<a class="username" data-user-id="696" data-username="@Rhizome" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/696/">@Rhizome</a><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family:Shadow Into Light Two"><span style="font-size: 22px"><i><b>Love Three Ways</b></i></span></span><br/>
<i>Rhizome &amp; Merlot Beauty<br/>
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<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">Our story thus far...</span></span>
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">She dipped her fork into the dense, creamy dessert. Her mouth watered with anticipation as she dragged the bite of cheesecake in its accompanying sauces of chocolate and raspberry before bringing the decadent goodness to her mouth and savoring the sweet and tangy with a contented sigh.<br/>
<br/>
This was, perhaps, the only part of the night that made staying worthwhile.<br/>
<br/>
The woman looked out across the large space, enjoying her quiet perch at a standing table. She watched the walls with the cool, ambient LEDs and lasers that reflected off pure white curtains and panels, while water—laced with fiber optics—cascaded down into shallow pools around the center of the room. It was a rather stunning visual effect. Screens of video shorts, and inspirational media were strategically placed around the grand lobby flashing images of impoverished families and children out of Africa, encouraging and enticing those with means to donate to this great worthy cause.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, <i>EVA</i>, the world’s fastest growing haute couture fashion company, spared no expense in decorating their main lobby space into an elegant and modern club-like atmosphere for their Annual Charity Benefit. Servers in black ties and white button-down shirts wandered around and through the sea of people serving champagne on silver-platters and after dinner hors d’oeuvres. And, of course, as with any fashion event, models had been hired to market some of the companies’ latest in evening wear and accessories, all available for purchase tonight—or were gifts for those with generous donations to the latest charity of grand importance.<br/>
<br/>
Even at great affairs such as this, Sara knew that many of the celebrities, moguls, and other fashionistas in attendance would be doing far more than pledging their good intentions. Such parties were a pit of vipers; a scene for those who wanted to be seen for their own personal gain and exposure. It was, however, sometimes amusing catch a rare glimpse of a Kardashian mingling, or watch some of the world’s fashion gods coming into the party as if they had descended from Mt. Olympus on a white cloud. But, once you stripped such famous people of their hype, and social media personas one quickly learned that these individuals were nothing more than, well, people. With or without the drama, they were in fact, normal.<br/>
<br/>
This was not a party for someone like Sara Blum; a girl who was quite plain, and tall—well, except for the tall part. She was quite content to remain invisible. There was very little she had in common with anyone here, and even if she did, Sara had never cared for idle conversation, especially when that conversation was likely dripping with judgement.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, as a manager in the HR department, Sara did not have to work hard to stay in the shadows, and stick to the occasional chit-chat with the occasional junior designer or a fellow colleague from the business department. The biggest names in fashion would hardly notice her, and the main company designers, and freelancers would avoid her at all costs. No one liked having Human Resources at the party; she was just another chaperone at the prom. Or, at least, that’s what they thought.<br/>
<br/>
There was little Sara could do professionally at such an event, unless she witnessed some heinous act. Even so, her real work would have to begin tomorrow when her email would flood with complaints about things that were supposedly said or done over the course of the night. And there would be many complaints, all of which would be her job to investigate, or even pursue if she saw precedent to do so. Already, she felt tomorrow's afternoon headache building at her temples, and quickly she brushed all her thoughts of work aside.<br/>
<br/>
Her presence tonight was one of requirement; her job made it impossible to avoid as much as she would have preferred to be at home in her snuggly cotton sweatpants and t-shirt enjoying the latest episode of <i>Property Brothers</i> with Wrinkles curled up in her lap. Thankfully, it would not be long before Sara knew that she would be allowed to slip out quietly, and unnoticed.<br/>
<br/>
At the moment, there were far better things to think about. Like cheesecake.<br/>
<br/>
The woman was partway through her beloved dessert before she heard her name over the din of voices and soothing urban rhythms.<br/>
<br/>
“Sara! There you are. Where have you been all night? It’s so good to see you!”<br/>
<br/>
