addie awoke with a start when her mouth was suddenly covered by a hand that was much too big and beefy to be her own.  She opened her eyes blearily to stare down at the alarmingly familiar - if offending - appendage.  It was large enough to cover most of her face.  The palm was slightly rough against her skin, but the nails on the end of those impossibly long, impossibly thick fingers were flat and neatly trimmed. 

What’s more, his fingers smelled of where they’d been last night, bringing a flaming blush to the cheeks they covered.  Dear God, he certainly hadn’t forgotten what to do with them . . . he’d always known exactly how to get her to melt in his arms, and even after twenty years he hadn’t lost his touch one iota. 

 Her body always had been and always would be his, through and through –all he’d ever have to do is crook his finger... which he’d apparently done last night... not that she had a particularly clear image of much that had happened once she’d set foot in the casino.

The one thing she did remember was at least consistent.  When she drank, which was very, very rarely, and, for some reason, almost always in the company of this particular man, the memories that remained with her were always rated triple “x”. She closed her eyes against the truly smutty images – some of them a lot more detailed than she would have preferred – and tried to swallow, but some evil person had scotch taped her tongue to the roof of her mouth