, really, and seemed to invite bad treatment. He couldn't bring himself to fuck them in spite of their obvious desire for him, had never touched either. He thought of their Goth makeup jobs, their black and purple contrived hairstyles, mentally comparing them to Lizzie's natural good looks. Older or not, her sort appealed to his sense of beauty so much more than their vampire faces ever had. He leaned closer to Elizabeth and softly kissed her cheek.

"Suppose I say you're right. Will you let go of my bollocks, then?"

She tightened her hold on his scrotum ever so slightly, but he didn't even wince. "Do you intend to behave yourself? Do you think you can manage to treat me with just a little decency?"

He bent to her nuzzle her shoulder where it joined her neck. "I can treat you however you like, Lizzie...but mostly I'd like to treat you to another fucking. Let go of my balls and grab my cock, you sweet bitch," he growled, and his voice vibrated through her. "Stroke it as hard as you're squeezing my bag." He licked her neck, whispered mockingly, "If you please..."

She let him go, slid her fingers around his cock, and he crushed her lips in a violent kiss. His tongue was everywhere, licking at her face, plunging into her mouth, drilling into her ear. She stroked him, pulling and milking from the root of his cock to the head. With his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her down and slid one hand into her hair while the other hand grasped his bolt and aimed it at her mouth. He pulled her head forward.

"Do it, Lizzie. Suck me like before. Fuck, I love how you suck my dick."

She took him into her mouth, whipped her tongue around and around his cockhead. She forced it into the weeping hole at the tip, tasting him, tasting herself on him. Tongueing him up and down his length, she sucked his balls into her mouth, gentling the place she had threatened just a minute before. She took him deep into her throat and then slid back up his shaft, sucking hard. Hando growled in appreciation, allowed her to service him until he was close to ejaculation. And then he abruptly pulled his bolt from her mouth with a wet plopping sound and dropped to his knees behind her, hauling her hips into his groin, grasping one shoulder with his hand, pushing her over onto all fours.

"I want your arse," he said, his voice low and rumbling as he ground against her cheeks. "Is it virgin, Lizzie? Will this be the cherry you give to me, your second lover?" He dropped his head and licked her there, wetting her with his saliva. "Give me your arse, love."

Elizabeth moaned, wild passion overriding all sense of fear or distaste. Was she was going to let him do something her husband had asked for and never gotten? Did she want it, want every sexual experience this beautiful young god could give her?

"Yes!" she whispered, throwing off all remnants of self-restraint. "Take it! Fuck me there, Hando"

He stood and opened the cabinet over the sink, took a tube of lubricant from the shelf. While she waited like a bitch in heat on all fours, he squeezed some into his palm and stroked it up and down his cock. He dropped to his knees again and she felt his fingers at her arse, smoothing the stuff into her, greasing her up for him. Even his finger seemed too large for that place, and she began to have second thoughts. She tried to rise up and turn away, but he dropped the tube and grabbed her around the waist, stilling her.

"Shhh...I won't hurt you, Lizzie; I swear it. Just let me get in." He licked the skin of her buttocks, dropped kisses on the smooth curve of her hip while he slid his finger in and out of her. "I want this, Lizzie. I want to make you mine." Still kissing, still licking, he crooned low, "Let me make you mine."

She moaned, whether in fear or desire, she couldn't tell. She felt the head of his cock where his finger had been, felt him pushing against the tight ring of muscle. Her head came up and she tensed, but his hands stroked her spine, ran up and down her sides while he murmured softly, "Easy on, Lizzie. Easy now."

He was soothing her like a mare, she thought, just like she soothed the horses she rode when on holiday in Victoria. She almost burst into giddy laughter thinking of it, and became hyper-aware of her surroundings, of the bright fluorescent light above their heads, the cold, hard tiles under her hands and knees. She wondered why they had stayed in the bathroom. Why hadn't they gone into the bedroom and done this on the bed? At least her knees wouldn't hurt so much. Laughter, incongruous and wild, bubbled up in her chest and she thought, Well, isn't the dunnie the best place for a fucking like this one?

And then her mind snapped back to reality, because Hando's cock was pushing inside her, really inside her. She sucked a deep breath and stilled.

"Oh, Jesus," she heard him murmur at her shoulder. "Push back, Liz. Take me in."

Instinctively, she accommodated him as he drove in all the way, the entire length and breadth of him in one smooth motion. Breathing hard, he stopped to let her adjust to him.

"Am I hurting you, Lizzie?" he whispered. "Is it all right, love?"

Elizabeth didn't trust herself to speak; she simply nodded. It didn't really hurt, it was just uncomfortable, but even as she thought that, her muscles relaxed and the discomfort eased. Hando reached around her waist and slid his searching fingers between the lips of her sex. He began to stroke in and out of her arse while his fingers flicked gently over her clitoris, circling and rubbing. Elizabeth moaned as the pleasure he brought her overrode the uncomfortable fullness, and suddenly realized she wasn't uncomfortable at all. His stroking cock began to feel good--different, but good--and the sensation of fullness while he brought her ever closer to orgasm with his fingers overwhelmed her. He leaned into her, grabbed onto her shoulder, fucked into her hard.

"Lizzie, my Lizzie," he panted, his voice like warm whiskey. "It's so fuckin' good. So tight, so hot. I'm almost there, darlin'. Come with me, girl. Come on my fingers when I fill your arse with my spunk. Come for me, Lizzie."

That voice, surrounding her, exciting her, vibrating inside her just like his cock was, pushed her over the edge. She bucked out her orgasm, gasping, almost sobbing from the force of it. It caught her up, took her far away from the glaring light and cold tile to a place of mindless bliss. Hando's words became unintelligible, nothing more than a series of rhythmic grunts, and then degenerated into a ragged panting that matched her own. He arched his back, straining, his face a mask of intense pleasure, then collapsed over her back, his weight driving her down to the floor. He was still lost in pleasure, groaning, shuddering, biting at her shoulder, oblivious to his violent reaction. Elizabeth cried out in pain and he stopped, began to kiss the spot gently. He stayed inside her until his cock softened, then withdrew, leaving a trail of pink-tinged semen across the back of her thigh.

He stood up, bent to lift her gently and carried her in to the bed. He laid her down and returned with the washcloth and cleaned her, his hands gentle. She lay docile, staring up at the dark red Nazi banner, listening to him in the bathroom as he washed himself, brushed his teeth. When he came back he lay down and threw his leg possessively over hers, dragged up the blanket to cover them. Together, they drifted off to sleep under the Nazi flag and the portrait of Adolph Hitler.

She awoke to the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. The room was almost completely dark and from the corner where the chairs were, she caught the red-orange glow from the tip of his cigarette as Hando took a drag. Elizabeth sat up and threw back the hair that hung in her face.

"Hullo, Lizzie." He took a long pull from his cigarette and let the smoke drift through his nostrils.

She yawned. "Hullo, yourself. Have you been awake long? You should have got me up too."

"Not long. Just a few ticks. My belly woke me; I'm fuckin' starving. It's way past tea time."

"So it is. I'm hungry too. What shall we do about it? Do you want to go to dinner together?"

He reached over and switched on the lamp on his bureau, then looked at her, his head cocked to the side. "In public, you mean? Out into a restaurant where every bastard and his dog will see you with me? Aren't you worried about that?"

