Sometimes life takes such drastic turns based on such tiny, almost accidental actions one takes.

Like the time you pause for just a second before answering a question and in the pause, the perfect answer slips away from you. And, out comes the wrong answer and it leaves you paying for a mistake you make in front of your boss for what seems like months. Only to lead to your losing that promotion that should have been yours.

Or the time you fumble with your keys as you're leaving a bar after celebrating someone else's promotion, the one that should have been yours. And, you drop your keys and they roll right under another car and you're left with no choice but to get on hands and knees, feeling dirty grit grind up into your hose and into your palms as you reach for those wayward keys. And then you take another few moments after you stand to wipe away the grit before you actually take stock of your situation. And that's when you find yourself looking into the eyes of some man who's looking at you like you're on the menu.

Or the time you look right back at that man, the challenge so plainly written in your own eyes that he can't help but laugh. And then you take one more action, a tiny one it seems, that turns out to be so much bigger than you could ever imagine. All you do is open your mouth and say what's on your slightly intoxicated mind.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" I said to him, my tough Nashville we-don't-take-shit-off-a-weirdo voice charging full steam out of me.

Apparently not nearly as tough sounding as I thought. Because he laughed at me again. "Fucking Christ. What else you wanna do with that big mouth, little girl?"

I eyed him as he stepped nearer to me and that wasn't as easy as it would have been if I'd been sober. But if I'd been stone cold sober, I wouldn't have dropped my keys and I would never, ever have been facing off with him that night.

He was a brute; in that big, bad way your parents have warned you about your whole life. He was virtually bald, but he was also young and virile. He had eyes that penetrated and he had a sneer on his face that could have stopped my heart beating if I'd been sober. He was wearing a trench coat and his hands were buried deep in the pockets. It was about all I could take in. Frankly, the sneer should have been all I needed to take in.

"What? You think you scare me?" I leaned right into his face. "Think again. Now get outta my way."

But he didn't. And he wasn't laughing anymore. He had a hand on my throat and as its grip tightened, somehow my brain seemed to sober up enough to recognize that I was in some bit of trouble. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." The words came out of his mouth slow, one at a time, carefully modulated, and not at all nice.

My hands fumbled to get his grip loosened. As my fingers sought to pry his off me, I dropped the keys again but even with both hands free, it was no use. As I stopped struggling, I felt his nose move up the side of my neck and heard him sniffing me. Like an animal. He let me go; I stumbled backwards and bumped against another body behind me.

"She sure don't know when to keep her big yap shut," the body behind me said. 

I didn't bother looking behind me because I already knew the real danger was in front of me. I dropped my eyes to the ground and waited to see what would happen. I watched as the first man's heavy, black boots edged into my frame of vision. When time seemed to be going too slowly, I finally looked back up at him. He was smiling at the body behind me and I rather thought he was distracted. It was my only chance, I knew, so I took two steps sideways and started running. I didn't get far.

Felt this huge arm wrap around my waist from behind and I was being hoisted off the ground. Opened my mouth but all that came out was the beginning yelp before a big hand was clamped on so hard it made my head snap back atop his shoulder. I found myself staring straight up at the streetlight and watched as it moved rapidly through my view.

Trying anything, I was kicking and I was hitting. But he still moved without a pause. I felt one kick land square on him and heard his small grunt of pain. His hand jerked my head and his mouth was at my ear, grating into me, "Stop it. Now. Don't make me hurt you."

I went limp in his arms. I knew I wasn't getting away unless he let me. Then he pulled to a hard stop. I was still only able to stare above me. No streetlights directly above when he stopped; the sky was dark but I could see no stars, only thick cloud cover. My ears picked up the sound of someone unlocking and opening a car door. I closed my eyes and willed the tears away. The other man must have picked up my keys and now I was surely done for. Once in the car, I knew, my chances of escape were even lower. I didn't like my odds if they decided to drive off from there with me.

Struggling again in new panic. "Stop. It." The words were low, probably only my ears picked them up but they were so firm that I went deadly still. Then I heard him tell the other man, "Get the fuck outta here. I'll meet up with you later."

I heard footsteps leaving, heavy boots pounding a slow rhythm down the sidewalk. His breath on my neck, as if he was watching to see the other man leave. Then another dark whisper, "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. Don't make a noise. Clear?"

My head nodded and my heart raced. He took his hand off my mouth and then tossed me straight into the back seat of my own car. I felt his body bounce in behind me; heard him slam the door. I scrambled across the seat, as far to the other side as I could get, then turned to look back at him.

