Just a little something I've had my mind on for a while. This one will be short, (not so) sweet, and smutty! I have to say thanks to GalliaDavia for putting up with me while writing this. This is entirely her fault, for encouraging this type of behavior! ;)

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Saw Cinderella in a party dress,

She was looking for a nightgown.

I saw the devil wrapping up his hands,

He's getting ready for a showdown.

-The Killers-

Sophie sighed as the hot water cascaded over her aching shoulders, the pressure and the heat finally beginning to soothe away the pain that had been throbbing consistently between her eyes for most of the evening. Despite the ungodly hour, and the fact that she was more than ready for a good night's sleep, she simply had not been able to resist the lure of a decent shower, the post bar-hopping routine that she'd come to depend on in order to wind down and relax after a long night of partying. Although, with the display on her clock showing it was only a few minutes past midnight, she didn't think she could consider this night as being long. Or exciting, for that matter.

She washed quickly, the citrus scented soap eliminating the lingering traces of alcohol, cigarette smoke and sweat that seemed to accumulate in every pore after being crammed into a small, enclosed space with dozens of other people for hours on end. She knew her friends would likely make fun of her over the strange habit if they were aware of it, and for that reason, she'd never bothered to mention it to any of them before. After all, most of the people she knew left a bar with barely enough sensibility to make it home, let alone perform routine daily functions once they got there. But it was just one of those things that she'd grown accustomed to at some point along the way, and now she rarely found an excuse to waver from it. Unless, of course, it was on one of the delightful occasions when she was fortunate not to leave the bar alone. Why bother with a shower when there were more enjoyable things to be done instead?

Recalling a few of her past erotic escapades, her faint smile faltered into a frown. She couldn't deny that she'd had her share of fun over the years, and the notches on her bed post were likely deep enough to make any competitive man green with envy. But despite her track record and her successful flirtatious nature, she had to admit with some frustration, that lately she'd found herself in the middle of a considerable dry spell.

Not that she was really surprised.

She had sensed for some time that there was a change brewing in the air. What or why, exactly, she wasn't sure. But she hadn't failed to notice that recently, she was starting to grow tired with the whole bar scene.

At one time, it had given her an unimaginable thrill to be able to walk into any bar or high-end club in the city and know that by the end of the night, she'd be leaving on the arm of some tall, dark, and handsome stranger of her choosing. Someone she could flirt with shamelessly, tease mercilessly, and party with throughout the night, without a single care in the world. Someone she would never see again once the evening was over. No strings. No complications. She could do anything she wanted. She could be anyone she wanted. And no one would ever be the wiser for it.

But after years of brief sexual encounters, nights of gratuitous pleasure, fake accents, and fabricated stories, she'd found, much to her surprise, that the thrill had started to wan. She'd grown bored with the distraction. No matter where she went or who she was with, she found herself surrounded by the same metro-sexual men, any one indistinguishable from the dozens of others around her, all of them reciting the same unimaginative pickup lines that she'd heard a million times before, their already over-inflated egos stoked by boastful conversations of expensive cars, important jobs or sexual prowess. Somewhere along the way, manners and chivalry had been tossed to the wind, the men growing more rude and demanding, her competition growing younger and more fierce by the day. She'd been accosted herself, several times, by some drunken idiot who simply refused to take no for an answer, or some jealous blonde whose man had dared to glance in her direction, and eventually all the drama had begun to wear her down. It had become more like work than recreation, but any recent attempts to recapture that elusive sense of satisfaction had only been half-hearted at best. She found she simply lacked the motivation to keep herself in the game. But, if she was honest, she supposed it was about time.

Not that she had ever desired something more.

Up until this point, a real relationship had been the furthest thing from her mind. After growing up watching her parent's marriage (and their happiness) deteriorate to the point where her father had turned a gun on himself and ended it all, she swore that she'd never put herself in a position where she would be responsible for someone else's happiness. And since the one and only serious romance that she'd had while in her early twenties, which in the end had only confirmed the misery that she knew only love could bring, she'd remained true to her convictions, keeping everyone at a safe distance, and keeping herself alone in the process.

Turning off the water, Sophie stepped out of the shower and toweled off, slipping into her favorite black silk robe as she strode back into her bedroom. Glancing around the modest room, her smile brightened again. Even if she was alone, she couldn't say that she was unhappy. She had her share of close friends and family and she was blessed to have a job that she loved and a growing side business, both of which had given her the means to finally purchase her own home two years prior, which she favored just as much. But even with all of those special things, she just couldn't shake the heavy feeling that something was missing from her life.

