Just like they taught him.

Then Randal thought of the one who had trained him, the one who had bent, beat, and prodded his body into submission and learning, the same one who caressed, rubbed, and rode his body with passion, the same one whom he had loved.

Clara.

Her golden hair, her smile, her smell. How he had missed her; how he missed her now again.

Another shot of pain, but this one further away, not as close.

Clara.

Her soft skin. Her red lips.

Pain again, but this one hardly noticed at all.

Clara.

Her laughter. Her love.