Goat-grabbing.

That's the English translation of buzkashi.

It's Afghanistan's national sport. The game is played by two teams of ten horsemen each. The object is simple: 'grab' the headless eviscerated carcass of a calf –calves replaced goats when they were found to be sturdier– ride round a pole stuck in the opposing end of the playing field; ride back and drop the carcass in the starting circle. Goal! Simple... but rough, and sometimes deadly.

And buzkashi was only one of the deadly games this day had in store for Julie and Flynn.

They were jolted from sleep in the dawn following their return from the Djinn excursion by the racket of buzkashi  pre-game festivities: high-pitched ululating of village women; the beat of dhol drums; the strains of rubab and tambur sitars; all backed by a crazy cacophony of bells and whistles. When the Taliban ruled they had banned buzkashi festivals. In defiance, the Afghanis were making up for lost time.

Julie and Flynn had traveled back to Veerona at a leisurely pace, arriving in the late evening. Julie had politely, and pointedly, offered Flynn the master bedroom again.

She had remained sociable, even cheery, but had decided to tread cautiously in her interaction with Flynn. She had come to regard him as two distinct entities: a sexy considerate boy-next-door; and a sexy cunning treacherous mercenary. She was determined to beware the latter, and cool-it with the former. So far, so fair.

She had deftly deflected his advances at the campsite –fortunately both the boy-next-door and the mercenary were gentlemen– and Julie had resisted the temptation of a late night sortie into his bedroom. She was pretty darned proud of herself.

But she found it grossly unfair that Flynn Montague could not be that special one for whom she'd been waiting. Their bodies fit brilliantly together; they shared the same natural rhythms; together, their mouths were made for long deep kisses. But when coping with the annoying realities of life, she and Flynn were the proverbial round hole, square peg. It was a callous joke of Fate.

"What in hell's name is all that noise?" Flynn cried out from his bed.

"Time to rise, sleepyhead," Julie called from her bedroom. "We're late, the games have begun. Get your lazy butt in gear."

"Games? What games?"

"Buzkashi," Julie answered softly, posed in the doorway of his bedroom in a pair of tap-pant undies and a camisole. Her bed-hair was spiked in all directions, just like Bozo's. "The harvest festival is underway." She raised herself onto the balls of her bare feet. "They like to play in the morning before it's too hot for the horses."

Julie loved the reaction she got from Flynn when she was out of her niqab and abaya. He couldn't help gawking. And now he was shifting about under the sheets so she wouldn't notice his big, good-morning salute... cute. She said, "C'mon, I'll fix some breakfast and then we'll join in."

She gave him a beatific smile, performed a one-and-a-half pirouette and then sashayed her tush to the bathroom.

By the time Flynn was finished in the bathroom, Julie had changed into her buzkashi niqab and abaya –they were heavyweight cotton– with black tights and a sports bra underneath for good measure. She had prepared hot oatmeal and toast along with a buffet of fruits, hard-boiled eggs and pastries for them.

"Do you want to borrow Jack's riding boots?" she asked as he padded into the kitchen. "They'll be better than your combat boots."

"Better for what?" Flynn said.

"Buzkashi, of course."

"Thanks, no need. I won't be partaking."

"What? C'mon, I've been looking forward to seeing you show off your stuff out there."

"Uh-uh, not happening, not my thing." Flynn raised a palm. "And I doubt it's Cleo and Tony's thing either. I saw that game in a movie, it's bloody rough." He arched a brow as he polished off a huge spoonful of steaming porridge.

"Hmm, you might have a point about Tony... but not Cleo. Just wait till you see her moves. She loves showing up all those huffing-puffing stallions," Julie said proudly, then her eyes shadowed somewhat. "Too bad Caesar only allows Jack to ride him." She stared wistfully into a corner of the ceiling. "You should have seen those two on the buzkashi field... magnificent." Then she snapped her attention back to Flynn. "You and Tony would do well, though. It's like a rodeo event."

"I was never into the rodeo thing. I got a bellyful of roping and riding working on the family ranch. I had other, more pleasant distractions, to occupy my off days."

Julie didn't attempt to hide her disappointment. She had been eager to see Flynn on the buzkashi field. She reasoned with his strength, balance and ranching experience he'd make a formidable contestant. Jack was near unbeatable, even into his fifties; she had been so proud watching him dominate the play. She was somewhat disillusioned to learn that Flynn was apparently all-hat-no-cattle.

She said, a touch condescending, "You'll spectate at least?"

"Absolutely. I'll cheer you on. But you know, Julie, I gotta' maintain a low profile. Both The Djinn and Kurtz seem to be aware of my every move."

Urgent banging on the front door interrupted them. They gave each other questioning looks and then Julie went to answer.

