It had been a hot day, but the evening air had a chill to it. Brianne left the windows open and turned the ceiling fans on. The cool breeze felt good on her freshly bathed skin. She set the sleep timer on the television for half an hour, and climbed between crisp cotton sheets to doze off to the voices of Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. She'd seen "African Queen" many times, and could visualize most of what was going on with her eyes closed.

The light from the screen flickered silvered fingers over her exposed shoulders. She slid easily into the moorings of sleep, the voices of Katherine and Humphrey growing remote as she drifted.

He knew which window to approach. No light; no sounds... just the clatter of crickets in the nearby woods. Only the fine mesh of the screen barred his entrance, a circumstance he quickly remedied with a small penknife. He sliced a neat square an inch or two from the edge of the frame, and peeled the barrier away. The window was long and low to the floor, making it easy to slip inside. His sneaker-clad feet made a soft thud on the wooden floor, and the white sheers billowed around him in the breeze. He imagined he wore a cape like Zorro for a moment, then his gaze groped in the darkness to find her form lying still on the four-poster bed.

She was curled onto her side, one hand beneath her smooth cheek. Her gold-spun hair spilled over the pillow as she breathed in the even, quiet rhythm of sleep. He watched her for a while, not moving a muscle. It wasn't second thoughts. He had considered this for quite some time, and knew he would follow through. He simply wanted to look at her. She was beautiful. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness, and he could see now that the sheet had slipped away, baring her arm and the soft side-swell of one breast.

He pulled a plastic zip-loc bag out of the small duffel he carried. A washcloth dampened with chloroform was withdrawn as he approached her nimble form. Gently, he placed it over her nose and mouth. She moved, startled, and then slid deeper into an unnatural slumber. He waited another minute, to be certain the drug had its desired effect, and then removed five pieces of cloth from the duffel. Rolling her onto her back, he began tying her hands to the bedposts. That finished, he moved to the foot of the bed and repeated the process with her feet, so that she was spread-eagle on the bed, with the sheet covering her from knees to shoulders. He tied the last strip of cloth over her eyes, knotting it snuggly behind her head. He checked for gaps along the bridge of her nose, wanting to be certain she would not see him. It was time to wait. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her for signs of stirring.

Almost an hour later, she began to move her head from side to side and moaned softly. His wait was over. He leaned over her, breathing the fragrance of her hair. She wasn't fully alert yet. His mouth found hers, and he brushed her full lips with his tongue. Still in the throws of some dream, she responded to the kiss, opening her lips, inviting his exploration. Who was he to argue?

The kiss was deep and wet, the kind movie directors must long for. When he finally moved aside to nibble her ear, she jolted awake.

She didn't scream. Instead, she sucked in a sharp breath, trying to figure out where she was and what was going on. The drug and sleep lingered, leaving cobwebs in her thoughts. Was she actually awake? She couldn't see anything. Something ticked her ear, and she moved to swat at it. Her hand was caught in something. So was the other one. She realized then that her hands and feet were bound, leaving her spread open. She thought she was still in her own bed; the sheets and pillowcase felt warmly familiar.

Someone was in the room. On the bed with her. Kissing her neck. Jesus, she thought. She remained quiet, wondering what to do. She didn't want to be hurt; didn't want to be murdered.

The stranger's mouth found its way across her collar bones. The wet trail left behind cooled quickly in the night air. She felt the fine hairs on her arms prick up. The stranger continued his journey lower, sliding the sheet down to expose her breasts. He drew back, and she could feel his eyes on her.

She began to tremble, fear coursing through her veins. Her blood was like thunder in her ears. She found a small voice and managed, "Are you going to kill me? Please don't..." It escaped her as a hoarse whisper.

"No," a whisper answered. It was definitely a man. "I won't hurt you, as long as you are nice."

She felt his hands cup her breast, and he thumbed her nipples until they began to rise. Her breathing was ragged and uneven. The disparity of the pleasure and fear confused her. His mouth replaced one hand, and he licked circles around her pointed nipple. She felt moisture gathering between her thighs. Her face grew hot beneath the blindfold and the cover of night... but the humiliation did nothing to stop her response.

"Why are you doing this?" she said on a choppy exhale.