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Bluff

By: Lara_Blackadaar



Generally speaking, he liked house parties. They were quieter than bars and, as a rule, if he'd been invited it meant he would know people who were there. So when his brother, Danny, called and said he'd swing by at 8:30 with a couple cases of beer to head to Andrew's party, Alex was all for it. The reality of the evening, however, was not living up to his expectations.

He lifted his left wrist until he could feel his watch snug against his ear and pressed the button. Barely audible over the music, a mechanical female voice told him it was 11:02 p.m. Danny had wandered off to get more beer from the fridge half an hour ago.

Andrew was a friend of theirs through another friend so the party was a mix of new and familiar people. Usually he preferred parties that way; it was his best opportunity to mingle and meet new people. But tonight it seemed his mingling mojo was just not on. The people he did know seemed to be somewhere else in the house and striking up conversations with total strangers had never been easy for him. He ran his fingers through his hair and settled his hands in his lap, fingering absently at the cane resting over his knees.

"Yo, Batman!"

Alex smiled and turned his head in the direction of the voice. Unmistakably Simon. A large warm hand clasped his shoulder and Simon's friendly British voice spoke close to his ear.

"How you keeping, mate?"

"I'm good, man. No complaints."

"Let me introduce you to my new girl. This is Celia. Celia, this is Alex, but everybody calls him Batman."

Alex held his arm out and waited for Celia to shake his hand. Her hand was small and cold. She must be quite thin, he thought. Simon usually dated the really tiny ones.

"Nice to meet you, Alex," she said. "Why do they call you Batman?"

"Well, look at him," Simon boomed. "He's blind as a bat!"

"Oh my god, Simon," Celia squealed. "I can't believe you said that!"

Alex laughed. "It's quite alright, Celia. Simon's been calling me that for years and the only offense I take is at his lack of creativity."

She giggled at his comment but it sounded tight, the discomfort was still there. Simon knew that it often took joking about his blindness for some people to relax around Alex; others were just never fully at ease with him.

"I'm going to grab some beer, mate. You want one?"

"Yeah, please. See if you can track down Danny as well."

"Yeah, he's in the den, trying to chat up Theresa Watkins."

"Well, by all means, leave him to it. A beer will do."

Celia was still sitting close by; he could smell her perfume. After a moment of awkward silence, he leaned slightly forward.

"So, Celia..."

"Yes. I'm here."

"What do you do for a living?"

She muttered something he couldn't quite make out.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Oh!" She leaned in close to his ear --her perfume much stronger, mixed with a very sweet-smelling hairspray. "I'm sorry. Are you... do you have a hearing... impairment, as well?"

"No," he said slowly. "But the music is quite loud."

"Oh. Of course." She paused a moment, as though she'd forgotten why she was leaning so close to him. "Oh, right. I work at a boutique in the mall."

"That must be interesting. I'm sure you meet a lot of different people in the mall."

"Not really. We have our clientele and those are mostly the people who come in. We're very exclusive." Her voice held a tone of pride that told him about all he needed to know of Celia.

He breathed a sigh of relief as Simon returned, pressing a cold bottle into his hand.

"Simon, my man, could you point me in the direction of the washroom?"

"Christ, you ain't even started that beer."

"Well, it's probably got more to do with the four I drank ahead of it."

"Ah, you dog," he teased, but his hand was already resting on Alex's elbow.

He stood and flicked out his cane as Simon led him to a doorway and spoke in his ear.

"Straight ahead, mate. About twenty feet, on the left. No point telling you where the light switch is."

Alex smiled at the old joke and made his way forward. A small group of people, perhaps three or four, standing off to his right fell silent as he passed, sliding his cane back and forth. He'd long gotten used to the isolating novelty of being "the blind guy at the party" and could generally overcome that obstacle with wit once the ice was broken but so far it didn't seem the party was going to yield much by way of mingling efforts.

My dick is going to shrivel up and fall off from lack of use. The random, unbidden thought rose in his mind. It had been almost three years since Patricia broke up with him and though there had been a couple of promising starts, nothing had really panned out. A couple small make-out sessions --what Simon referred to as "under the jumper action" --and several serious cases of blue balls, had left him wondering if his sex life had ended in his early twenties. I'm going to wind up some crazy, lonely old man who's only ever had sex with one woman.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, realizing that in his miserable woolgathering, he'd completely lost track of how many steps he'd taken. He reached out to his left and felt the smooth, cold surface of a wall. Running his fingers along its length, he could not find a door anywhere close by.

"Shit," he muttered.

"Trying to find the bathroom?" It was a woman, whose voice he did not recognize, whispering in his ear. She put her hand on his arm and leaned, ever so slightly, against his back.

"Yes. Please."

"You passed it. About five feet back."

"Thank you." Her perfume was spicy, slightly musky and for some reason he instantly imagined that the woman who wore it must be close to miraculous in bed. "I'm Alex."

But she had already moved away from him, both her scent and her whisper lingering in the air around him. Nothing solid of her remained.

"Shit," he muttered again.

As he emerged from the bathroom, the smell of his mysterious helper's perfume was again heavy in the air. It wasn't that she wore a lot of it, just that its particular fragrance was unusual, deep and very sexy to him; he could have picked it out in a room full of women wearing different perfumes. He felt a light brush of fingertips against the back of his hand.

"Is that you?"

Her only reply was to hook two fingers around his wrist and lead him further down the hall --away from the noise of the party. He followed her a few steps before they turned and entered a room. He heard the door close behind them.

"Who are you?"

Again, she refused to answer him, except in the physical. Placing her palm flat against his chest, she pushed him back to the wall. Her lips were on his before he could even think to ask what she was doing. He put one hand on her waist as they kissed, the other holding his cane. He fumbled about, trying to figure a way to hold her and the cane, until she simply knocked it from his hand. Now freed, his hand encircled her waist and stroked her back. She was slim but well curved, wearing a silk shirt, and god! she smelled so good.

Her kiss was inexorable, demanding of him with a passion he'd never known. Certainly he'd felt this himself, had wanted women with this kind of intensity before but, as far as he knew, he'd not been the object of such desire. He could not feel the slick glide of lipstick and assumed she wore none. All he felt was the heat of her mouth against his. When her tongue pressed forward, she tasted of rum and spices.

She broke the kiss and sighed against his cheek. She trailed tiny kisses down along his jaw to the delicate skin of his neck. He had to will himself to breathe.

Her lips ghosted his earlobe and she whispered to him, "You are one sexy motherfucker."

He scoffed, "You're not blind too, are you?"

"No," she brushed her lips across the shell of his ear. "I see perfectly well. Don't even wear glasses."

"What's your name? Do I know you?"

She ignored the questions and traced her tongue over his ear, capturing his earlobe gently in her teeth. Her mouth was molten on his throat, her tongue flicking wet fire on his skin. She brushed his hair back and eased her hands down his chest.

"Your heart is pounding."

"Well, yeah. Some gorgeous woman I don't know pulls me into a room and starts kissing me."

"How do you know I'm gorgeous?"

"You're gorgeous to me," he said as her mouth continued to work at his neck between words. "And growing more so by the second."

She breathed a laugh; her exhalation drifting over the skin she had just dampened with her tongue and lips, chilling him. His upper body crawled with gooseflesh and his nipples tightened. He moaned.

"Please tell me your name."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "No."

"Why not?"

"It's more fun this way."

"This way? You do this sort of thing a lot?"

"Yes," she snickered in his ear. "You're my third blind guy this week."

This time he laughed aloud. Her fingers covered his mouth.

"Sshhh. You'll draw attention to us."

"Where the hell are we, anyway?" There was a closeness to the room, and a distinct quality in the acoustics that told him it was quite small.

She laughed gently again. "Coat closet."

He could feel her smiling against his cheek and stroked her hair. It was very soft and thick, not at all sticky with hairspray. He hated hairspray. She kissed him again as he ran his hands down her cheeks and lightly traced her jaw. Her skin was smooth and slightly dewy; so she was wearing make up, after all.

She unbuttoned his shirt part way and pulled his collar open, allowing her mouth to explore his upper chest as her hand drifted down over his stomach. The heated pressure covered his cock, enveloping him through the fabric of his jeans. He grunted at the contact, and then laughed.

"What?" She was still whispering. It occurred to him that he had not yet heard her speak at a normal volume.

He answered in a teasing voice, mimicking the tones of someone reading from a book.

"Dear Penthouse Forum: things like this never happen to a guy like me..."

"I never thought your letters were true until I went to this party..." she continued, giggling against his neck.

She stood up straight and kissed him again, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body tight against his.

"Please tell me who you are," Alex begged.

"Must you insist on ruining all my fun?"

He slid his hand up her side, the slick fabric of her blouse cool to the touch. He felt the swell of her breast and cupped it, squeezing gently.

"Not all of it, no."

"Then shut up," she said.

He could feel the heat of her hands through his shirt as she worked at his buttons, followed by her lips and tongue, warming his skin in contrast to the cool air on his exposed chest. His ears were starting to ring with the pounding of his pulse.   

Her fingers moved to his waist and he heard the slide of leather through denim as the buckle of his belt tightened briefly and then loosened. A terse metallic zip and her fingers were down his underpants, hot and curious as they explored the length of his shaft. He reached down and pushed his jeans lower on his hips. She shoved his underpants down and he leaned his head back against the wall as she wrapped her fingers around his cock.

Her grip was loose as she stroked him slowly, the dry friction alleviated slightly as she worked her thumb over his cock-head, gathering precome and spreading it around. The tease of wetness made him twitch in her hand. She angled her palm so only her fingertips remained in contact with his skin, tickling slightly as they skated all the way up, breaking contact. He grunted.

"Aw, don't stop."

She shushed him and dug around in her pocket for something. He heard a plastic flip-top open, the slick sound of something being squirted, and the cap clicking back shut. She rubbed her hands together.