Inwardly, she shrugged. Perhaps it was something as simple as needing to get away for a few days. It had been a while since she'd had a nice vacation. Maybe a change of scenery and a few exotic adventures in a new locale would be just the thing to get that fading spark back and keep her in the game for a little longer. She made a mental note to do some internet research to determine where she might like to go.

Gazing at the turned down bed and the soft sheets that were beckoning to her, she started for the doorway, contemplating one last glass of wine before settling in for the night. Tightening the belt of her robe as she moved, she stepped out of the room into the hallway, then paused, every nerve suddenly on edge.

Unsure as to what had caused her sudden anxiety, she held her breath, her eyes scanning the darkness around her, listening for an indication as to why she was so mysteriously spooked. As the moments ticked by, she had almost convinced herself that it was just her tired mind playing tricks on her, when she finally determined the source of her concern.

Somewhere below her, she heard the faint but unmistakable creak of an aging floorboard.

Her heart pounding, Sophie scanned the shadows around her, trying to determine what her next move should be. Nervously, she glanced toward her left, to the only additional room on the second level, an empty guest room that was used mainly for storage, relieved to see that the door was still closed, just as she'd left it. Hopefully, the only trouble she would have to deal with would be whatever was waiting for her on the bottom floor.

The area before her was open, the balcony railing along the edge of the hallway opening to the first floor below and she peered over the edge to the lower level, her eyes straining to see any sign of movement in the murkiness beneath her.

Before tonight, she'd never had any real fear of living alone. She'd chosen this home carefully, selecting this particular neighborhood not just for the ambiance, but for the low crime rate as well. And for two years, she'd lived here completely undisturbed, not a single occurrence making her regret her well-thought-out choice. Although, somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd known that there was always the chance that something like this could happen.

She suddenly regretted the fact that she'd never forced herself to buy a gun. After her father's suicide, she'd never wanted to lay eyes on one again, let alone actually hold it in her hand. But now, faced with this frightful dilemma, her fears seemed ridiculously unfounded. What else was she supposed to use to fend off a potential attacker? A pillow and a can of hairspray?

Call the police, she instructed herself, the thought fading almost as quickly as it had appeared. Like the gun, she'd never gotten around to having a landline phone installed in her home. Why bother, when everyone she knew reached her on her cell phone anyway? So where was her cell phone now? Pinching the bridge of her nose, she mentally ran through her actions upon returning home and realized, with a sinking heart, that her cell phone was still in her purse, which was currently sitting on the kitchen counter downstairs. A lot of good it would do her now.

Go back inside. Barricade yourself behind the door.

But that would likely only buy her some time. And once locked inside, she would be trapped there, stuck on the second floor, with only a slim chance of being able to make her way to safety from this considerable height. And that was considering she could even get one of the windows to open, which in this older home, she rarely did without difficulty.

Straining to listen over the beating of her heart, she began to relax, if only slightly. With no additional sounds being heard from below, she began to wonder if perhaps she hadn't imagined the whole thing. It certainly wasn't inconceivable given the amount of alcohol she'd consumed or her level of fatigue. Rubbing her forehead nervously, she tried to clear her mind. Perhaps it had merely been the house settling, as it frequently did. God knows she heard the walls and the joints popping enough at night while she drifted off to sleep. Rethinking her urge for that extra glass of wine, she decided to call it a night. But still, now more than ever, she wanted the security of her cell phone, wanted to sleep with it next to her in the bed, just in case.

Staring longingly in the direction of the kitchen at the foot of the stairs, the shadowed staircase looked twice as long as it usually did in the daylight, each step an ominous descent into the depths of hell. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her nerve and tiptoed forward, carefully avoiding all the familiar noisy spots along the floor on her level as a precaution. With her back pressed firmly against the wall, she tried to make herself as small as possible as she side-stepped carefully downward, her ears still straining to hear even the slightest indication that she actually might not be alone.

Making good progress, she was halfway down before she stepped on the next tread, the wooden platform squeaking loudly under the sudden shift of her weight. She cursed under her breath, her pulse quickening when she heard an answering creak echo from somewhere along the first floor of the house.

Throwing caution to the wind, she bounded down the remaining stairs toward the front door, her fingers fumbling frantically against the locks in the dark, a sob wrenched from her as she struggled to unhook the last chain that served as the only barrier between her and freedom, relief consuming her when she finally swung the heavy door open. But before she could even take one step forward, it was slammed shut again and with a cry of fright she spun around, only to come face to chest with the man now towering over her, his right arm still braced against the door above her head.