Quickly, Sara dabbed at the corners of her full lips and smiled as she spied the tall, lithe woman coming toward her.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy was a fearless woman, and only slightly older than Sara. Though they only spoke or shared coffee occasionally, it was easy to find the woman’s carefree, spirited demeanor infectious. Now, as the woman stepped closer, separating herself from the crowd, Sara found herself blushing at how stunning the other woman looked in her little black dress that accentuated her long narrow legs that were made even more gorgeous with 4-inch black heels that sported thick buckles around each ankle.<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly Sara felt terribly underdressed, as if waking up in a nightmare where you discovered that you had come to work in the nude. Hastily, Sara smoothed out her boring tan business dress—the same business attire that she had arrived at work in this morning. Even though Lucy had helped her pick out a dress for the evening, there had been no time to change.<br/>
<br/>
Guiltily, Sara looked down as she was pulled into Lucy’s embrace with a light kiss on either cheek. Sara was sure she would later find a touch of Lucy’s dark red lipstick on her cheeks. Smiling, Sara looked to the other woman. “Are you enjoying the evening? It is quite a success.”<br/>
<br/>
Lucy nodded. “Where’s that other dress we picked out earlier?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, I…” Sara stuttered, “It’s… upstairs. I didn’t have time…”<br/>
<br/>
“I see, oh, well this will have to do.” Lucy sounded disappointed, even as her moonlit blue eyes traced up and then down the other girl’s form. “Come, sweetie, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Besides</i>, Sara thought to herself, <i>I’m not good enough for such a lovely dress</i>. It… just wouldn’t have been her. Revealing. Tight. Utterly gorgeous. Instead, Sara had settled for her plain business attire, accessorized only with a thin black belt that might have accentuated her ample breasts too much—but it came with the outfit. Typically she wore such an outfit with a blazer to draw attention away from her curves and make herself appear more professional and serious, but she had decided to leave it behind in her office.<br/>
<br/>
As the blonde woman was pulled away from her beloved dessert, she had to fight the urge to whimper and look back with longing. And yet, she was not going to deny her friend either. It was good to be at least a little social, and perhaps after, Sara would be safe to quietly slip out and take a taxi home, since the trains would not be safe to use at this hour.<br/>
<br/>
It did not take long for Lucy to take Sara across the floor and immediately Sara knew where she was being led.<br/>
<br/>
The man stood tall, with a stern brow and a full head of dark blonde hair that would seem just as stylish and perfect had he just rolled out of bed. Sara’s breath caught as she stepped closer, and felt her cheeks grow warm as she turned her head to meet his gaze.<br/>
<br/>
“Sara, I’d like you to meet my good friend Bruce Allen Steele,” Lucy smirked, and there was a secret in that smile. “Bruce, this is who I’ve been telling you about. Sara Blum.”<br/>
<br/>
Sara offered a shy, closed-lip smile, and she felt her entire face light up, as she extended her hand in greeting. “Hello.”<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - May 28, 2017 at 1:28 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Simulacras made the most pitiful facades.<br/>
<br/>
Fashion was many things to many people. To most, it flooded the imagination with an alluring glimpse into the future that draped human forms with colors and textures. The choices at play, when done with finesse, create works that measured nothing short of art. But, in essence, the fabrications were just that — compositions of artificial surfaces aimed to create an momentary appeal. Their images would infest fashion catalogues and taunt hard-working housewives in grocery store check-out lines. The images of new and chic served little purpose, other than to remind the humble that they did not measure up to a criminally arbitrary and unjust yardstick.<br/>
<br/>
While lavish, the displayed decadence of the ball inevitably caused one to question ones sanity. The mood and effects enchanted — without question — but, the prospect of hapless spectators summoned the egotistical, the inflated, the smarmy, and the unctuous — precisely the type of people who cared little for the cause <i>du jour</i>. They might toss money at the problem, and speak with ardent insincerity about the plight of poverty in Africa. The cretins would drone on about the injustice and tragedy, citing references to preach in that vile, disaffected liberal tongue. Their concern was as vapid and surface as the clothing the models wore, as hypocritical as an event dumping millions of dollars on a charity function that will garner only a few thousand.