It was Saddiq –hatchet boy– and he jabbered away excitedly to Julie, all the while casting sharp glances Flynn's way. Julie placed a calming hand on his shoulder while he yammered on. He ended with what appeared to be a desperate plea, shot one final dagger at Flynn and then he raced off at a dead run back to the festivities.

"Wow, what was all that about?" Flynn asked.

Julie answered with as much humility as she could muster, "The Veerona team is getting set for their first match. They want to make sure I'm coming." She returned to the kitchen table and selected an apple slice from the fruit tray.

Flynn said, "Huh, impressive. Isn't it unusual for a woman to be allowed to participate in this type of thing?"

"It is. But Jack coached me secretly. And then I joined in the Veerona team practices. Jack developed a couple of trick plays that depend on Cleo and me. Winning trumps tradition where buzkashi is concerned. Ergo: I'm in."

"How about that Saddiq kid? Does he play?"

"Uh-huh. He's been on the team for a while. He's young, but he's not afraid." And Julie wasn't afraid to level the obvious broadside at Flynn. She decided his ego could stand a bruise or two.

"That guy's got 'trouble' stamped across his forehead. I don't trust him," Flynn pronounced flatly. "He'd better watch himself. He shows way too much interest in you. I don't like it. Who knows what he's up to." He took a gulp of tea.

Interesting, Julie mused smugly. First she discovers that Flynn is too chicken to play contact sports, and now this: he's insecure, jealous, threatened by a teenager! She said, "Yeah, I think you're probably right about Saddiq. Too bad he's not a couple years older." She pretended to give the romantic possibilities serious consideration.

"He's old enough to inflict serious damage; tried it on me, twice already," Flynn responded from a different wavelength. "Who's the next target? He's also old enough to appreciate the goodies you've got semi-hidden under your robes. Let's hope that's the extent of his interest."

Julie laughed aloud, loving this. From her wavelength perspective, Flynn's tough-guy facade was crumbling like a toasted taco. And she had been worried about her brief bout of girly-girl behavior in the desert? Hah! Flynn's girly-boy antics beat that flat.

"Do me a favor, Captain Montague," she said, "I gotta saddle up, get to work. You won't mind clearing the dishes before you join the other cheerleaders?"

She reached and touched a finger to the corner of his mouth, said, "A spot of egg on your face."

Flynn had claimed a lone cheap seat on a rise overlooking the expansive buzkashi field of play. Julie had told him that rules were rarely observed and the field of play could sometimes encompass the entire village and surrounding hills. The hill he had chosen was a fair distance removed–he needed to fly under the radar– but he'd still be able to catch all the action.

He hadn't told her he could also use the time to figure out his next moves. A lot of fresh grist had been tossed into the Veerona mystery mill. He had to think it through, sort it out. Unfortunately Sammy was away, Flynn could use his help sifting through the new developments.

Speak of the devil... and Sammy shows up.

Flynn stood and watched the Humvee pulling up to Julie and Jiddah's place at the far corner of the village. Even at this distance Flynn could see the old heap looked as if it'd been shot up with Viagra. The new shocks had her riding stiff and proud. And he saw no evidence of those foul exhaust emissions. It appeared cousin Abdul had done a bang-up job. Though Flynn would not inquire from whence the replacement parts had come.

He watched Julie emerge on the run from behind the house with Cleo in tow, saddled and ready. She joyously welcomed Jiddah. They hugged, turning in circles and laughing as though they'd been twins separated at birth.

Flynn loved that Julie wore her emotions on her sleeve. She possessed a charming, innocent outlook on life that was infatuating. It's probably what helped her survive the horrific death of her parents. She and Jiddah had managed to maintain an oasis of grace and decency in this cruel war-torn land. He admired them both... and reckoned he was falling in love with one.

Jiddah and Julie spoke briefly and then Julie greeted Sammy and pointed in Flynn's direction.

He returned their waves and beckoned Sammy to join him. Sammy saluted, held up an index finger –just a minute– and then scurried into the house.

"Eight-hundred-thousand dollars," Sammy commented thoughtfully, tugging on his earlobe. "It is an impressive sum, Monty."

While watching the preliminary buzkashi matches, and nervously awaiting Veerona's game, Flynn had related to Sammy all the new developments: His covert search of the poppy shed; the subsequent surveillance of the shed and then the oasis; trailing The Djinn gang to their stronghold; the location of the hideout; and finally, the meeting with The Djinn, including his offer of gold and his intimation that BlackSky may be crooked.

Flynn said, "I know, eh. Beats the crap outta me. I can't figure why he didn't simply pop a round into my head."

"Yes, if I were The Djinn that would have been my choice," Sammy replied without cracking a smile. "And I have some interesting news about Kurtz and BlackSky. Quite possibly, The Djinn is correct about the corruption. But first: are you considering his offer, my friend? Eight-hundred-thousand dollars is sufficient to finance your dream. You would be out of this cursed mess now, not later."

