Stumbling over to the dresser, he pressed the button acknowledging their signal, then pulled open the front of the little cooler sitting there. Pulling out a short, stubby bottle of dark beer, he twisted off the cap and took a deep swig.For several years after he'd lost Béla, he had relived her memories almost every night in the form of dreams. But as the years passed, the dreams occurred less and less often, as though she was moving farther away in death. If he still had them, he didn't remember upon awakening. Maybe once or twice a year, though, he would remember one vividly – like the one he just had.He snorted at the thought of ancient war chariots woven out of grass. The cage he ... or rather, she ... had been hung in was woven, also. Wherever that incident had taken place (most likely somewhere in the British Isles because of the medieval castles), they didn't seem to have an abundance of iron, but they certainly knew how to weave grass.He grinned, thinking that maybe that was. He had been egging Connie on gently the whole evening, glancing at Vicky as he did it. It was funny, she felt no jealousy. They had become so certain of the powerful animal attraction between them that flirting was just a game. He did it more than she did, but the several dates they had had since that first evening had always played out the same way.They would have a normal, pleasant time, then go back to his apartment or the dojo and explore their violent impulses. They played with the vibrator, both using it as they fucked. They pretended angry, furious rape. They had tried bondage, but neither enjoyed it. Often, their first act of the evening would be like that, savage and strange. Then he would do his tender, long lasting stimulation of her, and she found herself wanting both aspects of their bodies' desire.He enjoyed his wealth, the fawning in restaurants, the easy tickets to whatever they wanted. Debbie and Connie were getting used to her staying with him all night, and she had.
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