She gave a little shrug of non-committal. "D'you mean because my husband might hear of it? Not much chance of that then, is there? I'm not saying we should go to The Golden Door," she said, naming a high-end restaurant in the Southgate complex of Melbourne, frequented by businessmen and well-to-do suburbanites. It was a place her husband often took her, a luxury she thoroughly enjoyed, but didn't expect or want all the time. "We don't need anything flash. A hamburger will do for me." She looked at him, ready to smile.

His face was like stone; her smile faltered and died.

"I'm not talking about your fucking husband, Lizzie," Hando said, his tone arrogant and hard. "I don't give a shit for him, don't care what he knows or thinks. I'm talking about you being seen with a skinhead. Will it bother you? Can you stand the stares, because you'll cop a backlash, that's dead cert. And I'm telling you now, I'll not stand for a scene from you. If you go out with me, you go proud and be damned to the ockers. If I catch you looking ashamed, I'll make you sorry."

She said nothing for a minute, just gazed at him thoughtfully.

"I don't know how I'll feel about it," she finally answered. "I hadn't thought of that, actually. What about you? Aren't you ashamed to go out with a woman old enough to be your mum?"

He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. "No. Any gate, you don't look old enough to be me mum. Likely any of my mates we run into would be jealous of me for cracking on to you." He narrowed his eyes at her and tilted his head to the side. His tone became lighter, almost teasing. "Just how old d'you think I am, Lizzie?"

A blush reddened her cheeks. "I don't know. You look young to me...maybe just twenty-one or so. But I hope you aren't that young...are you?" she asked, almost fearing his answer.

"Not quite. I'm twenty-five today." He gave her a leering grin. "You're my birthday present, darlin'. My prezzie to myself, and a ripper of a one you were."

She suddenly felt sorry for him. All alone on his birthday, except for a virtual stranger. Elizabeth dropped her eyes, knew instinctively he would hate to see any kind of pity in them.

"I'm glad you think so." She looked up and gave him a saucy wink. "I'm the kind of gift that keeps on giving, you know, so you made a good choice." She slid to the edge of the bed and stood up. "Well, my beautiful young god, since it's your birthday, let me shout for some tucker. I don't care what we have. You choose. And don't worry about scenes. I'm not the type to make them." She went to him and bent to kiss him. "No worries, love," she said into his ear, then bit down, her teeth grazing his lobe.

He pulled her down onto his lap and nuzzled into her neck. "You shouldn't walk around bare-arsed in front of me, pet. Now I can't make up my mind what I'm hungry for, more of you, or a nice thick sanger with chips on the side, and a coldie."

Elizabeth rubbed her cheek against his, relishing the rough feel of the two-day's growth he sported. "Then let me get up and dressed. That should make your mind up for you. If we stay like this, we'll never get a bite."

"I'll eat you," he whispered, his hands cupping her breasts.

"And I'll eat you," she retorted, turning and licking at his cheek before placing an open-mouthed kiss there. "But I'll save it for dessert."

They walked up Ackland Street, his hand on the small of Elizabeth's back, riding on the rise of her buttocks. The warmth of it radiated through her raincoat. It made her feel safe, cherished, appreciated, to have Hando touch her that way, perhaps even more than it would have had he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. They passed several restaurants, mostly foreign owned, but he showed no interest in them and kept walking. Finally Elizabeth stopped outside a small Vietnamese cafe and walked over to read the menu posted in the front window. She felt him come up beside her and turned to smile at him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Hando growled, his face a mask of controlled fury.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Confused, Elizabeth’s smile faded. She dropped her eyes, unable to bear the sight of such anger directed at her, but he wouldn't permit that.

"Look at me, really look at ME," he hissed, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her head up. His eyes blazed blue flame, and she recoiled from the rage in his face. "What the bloody hell do you think I stand against? What makes you think I'd eat in a dirty gook shit hole? The only way I'd put foot in here would be to smash the fucking place up," he said, his voice low, the words measured, menacing, and that much more frightening for being spoken so quietly.

She stepped away from him and avoided his hand when reached for her arm to drag her away.

"I didn't think of that." She strove for calm, though she wanted to snap back at him sarcastically. "It's no reason to go off on me, you know. Why didn't you tell me no Vietnamese before we started off? It doesn't matter, I told you I didn't care where we went."

"Just belt up and come on. I can't stand even to smell the bloody place. Fucking stinking gooks." He turned and walked away, his long legs taking him half the block away before she started after him.

"Wait, Hando!"

He stopped, stood sideways and stared into a darkened storefront, deliberately ignoring her as she hurried to him. She stood before him and waited for him to say something, sorry that the amiable mood of before had been spoiled. She noticed that the people streaming past on the sidewalk gave them a wide berth, their eyes cutting to him then flickering quickly away.

'They're afraid of him,' she thought, and frowned. 'They're afraid of what he stands for, and because of how angry he is. They can feel it just radiating from him, and they're afraid.'

It occurred to her she ought to be afraid too. Hando had told her so himself, but she wasn't. How could she fear the man who had touched her so tenderly, who had loved her with such passion all afternoon long? She took his arm, twined her hand around his elbow.

"Come on, baby, don't be mad at me," she purred, batting her lashes at him and pursing her lips in an exaggerated parody of a sex kitten. "How can you have a blue with your best birthday present?"

After a tense moment he visibly relaxed and looked down at her. His eyes softened, lost their expression of cold distance. The corner of his mouth twitched, though he refused to give into a smile.

"You're a daggy piece," he said finally.

"I am," she agreed, and took his arm to tug him forward. "Daggy over you. Lead on, me fine birthday boyo, and pick your poison. And while we're having our tucker you can explain to me why I should avoid Vietnamese restaurants."

They were seated in the last booth in a small New York style deli that dripped with Jewish ambiance, and had already given their orders to the serving girl. In a short time she was back with two pints of cold VB, the condensation already frosting the outside of the glass mugs. Hando raised his and drained half of it off, told the girl to bring him another. Watching him, Elizabeth wondered just where his prejudice began and ended. He seemingly had no objection to patronizing a restaurant rooted in Jewish culture, Hitler's chief targets in his deadly bigotry, yet Hando admired the man so much he had his photograph on the wall. The inconsistency of his thinking troubled her, but she was not about to bring up the obvious contradiction in his ideology. Their burgeoning relationship was too fragile, and Hando’s personality too volatile, for her to even think of it. She sipped at her beer delicately, absently, her thoughts keeping her quiet.

He watched her, and the small sips she took made him lift an eyebrow and ask, "If ya don't like it, why didn't you order a Coke or something instead?"

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "I do like it; I was raised on VB," she said. "My dad drank it all the time; it was the only beer he would touch. No Fourex or Foster's for him."

"What's your mouth all prissed up for then?"

She stared at him. If she had been making a mouth, it was because of his Nazism. But she couldn't tell him that. Instead, she tossed her hair back and resorted to pert sauciness.

"My mouth is not prissed up," she declared.

He flicked his eyebrows up and back down quickly, clearly disagreeing, even if he didn't say it.

Elizabeth marveled at his perception, at how quickly his moods changed and how capricious they were. He went from wild passion to anger to amusement to skepticism, all in the passage of a few minutes. She knew that was not a good sign, knew that any psychologist would warn her to beware of a man who had so little control over his emotions and made his entire lifestyle a statement of hatred. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, her eyes thoughtful.