"It's tempting. But you know I'm not, Sammy. I don't think The Djinn is Taliban, but he's close enough; I'll not make deals with him. And even if I had the inclination, it would be impossible to pull it off." Flynn removed his cap and wiped sweat from his brow –Julie had removed the stitches; it had healed well. Flynn reeled off the reasons, "Number one: Julie McNeill has no intention of leaving Afghanistan; we'd hafta abduct her for chrissake. Appealing in many ways I admit, but nonetheless illegal. Number two: We'd never get those frigging gold ingots through security at the Kabul airport. Number three: It's desertion. I have no love or respect for Kurtz and BlackSky, but I signed on the dotted line."

"And you informed Dahab regarding the offer of gold?"

"Yeah, I did. I know she's a civilian but I thought she should be aware that The Djinn has singled her out. Probably because of her efforts to replace the poppy crop; that's his grocery ticket."

"Will you tell Kurtz you have located The Djinn's stronghold?"

"No, not yet. Not before I find out why The Djinn thinks BlackSky is dirty. You said you've heard something about this?"

Before Samhal could answer, Flynn stood suddenly. He said, with a nervous edge on his voice, "Look, that's Julie on the field. Veerona's up."

The two teams of horsemen formed a tight circle facing the calf carcass lying in the center of the field.

Julie McNeill was conspicuous. She was the smallest player yet she was sitting the largest horse. Even though Cleo was the lone mare, she was the biggest animal out there. Jack McNeill must have imported Julie's gift horses from North America or Europe –they were substantially larger than the typical Afghan stock.

Flynn considered the carcass in the circle-center and wondered how in hell Julie expected to lean out of her saddle and hoist that bloody thing off the ground. She was strong but It had to weigh close to a hundred pounds! And all while nineteen juiced-up men were fighting ferociously to do the same? Jeezus, I should've stopped her. She'll be murdered!

Too late. Bang! Game on. Bamma versus Veerona.

The riders madly converged on the center, yelling and whooping, urging their mounts to force aside the others while they struck out at the opposing riders with fists and riding crops.

At anything close to an opportunity, a player would plunge below the fray, clinging to the saddle pommel with a hand or a hooked knee, and scrabble for the carcass.

Flynn anxiously tried to spot Julie and Cleo in the mosh pit.

There she was! A petunia in a thorn patch. Flynn was surprised, but relieved. Julie was maneuvering in the peripheries of the dust storm, closely observing the action. Good, he thought, hoping she intended to stay there, these buggers play rough. Half of them are probably Taliban for chrissake!

Finally, one rider broke free of the scrum. He was with the Bamma team. With the carcass half dragging on the turf, he burped out of the cloud and struck out in the direction of Veerona's end post.

The advantage of surprise and blocking provided by his team mates had him four lengths ahead of any of the Veerona players. He man-handled the heavy load clear of the ground.

It appeared he would easily reach and make the turn round Veerona's end pole. Returning to drop the carcass in the center circle wouldn't be quite so simple. He'd need to fight his way back through the entire Veerona team.

But then, with a few powerful galloping strides, Cleo miraculously appeared at the left flank of the breakaway Bamma horse. The Veerona fans went nuts.

Julie easily overtook the Bamma guy and used Cleo's weight advantage to slow his pace, angle him off course.

Two Veerona riders –Saddiq was one of them– were closing in on the breakaway pair.

Flynn watched as Saddiq pulled ahead. He was coming up fast on Julie's side of the lead pair.

Saddiq raised his whip high, lining up on Julie.

Flynn's right hand went for his sidearm. He thought, I knew that little prick Saddiq couldn't be trusted. Merde!

But before Flynn could draw his weapon, his hand was clamped fast to the holster top.

In a heartbeat: He swiveled his head right; Samhal released Flynn's hand, jerked his nose toward the field; Flynn snapped his attention back on the action.

In the next heartbeat: Julie yanked her reins, she and Cleo disengaged; Saddiq plowed his mount sideways into the exposed Bamma horse, at the same time flailing madly at its rider.

The other Veerona player caught up and he and Saddiq battled the Bamma player for the carcass, flaying and punching him viciously. Once they'd wrested it away they hoisted it onto the back-end of Julie's saddle. She held it secure with one hand, the reins in her other. She spun Cleo one-eighty and rocketed toward the Bamma end zone.

Julie cut a wide path round the rival team, easily outrunning them all.

At one point she veered behind the spectators, blasted an arc onto Flynn's hill, Cleo kicking up a hail of dust and pebbles over him and Samhal at the apex.

Julie laughed and yelped a hoot of encouragement to Cleo. Down the hill they bounded. And then back onto the field proper. They jammed a tight turn round the end-zone pole and then accelerated back the other way, un-petunia-like.