Smiling at me, chin up, eyes so dark in the shadows. "You know I have to teach you a lesson, right? Can't let little girls with big mouths go unpunished."

Pure, unadulterated menace; and I could taste my fear, its tangy bite sliding down my throat as I swallowed hard. 

"What are you going to do to me?" I whispered, and heard my full accent there. 

"Depends." He leaned forward and grabbed at my skirt. His fingers pushed hard into my thighs. "On what I find under here."

He pulled me toward him on the seat and, in less than a blink, I was flat on my back with my legs across his lap. He rudely yanked my knees apart as I was trying hard to shut them, and shoved his hands between my thighs. I felt one hand swiftly move up to the juncture, knowing what he'd find; pretty sure what his reaction would be. I chose that night, on purpose, not to wear any panties with my thigh high hose. I had been hoping something would happen. But not this. At least, I think not this.

Heard his soft chuckle. "Oh, love, all ready for me. And even wet already. You like the idea of punishment, eh?"

"Hando. I didn't do this for you." My words were as cold as I could make them.

Sharp, quick intake of breath from him. My own breathing was shallow as I tried to will myself to be as cold as my words. "Why are you being such a cunt to me? You know I'll make you pay."

"How many ways do I have to tell you I don't want to see you anymore?"

"It's not your choice. I've decided I still want to fuck you, so that's all you need to know." He leaned over me, his face coming slowly closer to mine until all I could see were his eyes. "Can your big brain get that? Or do I need to show you again?"

"Don't hurt me. Not tonight," I whispered to him. I'd endured a lot with him; but this was the first time I'd tried to run from him or talked back to him in front of one of his minions. Somewhere in my numb brain, the idea of how much that would piss him off should have scared me more than it was.

He gave me this snort. "Won't hurt. Not as wet and ready as you are."

"Please, Hando, don't do this." Still whispering, but not in fear. More in resignation. "Not tonight. Tell me what you want and I'll do it. I don't want to play your games. Not tonight. Tonight's been bad enough already."

I watched the shift in his face, in his eyes as they examined me, and I instantly regretted showing him any true emotion. His tongue swept out of his mouth and gently touched the tear that had come unbidden from me. He started murmuring to me, his hands suddenly softer on me. "Want me to make it better? That's what you need?"

Nodding slowly, still not convinced. And not at all sure I could take it if he was being truthful. In a lot of ways, I could have taken his cold anger much easier than any kind of softness from him. I had never wanted any real human warmth from him; he'd just been the man I'd turned to when I wanted it hard and bad. Softness and warmth would have made him a person to me. I didn't want that. Not by then. My voice was low but firm, asking, "Tell me what you want."

"I want you." His mouth sought my neck, kissing there roughly, then softer, making me moan.

Damn this man. He kept me off balance but there was something about the way he was too fucking difficult to predict that stoked my darker passions. I'd been trying so hard to break away from him for weeks by then. But he was relentless. And every time, every single time, I gave in. It was proving nearly impossible. I'd be all set, all primed, so strong, so determined. And somehow he always found the way to make me wet and to make me want him so bad.

This was so wrong. It had to stop. But, once again, I couldn't do it.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked him, resolutely trying to make this about him again. His needs. His wants. His perversions. It was easier that way.

"Shh. Let me in," he whispered to me, his mouth pausing but his fingers seeking entry into me below. I shut my eyes. This wasn't the way he was supposed to be. I wanted him to just take what he wanted and let me pretend that I'd not made a conscious decision to be with him again. He wasn't supposed to be gentle and trying to make it nice for me. "Good girl. Now let me make you feel better."

Deep, hard intake of breath as I felt his hand taking control of me, pulling at my will. "Oh. God. No. Hando..."

Gone. There it went. All my resolve. Damn him.

He was chuckling at me, in that way he had that made me feel dirty. And I knew why. Because he was doing this on purpose, changing his tactics so I'd let my guard down. I felt him shift and he was on top of me, his body weighing me down with that pressure I always liked. I so loved feeling him move on top of me like that, taking command, working me hard. Now spreading my legs and, like the psychotic I must be, I was instantly wrapping my legs high up around his waist. Waiting for him to enter me, needing it.

"Fuck me hard. Hard, dammit," I pleaded with him.

But he didn't, the perverse bastard. Instead, he was careful, attentive, thorough. Devastating me. Fucking me slow, letting me feel all of him, making sure I could feel how hard he was holding back, making me come in this startling rush of sensations and emotions. And I cried when he finally came.

He held me even as I tried to beat on him for what he'd done. "You bastard," I breathed to him, my voice muffled because it was buried hard into his chest while I clutched him to me.