"Are you ready to talk to me about the Vietnamese thing?" she asked. "Or shall we save it until after we've eaten? I don't want to spoil your appetite by making you talk about things that make you angry."

He dropped his eyes. "Save it for after," he warned. "I'll hot up, talking about it. Christ, I get mental just thinking about it."

"Fair enough," she agreed, willing to change the subject.

He slouched back in the booth. "Tell me about you, then. Where d'you live, Lizzie? In the fucking suburbs, out where the posh folk live?"

"I live in Albert Park." She shrugged carelessly. "I suppose you could call it the suburbs, but it's not fancy, not by a long chalk. It's the same house we bought when we were first married, before George did so well in business. I like the neighborhood and the people, so I don't want to move, even though we can afford to."

"People get attached to their neighborhoods, I know." His eyes seemed suddenly empty; he took another deep sip of his beer.

"That sounds like you're attached to one," Elizabeth said. "Which?"

His reply was clipped. "Was attached. To Footscray. Years ago, when I was a kid."

"Did your parents move you away?"

He shifted suddenly, his heavy shoulders bunching and flexing. She saw the energy flood his body, saw him tense. She flicked a glance at his face and sure enough, the mask of anger was back.

"Hando?" she said softly. "What is it?"

"We didn't pack our kits by choice. We were pushed out by the fucking gooks."

"This is going where you didn't want it to, isn't it? Was it bad?"

He didn't answer at first, and she saw him make a deliberate effort to calm himself. He seemed to come to a decision and began talking, his voice low, controlled.

"Worse than bad."

His hands balled into fists, and a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He looked so troubled that Elizabeth's heart went out to him, and she reached for his hand, taking it in both of hers. He made as if to jerk away from her, and then changed his mind, let her hold it. His head down, he started talking, the words coming low and fast.

"When I was a nipper, my olds had a little shop down in Footscray, a sort of combo sweet shop and milk bar, you know?" He looked up at her, then dropped his eyes to their joined hands and went on. "Dad was a pisshead, he never did much of the work and drank up most of the profits, but mum liked the place. She liked having the little ones in to buy their lollies and the neighbor ladies stopping by for their magazines and lippy. On Friday nights, the high schoolers would come in for milkshakes and fizzies; they'd hang out a bit, play the juke and talk. The place was sort of like a pub, you know...but friendlier.

"We got along all right, lived over the store and didn't have much, but it suited us. Then the year I turned twelve, some rich gook took it into his head that he wanted to buy the place for his kids to run. He come in the shop while Dad was piss drunk and tried to get him to sign papers straight away. Mum was too quick for the bastard though, and she told him to fuck off. She was a tough one, my Mum. Smart, too. Too smart for the gooks. They saw it right off and set out to take her out of the game."

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and went on. "So two nights later Mum went to her Wednesday bingo game and on the way home, she and her lady friends were set on by a gang of gook kids. The bastards held the other ladies so they couldn't go for help while their friends beat hell out of my mum. They beat her so bad her face was all but gone, smashed into a pulp. You couldn't recognize her, there was nothing left of it. When they left off, there was a pool of blood around her four feet wide. I doubt she had much left in her. She died an hour later, never come to."

His hands were holding hers so tightly he was driving her rings into her flesh, but she said nothing, just held on to him and watched his face, wincing at the pain reflected there.

"After the funeral, the rich gook came back when Dad was pissed out of his mind and got him to sign a sales agreement. Dad let everything go for next to nothing, lost our home and business in two ticks for a few thousand. He drank it up in a couple of months...he was always down the boozer. The way he went at it, the money didn't last long. We were about to go on the dole when he got killed crossing the street one arvo on his way to the pub. Delivery van hit him. One of the neighbors come to get me in time to say goodbye, not that I gave a fuck by then. As far as I was concerned, the bastard killed my mother with his boozing, so I hated him. But once he was gone, the cops said I couldn't stay on my own. Said I was too young. There was no place for me to go, so they called the Youth Services. I told them I had a great aunt living up in Canberra, so they sent me to her."

A fleeting expression of affection passed over his face.

"Poor Auntie." He shook his head. "I was too much for her to handle, but I wasn't ever cruel to her," he said, and his eyes pled for understanding. "I was just...you know, all boy. A bit much for an old lady to control." He shrugged carelessly. "I reckon it wore on her; she died when I was 14, and left me on my own with nothing and nowhere to go. I didn't want to go into a foster house, and there was no bloody way I was going to the State Orphan's. Magoo, he's my best mate, he was 17 then, and on his own. I gave the Youth Services the slip and he took me in. Magoo's the one introduced me to the neo-Nazi movement. After Auntie died I lived in a squat with his gang, learned the philosophy of Hitler and neo-Nazi doctrine." He gave her a little grin, appreciating his own joke. "I took to it well, with my history. Embraced it, I s'ppose you could say. During the time I spent living in Canberra I learned how to take care of myself, as well as others. I'm self-educated, but I've learned a great deal. Don't underestimate me, Lizzie; you'll be making a mistake if you do. I have my own chapter of WAR now; just beginning to get it going, really. I intend to recruit more followers to our cause, get enough of a gang together to make a difference in Footscray."

She rubbed his knuckles with her fingertips, stared down at the tattoos on his hands. "How do you know all that about the kids beating your mum to death? You were so young, surely nobody told you those horrible details?"

"Nobody had to tell me anything; I saw it. I come round the corner just in time to see it happen. I tried to save Mum, but I was just a skinny 12-year-old, nothing much to me then. The gooks beat me near to death, too. Didn't get out of hospital in time for the funeral."

"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth whispered. "So sorry."

He closed his eyes and said fervently, "So now you know why I hate them, why I'll always hate them. I'll spend my life fighting against them, the filthy yellow bastards. I hate them and all the boat loads of human trash the government lets in here---and fight to get them all to leave Australia and go back to their shit hole countries where they belong."

When he opened his eyes, he saw the reserve in her face. "You think I'm wrong, don't you?" he asked softly. "Well, fuck what you think, Lizzie. I know better."

Her thumb moved gently back and forth over his skin, back and forth. "I understand why you've come to hate them, I really do," she said quietly, "but I can't agree with you. I can't hate an entire race based on the actions, no matter how despicable, of a few. That kind of bigotry doesn't make sense to me."

He threw her hand off roughly. "You're a fool if you can't see that the gooks are fucking garbage, a goddamn blight on our country. They live like rats, feeding off us. They're already taking over---they make up a third of our population." He leaned across the table and hissed, "They're going to drag us down to their level, milk us dry."

She said nothing for a moment, just sat with her eyes on his hands. "Tell me something. Do you still want us to spend the next few days together?" she finally asked.

His brows drew together in a frown. "Yes. Why?"

"Then," she began, reaching with just her index finger to stroke his hand, "let's not talk about this anymore. It's going to come between us, and I don't want anything to ruin this time. I want you to know I don't disrespect your opinion. It's a valid opinion, and you're not the only person I know who thinks that way. I just don't agree with you and I see no point in us debating the issue. We'll only end up fighting over it." She looked up at him. "I can talk politics with almost anyone. You mean too much to me to waste time on arguments."

His lip curled and the arrogant smirk twisted his features. "You mean you don't want to take the chance I'll be so pissed off, I won't fuck you anymore?"