"Leaving so soon?"

Sophie shivered at the deep voice that rumbled through the blackness, her legs weakening and threatening to give way beneath her as she pressed herself further against the solid wood..

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" she managed to ask, her voice, tainted with fear, sounding unfamiliar to her own ears.

A low chuckle emanated from the large figure in front of her. "Does it really matter? I thought you enjoyed being alone with strangers..."

She could see his left hand moving in the shadows as his voice trailed off, and with a flick of his wrist, the entryway was bathed in soft light from the lamp beside the door. Immediately, she found herself wishing for darkness to return. The sight of the man in front of her frightened her anew, the sheer size of him sending a trickle of fear down her spine. His overwhelming height, broad shoulders and thick arms were enough to warn her that she was at an extreme disadvantage, and she did not know whether to be fearful or relieved that he had not yet made his intentions known, although that did not stop her mind from imagining the possibilities. The things this man could do to her...

Gunnar stared down at the frightened woman in front of him, at the face that was so familiar to him, although he'd never been this close to her before. Even so, he doubted that she would recognize him. Why would she? She'd never even given him a second glance. But then again, he certainly didn't live up to her lofty standards where her preferences for the opposite sex were concerned. His mouth tilted in a smirk when he thought of all those weak, pathetic men that usually flocked to her side within minutes of her entering a room. With their expensive clothes and their fancy cars and their high-end jobs, he'd watched as each one tried to out-boast, out-brag and out-spend his competition. Of course, they all talked a good game, stories of fictitious exploits mixed with false promises that would never be kept, the words flowing as freely as the drinks, even as they continued to size each other up. Unimpressed, he wondered how fast their bravado would disappear if they suddenly found themselves on the losing end of a lethal weapon, how quickly those conceited boasts would turn to fearful pleas for their lives and their safety. In reality, he doubted that the entire group together had enough fortitude between them to truly excite her. Not the way she surely wanted them to.

There was a certain intrigue about her, the way she could draw men to her, like moths to a flame. He'd noticed it himself first hand, the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. It had been a chance encounter, one of those random acts of fate that swept up out of the blue every so often and turned a man's world completely upside down with one fateful glance. He'd felt it that night, as he felt it now, the uncontrollable urge to submerge himself within her presence. It was more than just her looks, although she certainly wasn't lacking in that department either. With long, dark hair, sparkling green eyes and enticing curves, she was definitely a delectable sight to behold. But there was something more, something that he had hadn't quite been able to put his finger on and still couldn't now, even after all this time.

He'd happened upon one of her familiar haunts purely by coincidence. The place hadn't been his usual kind of stomping grounds. In fact, it was definitely more upscale than the bars he normally frequented, and to say that he stood out from the regular clientele in their suits and ties or button down shirts and khaki pants, would be a huge understatement. But he'd needed a drink, and never one to give much credence to others opinions, he'd made himself at home anyway, ignoring any strange stares that might have been thrown his way. One drink had led to another, and the hours had ticked by slowly, as his large frame took up some not-so-prime real estate at a table in the far corner of the bar.

Then she had walked in. Alone. And he had simply sat back and enjoyed the show.

He watched her take an empty seat at the bar, and within minutes the free drinks had started rolling in, the men following shortly thereafter. She'd accepted their drinks, laughed at their jokes, stroked their arms and their egos, and he'd barely taken his eyes off of her as he took it all in. But even with all the attention being lavished upon her, he couldn't shake the strong sense that she seemed to be bored with it all. The smile that had graced her face for most of the night had not touched her eyes, the laughter that escaped her mouth had seemed stiff and forced. The carefree attitude that she so determinedly displayed, in reality seemed to cruelly elude her. Even after several rounds of drinks, there appeared to be a stubborn restraint that was simply not willing to relinquish it's hold on her.

He had perceived all of this completely unobserved himself, despite his obvious interest in her. Not once during the night had she looked in his direction, their eyes failing to meet even briefly, as she'd scanned the room around her. She'd been completely oblivious to his presence. And even now, as she stood trembling in front of him, she was blissfully unaware of the dangers he had saved her from that very night.