Julie's riding instincts, bond with Cleo, and barrel-racing skills were apparent. Her horsemanship was superb. Coupled with Cleo's superior size and speed they seemed an unbeatable combination. Her team mates jostled and deflected the Bamma riders while Julie zigged and zagged her way round them, unscathed.

She blew across the center circle, neatly flopping the carcass onto the target as she swept through.

The crowd went bonkers. Flynn and Samhal joined in, whistling and whooping.

When the hubbub began to subside, Flynn said, "Hey, Sammy. How in hell did you know Saddiq wasn't going after Julie with that whip?"

"Search me, Monty." Samhal held open his hands. "Awareness overcame me, from heaven or hell, telling me the little beggar was not a threat." He shrugged, with a puzzled expression.

"Most inspiring, Dahab. Bravo!" Samhal remarked as Julie and Flynn approached.

Following the match –Veerona 8, Bamma 2– Flynn had helped Julie with watering and feeding the four horses and brushing down Cleo. They were all grazing contentedly in the paddock now. Jiddah had prepared tea and naan. She and Samhal rose from their rattan chairs and applauded as Julie stepped onto the back patio.

"Please, please stop," she bowed theatrically, "it was nothing. And not my first rodeo." She beckoned indiscreetly for more applause, and then straightened, laughing gleefully. She skipped to the table saying, "Seriously, though, if it weren't for Cleo I'd be the carcass at the next match."

"I doubt that," Flynn said. "That was strong, Julie. Some of the best riding I've ever seen."

"Indubitably," Samhal piped in. "You should be most proud, Dahab. I have never heard of women playing buzkashi." He helped Julie with her chair, Flynn got Jiddah's. "And you won the match for Veerona."

Before Julie could rebut that statement Samhal added, "Boss, you should have been out there... providing comic relief."

Julie peeked askance at Flynn, embarrassed for him. She interjected, "It would have been difficult to manage, Samhal. You know, without your own horse or proper boots; and the teams were already set." She concentrated on spreading jam on her naan, wondering why she felt compelled to make excuses for Flynn's failure to cowboy-up.

Samhal pinched his brow and tossed Flynn a questioning look. Flynn shut his eyes and shook his head furtively, signaling Samhal to: let it go.

Jiddah, ever perceptive, pitched in, "Julie, you know I have never approved of that barbaric game, especially for a girl. But, there is no denying you are skillful. And I must admit it appears the activity has cured your allergy?"

"Allergy?" Julie was completely nonplussed.

"Yes, you know: your nose? It seems the itch has been relieved; scratched to satisfaction one might venture to say?"

Julie felt her ears heat. Her eyes clicked onto Flynn's, then back to Jiddah's. For the life of her, Julie could not imagine how Jiddah had guessed. Because that goofy old-wives' tale about itchy noses had to be total bunk. She tried to collect herself and explain, "Oh, that. Yes, well..."

But Cleo cut her short with a high-pitched terrifying whinny.

"Cleo!" Julie screamed as they all watched the horse rear up in panic and then bolt toward the far end of the paddock. Tony and Iras were circling in panic, kicking up their heels in alarm. Caesar was rearing up in place and pummeling the ground with his fore hooves.

Flynn had almost reached the near fence by the time Cleo flew over the far side.

Julie, behind in the orchard, cried out in horror, "The minefield! Cleo, stop!"

Julie stopped, paralyzed. All she could do was watch. Her vision tunneled and telescoped and the red marker flags of the minefield zoomed-in to arm's length. The scene unfolded in front of her like a nightmare in silent slow-motion. She already knew the ending: her beloved Cleo's horrifying death.

Flynn vaulted the paddock fence, thrusting his legs high out front, pushing off with both hands, hitting the ground running flat out. He bounded toward Caesar; three, four, five strides and then another vault, this time pushing off Caesar's rear end and landing square onto his bare back.

"Yah! Caesar!" Flynn bellowed, slapping Caesar's flank and jerking his head in the direction of the rear fence with a yank on his mane.

Caesar cleared the fence as if he had the wings of Pegasus. He was a thoroughbred and he raced like he knew it was life-or-death for his companion, Cleo. Fresh, long, powerful paces had him gaining on her rapidly. Flynn tucked low and compact, his head tight alongside Caesar's neck.

The ending of the nightmare was changing in Julie's mind. Now she saw all three –Cleo, Caesar and Flynn– exploding into unidentifiable charred gobbets of meat. Flynn... gone... dead, just like her parents. Julie's detached voice erupted out of the nightmare, "Flynn! No! Stop!"

But there was no stopping Flynn. Julie could see even if he could hear her, he was on a one-way, single-minded mission.

The fluttering flags were now no more than a half mile out in front of Cleo. Caesar was closing fast but exactly how Flynn intended to stop Cleo, and himself, before entering the minefield was a total unknown... and an impossibility. Julie's fingernails were digging into her palms, she was numb.