"You really are a conceited thing, aren't you?" she said, looking at him coolly, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "What I meant was I didn't want to take the chance I'd get so angry, I wouldn't fuck you."

He stared at her a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. "Fair enough, Liz. No more talking. All we do is fuck."

The waitress chose that moment to bring their food. Shocked and disapproving, she set the plates in front of them and gave Elizabeth a puzzled glance as if to say, 'Are you going to take that from him?'

Elizabeth caught the look but ignored her and grinned wickedly, staring at Hando with the devil in her eyes.

"That sounds good to me, boyo," she breathed. "I hope I can wait until we get home."

"You'll wait till I'm ready to give it to ya again," growled Hando, slyly winking to show he knew her game. "I might not be in the mood when we get home."

Elizabeth picked up his hand and licked the palm, flattened her tongue and dragged it down to his wrist. "I'll put you in the mood," she breathed, and suddenly realized she wasn't acting anymore.

They walked home by a different route, passing upscale shops and pubs. Though the evening was misty it wasn't raining, and they took their time, pausing to look into shop windows when it pleased them. When they came to a small boutique, Elizabeth stopped.

"D'you mind if I go in here and look for some things I need? I won't be a minute."

He pulled her close to him and spoke into her ear. "What could you need? I said you’re to stay naked until you leave."

Her breath hitched in her chest, and she snaked an arm inside his coat to stroke his back. "I want some....things," she said, her voice low. "Maybe I'll get something to tease you…."

He reached behind him and caught her hand, dragged it down to his crotch. "Does this feel like I need it?" he said, the cello playing in his voice and thrilling her with its melody. "I've been hard since we started home, you sweet bitch. Been carrying this bolt around, just from thinking about fucking you again."

She threw back her head, knowing he would kiss her throat. He didn't disappoint her; his mouth descended and his lips fastened on the tender skin under her jaw.

"Mmmmmmm, boyo. What you do to me," she whispered.

"You love it," he growled.

"Mmmm," she purred, "I do. And I want to play tonight. So let me buy something for us to play with. Wait here; I won't be a tick."

He tightened his hold on her upper arms, nuzzling into her neck, growing more excited as he pictured her in lace and satin, lying back on his bed, her hair spread around her face. "If you're going to buy something sexy to wear, I want to come in. I want to pick it out. Maybe I'll make you model for me. Maybe I'll come into the trying room as well, and help you put things on."

She laughed softly. "I'd never get anything on if you came in there. Talk about a lost cause."

The idea was beginning to appeal to him. Hando growled, "I want you to get something I can see though. I want to suck your nips through lace. Buy some knickers too. Little ones, so I can see your arse."

Elizabeth took a shaking breath. Her plan had backfired on her; all she had really wanted to get was a few pairs of fresh panties and something to sleep in. Now she was going to buy lingerie because Hando wanted to see her in it, because he was excited and more interested than she'd ever imagined he would be. Suddenly the reason why struck her: he'd never had a woman who'd dressed to please him. Oh, she didn’t believe he was inexperienced. There was no doubt he was an extremely knowledgeable lover. He knew how to please, knew exactly what to say and how to touch her to make her wild for him. Somebody had taught him that. But she thought it likely that he'd never had a woman who'd done the same for him. He'd never had a woman willing to play with him, to seduce him. 'Only girls,' she thought. 'Young girls he can intimidate, who know nothing of the arts of seduction, who simply do everything he asks of them.'

Well, this was going to be interesting. For both of them.

He reached down and cupped his hand over her sex, dragging his finger along the seam of her jeans. Instinctively, she pressed herself into his hand.

"Are you gettin' wet, talking about it?" he murmured, his voice low, insinuating. "I know you are, I can feel the heat through your jeans. You're something, you know that, Lizzie? You are one hot piece. Yer old man's a fuckin' nong, turning you away." He took his hand away from her crotch and grabbed her arm. "C'mon, let's go in and shock the shopkeeper," he said, and led her into the store.

She followed him into the shop and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the expression on the salesgirl's face. Shock. Definitely fear. And despite herself, just a touch of lust. The woman stood motionless, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Hando went straight up to her.

"G'day" he said politely. "Where are your crotchless knickers?"

"Dear God!" sighed Lizzie behind him. "You're going to give her fits!" she hissed in a stage whisper. To the salesgirl she said pleasantly, "Never mind, I'll just look a bit myself," and pulled Hando away from the counter, back to the lingerie section. He was giggling, actually giggling, and she couldn't help but laugh with him. As they reached the displays, he quieted, became serious. His tongue came out to lick his bottom lip as he picked up an azure blue lace bra and held it against her face. She expected him to say something crude, but he surprised her.

"I like this, Lizzie. It matches your eyes."

She stared at him, stunned, unable to believe he'd said something so sensitive. She thought he'd be thinking of nothing but sex, but the fact that he had chosen a color because he liked the way it looked with her eyes touched her. She reached up and fingered the lace.

"Then we'll get that one. Let me look for some other things, too." She moved to the rack behind him, found matching bikinis and a satin kimono and sleek nightgown. "What about these, do you like them as well?" she asked, holding the nightgown up for his inspection.

He nodded, his eyes like blue flames. He reached out to stroke the satin, and she glanced down at his crotch. God, he was huge, his erection straining at the zip of his pants. He was thinking of sex now, that was certain. Her eyes flew up to his face, and he grinned at her.

"You'd best not fuck about too long, darlin', or we won’t make it back to the squat. How'd you like to get fucked in an alley, Lizzie love? Up against a wall with your legs around my waist, and me driving into you hard?"

"Oh, Jesus," she moaned, her lashes fluttering down as she leaned in close to him. "Don't tempt me."

"That's why I'm here, to tempt you." He pulled her against him, put his lips to her ear. "What about that trying room idea?" he murmured. "Little Miss Mullet over there could get her rocks off, listening to us. She's been perving on me since we came in here. How much d'you bet she'd try and peek, Lizzie? Frig herself while she did? D'you want to do it with somebody watching? Shall we have it off here in the knickers shop?"

She shivered in his arms. "Let's go," she said, almost panting. "Let me pay for these and we'll leave."

He smiled, self-satisfaction plain on his face, and she saw he had easily turned her plan to seduce and tempt him into his own neat seduction. Everything she had been thinking earlier was wrong; he'd known exactly what he was doing from the beginning. How silly of her to imagine he would not have experience in such things! She realized now that he knew a great deal, much more than she did. He was the expert; she would be his student. His very eager student. Her hands shook as she paid and took the parcel from the girl. Hando was standing so close behind her, she could feel the heat from his body and his breath, warm and moist, on her neck. He pulled her out of the store as soon as she had the shopping bag in her hand and hurried her along the uneven sidewalk. They came to an alley between two buildings and he turned into it, dragging her along roughly until they were hidden in darkness.

"Take your jeans off, Lizzie," he ordered roughly. "Take 'em off before I rip 'em off. Do it now. "

She fumbled with her zip as he opened his fly and drew out his cock, stroking it as he waited for her. Her boots would keep her jeans from coming down, so she toed them off first, then shimmied out of her pants, standing barefooted and naked from the waist down in the dark alley. He was on her before she could blink, lifting her, bracing her on his thighs. Her raincoat flapped open and folded around them as she wound her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. Reaching down, he guided his cock to her opening and slammed into her, driving her against the brick wall at her back. One hand slid behind her head to protect it, the other cupped her buttocks.