"Ah, now, love. Tell me all about it," he giggled at me. "You know you love it."

I scrambled out from under him, landing with a thud on the floor of the car. Looked up at him and glared at the amusement in his eyes. "You fuck. Fine. You've had what you came for so just get the Hell out of my car."

That, it turned out, was the exact thing to say to bring the Hando I craved charging out. He hit me across the face so fast, I didn't have a chance to get out of the way. But I didn't back down from him this time. There was still the alcohol bravery charging in my veins. I stared back into those steel eyes when I knew I should have been looking down.

"What the fuck is going on with you tonight? If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were deliberately provoking me." He stared at me, tilting his head like he was considering me. Then his hand reached out and clamped onto my chin. "Been needing a lesson all night, haven't ya? Can't have you talking that way to me, now can I?"

He was out of the car in a flash, leaving me huddled on the floor and just when I wondered how it'd been so easy to get rid of him, I heard the key scraping in the driver's door lock. In seconds, he was behind the wheel and we were on the road. I climbed up onto the back seat, watching in silence as he drove through dark streets. Not at all surprised when he pulled up outside my apartment building.

Dragging me from the car when I didn't move quite fast enough to suit him. Prodding me hard through the lobby. Inside the elevator, he shoved me into a corner, grinding his recharged cock into me and kissing me roughly.

This was how I liked him. Dark. Mean. Dominating. Raw. And a magnificent sexual beast that scared me for the way he turned me on.

When I'd first met him, I'd been slumming in a bar with some fellow ex-pat Americans. They were introducing me to the hidden joys of this city; I was the new kid at the Melbourne operational outpost. When I'd first been posted to Australia, I'd been in Sydney for almost a year. Then I got rotated to Melbourne about two months before that illustrious night. My next rotation was back to the States.

It was the fifth bar of our pub crawl and we were all having a good time killing some brain cells. The locals hadn't really been thrilled to see our seven-member Yank contingent at any of the nasty bars we'd gone to that night. We hadn't given a shit. Amongst our group were men who were trained killers.

Funny that. When I'd first laid eyes on Hando, I'd recognized a killer who hadn't needed training; he'd been raised that way.

I hadn't noticed him when we first came in but that didn't surprise me. Too busy being amused at the two men in the group trying hard to put the make on me at the same time. But when I saw Hando leaning against the bar, his underlings jostling around him while he stood stock still and stared at me like he was willing me to acknowledge that he was the real deal... well, the men with me weren't happy when I decided I wanted some local action.

"I've got the next round," I announced and left the table, heading to the bar to place our order. Wanting nothing more than to see him closer.

From the first time I saw him up close, it was his eyes that held me. They were cold, soft steel blue. There was a fire in them that bespoke intelligence, passion, determination... and so many dark emotions they could take years to explore.

They followed me intently as I made the trip to the bar. I made sure he saw how hard it was for me to turn from those eyes to look at the bartender and order our beers. By the time I gave the order, Hando was moving toward me. I turned to greet him, smirk of a smile and eyes that traveled down his body before settling back on his face.

"Like what ya see, love?" he asked me, his voice this gravelly whisper that seemed designed to make you lean toward him to be sure you heard his every word.

I'd loved his beard. It was barely there yet, with just the barest stubble of hair crowning his head, it stood out for its symbol of testosterone overload. Short, neat hairs that seemed to march in formation for their orderliness. It kissed along his jaw line but, for some reason, it was the way it crept down his throat... like he was so manly that a beard only on his face wasn't enough. I even liked the way he always made sure that beard's edges were so precise they could have cut for their sharpness.

"Interesting tattoos," I said, my fingers reaching out to touch this long, tapered black line that ran up the side of his neck. My eyes took in the myriad other markings on his visible skin.  Fingers traced the one at the front of his throat, just below the crisp edges of that beard. "Mmm. Skinhead. How novel. And, so helpful, because without it, I would never have guessed."

Order up, the bartender told me, and I grabbed for the longnecks, leaving Hando with a heavy sigh and another long look at the body I'd dreamed of but hadn't known until then that it existed.

Placing the bottles down on our table with a solid clack, I smiled at my buds. "Later, gators," I said to their not-too-happy faces. Oh, yes, just enough dead brain cells that night to ask an ever-dangerous skinhead to dance. Surprisingly, he accepted. It might have been the last thing I asked him that he did just because he wanted to please me.

Later, when he asked me if I was ready to leave, I could think of one very excellent reason to go with him. It had been pressed between us while we danced and he had spent most of the last dance whispering in my ear, telling me just how he liked to use it.

