Ultimate Warriors

by Jaide Fox

  "Don’t you believe him, girlfriend," the lady with the purple hair advised.

  "Right. Whatever." Blossom slapped Bruce’s arm with her backpack. "Let me go."

  Shit. Clark grabbed his laptop and jogged up the aisle. He hadn’t counted on Bruce getting physical.

  "Blossom, I--" Bruce started.

  Clark staggered to a stop at the table and whipped out his cell phone. "You better do what she says," he puffed. "Or I’m calling the cops."

  "Clark--" Blossom said.

  "You," Bruce said, sending Clark a look that could vaporize. "I should have known. Go to hell. She’s mine."

  "See what I have to put up with?" Diana complained to the gathering crowd.

  "What an asshole." The purple haired lady climbed onto her seat, straining for a better view. "Honey," she said to Blossom. "Get out while the getting’s good. Guys like him are no damn picnic. They boink you once and think they own you."

  "No," Bruce said, re-anchoring his grip on Blossom’s wrist. "It’s not like that. I can explain."

  "Let ... me ... go," repeated Blossom, landing three more backpack blows to Bruce’s arm.

  Clark grabbed hold of Bruce’s arm and pulled, using his laptop for leverage. He didn’t move the hard muscles an inch. "You heard her," he said. "Let go."

  "Not until she listens to me." He winced as Blossom’s backpack whacked him upside the head. "What have you got in that thing?"

  "You can forget me ever listening to you," Blossom said, angling for another blow. "Let me go!"

  "No, I--"

  Clark looped his arm around Bruce’s neck and yanked as hard as he could. Nothing.

  "That’s it." Diana reached through the tangle of arms and put the supersqueeze on Bruce’s wrist. "You’re a sexist clod, Bruce. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. We’re through."

  "Aaaaahh--" Bruce clawed at Diana’s fingers with one hand. The other arm fended off Blossom’s next attack.

  Diana gave him an elbow under the chin.

  "Ooof." Bruce fell back on the booth seat.

  "You go, girlfriend," the purple-haired woman yelled.

  The crowd pressed forward. "Come on," Clark said, tugging Blossom out of Bruce’s limp grasp. "Let’s get out of here."

  "Noooo!" cried Bruce, lunging after them.

  Diana crossed her wrists in front of her chest. She spun around once, fake stomach bouncing, and kicked out a leg. Bruce tried to vault it, aimed too low, and landed face first in the aisle.

  Diana scooped up the purple-haired woman’s lemon meringue pie and dumped it on Bruce’s head. Bruce heaved himself to his knees. Diana jumped him.

  "Ooof!" Bruce’s lungs deflated.

  They went down, limbs flailing, rolling down the aisle. The crowd parted. Someone called for the cops. The waitress shoved her way to the register and grabbed a phone. The lady with the purple hair jumped up on her booth table and shouted a play-by-play.

  Clark grabbed Blossom around the waist. He shoved her through the crowd, angling for the back door. His laptop banged against his leg as they scurried around a smelly dumpster, up an alley, and across Main Street. They veered right on Broad. Sirens sounded in the distance.

  They didn’t stop until they reached Blossom’s apartment. Clark doubled over in front of the door, trying to catch his breath. A sharp pain sliced through his right side. He was out of shape, no doubt about it. Too many damn hours in front of the computer. He really should do something about that. Take up jogging, maybe.

  Beside him, Blossom was shaking. Ah, hell. Bruce’s cave man tactics must have traumatized her. Anger surged into Clark’s veins. He’d get Bruce back for this one. The next time Bruce Wynn, Superjerk, tried to log onto his HI user account, he’d better be prepared for a fight.

  His network connection was going down, down, down.

  Blossom shuddered again. Her hands covered her face and her shoulders heaved. Clark shifted uneasily, passing his laptop from one hand to the other. Hell. He’d rather confront twenty Evil Maniacal Geniuses than face a single feminine tear. He didn’t know the first thing about pulling a hysterical woman together.

  He reached out and put a timid hand on Blossom’s shoulder. "It’s ... uh ... all right."

  Her shoulders only shook harder. He took a deep breath and stepped a little closer, patting her awkwardly on the arm. "Blossom. Please don’t..."