"Oh God, oh God," she moaned, and then his mouth took hers. His breath slammed through his nostrils, fanning against her face, and he grunted softly, rhythmically, as he drove himself into her. Her young god, so strong, so powerful, so deliciously sexual. She tightened her legs around him and tilted her hips, grasping him as hard as she could with her inner muscles. He groaned in appreciation as her cunt squeezed down on his cock. He pounded into her, biting and licking at her lips, driving his tongue into her mouth so she could suck it. Elizabeth slid over the edge into hot swirling oblivion, her orgasm a violent explosion that had her screaming into his mouth. Still he drove into her, then tensed and dropped his mouth to her throat. He turned his head and bit her shoulder and she screamed again, muffled into his neck. He convulsed against her, his seed spurting strong and hot inside her.

After a long time, she unwound her legs from his waist and he let her down to lean weakly against the wall, panting like an animal in pain. A slice of moon broke through the thin clouds overhead and illuminated his face with pale light. She stared up at him as his eyes turned silver and bore into hers. Slowly, he lowered his mouth and kissed her. He sighed then, a sigh that spoke of repletion and satisfaction, of contentment. She ran her hand up over his shaven head and down over the smooth column of his tattooed neck, caressing, worshipping.

She remembered a song, a particularly meaningful song about passionate illicit love and its irresistible pull. She had memorized the lyrics, sung along as she played the track over and over, until the words were burned into her mind, never to be forgotten. She heard it in her head now, taunting her, warning her.

Into temptation
Knowing full well the earth will rebel
Into temptation
Safe in the wide open arms of hell

Lose yourself when you linger long
Into temptation
Right where you belong

Elizabeth shuddered and rested her head on Hando's chest. She was safe in his arms. She was safe in hell.

Elizabeth walked to the park and flagged a cab, got settled in the back and looked vacantly down at her hands in her lap, her mind on Hando. They had been together for almost three months---three months of wild excitement, vacillating emotion, and sublime sex in all its variations. Sex anytime, anyplace, any way he demanded it. Elizabeth had given her beautiful young god what he wanted in every way he could think of, in every place he could take her. And he had thought of so many places and ways, more than she’d ever thought possible. Her cheeks burning red while her eyes burned blue, she remembered.

She had let him tie her to his bed, her hands bound and stretched over her head, her legs spread, knees bent so that everything was exposed. Hando had kept her on the edge for over an hour while he stroked and lapped at her, never letting her come; torturing her sweetly, but torturing her all the same. As she twitched and cursed with need, he'd fucked her between her breasts, shot his spunk onto her chest and neck, then offered her a taste of it from his fingers. Only when she had begged him had he let her come, bringing her off time after time until she was weak and tearful, her arms straining at the bonds, her legs trembling and aching. She had called him heartless, but when he'd finally untied her, he'd massaged her gently and then taken her into the tub with him and bathed her like a child.

He loved to show his mastery over her, loved to make her do his bidding. On one surreal, depraved night, he had taken her standing up in the pedestrian tunnel under the railway, while a raucous gang of his toughs partied at the other end. He'd pounded into her, his body pistoning like a well-oiled machine, his shoulder and arm muscles bulging under the big black overcoat that hid them as he held her up against the wall. Over his shoulder she had watched, her eyes languorous and her brain fogged with lust, as some of his skins pointed and smirked. The others stared hungrily, their own lust feral and unconcealed. Of course, none of them had tried to come near nor said a word; they knew enough to keep their distance. She had been completely mortified, yet utterly stimulated. Shivering through a wild, quaking climax on him that night, she had cried out her pleasure, ensuring that the hoons at the other end of the tunnel knew exactly what was happening. Elizabeth still cringed with shame when she thought about that night, but she knew if Hando asked her to, she'd do it again.

And just last week she had blown him in the back row of an almost deserted theatre, the film's soundtrack pounding to a crescendo as Hando came into her sucking mouth. She was sure no one had seen them; after all, there was next to nobody there and the theatre was a dark place---but the fact remained that she, a housewife from Albert Park with a husband and quiet, monotonous life had done a very private thing in public and done it gladly. God help her, she’d done it because she loved the feel of him in her mouth. She'd done it because he'd asked for it with his need plain in his eyes. Because he'd asked between hot licking kisses, because his hands had stroked and teased her into mindlessness. She'd done it because all the while he was kissing her, he was in her ear, telling her he wanted to fuck her with his tongue until she screamed for him, that he loved the taste of her pussy.

Incredible. Inflaming. And after more than a year celibacy, irresistible.

She didn't care what he wanted. As long as Hando was gentle with her, as long as he didn't try to force her but used only his formidable powers of persuasion, as long as he looked at her with that burning need plain in his aquamarine eyes, she did what he wanted. It was only when he became intimidating or cruel that she balked, and for whatever reason, he never pushed her when he knew she meant no. He was good to her in his way, but there was little of finesse about him and no romance at all. She was hot, mad, crazy-wild for him, but Elizabeth had no illusions about Hando's feelings for her. He didn't love her. She didn't love him. Their entire relationship was based on nothing but mutual sexual gratification. It was what she wanted, and it was enough.

In the beginning, they had made a plan to meet on the same bench in Middle Park every Wednesday and Friday, and they had never missed an assignation. But there were lots of other days they were together, more days spent in each other's arms than not. She stopped protesting when George told her he had to go out of town on business, because when George was away, she'd pack a bag and stay with Hando. She learned about call forwarding and activated it to her cell phone so that if her husband rang her, she would be able to answer and pretend that she was still at home, waiting for him to return. So far, that had been an unnecessary precaution--George rarely called.

She'd given Hando the number to her cell so that he could ring if he wanted her, and he astonished her when he called every day. Sometimes he was completely serious, making arrangements to meet like other men set dates for business lunches. Other times he talked dirty to her, using his whiskey-and-cigarettes voice to torment her. He whispered how much he wanted to lick her pussy, taste her on his tongue. He'd tell her he was going to fuck her arse, and that she was going to like it. Or he'd call and tell her he was tossing off, that he had her satin nightgown wrapped around his neck as he milked his cock because it smelled like her and her scent drove him wild. She'd sit and listen as he panted his way to a climax, her eyes glazed with desire, her breathing labored, her hand itching to slide between her legs, held motionless only because George was in the next room.

Sometimes when he called, she couldn't get away. She'd explain to him and listen as the silence lengthened and his anger pulsed over the phone. He never begged or coaxed, he'd just hang up without saying another word. She hated those times, sure that sooner or later he would just tell her if she wasn't going to come then, she shouldn't bother coming ever again. She feared that happening so much that most times, she put everything else off and went to him, lying to George if she had to, concocting elaborate stories that gave her hours to spend in Hando's arms.

She'd run over in a cab, trembling with need before she even saw him. He'd meet her at the door, naked and rampant, pull her into his room and push her down to her knees before she was able to get her coat off. He'd guide his engorged cock into her mouth with one hand while his other slid into her hair, and she'd suck him to completion, watching as he threw back his head and growled out his pleasure.