Outside in the cool night air, he'd latched on to my mouth almost the moment we hit the sidewalk. I knew from the way he was kissing me, sex with him would be about domination. I would have been disappointed if it had been any other way. And the way he initiated me into his sexual domain? Even now, I get wet when I picture it.

And I swear one thing to you. I'd never even thought I was that kind of girl. I had always needed a man who'd respect me; someone who cared about what I thought, what I wanted. And I do think that's the kind of man I need... for the long haul. But I was going through some strange times just then and what I needed then was a man who could fuck me just to fuck me.

So there I was. His mouth eating mine, his hands grabbing my ass, his cock rubbing into my belly... and the bastard shoves me down an alley next to the pub. Alleys and me... we don't exactly get along. I'm one of those people who are scared of the dark and the thought of rats and other nasty things hiding in the dark of that alley... I was working hard to get away from him and he didn't like that. At all.

He pulled me back against that chest of his, reached down to my ass and hauled me up his body so he was carrying me down the alley, while I was trying to wiggle away from him. God he was strong. And determined. I would have been yelling my head off, but that mouth of his was still clamped tight to mine.

His body bounced mine into a stone wall; I felt the roughness of the wall bite into my shoulders as he rammed me hard against it. His hands shoved their way up my skirt and by then, I had shut my eyes so I couldn't see where we were and my arms were hanging onto his neck for dear life. He whipped his mouth from mine for just a second. "Don't fight me again. I can make this good or I can make it real bad."

"Make it bad," I sassed him, thinking he was just engaging in some macho foreplay. If my eyes had been open, I might have gotten more scared of him than any other rats in that alley.

Instead, it surprised me when his hands ripped my panties off and without any warning, he shoved his cock inside me. Even as wet as I was, he was tough to experience like that. My eyes flew open and I think I yelped into his mouth. He was kissing me with wide-open eyes. When he saw me looking, he leaned away from my mouth just far enough to fix me with a deadly cold look that, for God knows what reason, turned me into a wanton, heaving slut. Or maybe it was that driving, hard, huge cock of his that he was using on me with absolutely no mercy. Whatever it was, all I know is I came screaming into the night until one of his big hands covered my mouth to keep from raising the hounds to come after us. He pounded into me long and hard enough that I was sore for two days. And when he finally came, he gave me this guttural, lewd growl that probably chased away every other male organism for miles around.

When he was done with me... he was done with me. He yanked me back out of the alley and left me standing on the sidewalk while he went back into the bar. I was still wobbling there when my buddies came staggering out a few minutes later looking for me.

"Remember the night we met?" I whispered to him late that night months later, after he'd given me a lesson on the proper way to use my big mouth. He was stretched across my bed, totally nude, and I was memorizing his body. His eyes opened and he watched me crawl over him. When my face was even with his, I reached down for his lips. Times like this were the only times we kissed with any real affection. I liked to tell myself it was because by then, we were both worn out. "I hate you for what you did to me. It's your fault I keep letting this happen. If you hadn't been that way that night, I would never have gone back to find you again."

He smiled at me. Hando's smiles were seldom happy. They rarely extended to his eyes. But this one didn't scare me. It simply reflected how pleased he was that I was addicted to him.

It had to have been an addiction. It had all the hallmarks of addictive behavior. I had to have regular doses. I lied about how often I needed him. I was compulsive in needing his cock, his tongue, his hands, his mind. Screwing him had screwed up my job, added stress to my life and came between my friends and me. It dominated my life in a way that I hated even while I was in the midst of struggling to keep from needing another dose of him.

The past three weeks, I'd been trying to wean myself from him. Telling him to leave me alone and, while I was okay when he would, I was also instantly wet when he'd finally track me down. That night, I'd honestly thought that the answer might have been to start having sex with a different man. But Hando had caught me before I could make that happen.

I was in real trouble. I obviously couldn't break the addiction, which meant I was about to suffer such severe withdrawal symptoms. Because in two days, I was being transferred back to the U.S. And, that meant, cold turkey on the Hando addiction.

This was the last night that I'd be in this apartment and the last night he'd be able to find me. The packers were coming the next day and I'd move into a hotel until my flight out the day after that. Looking down into those eyes that held me in their power, I wondered if I should tell him I was leaving.

Nah. I'd rather provoke him to fuck me hard and bad. After all, I needed to erase the memory of that tender piece of loving he'd done earlier that night with me. It wouldn't do if all my life I was saddled with remembering him that way. As a person.