I awoke with a start to feel something wet slithering along my back. My right hand scrambled for the gun on the table until I realized it was Mulder's tongue, circling my tattoo.

We really have to rethink this adjoining rooms thing.

Okay, I forgot one important part. Normally, when I'm out on a case, I sleep in pajamas or at least a t-shirt and panties. I was so beat last night that I took a shower, toweled myself off and slid into bed without a stitch on my body. What was I thinking? Without any clothes, I was utterly defenseless against Mulder's advances.

My brain told me, in a bossy tone, to kick him all the way back to his own room, but my body vetoed that decision. I'm starting to think my hormones have override power.

I did make an attempt, though. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I realized I never got the chance to taste your tattoo and I had to come and find out."

With that, I was a lost woman.