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce Steele wondered if anyone in the room had ever suffered a moment in their lives. Adversity was alchemical, turning hardship into an opportunity to sharpen ones resolve or discipline. Some people wore their hearts on their sleeve, but Bruce wore a menagerie of classy, scripted tattoos over well-muscled forearms, any sign of fat long boiled off from hard labor. He reclined back on the arced, white leather couch and watched the parade of fools march by without care. His arms spread to either side across the top with an easy confidence that made multitudes of passing women leer. Each wanted to sample the dashing man. With eyes filled with yearning, the debutantes and aspiring models would ask if they could join him; Bruce politely refused each time. He told the women that he was saving the seats for someone special, a lie partially rooted in fact. Bruce had arrived with Lucy not long ago; however, after being deposited with a dram of Ardbeg, he hadn't seen Lucy since. Bruce half wondered if his ex-girlfriend was seducing some poor, unsuspecting dolt to meet her after the event. He laughed to himself. <i>Boy, would that be a decision he'd regret</i>. Unsuspecting men are often lured into kinks until a riding crop and a dildo <i>for them </i>are produced.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce ruminated if that was why Lucy asked him to attend this charity event. Was it a lack of options, or did Lucy simply possess a despicable sense of humor? For being in a financial profession, surrounded by wealth and elitism, Bruce felt nothing but contempt for the entire breadth of privileged culture. Attending an event with all these entitled ass-clowns and walking mannequins felt like a slap in the face. However, if the gaggle of socialites constituted a vain, dysfunctional family, then he would have been an adopted, distant cousin. A formidable player in the financial world, Bruce found himself attending such events and rubbing elbows with greater frequency.<br/>
<br/>
When surrounded by instances of pompous idiocy, Bruce made a game of surveying beyond the cloud of glitterati to the periphery. Such investigations drew minor amusement, often seeking what others tried desperately to hide, akin to a sleek auto body revealed as garbage upon a glance beneath to find substandard steel and framing joints. What, <i>or rather who</i>, could be found? He spotted an over-tall, bald man standing near a curtain who reeked of banality. Graphics, perhaps? A blonde woman came next into view, sitting in a manner that shirked the glitzy lights and ostentation around here. Bruce granted her a small degree of respect for wanting to avoid the conspicuous mob. She was eating a slice of that cheesecake offered near the door, and Bruce felt a vein of compassion that the woman might be indulging out of discomfort. He examined her facial features, finding her remarkable though possibly ... unrealized?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<i>Walking down the hallway of Lucy's apartment floor unnerved Bruce. His malaise did not come from being unfamiliar with her home setting. Lucy had been living at Caldwell Suites for nearly a year, but Bruce could not shake the feeling that a compatriot was trapped behind enemy lines. Though, her decision to leave him was her own — the band-aides they concocted to staunch the hemorrhaging emotions were only making things between them worse.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce rapped on her door three times. The clicking of solid heels could be heard approaching the door from inside the apartment, and Bruce felt his pulse spike as the lock unlatched. Lucy smiled broadly when their eyes met. She looked ... ravishing, as usual. She didn't say a single word, but took his hand and dragged him inside as she closed the door. Her thin arms curled around Bruce's neck as they shared a deep kiss. The kiss lasted longer than a mere "hello" might dictate, and Bruce was the first to slip his tongue into the greeting. Lucy responded in kind without restraint, and she ran her hands through Bruce's tossled hair as his hands felt the sheer fabric at her back. Lucy finally pulled back, gasping for air as her head tilted back, eyes closed, a smile on her lips.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Handsome," she breathed.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce wasn't finished kissing Lucy, and his mouth wandered to her exposed neck. "You look amazing," he said, landing kisses on her skin.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy bit her lip, grinning as she kissed Bruce's ear. Her words came as a whisper. "Care for a drink?" she asked.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe later," Bruce intoned. His hands slid down the sides of Lucy's dress, and his fingers grasped at the hem of the dress bottom. Slowly, Bruce raised the dress up past her thighs to bunch up around her hips, exposing her thigh-high stockings and black-laced thong. Bruce's fingers easily pushed the paltry lingerie aside and sliced through the moist folds of her pussy to dance circles around her clit.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy's knees buckled slightly, and she edged her back to the wall. "B-Bruce ..."<br/>
<br/>
Bruce followed her and pressed her to the wall with his lips as he stimulated her sex. Lucy gasped in hesitant pleasure. Bruce thought she looked far too alluring to not take her, and he spoke between adorations.<br/>
