Anastasia was massaging her back when Mr Casey walked into her office. "I want to know you're organized." He demanded. His happy demeanor was gone. She could see in his eyes the reflection of the stress she was feeling.

"Look, Mr Casey," she ventured. "I'm not entirely sure what you're expecting of me but I have a feeling it's a little more than humanly possible. For anyone, not just me." She added the last bit as a reflex after seeing the look on his face.

"I don't want no criminal record, girl. I have a lot of people out there that would back me up on that if you were to do you job badly."

His threat angered her but this was overridden by fear. "I've sent you your file, are you happy with the line of argument?" She was trying to calm him by speaking confidently.

"You've not written anything I've told you to write."

"Mr Casey, I understand that you want complete control over your case but in all honesty, your point of view is not going to win you any sympathy with the court."

"I don't want sympathy, girl. I want results." His ignorance frustrated her. If his wrong doings were going to cause her trouble, she at least wanted him to accept them. For such a successful criminal, he was definitely a little misguided when it comes to perspective.

As soon as he left she just wanted to have Christian take all her anger away, right there in her office, with it's thin walls and wall of windows looking down to the street below. She did not have a care in the world for anyone but him.

"Jenny?" She called out to her secretary, who stuck her head around the door expectantly. "Can I have a mug brownie, a glass of warm milk and a gin?" Jenny knew exactly what to do. It was that time in the case where the late nights started coming and the comfort food orders came on high demand. Although little did she know, she was not to be the main provider of comfort food this time.

Christian had chosen a new café this morning, out of respect for Ellie, who he was certain would not be very comfortable with seeing either he or Anastasia again for a long while. He laughed to himself at the fear she had shown. Fear of him or fear of the enjoyment they got out of what they did? He had no idea. He had little interest in her anyway. He could not get the image out of his head of Anastasia on all fours on his floor, begging to be ridden, to be controlled and covered by him. This girl intrigued him, her deep desires so greatly contrasted with her solidly practical demeanor.

He looked to his computer screen, realizing with a smile that he had ceased to philosophize and instead began to describe the perfection of her body, the desires that plagued his conscience and the intense satisfaction that she gave him. I could do romance, he thought vaguely, if she's all I think about she may as well be all I write about too…

His computer screen read: If the meaning of life itself must be defined for those who seek it to feel the satisfaction of knowledge, then let them first feel the satisfaction of perfection upon their body and their mind with a whip and a bedroom. One need search no further for satisfaction is all to those who seek power and power is all to those who seek satisfaction. It is a wondrous paradox that, in that I can so deeply desire her body to envelop mine yet seek just as actively to inflict pain upon her knowing that it will bring unmatchable satisfaction to us.

It didn't make sense to him either.

It was well past eleven when Anastasia threw down her pen, shut her laptop and let out a deep heartfelt groan. She'd been in the same spot for more than nine hours and her body was hating her for it. She needed to move and move she did.

Christian was inside of her the moment her seatbelt clicked into place, which could have been considered impractical had they been normal people doing normal things to each other. There was no one in the car park at this time of night, even so, the exposedness of their position only added to the pleasure of the act. Her seat belt began to cut into her now bare thighs, restraining her. She moaned, relishing the bite of the material against her skin and willing him to copy it. His perfectly straight teeth made perfectly shaped rings all over her body. She hummed and moved in reaction to the bursts of pain. She knew that her body was the best meal she could ever present him with but unlike a meal, her body added to his hunger instead of quenching it. There was no way of stopping it, it was a creature of its own, that took over him when his mind was doused by her presence.

The silence of the engine was immense after the raucous of their greeting. The Prius slipped unnoticed through the sleeping streets of her neighborhood. As they arrived at her house, the only soul in sight was Alan, her tail swishing gently along the top of the fence as the waddled with slight difficulty to greet them. Anastasia heaved her into her arms with and exaggerated groan and followed Christian inside.

Her fridge was full of microwave dinners to keep her going for the next couple of weeks that were bound to be full of late nights and problem-filled days. Christian shook his head at her when she reached for a five-minute lasagna. He did not want her real appetite suffering either. He opened the pantry and was soon up to his elbows in flour, mixing an oversized bowl of pancake mixture with a wooden spoon. The creamy mixture slopped and swirled about in the bowl. Despite her grumbling stomach she couldn't help wishing he was mixing her bowl instead of the one on the bench.

"Been teaching yourself to cook, have you?" She asked with a laugh. His face was serious, his concentration clearly taking a lot out of him.

"We had the help do it when I was younger." He complained, his sulky expression making her giggle.

"Well now you can be the help if you want, you're all trained up!" She slipped he index finger into the mixture and began to paint the visible V of his chest with it as he stirred.

He moaned a little, his stirring faltered. "Oh, who needs to actually cook pancakes anyway?" He exclaimed throwing a handful of it at her.

The kitchen was soon a mess of gooey white mixture, and pancake batter wasn't the only type. She was so relieved to have her mind taken off the case that she wasn't even bothered that t she would have to hire an army of cleaners the next day to restore her house's previous order. She was getting used to him eating things off of her, it made her tingle on every orifice of her body, longing him to suck harder, to somehow engulf her in him so she would never have to move away from him again.

The pancake flipper came down hard on her thigh. She groaned. This was exactly what she had grown to crave and dream about. The crack and the fizz of the impact caused her mind to explode in a fanfare of hormones and longing. She pulled him inside of her and he continued to bring the flipper down upon her skin making her body buck and roll around him, grabbing at his flesh to steady herself. They didn't make it to her bedroom that night, the hallway had become too narrow for their wild clouds of desire to pass through. The cold of the tiles only added to the pleasure of the acts. Their firmness not an issue to either of them as he pressed her down into them and she felt the pressure squeeze every last breath of satisfaction from her body until there was nothing left to do but lie and listen to their ragged breath heave from their ravaged bodies.