Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet

by Natalie E. Wrye

  “Pretty soon,” she said to Saturday, “you won’t need this job anymore, and you’ll be leaving us, I guess.”

  Saturday clung to the hand of the older woman, squeezing it affectionately.

  “Oh, Vicky. For me, it’s always been about more than needing this job. I love this job. And if I’m going anywhere, it won’t be any time soon.” She flashed a reassuring small smirk in Vicky’s direction.

  Vicky sniffed quickly, her tears drying up immediately, a shrewd grin growing on her gentle face.

  “Good,” she responded, her tone turning deeper, more serious. “Because I have no immediate plans of letting you go.”

  She winked at Saturday conspiratorially, pivoting quickly away. Saturday gazed, dumbfounded, at the woman’s retreating back.

  The finality of her statement had somehow unnerved Saturday. She had simply wanted to set the woman’s worries at ease but now she wasn’t so sure that that was the right thing to do.

  The tears seemed genuine at first but the ease with which Vicky had shut off the water works made Saturday feel as if she had walked in some sort of trap.

  And the look she had flashed Saturday’s way before leaving was disconcerting, to say the least. There was an almost imperceptible change in Vicky’s eyes: one that most people probably wouldn’t have caught. It was almost… calculating, somehow.

  She had wondered many times how a woman like Vicky could have married a scumbag like Cristiano.

  Maybe they have more in common than I thought.

  ***

  “I don’t get it,” Saturday vented, her whisper harsh as she shared coffee with Jay at the local bakery. “I don’t get the sudden interest in little old me.”

  “Francois, Axe, David, Vicky. I mean… I’m nothing special.”

  “Are you kidding me?” an astonished Jay remarked, lowering his coffee mug. “Look at you. You’re gifted; you’re fun; you’re beautiful.”

  “My God, Saturday,” he continued. “Who has done this number on you? Because it seems that you honestly can’t see what the world so clearly does.”

  Saturday sat back, taking note of the awe in Jay’s eyes.

  Really? Jay saw all of the things in her, believed all of those things about her?

  She knew Mark did. He let her know every chance he got.

  It was her parents that didn’t.

  They had used a lot of key opportunities to let her know how much of a disappointment she had turned out to be, how regrettable her life choices had been to the family. For so long, she had only seen herself through their eyes: ordinary… satisfactory… but never good enough.

  They made her art sound like frivolous finger paints. If it didn’t include her being involved in medicine, they wanted no part. To them, Saturday’s life was one gigantic, unexceptional mess. And she had almost believed it, too… until Mark.

  She couldn’t keep him off of her mind.

  She needed to know.

  That night when she made it home, she unblocked his number and started typing on her phone.

  Saturday:

  Why do you have pictures of me?

  She waited nervously for his reply. It came soon after.

  Mark:

  Saturday. Let’s talk…over dinner tonight.

  Saturday:

  No, let’s not. Why do you have pictures of me?

  Mark:

  I really think this should be a face-to-face conversation.

  Tonight.

  Dinner.

  Saturday:

  I can’t. I can’t do that.

  Mark:

  Why not?

  Saturday:

  I already have a dinner date...

  He didn’t respond for ten minutes. She could see the ellipses symbol appear and vanish several times within the message, an indication that he was typing and re-typing. The suspense was killing her.

  Finally, a text popped up.

  Mark:

  Who? The date from the showcase?

  Saturday:

  Yes.

  Mark:

  Cancel it.

  Saturday:

  No, I won’t. I want to share a meal with a person who answers my questions upfront. Who doesn’t have to lie.

  Saturday had tried to keep calm during her text exchange with Mark, but the more she tapped on the screen, the madder she became. Her final text message reflected her breaking point; she was pissed that she couldn’t get answers.

  After her last text was sent, she sat by the phone, waiting for it to buzz… but Mark did not respond.

  Figures.

  Any way you looked at it, Saturday was the one in the right. She was only calling a spade a spade. He had lied. He had kept secrets. Was still keeping them.

  He couldn’t defend what he’d done. How could he? What could he possibly say?

  Nothing. There wasn’t anything he could say to justify it.

  She grabbed her purse to make her way out of the door.

  On second thought…

  She hesitated at the front door, heading back to her bedroom to make a quick outfit change.

  ***

  Saturday stepped out of the cab door in front of Santelini’s Seafood Place with purpose, her bare skin glistening under the glow of streetlight.

  You are going to meet Axe. You are going to have a good time. And you are going to stop thinking about Mark.

  By the time her heels hit the sidewalk, she had repeated the mantra for the seventh time. She paused briefly at the curb, inhaling deeply.

  The night was warm, balmy; the humid breeze brushed gently across her skin, the dew leaving a slight shimmer across her naked shoulders.

  Before leaving her home, she had changed into a silky black cocktail dress with a deep, plunging neckline and a full blousy skirt.

  Her amber-golden tresses were the physical embodiment of organized chaos, the long waves disarranged in a deliberate fashion that gave her the look of a Hollywood bombshell.