"What are you doing?"

"Warming it up for you."

He appreciated the effort seconds later as her hand closed around him again. The smell was familiar and as soon as he felt the texture he knew what she had used --a product he was well acquainted with in much the same way.

"Is that hand cream?"

She laughed and leaned against him. He felt her shrug her left shoulder.

"Sorry. Was the only thing I had in my purse."

"Not a problem."

Her lips explored his neck again as her hand now pumped his cock more aggressively. The enclosed space was filled with the sounds of deepened breathing and the viscous squish of a well-lubed hand job. Her perfume mingled with the distinctive sharpness of "extra soothing" moisturizer.

He pressed his head back against the wall, allowing her better access as her mouth enflamed his neck, her tongue tracing along his collarbone. She pumped his cock, her thumb flicking over that extra-sensitive part of his head. His hips rocked unconsciously with her rhythm. The latent heat built in his body; every nerve and muscle tightening like a spring being wound to maximum tension.

She tightened her grip slightly as she increased the pace of her stroking. His toes curled inside his running shoes. His hips thrust desperately as he pushed his back away from the wall with his head. Her free hand shot up from his chest and covered his mouth as he moaned his orgasm into her palm.

He slumped back against the wall, her face buried against his neck. Her hand, now doubly slick and coated with his come, stilled over his dick. Her other hand remained pressed to his mouth. His breathing calmed and she moved away from him slowly.   

A piece of cloth closed around his cock, wiping him clean. He grunted as the material rubbed over his sensitized skin.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"You don't sound very sorry."

"I figure you'll forgive me." She kissed his cheek and pulled his pants back up, tucking his now-withered cock away unto his underwear.

"Only if you tell me your name."

She didn't answer again, only zipped his fly, buttoned his button, and began to fasten his belt.

"Jane," she finally whispered in his ear.

"You're Jane?" He stood up straight in surprise. "Jane Swann?"

"No." Her voice was terse and sarcastic. "But apparently you won't shut up about it until I say something. Jane holds as much relevance as any other name at this point."

He leaned back again, the brief adrenaline rush gone. "You're very unfair."

"I just got you off, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah," he conceded.

She had finished redressing him, straightening them both up to return to the party beyond the door. He could feel the opportunity slipping past him.

"But if I know your name..."

"Yes?" She pressed his cane into his hand.

"I could call you or something. Maybe we could do this again."

The doorknob had turned and the sound of music and mindless chatter grew louder even before he finished speaking. She took his hand and led him forward, back out into the hallway near the bathroom.

Kissing him softly, she whispered in his ear. "Oh, we'll do this again."

"Yeah, but when? I mean, how many parties will we be at together?"

He waited for some sassy reply but knew that none was forthcoming when he realized the smell of her perfume was already fading. For the second time, she'd left him alone in that hallway, talking to himself. He sighed and made his way back through the kitchen. All in all, he really had nothing to bitch about.

Back in the living room the music was thundering.

"Alex, mate," Simon called out to him. "I was starting to get worried about you. Did you get lost or something?"

"Uh, yeah, a little bit. I wound up in a coat closet," he said, smirking.

"Coat closet? Hope you didn't piss in there."

"Only a little. Listen, you didn't happen to see a girl come out of the back hall ahead of me, did you?"

"Nah, mate, just saw you walking over by yourself. Why? You meet someone?"

"Yeah. But I didn't catch her name."

Bluff Ch. 02



It was the slightest touch, a tickle really, along his palm as he stood near the fountain at the mall. Alex turned his head, not to investigate –that was pointless –but to acknowledge whoever had touched him. "Yes?" 

Nobody said anything. He waited a moment and then slid the backpack from his shoulder and tucked away the book he'd just purchased: Dante's "Divine Comedy". The bookstore here was a small independent shop and though it usually took several weeks, they were very good about bringing in special orders for him in Braille. He liked the atmosphere in the shop. The girls were always very friendly to him and he liked one in particular; she always touched his arm when she spoke to him. 

He hefted his bag back to his shoulder and listened to the deep rumble of the mechanism that drove the indoor fountain and the cracking splash as the water being spit forward landed in the pool below. People passed by, snippets of conversation trailing behind them: a girl was worried her boyfriend was cheating on her; a woman told her child if he didn't behave, they would go home right now.

His brother was supposed to meet him here to go shopping for some new clothes. Suzie Quinn was throwing her annual Halloween party in a few weeks and after what happened at the last party he went to, he wanted to look his best. Just in case.

He felt a gentle tug at his sleeve and a brush of his forearm. He turned again, to the left this time.

"Danny?" He tightened his grip on the cane in his hand as he waited for a reply that did not come. It would be out of character, but not unthinkable, for his brother to play a prank like this. "Don't fuck around, man." 

Then a slight tugging at his wrist urged him forward. It happened more than his friends would believe –well-intentioned people trying to 'help' him get around, without really knowing where he was headed.

"Thank you, I'm fine," he said.

Now the hand settled under his elbow, tugging far more insistently.

"I appreciate the gesture, but really, I'm –" He broke off as he smelled that all-too-distinct scent of a perfume he'd only smelled once before. Could she really be back? Nails raked gently down his bicep and when she tugged at his elbow again, he followed her.

"Is that you?" He smiled and added sarcastically, "Not Jane Swann."

Only a soft laugh answered him and his heartbeat doubled. No doubt, this was her: the mystery woman who had led him into a coat closet at Andrew's party and jerked him off without ever telling him who she was. Her hand snaked around his forearm, sliding forward until he had hold of her elbow and she guided him down a corridor he recognized as being where the public washrooms were. 

He'd fantasized about running into her again, dreamed up clever things to say, ways to trick her into revealing her identity if she still refused to tell him her name. Every one of those imagined conversations escaped him now, left him mute and feeling helpless in her presence. 

"Are you taking me into the toilets this time?" was the best he could manage.

She stopped and whispered in his ear. "I saw you out in the mall earlier, by the bookstore. I'm very hurt you didn't say hi to me."

"I didn't see you there."

"But I waved and everything."

"Very funny. Maybe if we exchanged names and phone numbers, you could call me and I'd know when you'd be around. I'd certainly say hello to you if –" He stopped short when she let go of his arm and moved away. He reached out to find some marker around him but she covered his hand with her own and placed it reassuringly back onto his cane. 

"Wait," she said.

He heard the plastic clicking of a swipe card passing through a reader and a low buzzing hum. She pushed a door open and urged him forward again. 

"Two steps, going down," she said. 

"You know a lot about leading blind people for someone who picks on the disabled."

He followed her down the stairs as the door closed behind them with a heavy double thunk. The corridor was smaller, the click of her high heels echoing more sharply, her whispered voice carrying.

"You feel persecuted, do you?"

The smells of dampness and cigarettes were embedded in the walls. Muffled, but not too far off, was loud metallic banging and men shouting back and forth. 

"Where are we today?"

"Shipping area is back there. This is where we come to smoke on our breaks in the winter, when it's too cold to go outside."

"You smoke?"

"Sometimes."

"I wouldn't have guessed that. You don't smell, or taste, like a smoker."

"Maybe you should taste me again, to be sure."

She slid her hands down his arms, leaning in closer and kissing him. Was this actually happening again? She shuffled her feet, leading him in a dance that had him backed up against the wall, the cinder block rough and cold through his shirt. 

"You keep pushing me against walls."

"Figured you'd be more comfortable knowing what's behind you."

Alex sighed as her lips touched his neck. The heat of her hands crawled along his chest and stomach, making his skin ache for more substantial contact. She tugged at the collar of his shirt, her tongue lapping at the delicate junction of neck and collarbone. With precious memories of their last encounter fueling his excitement, his cock was already throbbing painfully. 

She pushed the backpack from his shoulder, letting it fall with a weighted thud from the book he'd stuffed away earlier.

"What have you got in there?"

"My milk money," he said, searching out her lips for another kiss.

"That's a lot of milk."

"Does a body good."

"So I see," her voice was soft, close to his ear; her warm breath followed by a soft tickle as she gently licked his earlobe. He gasped as her lips and tongue continued exploring, her hands back on his chest, working their way down his stomach, over his hips. He hissed. 

He heard something large and metallic fall to the floor maybe fifty feet off –through a wall or door, by the muffled effect of the noise. A man shouted something Alex could not make out and more men laughed.

"What if somebody comes out of there?" he said, his voice straining with tension.

"There we're caught," she answered matter-of-factly. "Most likely you'll be banned for life and I'll lose my job. We might be charged with public indecency, have to go to court, possibly labeled as sex offenders and be put on one of those registries. If it's a slow news day, we might even be publicly disgraced on television."

"Well, since you put it that way," he snickered.

"It's like there's practically no downside."

This time he laughed loudly. She hushed him and pressed her mouth against his to silence him. He moaned against her lips, feeling her tongue press forward. She tasted of cinnamon candies. 

"God," he muttered. "Please tell me who you are."

Her hands trailed down over his stomach again, tugging at the button fly of his jeans. 

"I suppose you're not interested in small talk, then," he said.

She reached into his pants, covering his cock with the heat of her hand through his underwear. He exhaled loudly, turning his face towards her and breathing in the mildly floral scent of shampoo off her hair.

"Let me guess," she said, pushing his pants low on his hips. "You're an air traffic controller."

"Close. I'm a neurosurgeon."

"That's pretty close to piano teacher." Her fingers spider-walked up along his Y-fronts and curled around his dick, the delicious first contact of skin on skin. 

Alex moaned, the naming of his occupation taking a second to register through the haze of sensory input. 

"So we do know each other," he said, finally feeling like he had gained some ground in this game of wits.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just asked somebody at Andrew's party who that handsome guy on the sofa was."

"And they said, 'oh, that's Danny.'"