<br/>
"Let me take you on the couch," he said, his heat coming that much closer. "I want to make us late." Bruce began to feel wetness trickle onto his fingers and he slid his fingers deeper, until ...<br/>
<br/>
"Bruce, NO." Her hand landed on his offending wrist, lowering his fingers out of her; her pelvis swiveling to one side and out of reach. She panted with a wicked smile on her face as he pulled up her underwear and straightened her dress. "You're an insatiable octopus tonight, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Bruce never took rejection well, and considering they still had sex on occasion, he fought to not take her refusal personally. "Perhaps. Should I prepare myself for disappointment this evening?" he asked. "You're dressed like you're on the prowl tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Perhaps," Lucy replied cheekily. "I can't very well taste like another man's cum when being eaten out by a handsome stranger." She found a mirror and began fluffing her long, dark locks. "Or, maybe I want to save you from the indignity of being sloppy seconds."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy smirked, watching his eyes in the mirror next to her own visage. Bruce took the emasculation in stride, taking the opportunity to straighten and re-fashion his tie. "Pity," he announced softly. "You realize that no one will ever love you as much as I do?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy turned around wearing a gentle smile. "You're so sweet." She patted Bruce's rock-solid jawline. "Remember, you don't like women who can say 'no' to your charms," she said, pulling away. "Fix yourself a drink. I'll just be a moment."<br/>
<br/>
Long, lovely strides brought the woman to her bathroom. Bruce fixed that drink, and he leaned closer to hear the sounds of a woman weeping softly into a towel. Bruce swallowed hard, fighting back his own tears, finishing his drink at the sound of mascara being re-applied. The door opened, and the light shut off as Lucy joined him, tenderly looping her arm in his.<br/>
<br/>
"Ready?" she asked, more softly than before. "I can't wait to introduce you to my friend Sara."</i><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<i>Goddamnit</i>, Bruce cursed to himself.<br/>
<br/>
Memories were Bruce's least favorite aspect of living, and he deplored people who obsessed about the past. He fancied himself an intrepid, hard-boiled soul who marched forward without the detracting, wasteful weight of sentiment. Distractions might have been sinful, but they often saved him the torture of accidental reverie. He thought of his youth, of iron and forged steel, and how wondrous it felt to craft and shape material — both precious and malleable — into a product of his own choosing. Such control offered a visceral satisfaction lost at the news of a million dollar profit.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce lit up a cigarette, taking a satisfying puff and exhaling. He closed his eyes, nearly at the blessed point of apathy, when he hear a whiny voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Sir? ... SIR! You need to put out that cigarette."<br/>
<br/>
Bruce open his eyes to a pencil-necked waiter in a white suit. "Smoking is not allowed.." The guy weighed as much as Bruce could bench-press on a bad day, and his demanding voice wore thin as the product of vicarious snootery. Bruce stood tall, gradually dropping his cigarette into one of the full champagne flutes the waiter balanced on a silver platter.<br/>
<br/>
"Happy, dickweed?"<br/>
<br/>
The waiter huffed and fled, looking down at the floor. Bruce watched the cur scurry away, catching sight of Lucy finally returning. The smile on his face flattened when he noticed that Lucy was not alone. She brought a woman. And, not just any woman, but the blonde he'd noticed eating cheesecake and looking delicious in her own way.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy arrived with an odd look of relief on her face that Bruce dismissed; his attention focused on her companion. "Sara," Bruce said softly, a smile inching up the ends of his lips. Her hand felt wide and yielding, her grip cautious. Bruce smoothed his charcoal suit jacket with an eager smirk.<br/>
<br/>
A mere foot distance, Bruce surveyed Sara's features and he found himself taken in by her flowing blonde hair and growing smile. The bulges of her chest were trapped behind the tan fabric of her terrible choice of dress. However, Bruce yearned to wander into her deep, azure eyes that radiated a shielded intensity.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy cleared her throat, and Bruce realized he still held Sara's hand. He released and smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Sara. Lucy's mentioned you many times." Bruce motioned to the white, leather couch he had defended for the past twenty minutes. "Why don't we all have a seat?" he asked, hopeful.<br/>
<br/>
As they sat, Bruce made certain Sara lowered next to him.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - May 31, 2017 at 11:18 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>