  She chose a nude color for her lips, one that tinted them blushy pink, emphasizing the fullness of her lower lip.

  She felt sexy and determined. Determined to have fun, move on from her past and embark on a fresh start.

  She strutted down the sidewalk toward the restaurant.

  She felt ready for anything.

  What she wasn’t ready for was the hand that snaked out of the adjacent alley, grabbing her arm.

  Saturday was pulled into the tight space abruptly, her mouth ready to form a scream, when she recognized the person attached to the hand.

  His breath was cool and minty on her face, his arms enclosing her against the building’s outside wall as he addressed her.

  “We need to talk,” he said, his green eyes almost black from the depth of the alley’s dimness.

  She returned his stare with the same level of heat that he was emitting. She had grown stronger in their months apart, tougher than she had ever been.

  She straightened her pose, her head held high: her glare fixed and demanding.

  “How did you find me?” she asked, her eyes squinting at his face.

  “Come on, Saturday,” Mark responded. “Saturday night?.... Santelini’s fresh water clams? This is the only day of the week they have them… so I knew this is the only place you’d be.”

  Jay was right.

  Mark was good… damn good. There wasn’t a word she had said in their time together that he didn’t recollect, not a single gesture or expression that he hadn’t already committed to memory.

  He did know her. Maybe more than anyone. Maybe even more than she knew herself.

  It was astonishing… and frightening at the same time.

  “Let’s end this right now, Saturday. No more running. I’m here now. I’m never running again… and neither are you,” he remarked sternly.

  “That’s not your choice to make,” she retorted.

  “Dammit, Saturday!” he shouted forcefully. “I’m tired of playing these games!”

  His face was half-shr
ouded in shadow: the darkness of the space hiding most of his features… but the intensity of his voice rocked her body, hitting her like a sledgehammer.

  “Pride be damned. I belong to you… alright?! I’ve been yours from the very beginning. And you are mine… just as much as I am yours.”

  Saturday had heard him use that voice in many of his phone calls, had heard him wield that magnificent voice to bend others to his will… but never with her.

  She breathed heavily, her chest heaving with the fire of her fury.

  She was positively enraged… and turned on beyond belief.

  Her teeth were bared for battle, her lips ready to launch into attack when he brought his full lips down on hers, crushing her to him.

  There was nothing tentative or slow about this kiss.

  She had been ready for combat against him, against his words, but the kiss had been completely unexpected, turning her into mush… and nothing seemed to matter now but the tangling of their mouths and tongues.

  Their lips moved in unison, perfect harmony as always. There was a natural rhythm that took place when their bodies came together, an uncontrived synching of hands, mouths and other parts… that couldn’t be duplicated.

  From the very first time they touched, it was as if they had gone through the motions in a past life. It was like they were made to fit together. This was how a kiss was supposed to feel.

  With Mark, it was more than just a physical connection; it was an intermingling of spirits… and it scared the complete daylights out of her.

  Saturday pulled slowly back from Mark’s mouth, straining to catch her breath.

  She gazed into his face, wishing she could really see his eyes, wishing she could tell if he was as affected by the kiss as she was.

  A blue blur sped by, briefly catching her attention; its significance didn’t register to her newly putty-made brain until she concentrated harder.

  Axe.

  It was his blue BMW that had passed the alleyway. That meant he would be walking into the restaurant at any moment.

  She turned her head away from Mark’s, but he came forward again, placing his lips inches from Saturday’s face.

  Saturday hated to admit it: she wanted to travel down this road of temptation. But theirs was a complicated path, and there was no freaking way that she could make a decision with Axe getting ready to walk through the door to their date.

  She slipped from the circle of Mark’s arms… back into the light… back into the street. Her resistance was hanging by a very thin thread.

  “I have to go,” she said before leaving him behind in the alley.

  She opened the door to Santelini’s, tweaking her dress and hair, hoping that Axe wouldn’t see the unexplored craving that was written in her body language.

  As the front hostess greeted Saturday, Axe came through the restaurant front, placing his hands on her waist from behind. Shortly afterward, they were directed to their seats whereupon Axe pulled out Saturday’s chair, his eyes widening as he did so.

  Saturday could guess why. Her outfit was borderline illegal: sensual and alluring, hugging her in all of the right places.

  She really did love the dress, but if she were really being honest with herself, she would admit that she had worn the dress with Mark in mind, simply pretending that this date was with her former green-eyed god… and not Axe.

  She pressed the skirt of the dress against her legs, thanking Axe as she took her seat.

  As she settled herself comfortably in the leather chair, a man passed her table. His hand lightly brushed her shoulder.

  She caught hints of the smell of sweet resin, a woodsy sort of fragrance that mingled with the scent of fresh springs.

  She inhaled it languidly at first… but then stiffened almost immediately.

  Her eyes began to follow the path of the passing man, gazing intently at his muscular back.

  It was Mark… and he was taking a seat at a table directly in her line of sight.

  This CANNOT be happening. No way is he doing this right now.

  But he was.

  Sitting left and diagonally from their table.

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  She had assumed that Mark would leave after her blatant dismissal: that he would give up the fight for now and call it a day.

