Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet

by Natalie E. Wrye

  “Yes, thank you. I’m actually starving.” And she was…but the questions burning in Saturday’s mind trumped even the growling in her belly. Servers? Here?! We’re having dinner here? This is beyooond fancy. Please, please, please. Tell me who you are, you green-eyed semi-god.

  After making her drink selections, Saturday calmed her nerves and thirst with ice-cold water and white wine. She picked seared salmon from a menu provided by the male waiter and lightly munched on an appetizer of fried zucchini.

  She gleaned what she could from Mark about his life. He was an only child, with parents who lived in Ridgefield, Connecticut. He never went to college, but his parents apparently were warm, loving people, supporting their son emotionally in any and all of his undertakings: be it joining a rock band or running for student body president.

  Mark could play several instruments, including the piano and saxophone, and he was fairly fluent in French, Spanish and Portuguese. His parents had exposed him to so much, and he let Saturday know how grateful he was. Their bond as a family remained very much in tact, as they visited each other several times a year, each departure more difficult than the last.

  Upon learning a little about Mark, Saturday decided to share her life experiences. She told him about her parents back home in Washington state, about how supportive they were of her drive, but how disappointed they had been when she decided to pursue painting full-time. She had gone to college back home, but decided that pre-med was not the route for her, and that she ultimately would not wind up becoming a doctor as her father had.

  With an Art minor under her belt, she wound up in New York City because of the Clairvoyage job that she landed. By itself, it wasn’t enough to cover all of her costs, but when it came down to it, she couldn’t have been happier with her decision. She painted in her free time, as much as she possibly could. One day, her art would be in the gallery. They laughed out loud about their childhood dreams, their failed attempts at b-boy dancing and stand-up comedy, respectively.

  No matter where the conversation took them, however, Mark never revealed his work. As her salmon and his steak arrived on platters, their chitchat turned toward her paintings.

  Between sips of wine, Saturday laid it all on the table. “Yes, working at Clairvoyage is wonderful…but I am a painter…ya know…? It’s almost like I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I need to paint…HAVE to paint. It’s my home. My first love.” She was gesturing emphatically now, her wine sloshing in the glass as she talked.

  Ok, so, maybe…she was a teensy, tiny bit tipsy, but so what?

  She was enjoying herself. And her company. Mark could be so serious, so intense, sometimes. And then, on days like today, she caught glimpses of his other side, his jovial side; he became softer, more open.

  Despite the latent humor now in his eyes, she could sense a bit of his reservation, his restraint. A door that was closed within himself. She wondered if she would ever get to see what lie behind it.

  After dessert, the waiting staff packed and left, and Saturday made her way to the open windows again. Standing there, she felt the itch return to her fingers.

  “I have to paint,” she said.

  Mark stood up from his seat, his chair scrapping the floor. “Right now?”

  “Yes. Right now.” The wine had emboldened Saturday, who slipped off her gold heels and practically skipped over to the art tools. She grabbed a canvas, easel, paint, and a stool.

  Saturday set up each of them beside the window and began.

  She started with an assortment of blues; indigos, purples and plums, and the night sky began to take form.

  Swirl after swirl of paint was added to the canvas as Saturday attempted to capture the city’s essence with her brush.

  A half an hour ticked by before she realized that she had forgotten that Mark was in the room. Only painting could make her temporarily neglect a man like Mark in the vicinity. She glanced back toward the table to find that Mark was sitting on a stool, directly behind her, his eyes on her face. Has he been sitting there the entire time?

  She took notice of his bearded face, noting that his beard was less gruff: cleaner. She sat on her hand to keep herself from reaching out to touch it. Just then, Mark rose from the stool, grabbed their wine glasses and returned. He handed her the wine glass she was using, and sat down, without saying a word.

  “Thank you,” Saturday said, sipping gingerly out of her glass.

  She motioned toward the canvas.