Two hundred yards from the flags, Caesar edged a nose alongside Cleo's rear flank. Flynn tightly gripped fistfuls of Caesar's thick mane. The instant Caesar came abreast of Cleo, Flynn executed, all in one fluid lightning-quick stunt, two distinct moves. First, a surfboard mount: he gathered his feet under himself in a compact crouch. Second: he sprang across from Caesar's back onto Cleo's, grabbing her mane.

"Whoa, Caesar!" Flynn commanded and Julie could hear it all the way back at the paddock.

Caesar miraculously pulled up, just short of the minefield boundary.

But Julie's attention was fixed hard on Flynn. He was bunching up tight, positioning himself high on Cleo's withers. They rocketed past the point-of-no-return.

One hand full of mane, Flynn stretched his other arm out front, clasped Cleo by the nose. He levered her head sideways and she came about hard, and then... pranced back into the clear... all in one piece.

Samhal and Jiddah jogged out to meet Flynn as he rode Cleo back, patting the side of her neck. Caesar trotted alongside snuffling proudly.

"Whew, that could've ended badly, eh?" Flynn wisecracked with a face full of amusement as they approached. He flipped his right leg over Cleo's neck and slid off. He went and held her nose in both hands, nuzzled her. He heartily slapped Caesar's front flank when he sidled close. "Good lad, Caesar! You killed the snake and saved the day, didn't ya? Good boy!"

"Yes, a most exciting performance, boss," Samhal congratulated dryly. "I was contemplating your estate as you crossed the boundary. Alas, I remain a poor man."

"Aw well, maybe next time, mon frère." Flynn smacked Samhal's shoulder, sending him off balance, laughing cheekily. "In the meantime, don't worry; you're killing me with your smart-ass remarks."

"Yes, Monty. That is my duty as official sidekick."

"Sidekick? Hah! If anybody thinks that, Sammy, they're in for a big surprise."

"Flynn," Jiddah interjected, grabbing Flynn's full attention.

"What is it, Jiddah?"

"Julie needs you, your understanding, your... comfort. She has gone inside. Samhal and I will settle these two back into their stalls. We will not disturb you," she added with emphasis.

Julie was in the bathroom. She had removed her niqab and abaya. They lay in a heap on the floor with her cowboy boots. She was standing, dazed, in the walk-in shower, letting the water wash over her. Her tights and sports bra were soaked through.

In a state of horror-induced catatonia she had observed Flynn enter and exit the landmine zone. Then, like an automaton, Julie had turned and paced into her home, into the bathroom. She had removed her outerwear and gone into the shower.

She couldn't allow herself to think. Imagining the other possible outcome of Flynn's latest stunt would be unbearable. She had removed her abaya but a dark cloak of dread and loneliness draped heavily over her shoulders. In a somnolent daze she'd sought comfort in the cool water.

Flynn entered through the back door and removed his boots. He could hear the shower running and went directly to the bathroom. The door was ajar. He stole a peek and could see Julie standing stonily, facing the wall, under the water... with clothes on.

"Julie?" No response. "Julie! What's wrong? Cleo's okay. Didn't you see? No worries. The snake's dead. Jiddah and Sammy are putting Cleo and Caesar back into their stalls, snug as bugs... Julie?"

"Shut up! Shut... up... Flynn."

He perched on the toilet seat. He waited with the patience of an oyster as long minutes ticked by.

Finally, Julie reached up and directed the shower-head aside. She turned and faced Flynn. Her expression was blank, unreadable. Though inside she was well aware; well aware of her need. She needed an affirmation that she was alive, not alone, not afraid. She needed a physical counterattack against the encroaching fear and loneliness that dwelt deep in her gut, plagued her subconscious. The need was an embarrassment to her, a weakness, like an addiction. Yet she was a slave to its compelling and... peculiar urges.

She said, in a dreamlike voice, "Flynn, do you remember saying how the pain of suturing made you feel alive?"

"Um, yeah... I... guess so."

"Do you believe it? Do you believe that pain can make you feel alive, safe, vital?"

"Uhh, I don't know, Julie. Sometimes, I suppose... maybe. It was just one of my wise-ass remarks? You know me."

"I need that, Flynn. I need you to make me feel safe and alive."

"What are you saying, cherie?"

What could she answer? She scarcely knew herself. But she was defenseless against the overpowering press of forboding loneliness that welled up from her dark depths. It could not be willed away. She needed help... physical rescue. It was something she couldn't explain. She prayed Flynn could understand without explanation.

Julie placed her hands on her waist. She inserted her thumbs inside the waistband of her sopping tights. She peeled them down over her hips, halfway down her thighs, exposing her dainty, rufescent triangle to Flynn.

She turned and bent forward, resting her forearms and hands on the front wall of the shower. She rested her head onto her splayed fingers. She arched her back, presenting herself. She said, "Please."