<br/>
<b>Lucy</b>​</div><br/>
It was easy to smile; to part her brilliant pouting lips and flash her joy and intelligence as she networked, greeted, and conversed about the business of beauty and glamour with colleagues. She was the one who could capture a beautiful lie, and, with photographs, convince the masses that with just one more branded item, they too could feel better about themselves; be better in the eye of the beholder.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy loved her world, and her career. She loved the people she worked for and with. Many of the people were bold. Ostentatious. It was a profession filled with as many genuinely awesome people as there were superficial liars. It was a fast paced world; a revolving door that constantly redefined what it meant to be beautiful. Fashion was a fickle creature, and far from perfect. Regardless, Lucy found it was, also, wonderful.<br/>
<br/>
Having come from nothing and no one of consequence, she knew the power that she now wielded. People loved living the dream through photos of beautiful super models and the products they sold. The masses loved to dream about the glamour and beauty that they knew deep down they would never truly have, but that part didn’t matter so much. Dreams often brought out the best in everyday people. They were raindrops searching for acceptance in the vast ocean. They were already a part of the greatness, and they simply didn’t know it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Eternal Vanity Apparel</i>, or more simply called <i>EVA</i>, certainly lived up to its title. The charity tonight was meant to sponsor families in Africa to help provide shelters, clothing, medicines, and more. They called it the Great Community Development Project, or something like that—in truth Lucy hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the finer details. Those with the means would donate thousands of dollars to the worthy cause of the week. Many at the Ball tonight would spend all of five minutes patting themselves on the back for their donations before returning to the topics they really cared about: money, power, shoes. <i>Privilege</i>.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, there would be a few—two, maybe three—brave souls that would fly themselves over to the great continent to spend time with the people they pledged to aid. They would hike in and out of the impoverished villages; perhaps play with the children, and accept the kind hospitality of the natives that would never know that the mere cost of this very party was far more than the amounts that trickled down in aid. Because, of course, as with all charities there were costs, and expenditures leaving only a fraction of funds left over for the actual, literal efforts.<br/>
<br/>
Even that very little bit, however, would mean everything to those people. That was why Lucy was one of those few leaving tonight to impoverished Africa. Her role would be small, but effective. And, if that was a lie, then she was happy to believe it.<br/>
<br/>
Even Bruce didn’t know that she was leaving tonight. He was used to her coming and going, however, and she doubted it would bother him. At least, no more than usual. She would be in Africa a week, and then off to Spain for a quick shoot, and then another brief commission down in Miami before she would return to Manhattan.<br/>
<br/>
Such was the life of a photographer. She loved it. Travel. Freedom. People. Joy.<br/>
<br/>
Smirking, Lucy looked pointedly at Bruce as he maneuvered Sara closer to him on the sofa. Lucy sat herself down in a nearby leather arm chair. They exchanged a brief look that required no comment. For years now they had been able to communicate without speaking a single word. With one look, Lucy told him her intentions; at least, most of them.<br/>
<br/>
“So, Sara’s the one I was telling you about. You remember that designer who tried to have me fired from one of my biggest jobs? The one who lodged that complaint about… what was it Sara? Oh, yes, the designer said I had been trying to discredit her brand. Something like that. Anyway, without Sara’s brilliance and knowledge of branding policies I likely would have been screwed.” Lucy looked from Bruce to Sara, her look lingering on the other woman a moment too long, perhaps, as the blonde lowered her eyes, and smiled shyly.<br/>
<br/>
Lucy wondered what the girl was thinking.<br/>
<br/>
“I was happy to help,” Sara said quietly as she neatly crossed one leg over the other and smoothed out her tan skirt before folding her hands tightly in her lap.<br/>
<br/>
Was she shy, or perhaps not interested in speaking of work matters?<br/>
<br/>
“And you’ve done a wonderful job on the ball tonight. Weren’t you on the planning committee?” Lucy continued.<br/>
<br/>
Sara looked up, first over to Bruce, and then back to Lucy. “Me? Oh, just a small role. Little HR things here and there. Coordinating between departments, a touch of mediation here and there. It was nothing. Really.”<br/>
<br/>
Lucy laughed. “Always so modest.” Did Sara know just how remarkable she was?<br/>
<br/>