Sometimes he'd have the bathtub filled with warm water, and he'd strip her down and sit with her back against his chest and belly, his cock hard between them. He'd lather her breasts and her sex until she was writhing against him, but he'd make her wait until he was ready to satisfy them both. Or he'd tell her to put on the blue bra and bikini, and then he'd suck her nipples through the lace, just as he'd promised that night in the boutique. While he suckled, his fingers would dip teasingly inside her, but he wouldn’t give her enough to come on, only enough to make her crazy. He fucked her wearing the azure nightgown, his hands stroking over and over the fabric, plainly reveling in the feel of her satin-covered body. He played with her until she was mindless and willing to do anything he wanted. Anything. As long as he continued to ask the way he had been.

But she didn't love him. And he didn't love her.

Elizabeth paid the cabman, ignoring him when he asked if she was sure this was where she wanted to be. She ran across the cracked and weed infested carpark and hurried up the iron stairs, running so lightly her footsteps were all but silent. She hadn't been able to get away for two days, and now her heart was pounding with excitement like a girl's because she was finally going to see him. Hando. Her lover. Her beautiful young god. Would he be waiting naked on the bed, his fist gripping his hard cock in a slow and lazy stroke while he waited for her, the muscles in his shoulder and arm flexing? Or would he smoking in the chair, still fully dressed, expecting her to strip him while she kissed every inch she exposed? She tried to compose herself but it was impossible, she panted and trembled inside, so hot for him she could hardly concentrate enough to get the door open.

But he wasn't lying naked on the bed or running a warm bath. He was standing bare-chested and barefooted in the hallway talking to another skinhead, a young man dressed in ragged blue jeans and an olive green fatigue jacket. The tension between them was palpable, almost like a fog in the air. She stopped short, astonished to find someone with him. Hando was always alone when she visited.

"G'day love."

His eyes flicked over her, taking her in from her head to her feet. She had deliberately dressed to seduce him today---low-necked sweater, tight skirt, black lace-topped stockings, suede high heels---and she saw the approval in his eyes.

"I'll be through here in two ticks; go inside."

The other man's eyes were devouring her as well, lingering on her breasts. The red sweater hid nothing and her cleavage was lush, pouting over the top of her bra. She'd dressed to entice Hando, but the way the other skin was looking at her made her wonder if he had been in the tunnel the night they'd done the naughty against the wall. Probably. He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed but vacant, as if running a film of it in his head. She all but cringed with embarrassment.

Hando missed nothing. He said sharply, jerking his head towards the door, "Inside, I said."

She slipped quickly into his room and stopped dead, stunned. Elizabeth had never seen the room anything but neat; she had soon learned that disorder was out of character for Hando. But today a dozen ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts, and smashed beer tinnies were every where, lined up on the counter and lying piled in the sink. Empty bags of crisps littered the floor and the counter. The place reeked of stale smoke and beer.

Elizabeth turned from surveying the mess when she heard Hando’s voice, cold and commanding: "I don't give a fuck what you think, mate. I told you to take care of business; you bloody well better do it. No more fucking excuses, or I'll sort you out myself. Now piss off."

There was a bit more, spoken in lower tones. She heard footsteps moving away, a door closing, and Hando came into the room, but he seemed preoccupied. He didn't come over and kiss her or wrap her in his arms as he often did, he didn't drag her to the bed. He went to the bureau and picked up his cigarettes, shook one out of the pack and lit it. Elizabeth stood mute, watching him. It was as if he had forgotten she was there.

Finally he turned his eyes on her and said coolly, "Ya gonna take off your coat, love? Or don't you plan to stay?"

She raised her eyebrows at his sarcastic tone, but obediently shrugged out of her raincoat. She went over to the closet and hung it up. He watched her; silent, smoking steadily.

She cocked her head slightly to the side, wary of his mood. He was never cold like this with her, he had always been glad, more than glad, to see her. It made her uncomfortable, so she asked him plainly, "What is it? Would you rather I wasn't here? Just say so if that's the case. I'll go."

He walked toward her, his movements graceful, predatory. "I want you here." He stopped at the bed and his chin came up. "Come here, Liz."

She went to him hesitantly. He seemed distant, brutal, almost frightening. Tossing the cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray, he plunged his hands into her hair. Gripping with his fists, he dragged her face up and covered her mouth with his, drove his tobacco-tinged tongue into her mouth. She stiffened, ready to resist, then gave herself up to him, leaning into his chest, sucking on his tongue. She ran her hands up and down his arms, stroking him, loving the feel of muscle playing under his skin. There was no point to resistance, not when she wanted him so badly it was like a sickness. She fought with the button and zip at his fly, tugged the pants down, freed his cock. He pulled off her sweater, unfastened her bra with a practiced flick of his fingers. When he dropped her skirt and saw that she wore only stockings held up by a black lace suspender belt, he became wild, rougher, pulling her hair, tilting her head back so he could bite at her throat.

She jerked away from his mouth. "Don't. Don't mark me; George will notice."

He laughed coldly. "Fuck George. Tell him to see me if he doesn't like it." His lips fastened on the soft skin under her jaw, sucking hard.

She twisted to escape him. "Don't, I said. Stop it!"

He ignored her, holding her against his chest, sucking her neck with such force she thought the skin would break. When he lifted his mouth, she jerked back, her eyes sparking with anger.

"Damn you! You're such a child! What possible reason could you have for making things difficult for me?"

"A child?" His eyes darkened, slitted with anger. He shoved her back on the bed and fell on her, crushing her with his weight, and forced her hands down above her head. His mouth dropped to her breast and he let her feel his teeth before he began to nurse, sucking her nipple out from her body. Elizabeth cried out, at first in pain, and then, as he let go of her hands and kissed down her body, with desire. He ground his bolt against her, tempting, tantalizing, then slid down her body, kissing a line between her breasts and belly. She gasped, spread her legs and rocked her hips up to welcome him inside.

"Am I a child now, Lizzie? Do you want me to stop, do you want me to stop this?" Hando growled against her cunt. He stroked her nylon-clad legs, his fingertips trailing fire, then draped them over his shoulders. His mouth brushed the soft skin above her stockings.

"Don't stop," she moaned, her fists crumpling the blanket as she caught fire.

He licked up her thigh and plunged his tongue inside her. He used his tongue like a spear and fucked her with it, he used his lips to suck her clit until he brought her to a screaming climax. And then he was on top of her, inside her, taking her hands again to lace their fingers together. He circled his hips, teasing even now, giving her only half of his cock when she needed him to drive it in to the root and fuck her hard. He stared down at her and Elizabeth, completely taken over, stared back. She was drowning in his eyes, watching them change from aquamarine to jade, like the sea on a stormy day. He had long ago stopped hiding from her and often let her see what was inside him, read the message in those eyes.

And like other times, today Elizabeth saw lust, plain in his grimace of desire, and stubbornness, born of the need to prove she was his, even if it meant marking her so her husband would see. She saw arrogance and pride, the confidence that he could make her crazy for him despite her initial reluctance. And for the first time, she saw something else, something shining from deep inside his eyes, a glimpse of his soul behind the droop of his lashes.

Dear God, was that tenderness she saw? Love? Breathless, she stared, her lips parted, stunned by a tremendous rush of emotion.

He loved her. She loved him. And for the first time, she thought it. Said it.

"I love you. Oh, God help me, I do."