  She looked up and laughed in his face.

  Clark gaped at her. "You’re not crying."

  "Crying?" she gasped. "God, no." She dissolved in a fit of giggles. "I’ve never ... seen anything ... so funny." She doubled over again, fighting for breath. "As when that guy hit the ground." She hiccupped.

  Clark let out a relieved snort. "Me neither." He sobered a little. "I’m sorry I was late. The whole thing was my fault."

  "No it wasn’t," Blossom said quickly. "It was mine. I should have waited for you. I should have known things wouldn’t work out with Bruce."

  "Why not?"

  She sighed. "He was too good to be true."

  "He’s not good at all," Clark pointed out. "He’s a jerk. A totally ripped, phenomenally handsome jerk, but still."

  "You’re right," Blossom said. "I know you are. And I really try to like regular guys. I do. But the truth is, they just don’t turn me on. I mean, take you for example."

  Clark winced.

  "You’re great. You’re smart, nice, and you have a good sense of humor. You really seem to like me--"

  "I do," Clark put in.

  "--but I just can’t get excited about you. It would make life a whole heck of a lot easier if I could." Her voice rose, trembling dangerously. "I’m an idiot." She started blinking furiously.

  Damn. Looked like those tears might materialize after all.

  "Uh, Blossom--"

  "I’m a loser, Clark. A geeky loser."

  "No, you’re not," he said. "You’re just--"

  "Don’t tell me what I am."

  "Uh, okay. Listen, Blossom--"

  "Do you want to hear something really pathetic?" She couldn’t seem to meet his gaze.

  "No, I--"

  "I’ve never had an orgasm."

  "I know. That’s why--"

  Blossom’s head snapped up. "You know? How the hell could you know? I just met you two days ago."

  "Uh, I mean, I guessed," Clark said, backpedaling as fast as he could. "I can tell you’re a woman who..."

  "Who what?"

  "Um... You’re somebody that wouldn’t..."

  "Wouldn’t what?"

  "Sleep around," Clark finished feebly.

  "Sleep around? I don’t sleep around! Heck, I’m practically a virgin! How can you say that?"

  "I didn’t," Clark pointed out swiftly. "I was just trying to say--"

  "I’m a mess." Blossom’s eyes filled with tears.

  "No," Clark said. He put down his laptop, inched closer, and draped one arm over her shoulders. "You’re great. Fantastic. And very sexy."

  "I’m frigid."

  "You’re not. I’m sure you’ll have an orgasm when the right man comes along."

  She sniffed. "You really think so?"

  "Yes," Clark said. "All you have to do is close your eyes."

  "Close my eyes?"

  "Yeah. Close your eyes and listen to your heart."

  Blossom sighed. "That’s easier said than done. I’m a very visually oriented person, in case you hadn’t noticed."

  "I had," Clark said dryly. He maneuvered his free hand into his laptop zipper compartment. "But you know, if you’re willing, I could help you overcome that."

  Blossom’s brows drew together. "How?"

  He lifted a narrow swath of black satin. A blindfold. One of the purchases he’d made an hour ago. He dangled it in front of her.

  "First," he said, "you tie this over your eyes."

  Blossom stared at the thing. "You want me to put on a blindfold?"

  "Yes," Clark said. "I do." She closed her eyes, as if imagining it. He felt a little
shudder race through her.

  He started getting hard.

  She opened her eyes. "First I put on the blindfold," she repeated. She frowned a little. "And then what happens?"

  "Then," Clark said, "you trust me."

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday, 1:39 p.m.

  Ten hours, twenty-one minutes, and counting...

  Clark’s blindfold was black, soft, and utterly tantalizing. Blossom closed her eyes and tried to imagine how it would feel draped over her face. Blocking her vision. The bottom glided out of her belly and a soft tingling sprang to life between her thighs.

  Clark’s low, rich voice washed over her, sending little ripples of pleasure across her skin. "What do you say?"

  Silence stretched between them for one heartbeat, two, three. "I don’t know," Blossom said finally.

  He ran the blindfold down her bare arm. It was cool, soft, and oh-so-smooth. "Just try it. I’ll stop whenever you say."