"Yeah." Her fist began to slide up and down over his heated skin. "But then I said, 'no. The really cute one. Beside Danny.'"

"You think I'm better looking than Danny?"

"Definitely." She paused a moment as her hand slowed, and then stopped. "Do you know what Danny looks like? Actually, do you know what you look like?"

"I did," he said, now nearly able to breathe, and think clearly, again. "Up till I was nine. I imagine we've changed since then."

"You could see till you were nine?"

"Yes. Car accident. Brain injury," he paused, smiling, and thrust his hips forward, pushing his cock against her hand. "I also have terrible problems controlling my libido."

"Is that so?" She circled her thumb lazily around the tip of his dick.

"For sure," he sighed, fighting to stay cogent. "Perhaps you've hit your head as well."

"No. I just like taking risks."

"Ah. Lack of adequate risk assessment: symptom of brain injury."

"You're very smart."

"I read a lot."

"You're too smart for a lot of girls, I imagine."

"Here I thought I was just too blind for a lot of girls."

"Well, hopefully you're not too much of anything for me."

"You should tell me your name then."

"You want conversation, or you want fellatio? Because my mama told me it was rude to talk with my mouth full."

"I'll shut up."

"Good."

The heat of her body moved downwards in tandem with the swish of her shoes sliding on the floor as she dropped to her knees. The air was cool as she pulled his jockeys down. She traced a wet, tickling path over his cock and he leaned his head back, banging it lightly on the wall.

Her lips wrapped around his shaft, sucking and pulling gently at his skin, her teeth gently grazing along his length. She cupped his balls and thumbed at them lazily as she kissed his dick up and down. 

Her tongue flicked and stroked a wet fire on his skin, teasing him by tracing the bell shaped corona of his cock-head. He stroked her hair as his fingers tightened around the cane in his other hand, his breath already coming faster. He fought the urge to tell her to hurry, torn between wanting to enjoy and savor this moment, and fearing being caught. 

She alternated between swirling her tongue around the tip of his penis and taking it in between her lips. The slick sucking sounds and the easy glide of his knob into the heat of her mouth were already half driving him wild. The desire to prolong the moment was starting to be less about languishing in pleasure than not making a fool of himself by coming in less than two minutes.

Alex exhaled sharply as she finally slid her lips down his shaft, enveloping him in spit-slippery heat. Her tongue swiped at his skin as her lips covered and released his cock. He could feel her breath passing over his shaft in a warm mild tingle. His entire body felt liquid as he relaxed into the sensation, letting himself sink into contented enjoyment. 

Her mouth swept back and forth, tongue dancing along his enflamed skin, teasing his nerve endings and making the muscles in his stomach tighten and quiver reflexively. 

The heat in his belly built steadily as every pass of her lips threw more kindling on the fire. His breath was a ragged panting and he moaned helplessly as she pulled away to lap at the sensitive V-shaped ridge of his head with her soft wet tongue. Sucking him back into the heat of her mouth, her fingers massaging his balls, she hum-moaned against him, the subtle vibrations echoing through his cock, making every muscle in his body tense up. 

That familiar premonitory shiver ran down his spine and straight through him to her mouth; his feet tingled. Her lips locked tighter around his dick, her head bobbing faster along his length. Fireworks exploded in his mind –one of the few times he saw color anymore –as his back arched and his muscles went into uncontrollable spasms. The indescribable pleasure and release of tension broke over him as he came.

As he settled and leaned back against the wall, she got to her feet and kissed his cheek.

"You're not going to snowball me or something, are you?"

"I wouldn't do that to you," she whispered, running her finger idly over his softening cock. 

"Of course not. Why would I be suspicious of a woman who anonymously molests me in dank corridors and coat closets?"

"It's not that dank in here."

"No, it's dank." He inhaled. "Smells like mold and cigarettes."

She pulled his jeans up over his hips but left them unbuttoned, his jockeys still pushed low enough for her to fondle his balls. 

A door banged open, he guessed about twenty feet away but the echo made it difficult to be sure. The hallway flooded with men's voices and the grinding click of cigarette lighters. Alex reached for the front of his pants but she pushed his hands away.

"I'm wearing a long coat," she said, shifting a bit to his side to block their view. "They can't see anything. They think we're just kissing or something."

She pulled his underpants up, snapping the elastic band against his stomach.

"Ow. That wasn't very nice."

"Still better than snowballing you."

One of the men called over, "What's going on over there?"

"Nothing," Alex said, hurrying to button his jeans. "We're just leaving."

She helped him settle his backpack on his shoulder and led him back out toward the promenade. 

"I suppose you're going to walk away again without telling me your name."

"Cinnamon Altoid?" She shook a small metal tin.

"No, thank you. Unless that is your name."

"Would be odd." The tin clicked shut, the rattle of loose candies muffled by being placed back in her pocket.

"This whole thing is odd," he said as they stopped near the fountain where she'd found him.

"Yeah. But odd can be good." She kissed him on the cheek again, the strong smell of cinnamon mixing with her perfume. "Odd can be sexy."

He listened to the fading click of her heels until it was lost among the rest of the ambient noise in the mall and went back to waiting for Danny to take him shopping.



Bluff Ch. 03



"You think she's here?" Simon leaned in close and spoke too loudly in his ear, over-compensating for the volume of the music.

Alex sat on a small folding chair – his ass damn near falling asleep – and took a swig off his beer. "I wouldn't know, would I?" he groused. 

Overeager and anticipating the opportunity to see his mystery woman again, Alex had insisted on arriving at Suzie Quinn's Halloween party early. Three miserable hours later and he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of showing up at all. He had absolutely no good reason to believe that she would be here tonight other than the fact that Suzie and Andrew were friends and kept much of the same company. 

He had kept his erotic little secret to himself after Andrew's party, not telling anyone about the woman who had led him into a closet and jerked him off but refused to tell him anything about herself, including her name. Then she turned up at the mall, pulling him down a service corridor and giving him head then and there. After that, Alex revealed everything to his brother, Danny, and best friend, Simon, and they began a mission that rivaled covert military operations to find out who this woman was. Nothing had come of their efforts yet, but if she'd been at Andrew's party six weeks ago, somebody had to know her, must have invited her. And perhaps she'd been invited again tonight. Maybe.

But now, it was already past midnight and all Alex had to show for his efforts was a stupid, borrowed pirate costume that reeked of Simon's Drakaar Noir and an aching bladder from too much beer. 

"Hey, don't bitch at me, mate," Simon said amicably, a slight lilt in his British accent. "I've done my share to find this bird for you."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, man. I'm just getting annoyed."

"Course you are. You got your willy all in a twist, thinking she was going to pull you into some dark corner again. Blue balls'll make any man snap at his best mate. Believe me, I'm looking to relieve some of my own pressure tonight."

"What happened to Celia?"

Simon made a dismissive noise, "Stuck up bitch."

Alex smiled, remembering that he hadn't liked Simon's latest girl when he'd met her at Andrew's party. "I could've told you that." 

"So why didn't you?"

"You've got to call me more often."

"What?" Simon dug the plastic elbow pad of his Darth Vader costume into Alex's arm. "And interrupt your busy schedule of getting blow jobs in shopping mall toilets?"

Alex breathed a laugh. "It wasn't in the toilets."

"Whatever, mate."

"Well, speaking of toilets." Alex stood up and snapped his cane out straight. "With any luck, I shall return much later, a much happier man."

"May the force be with you, young padawan."

A slight sense of déjà vu overcame him as he made his way around the corner to the bathroom. He kept expecting to feel her hand on his arm, smell that perfume he'd never smelled on anyone else, but the hallway in Suzie's house was not as secluded as Andrew's. There were too many people around. He hated having to work his way through crowds, especially when house parties started to pick up and drunks were weaving and staggering in his way. It added a fresh dimension of challenge to navigating unfamiliar areas. He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door, dampening the volume of the music.

When he stepped back out, Alex was immediately swept up in the movement of bodies around him, carried in the opposite direction he wanted to go, closer to the dining room. Somebody slipped an arm around his waist and said "hi" in his ear. 

"Hello," he grinned. Having never heard her speak above a whisper, he could not be sure this was the woman he'd been waiting for but his hopes were high and the odds were looking good, all things considered. 

The stench of beer plumed out like a cloud of car exhaust as she leaned heavily against him and slurred, "I don't get your costume."

As a joke, he'd worn a patch over each eye. 

"I'm a pirate," he said. "And I'm blind." This wasn't quite the level of repartee he was used to from her, but then, she'd never been this drunk before.

"But how can you see like that?"

"I can't." He held up his cane. "I'm blind." Definitely not her.

"So, your costume..." she hesitated. 

"I'm blind," he said slowly.

"Like, for real blind? Not a costume, blind?"

"For real blind."

"Oh."

Alex smiled thinly and pressed forward, letting the crowd take him from her grip. She did not try to stop him. He turned to orient himself back toward the safety of boredom in the living room but, again, the crush of people forced him around, into the dining room. Something was drawing them here in greater numbers. He steadied his feet as best he could and listened for clues, though he had a bad feeling he already knew what was happening. 

Above the din of music and conversation, the voices of three men were growing increasingly heated. Though he couldn't make out exactly what was being said, there was no doubt this was an alcohol-fueled confrontation.

Alex took a step back from the raised voices, trying to feel behind him for a wall, table, anything to anchor himself to, but there was only a moving wall of bodies. The cacophony was unmistakably building to a fight. Instead of trying to placate the combatants, people around were egging them on. This would turn physical very soon and it was no place for him to be standing around. 

He reached out to his left, hoping to find the wall that led him down this corridor, but the surge of bodies and the sound of fists connecting had already started. He was swept in the sudden crush of people acting as one animal, being pulled closer to the fight instead of away from it. 