  “I wonder if this is what Marie was thinking of when she bought this place.”

  “I have no doubt. Marie can paint anything. Will paint anything. Portraits… landscapes… bodies…”

  Saturday’s wine almost came back up.

  “Wait…hold on a second. Bodies? As in body painting?”

  “Yes, of course. See over there?” Mark pointed to strange spray cans with thin hoses attached.

  “She generally uses those to paint, but often a simple paint brush will do the trick. Depends on what she’s going for.” He shrugged and took a swallow from his glass.

  “Sounds pretty difficult, actually.”

  Mark squinted thoughtfully and tilted his head.

  “Mmmm. It’s not so bad, really.”

  Saturday twisted her mouth, skeptical.

  “Ehh. Who’s to say? How would we even know?”

  Mark’s hand stilled during the lifting of his glass. Then he completed the motion.

  “Because I’ve done it…”

  Saturday’s eyes grew wide. She sat the paintbrush on the easel.

  “You have?... You… You paint?”

  Mark’s eyes smiled. He lifted his glass to his mouth once more, draining it.

  “I dabble…”

  “Dabble…? In… body painting?”

  “Well, painting, yes. And I just happened to have worked beside Marie on a couple of pieces. Just… think of the body as another type of canvas… albeit unconventional.” He winked.

  With Mark’s eyes on her, Saturday couldn’t do too much clear thinking at all, but she tried. She crossed her tanned legs, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back. She kept her eyes closed when she softly spoke again.

  “Women… huh?”

  Mark didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course.”

  She thought about Mark placing his brush on a willing woman’s naked body, and her breath hitched. Her eyes opened with a new fire in them; she was jealous… blazingly and embarrassingly jealous. She could feel an internal heat creep across her face and neck.

  Saturday emptied her wine glass, set it on the windowsill, and walked back over to the table, attempting to hide the emotion on her face. She pretended to read the menu on the table, as she bowed her head.

  Fuck (!!), she was falling hard. And now, she was tipsy from the wine… and emotional… and overreacting… and… arrrgghhhhh.

  Stop it. Stop reacting this way. He isn’t even yours.

  The light kiss on the back of her neck made her jump. Mark. Sweeping her hair to the side, planting soft kisses along her nape.

  Mark. Placing his lips and stubbled cheek at her ear, his velvety voice saying, “But I am yours, baby. I am yours.”

  She always did speak her thoughts out loud when nervous, and she guessed this situation was no different. She didn’t even remember the words coming out, but now that Mark was touching her like this, she didn’t regret it one bit.

  Mark’s hands were low on her hips, stroking her through her dress. They circled around towards her midsection, where his fingers spread out. One hand stayed pressed on her belly, while the other travelled around to grasp around her throat, as he showered kisses along her bare shoulders. She leaned her body forward in his hands.

  Saturday’s legs started to give way, and she bent herself fully over the table for support. Mark caressed her shoulders and back, as he licked a trail of warm kisses down her spine.

  His hands followed the path of his mouth until they reached the fabric at Saturday’s lower back. He s
tood fully erect again, letting his hands skim down to Saturday’s ass where they began rubbing. Saturday groaned with satisfaction, unraveling at the touch of his strong hands.

  Saturday’s groan became louder when Mark hiked up her silk dress, his fingers pulling gently at the pink thong she wore. His hands glided further down, sliding the thin material down her legs and around her bare feet until she was completely exposed to him.

  One hand began massaging Saturday’s ass while the other gripped her opposite hip.

  Mark’s voice was low and gruff. “Your ass is so round and perfect, Saturday. I love it.”

  One of Mark’s hands that rested on her cheeks slipped lower and between them, two fingers entering her wet center. She cried out, knocking the rose-centerpiece to the ground. The small thud didn’t distract Mark’s fingers, as they swirled their way in and out.

  “Oh, fuck, Saturday. You’re so wet. Yes.”

