Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet

by Natalie E. Wrye

  Saturday still stood at the doorway between the two rooms, unsure of what to do next. Mark decided for her. He walked up to her, grabbing her fingers and pulling her gently across the room.

  “Try to relax,” he said. “You’re too tense. You’ve been that way since you got here. My extended family is here; my family’s friends are here and… well, they’re great. It’s going to be a really good time. You’ll see.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed with Saturday standing before him. He looked up at her, his eyes starting to smolder. When Saturday started to speak, he placed his hands around her nape and lowered her lips to his.

  The kisses started out in small brushes that became sweeping and deep as they continued. Saturday opened her mouth, letting Mark’s tongue slide in to mingle with hers. Any protest that lingered on her tongue was stroked away.

  She moaned softly into his mouth, and he placed his hands at the opening of her robe. He pulled his mouth away from hers, opening her robe fully so that both sides hung loosely. He placed his lips on Saturday’s midsection, giving it soft kisses. In between the kisses, he spoke.

  “Let me back in, Daisy. Let me back in. Say you forgive me. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Saturday wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out, “I can’t! Tell me where you went! Tell me why you left!” But she was too intoxicated by his touch. The words died on her lips and instead all that came out was his name. Mark then pulled her into his lap so that she sat face-forward on his upper thighs. He lowered his lips to her breasts, licking and sucking on her dark pink nipples.

  Now experiencing Mark’s hands and mouth after months of absence, Saturday wondered how she had ever gone without it. Mark’s large hands were spread out underneath her robe and against her back. Saturday leaned forward, placing her own kisses on Mark’s shoulders. She lightly bit the small dip next to his neck and he groaned, sucking Saturday’s breast hard enough to make her cry out. She pulled at the towel on his waist, opening it.

  Now, Mark’s naked body sat directly beneath hers. She wanted him too much. She couldn’t wait any longer. Saturday begin grinding her hips, letting her wet slit glide across him. She lifted her bottom off of his thighs, so that she could lower herself onto his shaft… when a knock came at the door.

  A voice sounded immediately after. “Mr. Rich? I’m here to deliver your bag, sir, and to tell you that dinner will be in 15 minutes.” Mark groaned in frustration, his head collapsing gently on Saturday’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll be right out,” he responded.

  Saturday slowly climbed down off of Mark’s lap. She closed her robe and turned to walk away.

  “Hey,” Mark called to her. He grabbed her waist, pulling her close. “This isn’t over. We have to talk.” Saturday just stared at him at first and then gave a small nod. She was ashamed of how quickly she had fallen back into his arms.

  He was right about one thing, at least; they had to talk.

  Mark let her waist go, and she retreated back into her own room.

  Saturday did a quick blow dry of her wavy hair. She slicked her hair back, throwing it into a low, straight ponytail. She put on a navy, form-fitting dress, and completed the look with her most elegant red lipstick. She wanted to kick her look up a notch, of course.

  Thanksgiving dinner with the uber-rich Riches? She wanted to look presentable. When she stepped out of her room, Mark walked out of his simultaneously. Mark was more than presentable; he was gorgeous. He had on a white collared shirt with soft grey slacks. He assessed her with appreciation in his eyes and held out his arm. She placed her own arm within his and they walked in silence down the stairs together.

  When they reached the floor below, an attendant greeted and directed them to the secondary house (Whoa) on the property. Confused, they followed the attendant across the softly lit, green veranda. The estate was beautiful, especially at night. Saturday could hear and almost smell the waves of the lake’s coast crashing nearby. When they reached the smaller house’s dining area, they saw that only Mr. and Mrs. Rich were at the table.

  Mark pulled back a chair for Saturday and seated himself after her. When he sat down, Mrs. Rich started to speak.

  “I know this is a bit odd… that with all of the people in the house, only the four of us are eating dinner together, but…” She looked at Mr. Rich, placed her hand on his and smiled.

  “…I just wanted this dinner to be special. Just me, my husband, my son…and the woman in his life.” Saturday’s breathing halted for a second, but resumed when Mark rubbed his hand on her thigh.

