Lucien Delano stopped as he watched his Woman, hurry towards him.

Proserpina, the girl he had taken as his mistress when she was just eighteen, the woman who had weathered so many storms with him.

The Woman he had grown to love, whom he cherished.

She still made him grow hard, just by appearing before him, her Bambi brown eyes wide and trusting, those plump lips, moist and parted; and the body of a Siren.

She was hurrying to him, for he always insisted that he met ...