"Julie, baby, what are you asking of me?" Flynn said guardedly.

She slowly turned her head and lay pleading, sleepy-lidded eyes upon him. "Please, Flynn, just a little. I trust you. And I need it. Show me you care."

She saw the shadows of doubt and question floating in his grey, adoring eyes. She hid her face back onto her hands; a gesture of shame and submission. "Please, Flynn."

Flynn removed his clothes and tossed them onto Julie's. He stepped into the shower and gently took her ass in both hands. Her buttocks were white and smooth and divinely formed, like two ostrich eggs.

Flynn's cock had reacted to Julie's aberrant desire well in advance of him. He knelt on one knee and kissed her... and kissed her... and kissed her.

He moved up and kissed the center of her lower back where a dimple marked the spot where her tush began its subtle flare into the two luscious orbs.

Julie's bottom differed from those possessed by most women. Unlike that impression of a distinct entity, hers was simply the top of her legs, the bottom of her waist, merging seamlessly and beautifully together. And it was clear that Flynn appreciated the beauty of it. Her kissed and prodded and probed and nipped at every aspect, dip and knoll of her rear end.

He forced down her tights and helped her step out of them. He grabbed the container of body wash and lathered up his hands. He began kissing her bottom again while washing and massaging her coltish legs, from toes to the top of her thigh... and beyond.

The loving, tender, erotic care Flynn was devoting to Julie's entire lower body was adding a white-hot element of sexual desire to her already deep, burning need, dialing up the necessity for satiation. She was intoxicated by a hazy cocktail of emotions: the bent, irrepressible need spawned from her damaged soul; the familiar desire shooting from her upper thighs into her womb; and the clean, fresh longing in her heart Julie knew was her growing, irrational attachment to Flynn. She couldn't control any of it and she understood little of it: fear... and lust... and love.

"Please, Flynn. Do it. You must. I need it so bad."

He stood and held the top of her hip in his left hand while he described soapy, contemplative swirls on her butt with his right... around, and in, and around.

"Uh-huh. Do it." Julie urged him.

She could hear Flynn's breathing intensify as he battled internally with the prospect of what she was asking, what he was about to do. She felt his grip on her hip tighten. She snatched gasping breaths off the top of her lungs. Anticipation.

The first relief resembled one of the slaps Flynn had given Cleo's neck during their safe return from the minefield.

"That's it, Flynn. But harder, please," Julie pleaded between grateful, panting breaths.

The next was delivered with about the same force he had used, in praise, on Caesar's flank.

Julie moaned with pleasure, "Another. Harder." She twerked her bottom eagerly.

The final was administered with the same intensity as Flynn's hearty smack to Sammy's shoulder. This induced cries of blissful release and tears of relief from Julie.

Flynn dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms round her legs. He yanked her rear-end onto his face and kissed her where a red frieze of his hand-print had already formed. He ran his hands desperately up and down her legs like he was afraid she was about to vanish. He stood and spun her to face him and then pushed her back into the flood rushing down the side wall of the shower.

Julie looked tentatively into Flynn's face. The shadows in his eyes had taken on a different quality. Where there had been doubt and question she now detected a sliver of remorse, but mostly the warmth of adoration, and the heat of desire. It was relief and absolution for Julie –maybe Flynn didn't judge her a complete fricking weirdo.

He drew back from her and looked lovingly upon her. Runnels of water were cascading over her shoulders, coursing over and between her breasts, down her torso and trickling through the delicate coral-colored down at the apex of her legs.

She was dressed only in her sports bra and it was clinging to her. Her nipples were hard, and visible through the soaked material. Flynn gently covered the small mound of one of her breasts with his hand.

Julie seized his hand and squeezed it tight. He reached behind her head and bunched her hair in his fist and pressed her mouth onto his. They fit so well.

A loud thump to the outside wall interrupted the kiss.

Two young Veerona boys scampered close to the open window of the bathroom, jostling for control of a soccer ball, laughing hysterically.

Flynn and Julie froze, catching all the action in the vanity mirror.

One lad finally prevailed and they both bounded away, their laughter and sandaled patter fading. Julie and Flynn looked into one another's eyes, chuckled guiltily. She took a gander to check how much his attention had been diverted. Stiff and erect as a soldier on parade. She lifted her brows in admiration. He recaptured her lips.

There was an insistence in his kiss. It was forceful and demanding where it had normally been inviting and passive. She felt his hand start to pull her top down off her breasts. "Flynn, maybe we shouldn't. The boys may return." She whispered the words without a hint of conviction; it was a tease. She removed her hand from his, stretched her arms overhead, against the cool tiles of the shower.

Flynn reached and cranked the faucet handle full open.