  She believed him. He was too nice of a guy to lie to her.

  She took the long swath of material in her hands. The center was wide, and double thickness. The ends narrowed into long ties. She held it up to her eyes, pressing the fabric flat, trying to see through it.

  Nothing.

  Only inky darkness.

  She jumped when Clark’s warm hand descended on her nape. "Put it on," he whispered. His breath was moist on her neck. The tingling between her thighs started up again, more urgent this time. "Go on."

  With shaking hands, she smoothed the blindfold over her eyes and crossed the laces behind her head.

  "Here," Clark said, easing the ties from her fingers. "Let me help you." With swift, sure strokes, he secured the blindfold.

  When she reached up to touch it, he trapped her hands in his. "Just relax."

  "All right. I’ll try." It was a blatant lie. Having her sight taken away had started her heart jack-hammering in her chest. No way could she relax.

  She felt Clark shift behind her. He bent, as if retrieving something from the ground. His laptop, she thought, a little smile touching her lips. He was such a geek. But for the first time, the thought didn’t disturb her.

  He turned her, exerting a gentle pressure with his hand at the small of her back.

  "Wait," she said. "First I want to know what else you’ve got in that bag."

  He gave a low laugh. A rather sexy laugh, she thought. Funny how she hadn’t noticed that about him before. She heard the scritch of a zipper. "You mean in here?"

  "Yes."

  "Just a few things I picked up on Spring Street."

  "Spring Street?" she said. "But that’s--"

  "--a very, let’s say, ‘colorful’ part of town." He laughed again. The sound made her want to lean back and melt into him. "I went shopping in a little store called Lavish Love."

  She giggled. "It sounds like a porno flick."

  "I think they shoot those in the back," Clark said. "In the front ... well, you’ll just have to wait and see. I mean feel," he corrected himself.

  He kissed her neck, just below the ear. She hadn’t expected it, and the suddenness doubled the sweetness of the caress. He nipped his way up to her ear and swirled his tongue around the shell.

  "Oh, God," she whispered. "That feels incredible."

  "It’s only the start," Clark whispered. He pushed her gently forward. "Now will you start walking?"

  She nodded. He guided her to her apartment, pausing to extract the keys from her backpack. Then the door clicked shut behind them. His laptop case thudded to the floor.

  Clark’s arm dipped behind her knees. She clutched his shoulders as her feet left the ground. He carried her through black space. It was a strange feeling. Like being adrift on an endless sea. She heard him kick a door open.

  Her bedroom. She tried to remember if she’d left the bed unmade. No. When she landed on the bed, it was on top of the comforter. It puffed around her like a cloud, with a little whoosh as it settled.

  Clark came down on top of her, the weight of his lower body pressing her into the mattress, his upper body supported on rigid arms. She ran her hands up his arms, along his shoulder, across his chest. Funny. In darkness he seemed bigger, more muscular than she had thought. And so much more solid.

  He smelled nice. A hint of aftershave overlying a scent of plain soap. She could hear his breathing--fast intakes of breath. She spread her palm over his heart. It was beating almost as fast as hers.

  He kissed her. His lips were firm, mobile. They tasted of mint. They coaxed hers apart, and she sighed, letting him in. Who’d have thought that a geek would know how to kiss so well? It seemed Clark was full of surprises.

  His tongue plunged and receded. She clung to him, enjoying the sensation. It ended too soon, but she didn’t have time to miss it. Her attention snapped to his fingers, which were undoing the buttons on her blouse.

  Sudden fear stabbed her. She couldn’t see him, but he didn’t have the same handicap. Would he like what he saw when he undressed her? How would she know what he thought if she couldn’t look into his eyes?

  Her hand rose to stop him, but her blouse was already undone. His fingers stroked along the edges of her bra, then found the front closure.

  "Clark, I--"

  "Shh..." he said. "Don’t worry. Everything’s fine."

  "I don’t know. I’m not sure I want you looking at me."

  His hands paused. "Why not?"

  "Because ... I’m not much to look at. No curves."

