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She was his temptation.

Some nights, when she came to him and warmed his futon with her willing body, he lied to himself and took her gently. He would caress and kiss, and bring her to an intense release, and then hold her as she shook with the overflow of feelings.

Other nights, when the day had been long and his comrades particularly frustrating, he took it out on her, held her down and took his pleasure hard and fast and took grim pleasure in knowing she believed his false apologies.

Yet other nights, she needed and he wanted and they came together in a clash of desire and he would touch her and use her and there was something powerful about seeing her pretty face covered with his come.

And some nights— He pretended nothing had ever happened between them, because he didn't want to admit that maybe, if he let her, she could make him change his plans.

Because even he could feel the pull of temptation.