The shower rained down like a monsoon. The wall behind Julie was covered in a sheet of water. It poured over her arms and streamed down her body, soaking her thoroughly. Flynn shoved her top down to her waist and took her breasts in both hands, bowing his head to bury his face in the compassionate warmth of them. He kissed the hard buds of her nipples, caressing them with his tongue and pinching them between his lips, stretching them lightly as he did.

Desire was running hot and thick in her veins, sending waves of heat rising up to dim her vision. She felt it in her throat, like a hand gently squeezing; a dizzying glow formed at her temples.

She moved a hand down Flynn's torso, lingering over the ridges of his abdomen and then lower to find his arousal matched her own, so thick and brutally stiff that she moaned. "Flynn," her voice broke in that sexy, girlish catch, "we mustn't." Another tease. Julie loved how it goaded him on.

He gripped the front of her top in his fist and forced it over her hips. It joined the wet heap of her tights. She leaned her back into the cool water flowing down the red and white tiles, relishing the feeling of it flooding over her shoulders, between her breasts, down her belly.

Flynn pressed against her and kissed her mouth roughly. His hands roamed her body, kneading and massaging the firm flesh with strong hands. Julie was like a wax statue held too close to a flame, becoming soft and compliant under his touch. She wanted to be taken and the need was knotting deep within.

He took a step back from her and regarded her openly, feasting on her nudity as if he couldn't get enough of her, as if he'd been starved. Julie had closed her eyes but she could sense his bold inspection. Her arms were at her side, palms flat to the wall. She moved her hands to her belly and then pushed up, pressing at her breasts, trying to relieve the ache, and then she thrust one hand between her legs, feeling the heat and wanting. "Please. Flynn."

He came close to her once more and took her head between his hands. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth and she tried to suck it down her throat.

She massaged herself frantically. He put his hand over hers and plunged their fingers deep inside. She moaned a low throaty sound and wriggled her pelvis, opening herself more.

She raised a knee to his waist and hooked her leg round his thigh. She stood on tip-toe and urged his pelvis forward with her heel.

He came into her in one motion, long, broad and hard.

A shrill cry forced itself from Julie. She latched onto Flynn's shoulders and her nails dug into him, almost breaking the skin. He pressed her against the wall and Julie put her other leg round his waist, squeezing his cock in deeper, tighter.

Flynn grabbed her rear-end and began an almost imperceptible rotating motion. She felt herself stretch and dew deep inside to accommodate his size. Ah, the fit. She ran her fingers down his back, long curved nails pricking and goading him just short of pain.

When he finally began the thrusting rhythm that would slake the fire storm raging inside of her, Julie was astonished by its ferocity. Her body shuddered under the force of it. Her back was hard to the wall and each powerful thrust would bring a whimper to her lips. She felt his fingers move between her buttocks and spread her open, explore the unexplored. She caught her breath at the exquisite pain and then she felt the spasms roll through her deep insides, racking her frame.

It felt as though she'd drifted into a state of fugue. She was still aware of the motion of her body, rocking and heaving under the force of Flynn's relentless drive. But her mind was detached, in rapture.

Julie dropped her head back and let water wash into her open mouth.

Flynn said, "I want you, Julie. I must have you. I won't let you go." He put his hand behind her neck and began to kiss her wildly. She felt him become harder and quicker inside her and her passion welled higher still. She reached under her leg and massaged him. He wrenched his mouth from hers and buried his face in her shoulder, biting the milky skin at the corner of her neck. Julie's grip on him tightened. Then she squeezed hard as long heated bursts of come shot into her.

They crumpled to the floor and let the shower rain down upon them. Flynn was breathing as though he'd been running. He lay flat on his back, arms and legs limp.

Julie was between his legs, her cheek resting on his belly. She was holding his spent cock. She began fondling it gently. Flynn inhaled and exhaled deeply and then began to chuckle lightly, uncontrollably.

"What's so funny, mister?" Julie asked lazily.

"Absolutely zero... You've heard of that post-coital blues thing? Well I am feeling none of that. There's nothing but Broadway show tunes going off in my head."

"Me too, Flynn."

She kissed his belly and continued playing with him. It was fun when it was flaccid, she liked it. And all the more thanks to his consummate grooming habits; it made for a sexy complement to his boyish smile, so cute. Julie certainly didn't have post-coital blues either, but she was beginning to think she might have a case of penis envy. Brilliant: a masochist with penis envy. What next?

"Julie."

"Mm-hmm," she responded dreamily.

"Not to distract you in any way, mind you... but, I'm curious."

"What?"

"The pattern on these shower tiles. It's strange, very cool. I've never seen anything like it."

Flynn was examining the myriad of needle-thin red lines wandering aimlessly over the white tiles. Several of the tiles were colored in off-white shades, no two shades the same. If your eye could manage to follow any particular red line, you would find that it eventually connected two of the off-white tiles. But you needed patience and persistence to ascertain this. Every line appeared to swirl and curl and flow and crisscross endlessly.