Trying to push against the wave would have been difficult enough, but pressed in like this, his cane was useless and he stumbled and rocked on his feet. It was not often that panic hit him but he was well aware that if he fell there would be little chance of getting back up unharmed. 

"Let me out of here," he said, hoping someone would hear over the noise and pay attention. "I'm blind, I need to get out of this room."

If he was gone too long, Simon might come looking – except Simon would probably take a prolonged absence to mean that Alex's mystery woman had shown up. His only hope, it seemed, would be that Simon would be drawn to the commotion and see him there.

Alex tried pushing forward again and succeeded in advancing a step, but the sounds of the fight behind him were surging in his direction. An arm hooked around his waist and pulled him hard to the left. Judging by the size of the body beside him, and the ease with which they broke through the crowd, he assumed the fight had attracted Simon after all, who now put his years of experience as captain of the football team to practical use. 

The air was breathable again, the heaviness of the tightly packed crowd alleviated. 

"Thanks, man," Alex gasped, his heart beginning to slow.

"No problem." The voice was deep and unfamiliar, not Simon at all. 

The man gave him a final guiding shove out of the way of the action in the other room, which was, by the sounds of it, still picking up steam. 

"I really appreciate it."

But there was no answer. Clearly, his Good Samaritan found the fight in the next room more interesting than expressions of gratitude.

Now that he could extend his cane, Alex tried to get his bearings. He was in a different room. There was some furniture – a chair and dresser – against one wall. The sounds of the confrontation quieted, became muffled, and a soft metallic snapping told him the door had been closed behind him. 

"Hello?" He dared not hope. 

Footsteps circled around the far end of the room. 

"I love your costume," she whispered. That voice seemed to have a direct line from his ears to his cock. Plugging in, a sound like cinnamon and rum, a synesthete's wet dream, wrapping around him in tangible colors and stroking him hard. "Brings new meaning to the term deadlights."

"Deadlights?"

"That was pirate jargon for eyes. 'Turn yer deadlights starboard, men, sail ho and a dose o' grog' or some such shit."

He smiled. Yeah, this was what he'd been expecting from her. 

"Hello, Jane." 

"I told you, I'm not Jane." Her feet swished along the carpet, the smell of her perfume drawing closer.

"I know. But I have to call you something. And as you said yourself, Jane holds as much relevance—" 

She cut him off with a kiss, a trick she seemed adept at, her tongue plunging into his mouth to steal his words away. He dropped his cane to the floor and slid his arms around her waist. 

She broke the kiss and pulled away from him, "Wait." 

"What are you doing?"

"Locking the door."

He stood there, listening to her move around the room. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me your name tonight either, huh?"

"No, but I took off my mask for you."

"Well that's very fair."

"Magnanimous, I think."

He laughed as she led him to the bed, pushing him down by the shoulders. Alex shifted to lay his head on the pillow as she crawled on top of him, straddling his hips and plucking the eye patches from his head. He tasted liquor, something sweet, maybe strawberries and rum – had she been drinking daiquiris? – on her tongue as her hands worked their way down his chest, unbuttoning the silky ruffled pirate shirt. She kissed his cheek and earlobe. 

"Door is locked?" he asked, even though he had heard the lock click into place before she brought him to the bed.

She mumbled an indistinct prolonged em-sound, which he took as affirmation, against his neck, her lips heating his skin. This was the first time he felt the safety of a private setting, had the assurance of a locked door between them and the rest of the world. It was the first time he did not have to worry about exposure or being walked in on. A brief coil of nerves wound in his stomach and he let out a long shaky breath. 

"Why so nervous?" she asked.

"I'm not sure."

She didn't respond for a moment, quietly shifted her weight on his hips, leaned down and kissed his cheek gently. "Do you want to just," she paused slightly, "go back to the party?"

"No!" He was surprised by the offer. "No, no." He reached up and found her face, sweeping his thumbs slowly across her cheeks as he pulled her down for a kiss. "There's nowhere I'd rather be," he muttered against her mouth.

She shifted her weight again, rubbing against him. The warm teasing pressure against his crotch, an intimate mimicry. She sat up straight and pushed his shirt open, stroking his skin, combing gently through the hair covering his chest. Her left hand was decidedly colder than the other, probably from carrying a slushy daiquiri around, and his right nipple puckered a little more under the added chill as her fingertips circled and flicked. 

He pushed his hips upwards against her, deciding if not now, then when? He stroked her neck, and hooked his fingers under the neckline of her costume, tugging gently, trying to discover if it had buttons or a zipper somewhere but it seemed to be one continuous drape of fabric.

"Hang on," she whispered, leaning back and pulling the costume over her head, a whispering flutter as it fell to the ground beside the bed. 

Alex slowly explored her arms, expecting to encounter material from a shirt or something, but his fingertips crested her bare shoulders feeling nothing but the soft brush of her hair, and slid forward until they found her bra strap. His cock twitched reflexively. He traced the scalloped edging of the bra, hands mapping the arc of her breasts, his thumbs easing forward to feel her hardened nipples under the material, not the cheap-lace scratchiness he was expecting – not that he was an expert about lingerie, his field of experience limited as it was, but she wore the good stuff, apparently. 

She moaned softly, leaning down to kiss him again. Her bra brushed against his chest, the delicate whorls grazing his own excited nerve endings deliciously. He traced the contours of her waist around to her back, letting his hands dip lower as they kissed, discovering she hadn't worn any pants under her costume either as his fingers found the matching lace waistline of her panties. Good god, she was straddling him on this bed, in nothing but her underwear. A sudden charge jolted his cock and his hips jerked up again.

She moaned into his mouth, still grinding slowly against him. He reached up and pushed the straps of her bra down her shoulders, suddenly insatiable for the feel of her skin. His hands searched her back, trying to find the hook to her bra and pulling frantically at it. 

"Whoa there, tiger," she admonished, sitting up straight. "Just take a breath. I'm all for enthusiasm, but this lingerie ain't cheap."

"Sorry," he ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. I'm just—"

"Yeah, me too," she sounded breathless. "It's okay." 

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's fine." 

"No," he laughed, running his hand gently, slowly, across her naked thigh. "You're all excited too?"

"Alex," she scoffed, leaning down to kiss him again. "For such a smart guy, you can be a little dense at times."

"You're not the first person to say that."

"Think about it, man. I'm the one who keeps coming after you."

"But you also won't tell me your name. So what am I to—"

She cut him off by grabbing his wrists and placing his hands over her now-exposed breasts. He took a sharp breath. Gently, no longer just wanting to be cool for her but feeling the need to relish this moment, to burn the details of her body into his memory, he traced his fingers along the swell of her chest. His thumbs flicked back and forth, making her nipples stand out even higher. She moaned and arched her back, her weight shifted backwards, pressing harder onto his cock and her breasts thrust forward against his hands.

Many years had passed since Alex and Danny had snuck into their father's bedroom, wild-eyed and slightly feverish, slowly turning the pages of his old skin mags in reverential silence. Though Alex had never actually seen the bodies of any of the women he'd dated, the images from those long-ago days followed him past blindness and served him well into puberty and beyond. It was a passing curiosity for him, to wonder what she looked like there above him, topless; the hue of her nipples or size of her areolas were blanks for his imagination to fill in, as much a mystery as the shape of her eyes or the color of her hair. 

He cupped her tits and sat up, savoring the weight of them in his hands before leaning forward to swipe his tongue across her nipples, the smell of her perfume heavy in his nostrils. Her moans got louder, her hands darting to clutch at his shoulders. He licked and sucked one breast, then moved to swirl his tongue teasingly around the other nipple, feeling the firmness of it move under his tongue as he flicked it back and forth. Her hips bucked against his, an intense heat building between them.

With one hand anchored in the small of her back, he felt the twisting gyrations of her hips, echoed against his throbbing crotch as she pressed into him. His tongue toyed with her nipple, the other caught between his thumb and forefinger as he pinched lightly. 

Her hair brushed over his hand as she arched backwards again, the vague idea that her hair must be very long passed briefly through his mind, but he ignored it until later, when he would replay this moment for himself. For now, he could only hear her moaning, feel the press of her body writhing against his. He could only focus on the building frenzy between them and this first opportunity to discover the nuances of her body. 

The skin of her areola tightened under his touch, puckering into tiny furrows of arousal, making her nipple protrude even further. His fingertips skated the underside of her breast and explored the planes of her stomach. Her arched back made the base of her ribcage stand out, a hard curve against the softness of her skin. The muscles in her stomach worked under his palm in time with the sway of her hips. He followed the gentle bow of her waist, down over the arc of her hip until he encountered that same soft trim of lace. He brushed his fingers across her hipbone and along the crease at the top of her thigh. Pressing forward between her legs, he felt the heated damp on her panties. 

With a grunt she shifted forward, pulling his hands away and leaning so he was pushed down to his back again, wrists pinned to the bed. She shifted her legs, still rocking, riding him. When she leaned forward to cover him this time, he could feel how hot her skin was, a burn of excitement that built between them. Panting against his neck, moaning into his ear, she focused her undulations to a pinpoint of motion that increased as she pressed and twisted against his cock. 

He held her and felt her hair covering her back, sliding over her arms, he curled his fingers into it, soft and luxuriant. Her breasts were once again pushed against his chest, nipples pressing and skimming his skin, so he cupped her ass, the line of lace bisecting firm round muscles that flexed and rocked under his hands. He swatted, landing a gentle spank against her skin. She grunted in his ear and pressed harder against him, as her writhing ramped up.

He spanked her again, relishing the noise she made and the sudden jerk forward of her lower body before finding the tempo of her movement again. His hand slid down her leg, through the small valley on the side of her thigh, between the definition of her front and back leg muscles. Every inch of her was a fire, sweet burning velvet. He could only moan at the feel of her as his fingers pressed into her skin. 