  Mark then kneeled down; his face merely inches from her love, and blew gently on it. She whimpered with need.

  “I just wanted to test you out. To feel you.”

  Saturday was practically panting in anticipation. Her silk dress was bunched at her waist, and her fingers were almost white from gripping the table. Then… Mark’s touch just disappeared.

  And then… she heard his voice.

  “This… is what I really wanted to do.”

  His tongue was inside of her before she knew what was even happening.

  JESUS CHR…! Ahhhhhh…. ohhhh my… ohhhhh…

  Mark was kneeling down, eating her, his mouth reaching down to lick her from clit to the bottom of her lips.

  His hands lifted her further on to the table, giving him better access, as he sucked and penetrated her with his lips and tongue.

  Her rise to orgasm was so intense that tears began to fall from her eyes onto the burgundy cloth.

  She even attempted to escape his tongue’s strokes until he held her waist and increased the frequency of his lashes.

  When he sucked her clit between his lips, she came… hard, her body becoming boneless, sapped of all energy.

  Mark stood then, removing his jacket and tie, and repositioning himself to stand directly behind Saturday’s exposed bottom.

  Saturday was sure she couldn’t take more pleasure… until she felt Mark’s naked cock rubbing against her wet folds.

  She moaned, becoming instantly wetter. At that moment, she wanted Mark inside her more than she had ever wanted anything.

  Yesssss, Mark, baby. Please.

  But the rubbing stopped. And Saturday waited for the penetration that didn’t come. Suddenly, Saturday was lifted off of the table, and over Mark’s shoulder. She squealed as he swung her high.

  “Not here, baby,” he said. “Not right now.”

  Mark took long strides into a room down the hallway, an all-white bedroom, with pristine sheets and décor.

  He placed her tenderly on the bed, where she laid back on her elbows, facing him.

  His buttoned shirt was half-open and his zipper down… and Mark’s cock, in all its erect glory, was protruding out of it. He was a large man, and Saturday felt her mouth water at the thought. She wanted her mouth on him… but first things first.

  She wanted him completely naked. Now.

  She used his shirt to pull him toward her, clutching the hem of it and pulling it over his head. She scooted to the bed’s edge so that she could take off his belt and open his pants completely. Once his pants were open, Saturday pulled a backward retreat towards the pillows, slipping her dress overhead as she moved.

  Mark shucked the boxers and pants that he wore, letting them drop to the ground before climbing on the bed toward Saturday.

  Holy shit, he’s perfect.

  And he was. Mark was all lean muscle, his biceps and abs stretching as he closed the distance between him and Saturday. All of the lights were off in the bedroom, but the moon’s illumination was bright, and Saturday’s eyes didn’t miss a thing.

  As he hovered over her, Saturday laid down flat on the bed, her hair splayed over the pillow. She settled her body underneath and between Mark’s legs. He supported himself with his arms on either side, his gaze more tender than she had ever seen.

  When she cradled the sides of his face with her hands, he whispered softly, “What are you doing to me?” speaking more to himself, it seemed, than to her.

  Saturday kissed him in response, slipping her tongue between his lips, wanting him to feel her passion for him.

  Mark then lowered himself so that he could caress Saturday’s wet middle with his hardness. Their kiss deepened, the rubbing becoming more frenetic, as Mark’s cock became certified steel. Saturday could take no more, as she opened her legs wider to wrap them around Mark’s hips.

  Mark stopped his motion, growling, “God, help me,” as he slipped off of the bed to grab a condom from his pants pocket. He made double-quick work of putting it on, and he braced himself over her again. With an assured nod from Saturday, he glided himself gently inside of her.

  Saturday cried out when Mark filled her completely, and clung to him. Between strokes, he spoke raspingly to Saturday, tender words that brought tears to Saturday’s eyes.

  “Saturday. My Daze… my Daisy,” he breathed.

  Saturday was taken aback by the pet name he was using with her.