  From that point on, Saturday had what she would call the best meal of her life. Not because of the food choice necessarily (although the turkey was heaven), but because of the people with whom she shared it. The stories and banter they shared had the four of them crying tears of laughter, grimacing in disgust, and hanging their heads with sadness.

  They discussed almost everything… and virtually nothing at the same time. What Saturday loved the most about the dinner was that the Riches wanted to know who she was, not what she did for a living or who her parents were or what kind of car she drove. She was able to talk about herself without feeling judged for leading what most would probably consider a fairly mediocre life.

  Saturday knew how she came across to the outside world. She was a Disney freak, an art geek and an occasional nervous wreck. She considered herself cute, but not beautiful; funny but by no means hilarious. Adequate. She was … adequate. She had felt that way her entire life. And for 24 years and 4 months, that was ok with her. But in a matter of a few months, Mark had made her feel like so much more than that. Like she was and could be so much more than what she allowed herself to be.

  She looked over at Mark with a renewed appreciation. He caught her eye too, his smile small but genuine. After regarding him briefly, something occurred to Saturday. It wasn’t the four of them that were having a ball at dinner; it was the three.

  Mark was involved in the conversation at the table, but only marginally so—only answering a question when asked, only talking when prompted. He was like the guest, not her. Saturday had been having too much fun at first to notice. But upon closer inspection, she could sense his detachment, a slight withdrawnness. And it wasn’t directed towards Saturday, but his own parents. Mark was courteous and accommodating, but not fully engaged with them.

  On the other hand, with Saturday, he was completely interactive: touching her constantly during the meal, speaking softly in her ear, assisting with whatever she needed at the table.

  Saturday couldn’t quite put her finger on it, being a newcomer to the Rich family and all, but something... odd was underlying in this family dynamic. They seemed pretty close and they certainly loved each other, but something was… well, off. It made her wonder: What kind of family did it take to create a man as complex, as off and on as Mark Rich?

  Saturday figured it best to let it go for now… for her own sanity.

  When the dinner was over, all four guests gathered their dishes and the remaining pots and pans over to the sink. After placing the items there, Saturday caught something out of the corner of her eye: a gesturing between Mark and Mr. Rich, something subtle and unspoken.

  The two headed outside to the patio. Saturday wrestled with whether or not to follow, but chose to respect the privacy of father and son. She turned back toward Mrs. Rich who was hunched over the sink, sponge in hand, scrubbing at the dishes. Saturday was shocked; she looked behind the elegant blonde, searching for an attendant or maid, even the cook she had seen earlier: someone who would take on the chore of cleaning. There was none. Saturday smiled.

  Saturday picked up a dishtowel, drying the dishes as Mrs. Rich washed. Saturday’s curiosity won the internal battle.

  “Do you wash the dishes like this often? Or is the dishwasher something you use?” she asked.

  Mrs. Rich glanced up and smiled at Saturday. “No, no dishwashers for me, thank you. I enjoy this time. You know… washing the dishes. Gives me a litt
le time and space to think every evening.”

  “Oh,” Saturday replied softly. Saturday suddenly felt that maybe she was intruding, but it was too late to turn back now. For a few minutes, they worked in awkward silence.

  Her eyes still concentrated on the pot she was scouring, Mrs. Rich began to speak. “So…” she started, “…how’s my son?” The question surprised Saturday. The inflection in Mrs. Rich’s voice revealed nothing, neither curiosity nor worry.

  Saturday answered honestly. “I think… he’s ok. We… umm… have been going through some things.”

  Mrs. Rich nodded without looking up. “I knew it. When I talked to him a couple of weeks ago, he was down. More down than he’s been in a long time…”

  Saturday cringed.

  “…I sensed it had to do with a woman and asked him. And he told me about you. You’re the first woman that he’s felt strongly for in a very long time… so, I took steps to find you.” Mrs. Rich shifted nervously on her feet.

  “I know that sounds a little crazy,” Mrs. Rich professed.