Coupled with the loose thin material from his borrowed pants, her movements created the perfect amount of friction and pressure on his cock. Ribbons of heat spiraled throughout his body, matching pace with the swing and thrust of her hips. Alex rocked and pushed back into her, a perfect concert of pleasure, accented by moans and gasps. Her forehead was slick, gliding across his cheek and jaw and her breath tumbled in heated waves over his own sweat-dampened skin. The ribbons, the heat, looped around, following their paths back to tie into blazing knots as he clutched her ass. 

She dug her fingernails into his shoulder and let out a cry as her body tensed around him, he could feel every muscle stiffening as she shook and whimpered. It was the final nudge required to send him beyond self-control and had him coming in his pants like some schoolboy. The intensity of pleasure like a gunshot ricochet rebounding between them as they writhed and moaned and forced themselves together as though the could fuck right through their clothes.

Alex felt himself lost in the explosion, only vaguely aware of the woman crying exaltation in his ear or the burn of her nails on his skin. He twisted and thrashed beneath her, his moans tangling into hers until there was no more. His body went slack on the mattress. 

"That was awesome," she muttered against his ear as she shifted to lie beside him, the heat slowly dissipating. 

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I am so glad you finally showed up tonight."

"What do you mean finally showed up? I thought you'd never get off that fucking chair. I was watching you for almost an hour."

"Seriously."

"Yeah. Well, I mean there was a party going on. It's not like I was standing six inches in front of you the whole time, making shadow puppets on your face."

Alex laughed. "That would have been cool."

"Yeah, I thought so too. But your friend might have noticed me."

"Probably not."

"Not that observant?"

Alex smiled. "You've got boobs, he'd have noticed that."

"Bit of a gronk?"

"Nah, he's a good guy," he said, brushing her hair back off her shoulder. "Been best friends since junior high."




Bluff Ch. 03



"He seemed okay."

"You talked to him?"

"He was trying to schmooze me in the kitchen."

"Really?" Alex made a note to grill Simon about that later.

"Yeah, don't bother. I was one of a dozen in a 10-minute span."

"That sounds like Simon."

"He seems quite different from you."

"Definitely. We sort of complement each other, I guess. I used to do his homework and he'd beat up the kids that picked on me."

"I can see that," she smiled against his neck. 

"Still kind of like that, in a way." He smiled in the comfortable silence that followed, reveling in the feel of her next to him and recalled the events of the night, wondering what she might have observed. "Hey, did you happen to see who pulled me out of the dining room there? During the fight?"

"George. My date. I sent him in to get you."

"Date?"

"Yeah. Not like, date-date." She smoothed her hand over his chest reassuringly. "He drove me here. Hanging out."

"He's a big guy."

"He's just a friend." She shifted to kiss his cheek. "He knows all about you."

"I'm not sure if I find that comforting or not."

"Don't worry, he'll only attack if you break my heart." She sat up, leaving a chill on his skin where the heat of her body had been.

"Didn't think that was an option."

She snickered. "Dense."

"Why?"

The mattress shifted as she stood up. "I should get going. Rude to leave George sitting out there all alone. And you might want to leave your shirt untucked for the rest of the night. You've got a spot on your pants now." 

Alex moaned but couldn't really complain. It was worth ruining Simon's costume. He'd be forgiven. Fabric swished and rustled as she redressed.

"So, hey," he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, "what's your costume, anyway?"

She laughed. "Not a chance."

"Heartless bitch."

"Yeah," she said as the music got louder with the opening of the door. "And you'll still take your pants off next time I see you."



Bluff Ch. 04



The flat rhythmic tick of the metronome echoed off the living room walls. Alex put his hand over the pendulum to silence it and listened for a second round of knocking at the front door. Most people used the bell, particularly when his piano playing could be heard from outside, but he was sure he'd heard a knock. He pressed the button on his mechanical watch and a small tinny voice said the time was 3:47 p.m. 

"Come in," he yelled, just in case his four o'clock appointment was early. Getting used to new students was such a pain in the ass. 

The door opened and closed; high-heeled shoes clicked in the front hall. 

"Hi," he said, turning on the bench to face the door. It was something he'd learned set people at ease. "I'm Alex."

She muttered a quiet hello, not bothering to introducing herself.

"Come on in," he smiled. "Jackie, right?"

She didn't answer, but the floorboard creaked near the sofa. 

"On the phone the other day, you said you had no previous piano experience – starting from scratch." When she didn't respond he cleared his throat, wondering if she was nervous or something. "I'm blind, if you didn't know or haven't figured that out. If that's some kind of problem for you, I'll understand. But it's a little disconcerting for me if you don't speak."

The old hardwood creaked again, right behind him. He turned his head. "Jackie?"

The seat on the bench shifted as she sat beside him and the smell of her perfume hit his nose. Subtle, something she hadn't put on this morning, but a fragrance she wore habitually that had ingrained itself in her clothing, something he couldn't smell until she was up close. 

"No," she whispered in his ear. "Not Jackie."

The breath went out of his lungs and his heart skipped to triple time. The woman who'd somehow found him at parties and in the shopping mall, who'd taken him behind closed doors for varying degrees of sexual play while refusing to tell him her name: she was in his home. 

Her tongue swept over his ear lobe, sending the skin on his neck into goose bumps. "Hi, Alex."

"How did you...?" he trailed off, running his hand over his neck to calm his agitated skin.

"I'm an FBI agent."

"Is that so?"

"Or maybe I just own a phone book."

He laughed and rubbed at his neck again, trying to gather his thoughts, to figure what to say or do next. "So you're not Jackie," he said pensively. "Not Jane."

"No." She kissed him. A familiar heat ignited in his belly, following a fuse that ran to his dick and back up to where her mouth was pressed to his. He pushed his tongue forward and tasted her cinnamon Altoids. He put his hand on her neck and felt himself getting hard already. Dammit. If he didn't find it all so exciting, he might have been embarrassed at what an easy mark he was for her. 

Breaking the kiss, he said, "I guess you're not here for a piano lesson, either."

She laughed. "I would love to hear you play, though."

"Oh." It was about the last thing he expected her to say. "Okay."

She laughed as he teased her with the opening notes of "Heart and Soul" while he took a moment to decide what he wanted to play for her – something current and groovy, or maybe a romantic ballad? She didn't strike him as the sentimental type, so he gambled on her level of refinement and settled on Bach. "The Musical Offering" was the piece that first made him fall in love with piano, long after he'd gotten over the resentment of being forced into lessons by his parents, in the hopes it would help alleviate some of the profound introversion that overcame him after losing his vision. She slid off the small bench as he began, leaving him to get comfortable and have full range of motion to play. Halfway through he felt her tugging at his shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of his pants and up his chest. He laughed but raised his arms over his head, letting her lift the shirt off. 

Her nails trailed down his back, little more than a sharp tickle. "Keep playing."

He did his best. But there were many sour or missed notes as her lips moved slowly across his back, her tongue swiping at his skin. He mentally berated himself for every mistake, perfectionist that he was. But this was new, something no woman had done to him before, the novelty of the sensation was exhilarating and he wanted to focus on enjoying it. His hands stilled on the keyboard.

"Keep playing," she whispered again. 

"I can't." He lowered his head and arched his back forward.

He felt her lips curl into a smile against his back, her laugh ghosting across his skin. "You like that?"

Her fingers were cold as she touched his shoulders, a contrast to the inferno he was accustomed to from her, her lips working down along his spine. The gentle warmth of her kisses stopped at his pants, in the small of his back. Her tongue left a wet fire, trailing like the tail of a comet back up to his neck. With a discordant bash, he dropped his forearm across the keyboard and leaned into it.

"Please tell me your name."

She tugged on his knee. "Turn around."

He lifted his legs over the bench and swung around to face her. Her breath exploded in a volcanic wave across his chest as she unbuckled his belt and released the button of his jeans. 

"I told you at the party that next time I saw you, you'd be taking your pants off. Don't make me a liar." Her hands pressed against his knees as she got to her feet and tugged on his wrists. "Up you come, big boy."

Alex smirked as he stood, reaching out to place his hands on her waist, skimming his fingertips down her hips over the light, soft cotton of her dress. Her hand covered his crotch and he moaned as she unzipped his fly. 

"Happy to see me already, are you?"

He snorted a little laugh. "How could I not be?"

She worked his jeans over his hips, her breath further warming his dick as she knelt to push them to his ankles. She tapped his foot and he stepped out of his pants obediently. Her lips grazed his stomach, nimble fingers tugging at his underpants. Alex pulled away.

"Wait." He grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands from his hips, taking a step backwards. "I'm not going to do this anymore until you tell me your name."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Look," he said, scratching at his temple, "I know I'm not exactly beating the girls off with my cane ..."

The floorboard creaked as she got to her feet. "Is it really that big a deal to you?"

"Yes. I like you. This whole thing ... it's hot. It really is. I'm not complaining about it, by any means. But you're here. We've got time today – privacy. If we're going to go further than we have, I need to know your name now."

A thousand manic birds took flight in his chest when she didn't reply. It was an impulsive ultimatum, and he began to fear he'd lost the wager. He clenched his teeth together, waiting for her to either speak or walk out. Finally, she spoke. 

"Hank," she said softly. 

"What?"

"Hank. My name is Hank."

A wave of nausea crested in his throat and he stepped backwards, losing his sense of where he was in the room and almost tripping when the back of his knee hit the coffee table. "You're a dude?"

"No."

"You just said your name is Hank."

The floor creaked under her feet. She took his hand and placed it on her breast. "Do I feel like a dude to you?"

Alex swallowed. "Those could be fake."

"You've had them in your mouth. Did they feel fake?"

"No," he admitted, but remained unconvinced. He'd never felt fake tits before, at least, not as far as he knew. He couldn't be sure he'd actually know the difference. 