  She was so very wrong.

  Axe poked fun at the anxious look on her face, mistaking her jitters for hunger, so she played along.

  In the meantime, she was sneaking glances at Mark whenever she felt safe to do so, unnoticed. Her mind was telling her to behave, but as soon as Mark turned his appraising eyes towards her, her body became hyper-aware.

  All the while, the man who was actually sitting at her table was so engrossed in his own musings that he probably couldn’t tell Saturday her last name if she asked.

  Axe was blathering on and on, talking about his this and his that.

  Does he even care if I’m listening at all?

  This conversation was one-sided; not one ounce of Axe’s body was interested in what Saturday had to say.

  Unfortunately, not one ounce of her truly cared.

  Mark was here… and she was being eye-fucked like she’d never been before.

  The restaurant was cool in temperature, but Saturday’s skin definitely felt hot. She sat back in her chair, squirming uncomfortably in her seat.

  Her desire had worked its way up to the surface of her skin, creating this inner warmth that traveled up her body, flushing her cheeks. She fanned herself because of the heat, using the opportunity to look Mark’s way again.

  He was wearing a white collared shirt with a skinny gray tie and slacks. His lengthy brown hair was without a stitch of product, barely staying in its brushed-back place.

  Axe was too busy talking about the performance of his show to catch on. A few well-placed nods and affirmations, and the one-sided conversation continued while Mark and Saturday ogled one another.

  Their silent scrutiny was put on pause, however… interrupted… by an intruder. Mark’s waitress stopped by his table, unprompted, attempting to engage him in brief discourse. The waitress touched his shoulder.

  She was flirting with him.

  A trail of expletives danced around on Saturday’s tongue: the internal flame that plagued her since Mark’s arrival burning even hotter… with envy.

  She was being foolish. Mark wasn’t hers to keep. She didn’t even know if she wanted him back. But still…

  She fixed her gaze onto Axe who was just launching into a topic about his next showcase.

  She picked up the knife near her plate, holding the edge to her bottom lip. She feigned rapt attention to Axe’s story as she absentmindedly drew its edge down to her décolletage and cleavage.

  She let the edge linger there for a second, diverting her eyes back to Mark’s table, where he sat transfixed, his eyes frozen on her.

  The waitress was still at his table, but he was ignoring her completely now, ostensibly forgetting that she was even there.

  He loosened his tie, sitting it at his side. Saturday turned her eyes and attention back to Axe, smiling slyly.

  She leaned forward in her chair, giving Mark a full view of the top of her breasts.

  He unbuttoned his collar.

  She stroked the cloth napkin in her hands.

  He pulled up his shirtsleeves.

  She took a sip of her water to calm herself. Didn’t work.

  Her breathing was shallow and it had nothing to do with the air in the room. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her nipples constricting against the cool fabric of her dress.

  She glanced at Mark a final time. His eyes were narrowed and intense… starving.

  She immediately excused herself to go to the restroom.

  She rose gracefully from her chair and walked by Mark’s table on her way to the back of the restaurant.

  Within seconds, Mark followed.

  Saturday sashayed past the two restroom doors and retreated to the
hidden nook of space that lay beyond them. Mark trapped her there against the wall, placing a knee between her thighs.

  He ran a hand through her wavy hair, finishing the movement with a thumb-brush over her lips.

  He removed the thumb, letting his luscious lips take its place. And finally, she truly gave in to him.

  He inched his knee higher, bringing it to a rest on the mound between Saturday’s legs. She gasped at the touch, even more so when his fingers reached downward to rub her clit through the fabric of her dress.

  She was in sensation overload. The soft pressure of his knee combined with the caress of his hand caused her to pant from the pleasure.

  She bit her lip to contain the groans that threatened to escape when he started nibbling on her neck, his hands moving relentlessly against the silk.

  She was soaking her dress, she was sure of it, but all thought took a back seat when Mark used the hand that was stroking her to lift the dress and feel her skin-to-skin.

  A small cry leapt from her lips and he replaced the sound with his mouth. She didn’t know if it was meant to silence her or please her, but either way was more than fine.

  He removed the knee from her body, substituting it now with his entire hand, which roamed even lower to pull at Saturday’s panties and plunge two fingers inside of her.

  Upon entry, she came, mewling needily into his kiss. She had lost all sense of oxygen, and at this point, it was as if he was breathing for her.

  After she had regained some semblance of composure, Mark withdrew suddenly, giving Saturday the additional space she needed to calm her body down.

  He looked at her with claiming eyes.

  “Come home with me… where I can do all of this to you properly.”

  She stared at him with bated breath, ready to abandon it all… Axe, her sanity… everything. But her temporary haze was lifting and her concerns were rising once again.

  She had almost let his kisses distract from the real matter at hand. Now, the questions poured out of her without preamble.

  “Wait, wait, wait. Stop…” she huffed, continuing. “I need to know.”

  She ran a shaky hand through her loose, wavy hair… regarding him slowly… assessing him.

  “Who are you?” she asked on an exhale.