Julie said, "Jiddah did the art work and then had the tiles custom made."

Julie admired the walls but continued her fiddling as she explained, "We installed them together. It took forever to arrange them properly. Have you noticed any consistency in the pattern?"

"Yeah, I think so. I traced one line... and it appears to connect two off-white tiles."

"That's correct. Not bad for a cowboy. Jiddah designed it according to an ancient Chinese belief that: 'An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break.' Jiddah says the attachment transcends space, time and dimensions."

They both thought about that for a minute.

And then Julie extended her leg and turned down the volume of water with her toes. She said quietly, "Flynn."

"Uh-huh." He began tenderly massaging her head and neck with both his hands.

"Do you believe in fate, destiny?"

"Sort of," Flynn said, his massage acquiring a contemplative rhythm. "I like to think we all have a preordained destiny that is open for adjustments, for better or worse, according to our day-to-day behavior."

"So then," Julie said, "let's say a girl was originally destined to meet the man of her dreams next week, but tomorrow she transgressed, just a little bit. You're saying she wouldn't meet him?" Julie hoped her hypothetical example was sufficiently confusing to keep Flynn guessing on the identity of the principals.

He answered, "If it were venial sin, maybe you'd... I mean, she'd, need to wait an extra week or two. You know, I'm hoping fate is fair and not vindictive. After all, your example does involve two destinies."

Julie was silent for a while, then she said softly, "Flynn."

"Uh-huh." He continued the hypnotic massage... as did she.

Her voice was timid with contrition as she said, "I'm really sorry how I implied you were chicken because you didn't want to join in on the buzkashi match."

"Ah, fugetaboutit. I can take some teasing for godsake. It was just in fun. Besides, I am chicken. That game is bloody scary."

Julie said, "Don't be modest, it doesn't suit you."

"It's not modesty, it's the truth."

Julie turned her head, looked up at Flynn, asked, "Really? So why did you risk your life saving Cleo?"

"That's different. I think it was Mark Twain who said: 'All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure.' If I have time to think a thing over, I can easily talk myself out of it, I'm no hero. But you? You risk your butt playing that sick game and you've plenty of time to think it over beforehand. That takes guts."

Julie said, "Well I think you deserve a medal for what you did. I would've died if I'd lost Cleo." She laid her cheek on his belly again. His cock had firmed in her hand, its smooth head reaching for her lips. She could feel Flynn's heartbeat accelerating.

"Yeah, well, Cleo's too young to die," Flynn said, speaking with growing difficulty. "And it's Caesar who deserves the medal. He killed the snake and saved us all in the end."

"Fine. But you know something else?"

"What?"

"If I'd lost you I would have killed myself. So, I'll give Caesar some sugar later, and since you refuse a medal, I'll give you some sugar now." She stuck out her tongue and slowly swirled it round his engorged, un-boyish, purple knob.

And that was as far down his cock as Julie would go. She would be playing this tune at her own tempo. Drawing it out, driving Flynn to mad distraction.

She kissed the tip, and licked it, lightly grazed her teeth on it and sucked on it like it was a lollipop; all the while gently massaging his smooth balls. She could tell from Flynn's breathing and low rumbling groans that he was mightily happy he had opted to forgo the medal.

In the end, Julie couldn't extend the rhapsody as long as she'd wished; her compassion won out. When she felt Flynn had reached the point-of-no-return, she held his balls firmly and squeezed the first spurt down her throat. The remainder she lathered over her face, cradling his pumping sex in both hands and massaging herself with it, relishing the feel and taste and scent of it. It evoked sounds of lavish pleasure from Flynn, he was almost sobbing. It pleased Julie immensely.

Sex with Flynn was different from any she had ever experienced. Making love with him was fun, exciting, uninhibited, erotic... and completely gratifying. Absolute intimacy. Flynn knew precisely where her buttons were hiding and he wasn't afraid to push any of them. And she now knew there wasn't anything she could do with him that would make her self-conscious. Since they were into epigrams, she was reminded of a good one: 'The essence of sex is communication; the rest is just plumbing.' Julie knew that she and Flynn didn't click on some fundamental beliefs, but where sex was concerned they were definitely... 'communicating'.

Flynn took her by the underarms and slid her onto his chest. He kissed her lubricious face all over with mad and adoring passion. "Ahh, Julie," he muttered desperately, "you are a sweet, sweet angel of mercy." He looked at her and smiled one of his little-boy smiles. He said, "You know, I had to concentrate on tracing two more of those thin red lines from beginning to end. Otherwise, I woulda' lasted about thirty frigging seconds. You are one wicked witch."

"Oh c'mon, schmoopy," Julie said, displaying a mischievous glint in the corner of her eye, "you're only saying that 'cause it's true."