"And when I was rubbing up against you at the party, did you feel a cock?"

"No." He pulled his hand away from her chest. "But there are ... operations."

"I'm a woman. My name is Hank."

"Hank?"

"You know, I used to go to school with a girl named Alex."

"That's different. It's not like my name is Tina, or Jennifer, or something."

"I wouldn't lie about this." Her bare feet shuffled on the floor. "Besides, if I were transgender why the hell would I use a name like Hank?"

"Hank," he repeated, testing it out. "That's what your parents call you?"

"Actually, yes."

"Seriously? I don't get that."

"I like it better than what's on my birth certificate, okay?"

He couldn't imagine what would be on her birth certificate to make "Hank" a preferable option, but said, "I guess."

He heard fabric rustle and swish, a small low sound of gathering material and the click of a button hitting wood that told him her dress had dropped to the floor. "Can we get to the naked now?"

"Say something." 

"Something," she whispered.

"No. Say something in a normal tone. Stop all the fucking whispering. I want to hear your voice."

She shuffled her feet again. "I don't want you to recognize my voice."

He frowned. "Should I?"

"You might." She sighed heavily. "I'm not a man. I never have been a man."

Hank grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand down her panties. His fingers brushed past the closely trimmed strip of hair and into the slick burning folds of her skin. Alex grunted.

"See? One hundred percent real vagina. All the parts I was born with."

He pushed his fingers further, investigating the exquisitely smooth skin between her legs. She moaned and leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. If she was a man, she was rather a short one.

Her tongue lapped at his collarbone. His fingers rocked gently against her clitoris as a sudden rush of wetness coated them.

"Aw, fuck," he moaned, feeling himself getting hard again. "A woman named Hank." 

She laughed and stepped back from him. He instantly missed the feel of her on his fingers.

"Sorry about that. I could tell you Jane or Jackie again. But the truth is my name is Hank."

"Okay, Hank." He took a deep breath, turning over the things she'd said. "Where would I know your voice from?"

She stepped forward again and stroked his shoulder. "It really doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"I've been chasing you around for months now. I'm not going anywhere, Alex. I really like you, too." She combed her fingers through his hair. "But once I tell you everything, the game is over. The new car smell is gone. Can't you let it be a sexy little mystery just a little while longer?"

She pushed her lower body forward, grinding her hips against his in a pale imitation of the Halloween party. 

He pretended a pouty voice, "This game of yours sucks." 

"Really? It doesn't turn you on, even a little?" She moved away from him, only far enough to slide her hand down the front of his underwear and run her fingers over his semi-hard cock. "Because it kind of seems like it does."

"I never denied that it turns me on – how could I? – it just sucks."

"Well, now you know my name. You're a clever boy; you'll take it from there."

Alex scoffed; he was pretty sure he'd remember if he'd met a woman named Hank. But before he could puzzle over it further, her talented slender fingers were stroking him to distraction.

He leaned his head back, her mouth warming his neck with kisses and gentle swipes of her tongue as her fingers curled around his cock. He exhaled slowly.

"Are you going to spend all afternoon fretting about my name, or are you going to notice that I'm naked?"

His breath caught in his throat. 

Her skin was cool, velvety soft over the hard, prominent hipbone his fingers explored. No lace panties to impede him today – just a wondrous expanse of curves and textures. Alex dropped to his knees. Pressing his lips to her thigh, he murmured "beautiful" against her skin. Hank brushed his hair back as she laughed. 

He leaned backwards, stretching out on the floor and reaching for her. "Come lie down with me."

She lowered herself onto his hips, hands sweeping across his chest. 

"No," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and rolling her onto her back. "Just let me ..."

He kissed her neck and climbed over to cover her. Except for his underpants, it was the first full-body skin-to-skin contact he'd made with her. She was surface-cold, probably still chilled from the autumnal winds outside, but he could feel the heat within. He followed the solid line of her collarbone with his tongue, working inward, swirling up her neck.

She sighed as his lips busied themselves at her neck and earlobes, hands creeping up to cover her breasts. Her nipples hardened under his palms; he caught one between his first two fingers and squeezed gently. Her body jerked beneath him.

"There," she whispered. "My boobs are smaller when I'm lying down. Means they're real."

He smiled and shifted to trace the hardened tip with his tongue, feeling it give under his considerations, always flicking back to attention. His hand wandered down along the smooth flat plane of her stomach until his fingers brushed the tuft of soft hair. 

"I'm still not convinced," he said, pressing along the heated crease beneath. "I should investigate further."

Hank laughed and shifted her leg outward, opening herself up to him. "By all means, search me thoroughly and interrogate me, officer."

A thrill of quicksilver ran up his spine, his cock twitching in reaction to her words. Spicy minx. He brushed the clean-shaven skin, skimming her clitoris, and pressing to the delicate ridges of her inner lips. Slick heat engulfed his fingers, coating them to glide wetly back over her clit. 

She inhaled sharply, her breasts pressing into him as he felt her nipple harden even further against his mouth. He kissed and tongued at it, still drawing soft moans from her with his stroking hand. Her breath hitched and her body twisted beneath him.

"Please," she murmured. 

Alex moaned around her breast. His body burned. Her heat, no longer content with just his hand, wound its way along, seeping through his skin, spreading, then moving out again to wrap around him like an electric blanket set to high on a winter morning. It held tight, tucking into every crevice and fold of his body, making the backs of his knees start to sweat. 

His fingers moved in tiny circles, rocking back and forth, around and over the little nub of flesh. Hank's chest rose and fell against him as her breath deepened, tiny sighs and moans, synched to her exhalations. Her short strip of hair tickled his palm as his hand worked her body, his fingers losing purchase, finding it harder to build friction as she got wetter. 

The urge to tear off his underpants and simply push inside her was overwhelming. But he also wanted to savor every moment, every first. Who knew how long she would keep finding him, keep coming back. Despite what she'd said, perhaps now that he knew her name, the fun was over for her. Maybe this was the last huzzah and whatever happened today would have to sustain his fantasies until ... well, whenever someone else was interested in him.

A heady mixture of scents flooded his brain. The bass tones of naked bodies hit him first, the rich sweetness of her sexuality, the subtle spice from what lingered of her perfume – even the sugary cinnamon on her breath as she panted, combined with the sharp sting of sweat to fuel his desire. Kindling for the fire that enveloped him.

Alex pulled his hand away and Hank mewled in frustration, grabbing his shoulder, fingers clutching at him like a drowning woman reaching for a buoy. He trailed kisses down her stomach, swirling his tongue around her navel, feeling her muscles tense and quiver, in both excitement and giggles.

"Ticklish?"

"No," she answered with mock childlike petulance.

Skin like velvet under his lips, tiny gliding kisses around her hip and across her inner thigh. The scent of her arousal, so close now, eclipsing the rest of the sexual bouquet he'd admired earlier, providing even more of a challenge to his composure. He wanted his body to dissolve into this flame, let every cell melt into her body – one way or another, to be inside her. 

Shuffling on the floor, hardwood cooling his body, he settled between her legs and pressed his lips to hers. A delicious first kiss, letting his lower lip linger and trail before pressing further. If the rest of her body was velvet, the skin here was some material yet to be invented, soft and smooth, a texture for which he knew no words. His tongue explored the ridges and curves there. A miniature version of the hills and valleys and secret retreats of her body. He wanted to map every inch of it – an erotic cartographer exploring and surveying some newfound Eden – until he knew every turn and grade that made her sigh or moan as he did his own.

He brushed and flicked his tongue over her clitoris, tasting her, all slick and sweet and tangy. Alex ran his hands over her stomach, hips, and legs, trying to soothe and arouse her simultaneously. Her writhing stilled momentarily, but her breath continued to come in noisy panting gasps, and her legs quivered beside him. His cock ached with empathy for her mounting excitement, and when a soft cry began in the back of her throat, he moaned against her pussy. 

Her muscles tensed. She pushed her feet into the floor and lifted her hips. He tightened his grip around her hipbones and stayed with her, tongue lapping feverishly. The gentle whine grew to a moan, then a throaty shout. The slap of her palm, along with the crack of something metal – some piece of jewelry she wore – echoed against the wood as she wriggled and heaved against his face. Next to his own orgasm, he could think of no purer definition of bliss than this moment. Her whole body shook around him; the jolt of explosion and ensuing conflagration threatening to reduce him to cinders if he didn't climb up there and fuck her. Right now.

Her body calmed, hips slowing and lowering back to the floor. He fought every impulse and remained, kissing her gently, stroking his hands along her sides. Her breathing settled and she sighed. He lifted his head and licked his lips. Perfection. He kissed her hip and ran his tongue along her lower belly, making her giggle again. Reaching to strum his fingers across her nipples, he kissed his way up her body, stopping cold when the doorbell rang. 

"Just a minute!" He scrabbled across her stomach to hit the button on his watch. 5:02. "Oh fuck. My next student is here."

He thought he might weep as he felt around on the floor to find his clothes, rolling onto his back and dressing as quickly as he could. 

"I'll be right there," he yelled at the door. "Just ... umm. Just give me a second."

He tugged his shirt over his head and smoothed his hair. Standing up, he fixed his belt and quietly asked Hank if she was dressed. 

"Yes. But your shirt is inside out."

"Shit." He pulled it off and flicked it in the air, feeling for the tag before putting it on again and calling out, "I'm coming. Sorry."

He opened the door.

"You okay, Alex?" his student asked in that petulant, slightly condescending tone that twelve-year-olds reserved for adults who were acting in strange ways just outside their comprehension. 

"Yeah. Sorry, Tricia, my uhh," he paused, wiping his chin, "my last lesson ran a little long."

"Hi," Tricia said, obviously addressing Hank. He usually left a buffer between appointments and his students rarely met each other in the hallway like this. 