  Saturday paused… then shook her head. “No… it sounds like a mother who cares very much for her son.” And she continued drying the dishes.

  Mrs. Rich impressed her. The woman had class… and obviously a set of brass cojones. It took serious gumption (and devotion) to reach out to a strange woman to try to help your son.

  Saturday decided to test the waters. “So… any tidbits that you can share about Mark that a… uh... girlfriend should know?”

  The question opened up the floodgates and soon Mrs. Rich was sharing every inner working of Mark’s life, from his first lost tooth to his high school prom date ditching him.

  She boasted about his accomplishments… even more so about his failures. Saturday enjoyed every second of it. She beamed at Mrs. Rich’s unabashed display of pride.

  It was obvious that Mark’s mother couldn’t help but gush over her son. “He’s always been smart… and extremely gifted at anything he’s ever picked up. Especially now with his present work.”

  Saturday froze. “Oh, yeah…?” She wrung the towel in her hands. She tried to appear casual. “He really loves what he does, doesn’t he?”

  Mrs. Rich was oblivious to the change in the air.

  “Absolutely,” she clucked. “He’s very talented at what he does.”

  “And what exactly does Mark do?” Saturday asked, her anticipation no longer simmering, but boiling beneath the surface.

  Mrs. Rich squinted at Saturday, puzzled. “Well, he… Mark!”

  Saturday turned, following Mrs. Rich’s eyes to find a worried Mark standing behind them, watching.

  More than worried. Damn near panicked.

  And Saturday… she was caught red-handed, pumping his mom for information.

  “We were just talking about you,” Mrs. Rich continued. Mark silently glared between Saturday and his mother, his hands in his navy slacks.

  “I see,” he simply stated. He fixed his gaze on Saturday. “Saturday, would you join me outside, please?”

  Saturday nearly glanced at Mrs. Rich for help; she felt like a schoolgirl going to the principal’s office to be scolded.

  What could she say? She had been digging for some info… but could he really blame her?

  Saturday nodded, throwing Mrs. Rich a weak grin before walking through the patio door that Mark held. The patio was large, and fitted with several large white tables and chairs. It overlooked a dimly lit, crystal clear pool. Mark closed the double doors to the patio and pulled out a chair for Saturday. She sat down, waiting for Mark’s reaction to what he walked in on.

  Mark never sat down, however. He went back through the doors, into the kitchen. Saturday’s mind scrambled for excuses as to what she was up to in the kitchen. She wanted to know the secrets of his life, his work. She wanted him to let her in all the ways that he hadn’t yet. But should she push him? A man like Mark would only shut down. She was still running through her options when Mark returned a few minutes later.

  He closed the patio door softly, turning towards her. “Good. They’re gone now.”

  Saturday was stumped. “Wait… who’s gone?”

  “My parents.” And then he grinned wickedly. “I thought we’d go for a swim.”

  “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

  “We can go get you one… tomorrow. Tonight… you don’t need one. C’mon.”

  Mark reached down for Saturday, grabbing her hand and leading her to the pool. She hesitated at the pool’s edge.

  Skinny dipping? Yeah…I mean… I’ve done it once in high school with girl friends, but… I just…

  But Mark was already pulling his shirt over his head and taking his shoes off. He jumped into the pool, slacks, socks and belt still on. Saturday gasped.

  He popped up at the water’s surface soon after, shaking the water out his eyes. Saturday was already doubled over in a fit of giggles. She couldn’t believe that he just leaped in the pool, half-clothed. And it was NOVEMBER in Connecticut. That water had to be freezing!

  Reading her mind as usual, Mark spoke up. “The pool is heated. It feels good.” He wiped a hand across his wet face, raising an eyebrow. “Come in.”

  Saturday took off her heels, sticking a foot in the pool. It was heated, alright, a nice and warm temperature that was actually very inviting. Still… she was feeling unusually uptight… a bit unsure of herself since she stepped foot into the Rich’s refined country estate. They were damn near royalty, it seemed, and she so badly wanted to leave them with the right impression.