  He chuckled. "Oh, I don’t know about that." Her bra fell open and his palms cupped her breasts. "Looks to me like your curves are just fine. Perfect, in fact."

  She felt his breath on her skin, then his mouth closed, hot and intense, on her nipple. She moaned, arching her back. Her fingers threaded into his thick hair, holding his head to her breast. He nipped and suckled, then licked a wet line to the other side and started all over again. Each tug of his lips and teeth shot a line of erotic fire straight to her groin. She moaned and wriggled, trying to ease the pressure building there.

  After a few minutes, he eased away. "I’m going to undress you the rest of the way now." His voice trembled. "Is that all right?"

  Blossom’s heart pounded into her throat. "Yes."

  He eased her arms out of her blouse and bra, and then they were gone. He unsnapped her jeans and drew the zipper down, link by link. His hands were unsteady. Shaking. Cool air wafted over her as he moved to the end of the bed to slip off her shoes and socks. Then her jeans slid over her hips and down her legs.

  Had her panties gone with them? No. He rose over her, easing his fingers around the elastic at her hips and thighs, brushing his thumbs over the swollen mound beneath. She groaned a little, pushing upward into his hand. He slipped his hands around her hips and cradled her buttocks in his hands. He drew her panties down her legs, inch by excruciating inch.

  He moved away from the bed, leaving her naked, blind, and vulnerable.

  "What about your clothes?" she asked. "I want them off, too."

  "Soon," he told her. His voice didn’t seem too steady, and that made her feel a little bit better. She heard his footsteps retreat from the room.

  She shifted, trying to get comfortable on the bed, turning her head so as to better catch the sounds coming from the living room. She heard the scruff of Velcro separating.

  The laptop case again. She listened more carefully. She heard a tiny cracking sound, then a click, a snap, and another click.

  A gentle whirring told her he’d started a CD spinning in her player. A moment later, strains of lush music enveloped her. In the background, an ocean broke on an invisible shoreline. She heard a birdcall, then the rush of the wind. The surf pounded again, hard and sure. Blossom’s body responded. Her arousal coiled a little tighter and she shifted, unsettled.

  "Do you like it?" Clark whispered.

  "Yes." She held out her arms in the direction of his voice. "Come here and I’ll show you how much."

  "In a minute," he rep
lied. He moved around the bed again. She heard the laptop zipper. Another purchase from Lavish Love?

  She heard a clink, then the strike of a match. The faint smell of sulfur drifted past, then a richer, spicier scent.

  "Cinnamon," she whispered. "I love cinnamon. How did you know?"

  "I didn’t," said Clark. "I got it because it reminded me of your hair."

  She smiled at that.

  "What else do you have in that bag?"

  More Velcro. Blossom ran her hands down her body, excitement rising.

  The Velcro stopped. "Do that again," Clark said.

  "What?"

  "That thing with your hands."

  "You mean this?" She let her palms drift down her torso, slower this time. She brushed the sides of her breasts, her stomach, her hips, then threaded her fingers through the curls at the apex of her thighs.

  "Yeah," Clark breathed. "That."

  "You like it?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  She did it again, starting from the top, this time lingering long enough to circle her nipples and stroke between her legs.

  Clark groaned. She chuckled, enjoying his distress.

  "You like tormenting me, don’t you?" he said.

  She smiled. "It’s fun. I only wish I could see you suffering."

  "It’s not a pretty sight," he said with a soft laugh. He shifted off the bed, and again she heard the laptop zipper. "Here’s something that will distract you." He returned to the bed. The mattress dipped a little, rolling her toward him.

  "Taste this." He brushed something cool and firm against her lips.

  She opened her mouth. He dipped a rounded object inside. She skimmed it with the tip of her tongue. Ummm... Something chocolate. Delightful.

  "Suck on it." His voice was husky. Low.

  She obeyed, pursing her lips and sucking. An explosion of flavor burst into her mouth. A cool, ripe strawberry. Covered with a layer of thick, dark chocolate.

  Heaven.

  She ate it all, licking every bit from his fingers, and even sucking them a little afterwards. Clark groaned again, and leaned forward to kiss her.

  "Please don’t tell me that strawberry came from a porn shop," she said when she came up for air.