There was a brief silence; Lucy took a flute of champagne when offered by a server. She sipped it lightly and looked back over to Bruce before turning her attention back to Sara. It was all Lucy could do not to squeal with excitement when she spied Sara looking down at the swirling patterns of tattoos that peeked out on the back of Bruce’s hands. As if aware that she had been caught looking where she shouldn't have, the gorgeous, and clearly sheltered blonde woman quickly looked up, her eyes fixing on his gaze. Lucy was not surprised when he looked back at her, interested; a familiar look of hunger in his intense, steely gaze. It was clear, then, that Lucy had executed her plan to perfection.<br/>
<br/>
Victory had never tasted so sour. Lucy hid it well, however. She smiled grandly, and chased her bitterness away with a bit more champagne.<br/>
<br/>
“So, how are you enjoying the evening, Bruce?” Sara asked with a small smile amidst the silence between them. “If you haven’t tried the cheesecake yet, I have to say, it’s quite delicious.”<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Jun 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Sitting next to a genuinely humble woman amidst a world of smug douches left Bruce without reply. Bruce was enthralled by Sara's subtle nature, setting his lips level and lifting the ends in interest and glee when she spoke. Bruce thought Sara's voice sonorous — a bird seldom set free to sing its beautiful song. He found Sara's deferent tone soft, yielding, like a morning rain in Spring; yet, apology seemed to haunt the spaces between her words. Sara projected a deficiency that Bruce detected and wanted to immediately erase: the woman summoned a request to excuse her for being, for speaking, for bothering with her presence. Bruce found himself struggling to keep himself from cleaving onto the vulnerability Sara — subtly, sub-consciously — emoted, especially when her eyes drifted to his extensive tattoos that peeked out from under his starched cuff.<br/>
<br/>
Supremely composed, Bruce conducted an assessment with keen subterfuge, eyeing Sara from top to bottom. His gaze fixated on the tan bulges on her chest, her face, and those divine blue eyes. They peeked up at him, like azure dawns above the horizon of her shyness; Bruce felt his heart melt. Lucy's displacement from the pair did not go unnoticed. Bruce recognized how she chose to sit in the leather arm chair adjacent to the couch — but, not before landing Sara snugly next to him — feeling Lucy's trained and astute eyes upon both he and Sara's every movement.<br/>
<br/>
"Cheesecake?" Bruce repeated. "I haven't had any yet." Bruce laid his strong hand — one more adept at gripping quarter-ton plates of cold-rolled steel — upon Sara's, curling his fingers gently. "Sara, would you be a dear and fetch me a small slice?"<br/>
<br/>
Sara's face blinked at the request, only to have her face lighten with a heart-warming smile. "Um, sure ... I'd love to."<br/>
<br/>
With great interest, Bruce watched Sara depart, hearing her low heels click into the murmuring crowd. His eyes swept to Lucy, still watching him, now wearing a smug grin. Bruce narrowed his eyes and pat the couch were Sara had sat. Lucy finished her champagne and sauntered over, curling her legs beneath her as she leaned against Bruce's side. Her breasts heaved and fell softly with each breath, and her fingers twirled Bruce's dirty blonde locks.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you up to?" Bruce asked, suspicious.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?" Lucy answered.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean," Bruce replied. "You look like you're scheming."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy smiled, slowly kissing Bruce on his temple. "What do you think of Sara?" Lucy asked.<br/>
<br/>
"She seems nice," Bruce said.<br/>
<br/>
"Nice?!" Lucy said. "You better give me more credit than that." She kissed Bruce's ear, whispering. "I want you to get to know Sara better. She obviously likes you. I'll be gone for a few weeks, anyway."<br/>
<br/>
Bruce pulled back, angry concern in his eyes. "And, where are you going?"<br/>
<br/>
"Rio ... I'm going to be photographing the Brazilian swim team before I let them have their way with me." Lucy bit her lip and wiggled her eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
"Liar," Bruce retorted, serious. He gave Lucy a stern, penetrating gaze, and his vision wandering past her to the people milling about like gussied up livestock. "You're going to Africa, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Lucy swallowed. "That's <i>one</i> of my destinations." She drew in her lips, a sign that she did not intend to reveal any more information. She didn't need to, having betrayed the most dangerous locale of her tour. A strong hand squeezed hers lovingly.<br/>
<br/>
"Promise me you'll be careful." Bruce rarely gave demands to Lucy, and his vulnerability came through his earnest insistence.<br/>
<br/>
"Bruce, of course I will."<br/>
<br/>