As the hour had grown late, there had been no doubt as to whom she had chosen to leave with for the evening. He watched as the young man with the dark hair and the disarming smile had excused himself from her long enough to make his way across the room, to the table where he had originally been sitting, where a second man still held his spot. It was obvious from their exchange that the two men were friends and out of sudden curiosity, or maybe some intuitive suspicion, Gunnar had finally left the comfort of his corner and slipped closer, eavesdropping on their conversation. From their hushed whispers and lewd comments, he had discovered their true intentions, as the first man outlined his plan to whisk her away to some isolated place, where he intended to drug and then assault her, with his friend joining in on the fun later, just for kicks.

Eyeing the unwitting woman waiting patiently at the bar, he had been filled with a rage that was normally only reserved for the worst of those individuals that he was paid to hunt down and kill. But he'd managed to restrain himself, bidding his time, until he saw the man slip away in the direction of the restrooms. Following closely behind him, Gunnar had taken the opportunity to make his move, quickly rectifying the situation after verifying the two of them were alone in the room.

He hadn't killed the man, though the thought had certainly crossed his mind. But a couple of very efficient blows to the head had been enough to ensure that he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. He'd drug the unconscious form into one of the stalls and closed the door, and anyone who'd found him would easily assume he'd merely passed out drunk and injured himself during the fall.

Returning to the bar, he took up his position once more, watching as the woman began to glance about her in annoyance as she waited for her unfortunate companion to return. Finally coming to the realization that he wasn't coming back, she'd snatched her purse up in frustration and headed for the door, embarrassed and alone.

Curious to see what her next move might be, Gunnar felt compelled to follow her outside. He found himself surprised, and to a greater degree annoyed, when she made a right past the building and began to walk down the street away from him.

Had the girl no concept of the danger she could be putting herself in, or was she simply too far gone to care?

Dutifully, he fell in line behind her, holding far enough back so that he wouldn't be seen or heard by the small figure in front of him. Three blocks later, he watched from the shadows across the street as she climbed the front stairs of the house and stepped inside. Propping himself up against the base of a vast oak tree, he continued his vigil, long after the lights on the upper floor had gone out, his mind racing with the images of the captivating woman who had so thoroughly seized his attention. Then finally, taking a long draw from the flask he kept hidden in his pocket, he'd pulled himself away, disappearing as quietly as he had arrived.

That night had not been the last that he had spent observing her in such surroundings. In fact, he'd stayed away for only two evenings before he felt compelled to return to the bar where he had originally seen her, curious to see if by some chance she might make another appearance. He'd left disappointed on that particular occasion, but the following week, he returned yet again and this time his luck improved. He'd found her already there, surrounded yet again by another boisterous group of men, although her face still bore the same unenthusiastic expression as she made her rounds among the group.

She'd left the place alone that evening too, he'd seen to that, and several nights thereafter, although she had been none the wiser for it. In some cases, he hadn't even been forced to resort to physical violence, a viciously implied threat usually potent enough to ward off all but the most foolish of the bunch.

Eventually, she must have decided to try her luck elsewhere, as he went several nights over a two week period without a single sighting of her. Testing his luck, he began to expand his search, venturing into a few of the other similar locales around the area, where he discovered at least two more places where she was likely to be found on any given night.

And on those evenings when he found himself coming up completely empty handed, he frequently found himself in front of her house again, watching her shadow move behind the closed blinds of her bedroom window, or himself hidden away in darkened shadows of his own, observing her as she stumbled home alone late in the night, his curiosity satisfied only when the door was safely locked behind her, and the lights upstairs had long been extinguished.

As the weeks passed by, the routines that Gunnar had initially undertaken merely for amusement had quickly turned into an obsession, his every free night filled with his irrational pursuit. Then he'd been pulled away, his surveillance abruptly halted by the call of duty and a month long assignment overseas with the rest of his team.

He was aware enough to consider that maybe it was for the best. After all, he knew from experience that the best way to break an addiction was to remove the source of the problem from the equation.

And it had almost worked.

Surprisingly, he'd managed to keep his concentration focused on the job, and on his teammates, who no doubt would've had his ass if he had failed to live up to his share of the responsibilities. But the flight home had been another matter entirely. He found his thoughts once again consumed with the intriguing woman- where she might be, what she might be doing, who she might be with. He wondered how many conquests, or misfortunes for that matter, that she'd managed to accumulate in his absence, the thought sparking an intense anger inside of him.

He supposed it was at that moment that he had made his decision. If he couldn't find someway to draw her to him, then he'd take it upon himself to ensure she was made aware of his existence.

And now here he was.

He had what he wanted.

He had what she wanted.

She just didn't know it yet...