He stared down, his eyes tender, vulnerable. "Love you, my Lizzie," he whispered, so quietly his breath barely stirred against her cheek. But she had heard him. And she knew.

Elizabeth lay with her head on his chest, listening to Hando’s heart beating beneath her cheek. She felt awkward now that she'd said the word love to him, awkward and shy and regretful. It had been a mistake to admit to it and she berated herself helplessly; what had she been thinking? There could be no love in this relationship based on need, on animal passion. She had never intended to love any man but George. George was her husband, her friend, the man who knew her better than anyone. Despite his lack of desire for her, she still loved him and always would, would never give up a lifetime spent together for another man, no matter how strong the attraction.

She was desperately sorry that the words had slipped past her lips. Hando would expect more from her now, and Elizabeth had nothing more to give him. He owned her body, but her soul, her heart, were for her husband. But honesty was one of her virtues, few though they were---and honesty compelled her to admit that she loved her beautiful young god too. Not more or less, but differently from the way she loved George. And the new love was strong, for all that it had come out of the blue. Didn't Hando have the right to expect more, now that she'd said she loved him? Didn't she have the right to expect more from him, now that he'd said he loved her? Where would things go from here---and was she going to let them take their course or dam the flow of emotion that was flooding her like a river in the wet?

Unanswerable questions. Tormenting questions. She stirred restlessly against him and Hando tightened his hold on her.

"What is it, Lizzie love?" His voice was quiet, uncharacteristically tender.

"Nothing. I'm a bit restless, that’s all."

He forced her to face him. "Why?"

"I don't know. No reason. Nothing I can put my finger on."

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing, probing. He was going to say something she didn't want to hear. She pulled away from him and sat up, glanced around the room, used the mess as an excuse to distract him.

"What went on here last night? The place is a disaster."

Hando tilted his head to the side, fixing her in his gaze. She refused to meet his eyes.

He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling through his nose. "Had a shivoo with my boys, is all. Got a bit wild. They usually do."

He watched her, puzzled by her obvious subterfuge, and wondered why she was ignoring what he'd admitted to her, ignoring what they had admitted to each other. Though Hando had little experience in matters of love, it seemed to him that she should be happy now, and that they should be lying here holding each other. There should be peace and warmth between them, not this cold aloofness, this unapproachable detachment.

"You had a party for your skinhead mates?"

He had told her once that he worked in the warehouse as a night watchman, and got his room as part of his wage. At his nod, she asked "Does the owner mind if you have parties here at night? I thought you were supposed to be on duty then."

He shrugged carelessly. "If he knew, he'd mind, I reckon. I don't tell him. Doesn't matter, I'll be leaving here before long. Packing my kit next week."

She turned her head sharply. "You're moving? Why? New job?"

It was his turn to become evasive. "You could say that."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Well, what do you say, Hando?" She jerked her chin toward the door. "What was that bloke doing here before? What's going on then?"

He grew distant and cold. "Stay out of my business, Lizzie. It doesn't concern you."

"No, it doesn't...but you do. I get frightened when I think about the things you're involved in. Where do you get your money, Hando? Are you into the drug trade?"

His voice held a warning. "Belt up or piss off, Liz. I mean it. When I want you to know something, I'll fucking tell you."

She bit her lip and got up, shrugged into her robe, moved aimlessly around the room. Leaning back against the pillows, he lit another cigarette and watched her, his face carefully blank. She began to tidy the room, picking up ashtrays, dumping them in the trashcan, gathering up the flattened tinnies.

"Leave that!" he barked, his tone harsh, irritated. "I don't need you to be my bloody housemaid."

Elizabeth put the cans in the trash and stood near the bed. He reached up with one hand and dragged her down to sit beside him. His voice became quiet, gentle again.

"What is it, love? What's bothering?"

She felt the tears coming on and closed her eyes, lowered her head to his chest so he couldn't see them.

"You. You bother me." She rubbed her cheek against his nipple, slid over to kiss the tattoo in the center of his chest. "I don't want to love you, Hando. I really don't."

If she had suddenly stabbed him it could not have hurt him more, but his face showed nothing and he kept his tone neutral. "Why not?"

She laughed bitterly. "Why not? Are you mad? What's in that for me, for either of us, but bother and trouble? Bloody hell, I'm too old to love anyone so young."

"Bloody hell," he mocked. "Can't you forget your age for once? What the fuck does age have to do with us? You're as young as you feel, Liz."

It was like she hadn’t heard him. "I shouldn't come here anymore," she mused, a finger tapping nervously at her lips. "You need to find someone younger, someone you can really love. Someone you can marry."

He made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. "Leave me out of your fuckin' fairytales! I don't want a wife. I like things the way they are. You give me what I need; I give you what you've been missing. Don't fuck with this, Liz; it's perfect. We've got the best of both worlds going here." He lifted a thick strand of her hair and wound it around his fist, pulled until she raised her head. Leaning forward, he kissed her. "Leave it alone. If you want to take back what you said, go ahead. I don't need you to love me," he lied.

She reached with one finger, drew it lightly down his nose, following the crest from bridge to tip. She loved his nose, so straight and beautifully formed. There was nothing about him she didn't think beautiful.

"I wish I could take it back," she whispered, looking into his eyes. "But if I did, it would be a lie. I do love you. And you love me. And it's fucked."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "If you feel that way, I don't want to talk about it, Lizzie."

She looked down at their joined hands and nodded. "All right. Just one thing….you know I'll never leave George for you, don't you? I never will."

"I don't want to talk about it, I said. Leave off."

She fell silent. Waited. Said, "Just so you know."

She didn't show up on Wednesday. Hando waited two hours on the bench in Middle Park, but Elizabeth didn't come. He tried her cell repeatedly and got the out of service message. Furious, he thought of going to her house and dragging her out by her hair, and be damned to her fucking husband. But he didn't know the address. He didn't even know her last name. He'd been so fucking sure of her, he hadn't troubled to find out much about her. He'd just assumed she'd show up every time he told her to. And she had, until now. Suddenly he felt like a fool sitting on the bench, waiting for her like a love-struck boy. He got up and walked away, and didn't look back.

He fought against calling her all though the evening, and forced himself not to call on Thursday. On Friday, he went to the park but hid himself, watching to see if she'd come. She didn't. By the time he left Middle Park he was raging, his face frozen into a grimace of fury. When he got back to the squat, he took her satin nightgown from the top drawer in his bureau and tore it into shreds, flinging the pieces on the floor. And then he bent and picked up one handkerchief-sized square of blue satin and rubbed it between his index finger and thumb, passed it under his nose as he inhaled her scent.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, aching for her. He felt lost, alone. It seemed she had meant it when she said she didn't want to love him, but fuck, he didn't want to love her, either. It just happened. Why did she start mucking about with things? They could have gone on the way they were forever, or at least until he tired of her.

He stared vacantly at the blue satin, certain he’d never be tired of Lizzie.

Furious again, he fisted his hands, wished he could pound her into submission, knew such means would never work with her. Utterly frustrated, he picked up one of the plastic chairs and threw it against the wall. It cracked in half, the seat splintering from the force of impact. He panted, fought to control his rage.

Stupid bitch, why did she say it? Why did he?

