Simon Roman was a part time consulting detective for the FBI, and had half ownership of a second hand book store.
He had been 'retired' from the FBI, due to stress and a nervous disorder he had developed over time.
For the most part, he just seemed like a recovering burnt-out cop, very rarely did his 'other' problems surface.
Driving home after a consult job on a serial murder case, Simon tried to rub the headache away before it developed to something more.
Tilde, his son's sister-in-law, and Simon's lover, had suggested to him a while ago to stop consulting and just go completely into the working of the store, but he told her that it wasn't going to happen.
If all he could do was stand in the wings while trying to figure it all out, he'd do it. He was not going to be carried out this soon.
When he got home, he looked at the unassuming ranch. He still hadn't gotten around to painting over the peach colour his wife had chosen long before they'd even had thoughts of leave each other.
With a sigh, he went up the missing path that was overgrown with weeds and let himself in.
Simon hung up his jean jacket on the hook by the door and the hook fell off, puddling the denim on the floor.
He looked at it a moment before kicking his shoes off onto the jacket and heading into the kitchen.
As usual, he looked in the fridge. As usual, there was nothing in the fridge.
Simon stared into for a moment, as if food would magically appear, but it didn't.
With a sigh, Simon ran his hands through his hair and went into the living room, dropping heavily into his chair.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, sticking out a foot, before remembering that he didn't have a coffee table, in fact he hadn't had one in over a decade. This made him a bit grumpier.
He dropped his foot with a thud and let his head fall back.
"Simon?" A soft voice said behind him.
Slowly, he opened his eyes before closing them again. "I want to be left alone." He told Tilde.
"Oh?" She asked. Simon could hear the floorboards creak slightly as she moved closer. "Did you have a bad day?"
"Yes, now go." He said, flicking his hand.
More footsteps, now she was standing right in front of him. Simon groaned.
"So, you don't want to fuck me silly?" She asked, prodding his leg with her foot.
Simon opened his eyes and found her wearing a black and pink peek-a-boo babydoll that seemed to be held up only with bows.
Tilde held her hands behind her back, waiting for his approval.
Simon swallowed. "You look good enough to eat." He told her.
Tilde smiled, taking that as permission to stay. She crawled into his lap, straddling him. "Sounds nice." She breathed in his ear. "But since you had a bad day, how about later?"
She looked him in the face while running her hand up and down his chest lazily. "Do you still want me to go?" She asked in her soft, husky voice, as she moved her hips in slow circles. "Or would you rather I ate you instead?"