"Hi," Hank replied, for the first time speaking in a normal tone of voice. She touched his wrist briefly as she passed by on her way out the door. "See you soon, Alex."

She was right. He did know that voice. Soft, a little husky, but undeniably feminine and most decidedly someone he'd spoken to before. It was close, like an itch in the center of his back that he just could not reach. He knew her. It was something in the tone, the way she said his name, and he could almost grab it, but Tricia broke his concentration.

"Is that your girlfriend?"

"No," he laughed. "Well, she ... I don't know. Not really."




Bluff Ch. 04



"You guys were kissing when I rang the bell," Tricia giggled. "I can tell. That's why it took you so long."

"Time to play piano, Tricia."


***


Alex sat on the edge of the sofa, the sounds of explosions and gunfire filling the room. 

"We just have to start asking around who knows her," Simon said, clicking away at the PlayStation controller. The rapid gunfire faded to synthesized doom-and-gloom music as the controller hit the carpet with a plastic thud. "Bugger! I didn't even see that guy! And who the fuck names their daughter Hank?"

"What about Hank?" Travis asked, coming back into his den with three bottles of beer. 

"What? You know her or something?" Alex asked.

"Yeah. Hank – bookstore Hank, right?"

"I don't know where she works."

Simon interjected, "I seriously doubt there's dozens of girls running around called Hank."

Travis laughed. "Yeah, good point." 

Alex smiled, but his pulse was pounding in his ears. He leaned forward on the sofa, fighting the urge to yell at them to shut up and tell him about Hank. Before he could ask anything, Simon piped up again.

"She good-looking?"

"Oh yeah, she's a little bit of all right. Manages the Book Nook in the mall; she's friends with Jackie Gracen's brother, George. They were at Andrew's party a couple months ago."

"Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle." Simon nudged Alex's ribs. "All this time, eh buddy?"

The Book Nook. Of course. He'd half driven himself crazy over the past week trying to place the voice he'd heard as she left his house. He covered his face with his hand, how could he not have placed it? She was the woman who touched his arm all the time when he ordered books in Braille. 

He leaned forward in his seat and said to Travis, "Tell me everything you know about her."


***


A thin layer of condensation built between the receiver and his palm. Alex's finger lingered on the raised bumps of the last button – a minute nervous twitch and he had dialed. His finger jerked up to disconnect but the phone was ringing already. He could feel sweat forming on his upper lip and barely heard the voice answering the phone over the ringing of blood in his ears. 

"Thank you for calling The Book Nook, how may I help you?"

His voice caught in his throat, he almost hung up. His mouth moved but no sound would come. 

"Hello?"

Alex found his voice, rather proud that he didn't sound like a complete tool when he asked, "May I speak to Henrietta Walker, please?"

A slight pause. "You are."

"Hello, Hank."

"Who is this?"

"No. I'm not going to tell you my name." He could hear her starting to laugh. A good sign. "But you had an appointment booked for a piano lesson tonight."

"I did? But I don't play piano."

"No? Well, I assume that's why you're taking lessons, then."

"Cheeky monkey."

"Be here at 7:30. You know the address."

He could hear her voice as he pulled the phone away from his ear and clenched his teeth as he hung up on her.



Bluff Ch. 05



Alex's stomach twisted and cramped. He drummed his fingers against his knees absently, a frenetic, rhythmless Gene Krupa. A car pulled up along the curb, the hum of its engine low as the tires crunched and ground on the pavement to parallel park. He sat up straight and realized he was holding his breath. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled and he wondered if he looked half as nervous as he felt. Silly to be this wound up about it -- he was the one who'd called her; he'd asked for this. The old saying about being careful what you wished for never felt more apt. The car door chunked shut and heavy footsteps hurried up the street.

It was unseasonably warm for November but he probably should have put on a jacket to sit outside. He'd started sweating while he dressed and didn't want to reek of B.O. when Hank showed up, so he figured waiting outside in the cool air would be best. He was just about to go in to get a sweatshirt when the click-slap of backless high heels approached. Whoever she was, she was coming up the stairs and Alex stopped breathing again.

She sat down beside him without saying hello. He could smell her perfume.

Alex smiled. "Miss Walker."

"I knew I should have given you another fake name." 

"And deny me this small victory?"

"You feel victorious?"

"You always said it was a game," he said. "Most games have a winner."

"Touché." Her voice was gentle and raspy, and now that the time for all the whispering was past, he easily connected its bass tones with the many conversations he'd had about literature with the saleswoman who always touched his arm when he ordered his books.

She covered his hand with hers and though he had a thousand things he wanted to say, to ask, Alex was reluctant to break the comfortable silence that settled around them like her perfume.

Finally, he drew a deep breath and said, "So, you've seen me at the bookstore."

She laughed. "No. Well, I mean yes, of course, but that was coincidental."

"Then what? Just tell me."

"Why don't you come for a walk with me? I'll explain everything."

She took his arm and led him across the street. He listened to her shoes slapping against the soles of her feet as they walked. On the sidewalk they turned left and went about fifteen feet before she turned again. She guided him up a short flight of stairs and through a hallway before unlocking a door. 

The room inside was warm and smelled like sangria-scented candles with undertones of yesterday's cooking -- bell peppers and spices. She untangled her arm from his and closed the door behind them.

"Where are we?"

"This is me."

"What?"

"I live across the street from you. That's how I knew you're a piano teacher. I'd see your students coming and going all the time. Everybody around here knows Alex the Blind Piano Teacher."

"You're kidding me."

"No. Why don't we sit down?" She led him to the sofa. A soft, fuzzy blanket covered the seat and they sank back into plushy cushions. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, I ..." He almost said 'I just want you to tell me what the hell is going on' but figured she already knew that. 

"I've had a crush on you for ages." Her voice was soft, almost contrite. This was a different Hank than he was used to. "Ever since I moved in, like, eight months ago and saw you walking on the street. But I couldn't exactly make eye contact and smile to gauge your interest level. I didn't really know how to approach you."

"So you decided that molesting me at a party was the way to go?"

She laughed, loud and full, but there was an edge to it that betrayed her nerves. It made him feel a little better to know she was off-center too. For the first time, she wasn't some divine enigma who oozed sexuality -- she was just a woman. 

"That wasn't exactly the plan, no." Her voice muffled a bit -- she'd covered her face with something. "You were in the store one day, talking to your brother about maybe going to Andrew's party. I'd been invited but I wasn't really interested until I heard you say you were thinking of going. The only thing I didn't know was whether or not you had a girlfriend. But then somebody there told me you were single, so ..."

"I see."

"Yeah?"

"No! Not at all. Going from 'I was curious if you're available' to 'I'm going to drag you into a closet and jerk you off' is a bit of a leap!" 

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." She laughed again, leaning against him and wrapping her fingers around his forearm. Her laugh trailed away, ending in an embarrassed groan.

"Well," he conceded, "it wasn't a horrible idea."

"You didn't seem to mind."

"Nope." Her cheek was still pressed against his shoulder. He reached up and smoothed her hair. "Not the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"That's good to know."

He took a breath to speak, but then realized he couldn't think of a thing to say, so he sighed.

"Like I said that night, it seemed more fun. Plus I was kind of drunk -- trying to screw up the courage to finally talk to you. I was waiting for you in the hallway and just thought, what the hell?"

"What the hell, indeed."

"Then I saw you at the mall again and ... I don't know. The whole thing just kind of took on a life of its own. After the Halloween party I realized I'd dug myself in pretty deep."

"So all of this ...?"

"I told you, it seemed like fun. I always intended to tell you everything; I just reached a point where I didn't really know how. Plus, it was pretty hot."

"Oh yeah," he agreed. "So, now what?" 

"So now you know." 

"But why didn't you just say, my name's Hank and I live across the street from you?"

"I think I just did."

Again, he found himself without words. There was no logic to contend with that: it was all just a simple matter of timing to her. And really, it's not like he could make a strong case for himself as victim here. He'd loved every minute of it all along, was complicit in her game and could have stopped it at any point. 

"So, is the excitement of it all gone for you now that I know?"

"Not necessarily." Her finger traced a path up the top of his thigh, light and tickling through his jeans. "I'd like to think there's still a thing or two we could learn about each other."

He struggled to remember any of the things he wanted to ask her and could only come up with the rather mundane, "You really prefer Hank to Henrietta?"

She laughed. "Wouldn't you? Henrietta is my grandmother. It's an old lady's name -- in my mind, at least. Always will be. Maybe I'll like it better when I have short blue hair. Until then, I think I'll stick with Hank."

Her hand had settled into full contact with his leg, leaving small heated circles in its wake as she caressed him, making it even harder for him to think.

"It was you who'd always help me when I came into the store. Why didn't you just say something to me then?"

"You were always with somebody -- made it a little awkward to try the old 'buying this book for your girlfriend?' trick. And a big lecherous wink was out of the question."

He sniffed a laugh and leaned back into the cushions. "You're a woman named Hank and you live across the street from me."

She didn't answer, just let her fingers continue to doodle absent patterns on his thigh. He could feel the heat of her body warming his right side. Somewhere in the room a clock was ticking. 

"I have to admit," he said, "over the past couple months that's one idea that just never occurred to me."

She shifted on the sofa as she giggled, moving her hand to his stomach with slow, soothing strokes. "I hope you're not disappointed."

"God, no. I think I actually prefer this. It'd be a little weird if it was, like, a friend's sister or something doing all this."

"Yeah, that might make bragging about it a bit awkward."

"I don't know that I really brag about that stuff."

"Oh please. All men brag. At least the ones I know."

"Well," he touched her arm, "maybe I've just never had much to brag about before."

"That's so weird."

"Why?"

She shifted on the sofa again, turning to straddle his lap and brush his hair behind his ears. "Because you are just so damn cute."