Elizabeth sat beside George in his hospital room, stroking his hand. She couldn't keep her eyes from the monitors and tubes he was attached to, things that told the nurse and doctor how he was doing, and if what he was doing was normal. She didn't understand their dials and readings, but the nurses assured her George was fine. He'd had a heart attack, the doctors said. He needed surgery to bypass his clogged arteries, and afterward he’d have to slow down, take life a bit easier. Cut down on his stress, begin a mild exercise programme. When Dr. Falkland left them alone, she and George talked about his recovery, made plans to take evening walks together, nice long walks.

"Maybe all the way out to Middle Park and back," George suggested, smiling. "Perhaps not at first, but we could build up to that. I know you like to go there. What do you say, Eliz?"

"Whatever you think best, darling," Elizabeth replied, looking at his face and thinking how dear he was. What had she been thinking of, jeopardizing this kind of lasting, steadfast love to have an affair with Hando? Nobody mattered to her as much as George did, not even her beautiful young god. Thank Christ George had never learned of her wickedness, and if she could help it, he never would. She smiled at him, stroked his hand, and glanced up at the monitors again, thinking, planning.

It was Wednesday, her day to see Hando. She had missed last Wednesday and Friday because of George's illness, had not called Hando once and had kept the cell off so he couldn't ring her. At first, it was just precautionary, but now her mind had changed. She wasn't going to explain about the heart attack. There would be no more Hando in her life. She would meet him one last time and tell him it was over.

She looked at her watch. It was almost time for their usual rendezvous; she had only half an hour to get to the bench in Middle Park. Hando would be waiting for her; she could get the whole ugly business over with in a public place, and be back at the Royal Melbourne Hospital before much time had gone by.

If she could bring herself to do it.

She was afraid of what would happen when she saw her lover again, afraid of how weak she was. Hando could talk her into staying with him, she knew he could. He had that power over her, just as if she was mindless, with no will of her own. After years of living a decent life, she had allowed him to take control of her. Why? Why was she so weak when it came to her beautiful young god?

Because you’re in love with him...

Her eyes returned to her dozing husband’s face. Yes, she was in love with Hando, but she loved George more. And she would be strong enough to do the right thing. Abruptly, she stood to leave.

"I'm going to run a few errands, darling. I’ve put off the shopping, the dry cleaning, until I was sure you were out of danger." Elizabeth bent to kiss her husband tenderly. "I'll be back in time to help you with your tea."

He squeezed her hand. "Don't be too long, please? I feel lost when you're not here."

She gently soothed his forehead. "No, I won't be long. Have a bit of a nap, why don't you? Time will go faster, you'll see."

He forced a smile, but there was fear in his eyes. "Come back to me, Eliz. I love you more than you know."

The penny dropped. Elizabeth froze, half-bent over her stricken husband. He knew. She was positive of it, but George was a gentleman. He would never accuse her. She dropped her lashes to hide the shame and guilt in her eyes and kissed him again. "I love you, too...so much. Don't fret, my darling, it isn’t good for you. Go to sleep, and I'll be back before you know it."

At his nod she turned and left the room quickly, before she burst into tears.

She sat on the bench and waited, wondering if she should have called first. Hando was late, and she was ready to scream. Tense and guilt-stricken, she wanted only to get this last meeting over with, wanted to tell Hando it was finished between them and then run back to George, back to safety and boredom and the dull, comfortable, married-for-ages sort of love she had been so eager to leave behind all those months ago. She knew their parting was going to be unpleasant, knew Hando would try to persuade her to stay with him, even feared he would resort to violence, but she swore to herself that she wouldn't back down. Lowering her head, Elizabeth closed her eyes and braced herself to do what had to be done. She told herself their time together was over. She told herself she was finished with him. She told herself he was trouble and she was lucky to be getting out of it free and clear.

The only thing was, she didn't believe a word of it. She wiped away tears and looked up, searching for him once more, and at last saw him approach, her eyes picking him out of the crowd on the path. He was only thirty meters away.

Even now, with her mind set against him, the sight of him took her breath away. Hando. So beautiful, so graceful, so electrifying and powerful. He looked straight at her, and her heart began to pound with the excitement she always felt when she first saw him. But he seemed angry, wound up; he looked as if he were ready to burst out of his skin.

It was then she noticed the woman, a girl really, walking beside him. At first Elizabeth thought they weren't together, thought perhaps the girl was just passing by, until her lover slipped his arm over her shoulder. With his eyes locked on Elizabeth's, Hando nuzzled the top of the girl’s head. They stopped walking and there, surrounded by people streaming by, he kissed her in a vulgar, humiliating display that had more to do with ownership than affection.

Elizabeth felt as if she had been surprised by an attacker and slammed viciously to the ground. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails dug furrows into her palms. Instantly furious, insanely jealous, and worse, deeply wounded, she watched Hando and the girl come closer. Their eyes met and clashed over her head and Elizabeth almost choked in rage. He was gloating at her!

He saw her fury and with his eyes locked on hers, Hando stretched his lips in a mocking smile.

Almost writhing in pain, Elizabeth silently screamed. Oh, the bastard. The rotten, bleeding, faithless bastard. She had told him she loved him, and this was what she got for baring her heart.

Elizabeth dropped her eyes and squeezed them tightly shut, as if she could squeeze out the pain that tore at her heart. She strove for deep breaths, wondering if the agony in her chest would pass before she fainted. She heard his low voice murmuring indistinctly, growing fainter as they moved away. She sat unnaturally still, waiting, breathing. Hating.

She had to get away, and quickly. Standing so abruptly that her vision grayed and her head spun, she staggered and clutched the back of the bench until her equilibrium returned. She started down the path towards the car park with her head held high, but she couldn’t keep to a pretense of dignity and at last broke into a run. Tears streamed down her cheeks but she dashed them away and kept going, ignoring the concerned glances of people who passed by.

Hando turned, watched in confused triumph as Lizzie sped away from him until Cora tugged impatiently at his arm, begging for attention. She had been waiting for her chance at Hando for a long time. She thought of what it would mean to be his woman, the position she would have in their gang. All she had to do was get him in bed. She’d make him mad for her, the tricks she knew. Her last bloke said she could suck the chrome off a Holden’s bumper, but Hando thrust the girl away and shoved his balled fists into his pockets, his eyes on Lizzie’s retreating back..

Out of patience with waiting, Cora made a bored face and tugged at his arm. She didn't want to walk in the bloody fucking park any longer. She hadn't wanted to in the first place, but he'd insisted on it. She whined in a high-pitched voice that had him cringing, "Come on then, Hando-love. Let's get on to your squat and do the nasty."

He swiveled his head to glare at her, his eyes blazing, savage. "Piss off, you stupid cunt."

Her mouth fell open, she gripped his arm tighter. "What? Give over, lovey. I thought we were going home to fuck."

He shook her off violently. "I said piss off, you drack bitch. I wouldn't fuck you for a double pay packet."

Her dreams of skinhead grandeur were melting like a child’s ice cream cone. "Hando?" Cora reached for him; again he shoved her brutally away.

His eyes were like chips of ice, his voice was coldly menacing: "Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me."

Terrified, Cora backed away, then turned and ran. Hando stared after Elizabeth, saw her disappear behind a planting of eucalypts at the end of the path. Eyes blazing, jaw clenched, he took one involuntary step and then stopped, his hands fisted at his sides. "Lizzie…wait," he whispered, but she was gone.

He couldn't bring himself to go after her.