  Nobody had called her “Daisy” since her childhood, but the term of endearment took on a whole new meaning coming from Mark.

  She felt wonderful; she felt special. She felt like…

  His.

  For the second time that night, she could feel the beginning stages of an explosion within her. On a bold impulse, Saturday grabbed Mark’s tight butt, urging him on. He increased his pace, quickening Saturday’s rise to orgasm, and the two of them came together, fiercely.

  When their breathing started to slow and the condom was disposed, Mark rolled onto his back, taking Saturday with him to place her on top of him. With her head on his chest, her loose curls blanketing them both, Saturday let the sound of his strong heartbeat lull her to sleep.

  ***

  The sun had barely broken the horizon when Saturday was stirred awake by a noise from the end of the bed.

  It was Mark, almost fully dressed, placing his suit jacket back on.

  Saturday’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that he was leaving. The nightstand near the table presented a bowl of fresh strawberries on top. Now sitting upright, Saturday peered over at the fruit and back to Mark’s face. He looked determined, with a hint of… contrition.

  Now shrugging the jacket onto his shoulders, he walked over to the side of the bed and sat next to Saturday.

  “I have to go now,” he remarked. “I have to work on a very important assignment…” He ran his hands through the tendrils at the side of her face.

  “…but I wish I could stay…make love to you all day…” He nuzzled her neck, while reaching out for a strawberry.

  He pulled back, placing the stem-less strawberry at her lips. Saturday hesitated but a fraction of a second before placing her lips around the strawberry… and then around Mark’s fingertips, sucking them softly. Mark closed his eyes briefly with the action.

  Strawberry still on her tongue, Saturday received a sweet, yet chaste kiss on the lips from Mark.

  “As you already know, there’s a kitchen on this floor, but there’s also one downstairs. It’s fully stocked and has everything you could ever need. I’ve set the door to lock behind you, so you can stay as long or as short as you want. Take your time. I’ll call you the minute I’m free… Daisy.”

  And with a brush of his thumb across her cheek, he stood, business-like once more, his face austere and stony.

  Here he goes… being elusive and reserved again. And an assignment…? What assignment?

  He turned around and headed for the bedroom door, giving Saturday a final wink before closing it completely.

  Saturday collapsed soundly back against the bed, and tried to make se
nse of the thoughts bouncing around inside of her head.

  She gripped the white sheets that covered her nakedness.

  They had just shared what could only be described as a magical night, and Mark was disappearing to go back into action doing what ever the hell he does in the first place.

  What did she even really know about him? Not much. And still she had given her body to him. But his hands, his body… his tongue… She gave a slight smile, despite herself.

  Saturday knew that whatever happened, she wouldn’t regret this night. It was definitely one for the books, and she hadn’t felt this way about someone in… well, possibly, never.

  But that wasn’t an excuse to forget who this guy was. The Mark that she first encountered, the Mark who just left this beautiful room of their lovemaking, was Mr. Bossy-in-Black, Mr. Severe…and she must never forget it.

  ***

  July 10

  I will never look at pink spandex the same way again. She’s so perfect. She was meant to be mine.

  All I can think of are ways to make her see how I’m the only one for her. She was made for me, and I was made for her.

  How do I show her? I WILL find a way. To make her understand.

  My love. My passion for her.

  My Saturday.

  Chapter Four

  I never promised you a Rose Garden

  As promised, Mark called Saturday later that evening, his voice just as sexy over the phone as in person.

  Surprisingly, they talked about themselves this time, their hobbies, their likes and dislikes.

  They shared a similar passion for music, his vinyl record collection the stuff of legends. He expressed his love for sports, especially baseball, while they debated whether or not activities such as golf qualified. (It didn’t, in Mark’s eyes).

  They were able to laugh - really laugh - simultaneously complimenting each other and taking jabs at one another.

  Getting to know Mark was easily one of the best experiences that Saturday had ever had.