  But my make-up, my hair! I just straightened it. And I’m not ruining this dress. But then that would mean I’d have to strip to my underwear. We have no towels, no proper sandals, no… Ah. Fuck it.

  Saturday’s dress was barely out of her hand before she jumped feet first into the pool in her black lacy underwear. She resurfaced nearby, splashing Mark as she came back up. He swam after her, chasing her into the pool’s shallow end.

  When he caught up to her, he picked her up, turning her to face him. Saturday wrapped her arms and legs around him, letting him carry her to the pool’s edge, where he sat her. They leaned on each other briefly, catching their breath as their laughter trailed off. What little clothes they had on were weighing them both down, but their spirits were lifted.

  Saturday’s arms were still wrapped around Mark’s neck, and when he lifted his head off her shoulder, she stared into his green eyes. The adjacent soft light and water reflected in Mark’s crystal-clear irises, and Saturday was drawn in to them.

  His face was dripping wet and his hair was plastered to his forehead. She smoothed the hair out of his face and pressed her lips to his. Then she started kissing him with all the pent-up passion that she had been keeping bottled for months.

  She had been angry, much too angry for weeks and weeks. Part of Saturday wanted to hate him, but every kiss, every touch…every smile just drew her back into his hold. She was a fly, not avoiding… but dancing happily (!!) into his cobwebs. She had held out for the past couple of weeks, but her resistance was now on E; she didn’t have the will to fight her attraction any longer.

  Mark pulled back to rest his forehead on hers. “My, my, Miss Blake. Looks like I’ve got you all wet.” She smirked at his quip.

  He grew serious, pulling back even further. “Listen, before we get too… I mean, before we start… (he sighed)… do you want to talk?”

  Saturday considered his question. This is the moment she’d been waiting for: the moment she would get all of the answers for which she’d been searching since he walked away. She thought she was prepared to receive them, but all she could feel was fear.

  She was afraid to know. Afraid… because she couldn’t turn back the hands of time once the truth was out. And what if the truth was awful?

  She should have been eager… ready for this, but…

  She shook her head, slowly. “No…not right now. I don’t want… let’s not spoil this weekend. When we get back to
the city… yeah.”

  He searched her face… for confirmation, perhaps. He gave a curt nod, picking Saturday back up into his arms.

  “C’mere, Miss Blake. Let’s get you dried off.”

  ***

  The next morning, Saturday awoke to the smell of breakfast. An attendant was knocking at the door with a platter of assorted foods: bacon, hash browns, an omelet, fresh fruit, and orange juice. She sat up straight in bed, thankful that this was one of the days that she chose to wear pajamas. She called for the attendant to enter.

  She ate every bit of her meal, brushed her teeth and showered to get ready for the day.

  She just wasn’t aware of how eventful the day would become.

  From the moment she stepped out of her room, she was accosted by every cousin, every friend, every third uncle removed from the Rich family.

  When the crowd and attention finally started to die down, Mrs. Rich emerged from the far side of the property holding riding gear…and a saddle.

  Fantastic.

  Saturday hadn’t ridden a horse since she was a girl. She was horribly out of practice but the lady of the house was gently insistent. Saturday had to admit: few people were capable of charming her the way that Mrs. Rich had in just one week.

  It was Madame Rich: 2 – Saturday: 0.

  When it was Saturday’s turn to hop on the horse that was presented to her, she began to shake, anxiety turning her legs into rubber.

  From behind her, she could hear footsteps rush in and then stop abruptly. When she glanced back, she saw Mr. Rich lightly restraining Mark.

  “Now, now, son,” Mr. Rich laughed softly. “Let the women handle themselves. Saturday seems like a tough cookie.”

  Saturday swallowed hard. This cookie didn’t feel too tough right now; in fact, this cookie felt ready to crumble at any moment. But she straightened her back and climbed successfully with a steadier stance.

  As she spurred the horse on, she was surprised by how well she was able to trot with her horse. In some ways, it really was like riding an old bike… except this bike had four strong legs… and the ability to throw Saturday halfway across the field if it bucked.