With a non-committal grunt, he grazed his fingers down her sides, feeling the fuzzy weave of her sweater turn to the slick, thin material of her skirt. He searched out the hem and ran his hands over the soft silk stockings covering her legs. 

She gasped, "God, your hands are cold."

He slid his fingers over the curve of her thigh muscles. "Warm me up."

"Look at you, getting all bossy." She leaned in to kiss him, her hands moving to unbutton his shirt, spreading it open and baring his chest. Fingers like hot little spiders crawled along his skin, exploring and searching out his nipples. 

His hips pressed forward in zealous anticipation as his hands slid around to cover her ass. This was it. They were alone in her apartment, no students or partygoers nearby. Finally, finally. She had revealed herself to him in full. Her tremendous little mystery game was over and -- she thrust her tongue into his mouth and ground her hips down on his, snapping his mind back to the heat and delicate touches on his skin. His body tensed and his fingers dug into firm muscle. 

She broke the kiss and leaned back in his lap, shifting her weight as she removed her sweater. Alex explored the skin of her back, her long hair brushing against the backs of his hands. He reached up to plunge his fingers into the soft thickness of her hair, gripping the back of her scalp to bring her back down to kiss again. She slid forward, melting against his body, her hard nipples pressing into his chest through the lace of her bra. He moaned into her mouth.

In one fluid move, she backed away to settle on the floor between his legs. He followed her forward, holding the kiss as long as he could. Her hands seared his stomach as her fingers worked at the button of his pants, the smell of chemical flowers from her shampoo in his nose. He leaned back and raised his hips so she could tug the fabric down over his legs. Cool air chilled his skin but her hands chased it away, stroking over his thighs and hips. 

She teased at his pubic hair before her fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him fully hard. He leaned his head back against the cushion and licked his lips. 

"Please tell me you don't have a roommate or anything; not expecting any deliveries, your grandmother's not coming over for dinner." 

Her laugh plumed across his skin like a tiny chinook, making his nerve endings dance. "No. It's just us, I promise."

Her lips touched his inner thigh, the whisper of the sweetest promise. Her mouth and hands and arms, everywhere her body made contact with his, seemed to suffuse him with her heat, warming him to his very core and back out again. He ran his hand over his face and felt a light sweat building already. The heat made his mind twirl and dance in odd ways, errant thoughts pirouetting, slick with sweat and speed, and hard to catch. 

"The bookstore," he mumbled, unaware he'd spoken aloud. 

Her tongue paused, scarcely an inch from his balls. "What about it?"

"Huh?" Alex lifted his head, her voice cutting the mental haze. 

"What about the store?"

"I ... All those times I came in and you were helping me -- the touching my arm and everything?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you flirting with me when you did that?"

"I was trying to."

"I thought that's what that was, but ..."

"But what?" she asked.

"I was hoping you were, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't want to look like an idiot."

"Exactly. Neither did I." 

"Right. Which brings us back to the whole molesting me in a coat closet thing."

She shifted away from him. "Would you rather talk more?"

He reached out to stroke her hair. "No. No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."

"That's fine."

"But I can't totally promise I won't blurt out more random questions."

"What? Like, 'Oh, Hank, I'm gonna come; when's your birthday?' kind of thing?"

"No!" He laughed and tugged playfully on her hair. "Maybe."

Her lips curled into a smile against his leg, hands still roaming his body in slow, calming strokes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he answered before considering her question. Alex took a deep breath and the gears in his mind found purchase again, stopped their wild spinning. "I mean, this is it, right?"

"In terms of what?"

"No more surprises. No more big secrets."

"No." Her shoulder nudged his leg as she shrugged. Moments were rare when he truly missed his vision, but he'd have given five years of his life to be able to see the expression on her face right now. She pressed her cheek to his thigh. "Obviously you don't know everything about my life."

He scoffed, "No kidding."

"But you know who I am and where I work and where I live." She sat up and pressed a sweet kiss on his mouth. "You know I did all this because I'm wicked attracted to you. I'm not running away now."

He stroked her face, letting his thumb explore her mouth to determine if she was smiling. She wasn't.

"I hope you mean that," he whispered.

"I do." Hank kissed his thumb, her lips taking it into the heat of her mouth, teeth dragging gently across the soft pad of flesh. He grunted at the tease.

She pushed his hand aside and ran her tongue up along the underside of his cock. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, memories of the shopping mall flooding his mind. His whole body tensed with the firing of synapses; now, with the insecurities dissipating, his recall was nothing but hot. The way she'd pushed him up against the wall, the threat of being caught at any moment: the heat of her tongue, then as now, curving around his skin, enflaming his nerve endings. Part of him, briefly, didn't care if she was lying about all of it. She could be some foreign spy, using him to establish her undercover identity, and it wouldn't matter one little bit as long she kept licking his cock like that. 

If the rest of her body was a furnace, her mouth was a recess in Dante's inferno. Flames swept his skin, but they were wet and smooth and soft. So soft. A broad fire that raged up and down his shaft, or the focus of the sun through a magnifying glass tracing the ridge around his cock head, poking with a delicate torture at the ultra-sensitive underside. The vibration of her gentle moaning ran through him, made him want to gnash his teeth.

A silver chill started to run up his legs. No, not yet. This wasn't the mall or some crowded party where he feared discovery; he wanted to savor this one. He grasped Hank's shoulders and gently pushed her away.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I'm going to come."

"So come."

"No, no I -- "

"I'll make you a sandwich; we'll start again." She slid her mouth back over his cock, skin slick with saliva, an easy glide. The heat coiled in his belly, tendrils reaching down, out, linking with the quicksilver of impending orgasm and drawing the quiver forward. 

His muscles tensed as her mouth pushed down farther with each stroke. The hot-cold tingle accelerating each time her tongue rasped along his skin until he knew he was past holding back. His body stiffened and his fingers dug into the plush fabric of the sofa as the chilling heat washed over him. His thoughts torn from reality, but never more acutely focused on the moment. He shuddered and jerked in his seat until the last of the waves subsided. Hank leaned back, her hands soothing his thighs again. 

"Did you want a drink?" She was up and heading out of the room before he could answer. With a rubberized pull and the clink of glass, she whistled as she peered into the fridge. "I've got some juice, water. I can make tea. Or there's vodka if you'd prefer."

The vodka was tempting, but he decided on a glass of water. He wouldn't have minded that sandwich she mentioned earlier, now that his nerves were settled a bit, but she didn't repeat the offer. He stood to pull his pants back up from around his ankles.

"Don't bother," Hank said. "You won't be needing those for quite a while."

He laughed and sat back down, tugging off his sneakers and peeling his jeans over his feet. The seat beside him indented as she sat down and pressed a glass into his hand. All that soft hair draped over his lap as she lay down and rested her head on his thigh. 

"This is so much better," she said as he sipped the water. "Having you here. Knowing I don't have to wait until the next house party."

"That's your own damn fault; wasn't my decision."

"Oh, quit your bellyaching. You loved it."

Alex smirked but said nothing. Her hands were stroking at his arms and chest with little intent. Another comfortable silence settled between them and he sighed, leaning his head back on the pillow. She was right: this was much better.

"It's too bad I live so close to the mall," Hank said. "I had this wicked fantasy about dragging you into a car one day and abducting you."

"Really?" Alex pondered the possibilities. "I think I might've been okay with that."

"Yeah." Her voice was soft, sounding distant in contemplation. "I don't drive though."

He laughed and held out the empty glass. "Is there somewhere to put this?"

She took the glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table nearby, hair tickling his legs as she shuffled around. 

"What's so funny?"

"Your hair is tickling me."

"Oh yeah?" She shifted around, her movements jostling him on the sofa. 

"What are you doing?" Mild suspicion weighted in his gut.

A soft stroke up his side, from hip to ribs. He jerked and jetted a laugh through his teeth. Across his stomach and up to his nipple, circling and tickling. He felt a bit idiotic, grinning and flinching each time the silken ends of hair made contact, but he couldn't help himself. She brushed the cluster of strands back and forth across his nipples, making them harden. An unexpected flick and her gathered hair snapped down across his skin like a whip.

He jumped in his seat, letting out a small grunt and rubbed his fingers soothingly across the hardened peak of his nipple. "That actually kind of stung."

"I'm sorry. Here, let me kiss it better for you."

Her warm breath plumed across his chest as she leaned close to lay a soft, barely there kiss. Her lips closed over his nipple a second time, working at the skin and sucking gently. Alex moaned as gooseflesh spread across his chest. The heat of her tongue lapped against him, flicking and swirling. 

"Fuck," he moaned again.

"What?"

"I just can't believe a woman like you is interested in me."

"Shut up," she teased, shifting again to kiss his mouth, legs now draped across his lap as she leaned against the arm of the sofa. Her tongue swept across his before she pulled away. "I'm very interested in you."

He cupped her chin and tilted her head for another kiss. His lips trailed along her jaw and over her ear, tongue flicking along her skin; the small moans she made urging him forward. His kisses worked down along her neck.

With a tiny cough, Alex turned his head and flicked his tongue out, snakelike. The vaguely shampoo-mixed-with-alcohol taste of the perfume he so loved coated the inside of his mouth. She laughed.

"I won't wear it anymore."

"No, I like it. It's sexy. Just tastes like shit."

"Well, I'll see if I can find a way around that in the future."

He nodded against her chest, only vaguely aware of what she'd said, his kisses again exploring her skin, though his tongue was slightly less adventurous this time. His lips crested the rise of her breast, encountering the familiar softness of expensive lace. He swept her bra straps off her shoulders.

"Hank? Could you ..."

"Hhmm?" the inquiry lingered, morphing into a small moan.

"Your bra. I can't reach the ..."

"Oh." She sat up, her shoulders pressing against his, waves of her heat passing to him. The lacey swish rasped across his chest and her bra fell to the floor with a whisper.