Yesterday, on Cliff Hanger!
Mergatroy longed for his rough, giant hands on her. The manly hands of Cliff Hanger: Calloused farmer hands, roughing her up. They interrogated each other into the night, spilling secrets, confessing, guilty as sin. She was tired of these old government hands, too misguided and fumbling, weak and pasty like unfed catfish. She longed for fingers with a purpose, arms strong like a holding cell to keep her, the musky scent that would draw her in, and a gentle roughness that would send her out again. The moon controlling a wild sea that crashed against the rough rocks of shore. She was the ocean of turmoil, he was rock-hard and waiting, she was the Navy seal, he was the target. Cliff Hanger was out there somewhere…
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