An awkward silence passed between the two former-current lovers. Lucy could feel Bruce's pure, unfiltered concern radiating like a protective isotope of nuclear intensity. Emotions began to bubble up in uncomfortable places within Lucy, and she stood abruptly. Bruce's hold on her hand, however, did not loosen; nor did his intense gaze abate in the slightest. She felt like herself an hour previous, weeping her sorrow into a towel. For, no matter how much Lucy wanted Bruce to become lost in Sara, Lucy knew that a devoted part of Bruce would always love her without equal. "I need to go," Lucy said. "I'll call you when I return."<br/>
<br/>
Bruce turned to watch Lucy depart the affair, short skirt flowing behind her striding legs. She didn't linger to molest her contacts or bring anyone home with her, melding into the outside world — without attachment — that gave her the false comfort she desperately sought. The hole in Bruce's heart nearly consumed him until the clicking of low heels returned with a plate and a fork. Bruce's face lit up at the sight of Sara, and he gratefully took the plate.<br/>
<br/>
"There was quite a line," Sara said, anticipating Bruce to comment on the length of waiting. Bruce, however, simply plunged the fork into the creamy dessert and helped himself. Sara cast about for a moment, a look of mild concern on her visage. "Where's Lucy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy had to leave early. Something about a trip tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh," she said, puzzled. "You're not leaving with her? I thought you two might be ..."<br/>
<br/>
Bruce tried to dispel any uncertainty in Sara's question with a wide grin, open and quite interested. "Together? No," he chuckled. "Just very good friends." The empty plate clanked lightly on the end table, and Bruce gently grasped Sara's hand and guided her onto the couch next to him once again — this time, closer than before. Bruce thought Sara smiled more readily, though still nervous. He noticed her downcasting eyes, being ensnared (once again) by the dark tattoos about his knuckles. Bruce smirked, and he leaned forward to remove his suit jacket. He folded the garment crisply and hung it in half over the back of the couch. Settling back comfortably, Bruce unbuttoned his cuff and slowly rolled the fabric of his sleeve up to his mid-forearm. Solid muscles, braided under skin like steel cable, flexed under the dignified script of tattoos that must have reached past his elbow. Bruce watched Sara's eyes widen at the sight. Silent, Bruce gave Sara his arm to hold and examine at her leisure.<br/>
<br/>
"You seem interested in my ink," he said, casually. "Care for a closer look?" Bruce wanted to offer that hidden part of himself to the young woman, beginning the process of trust. Bruce decided he liked Sara far too much to ignore Lucy's suggestion. So, offering a glimpse at the artwork on his body seemed an apt place to start.<br/>
<br/>
Plus, Bruce wanted to feel his heart spike at the touch of Sara's fingers on his bare skin.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Jun 12, 2017 at 12:36 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>The surrounding party fell away. The voices. The people. Sara forgot about it all as she cast her gaze down and traced her long unmanicured fingers along the scrolling linework etched intricately along this man’s arm and disappearing beneath his crisp white sleeve. His skin was warm, but firm his tiny hairs a soft teasing texture on the pads of her fingers. He lips parted as she released a gentle sigh; breath she did not realize she had been holding.<br/>
<br/>
This man, Bruce, was an enigma. She studied his ink as if she could decipher him here and now. Some of the tattoos were older, faded and blue from the passage of time; comfortable well-worn blue jeans. It was experience. History. But other images were dark, yet still vibrant; a black and white tale that overlaid, and entwined a complex the past. He shared his story, at least a part of it, on his arm as if he wanted all to know, or at least question. Was he truly someone with nothing to hide?<br/>
<br/>
Sonny. The name was penned in large, calligraphic letters designed to stand out. Make a statement. Who was he? Perhaps Bruce’s father? Brother? Sara dared not to ask. It would have been rude. Hardly the idle conversation of two strangers meeting, and were like to never meet again after tonight.<br/>
<br/>
God help her, she wanted to know him. It was a wonderful, yet terrifying thought. Lucy swallowed as the room turned uncomfortably hot. And exposed. Her belly was suddenly the <i>Cirque du Soleil</i>, complete with flip-flop high-flying acrobatics. She tensed as she fought to remain composed and professional, keeping her legs firmly crossed and her breath even. It was quite the challenge, but this was not the time to be a weak-kneed school girl. But again, she found herself drawn in to this man.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce.<br/>
<br/>
“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, biting her lip as she spoke, knowing that few men cared for such feminine descriptors. Gently, she turned his arm, and looked at the MMX etched boldly into the skin upon his wrist. “And this Roman Numeral. 2010, is that the year you…” When Sara looked up, she immediately forgot what she had intended to ask. She forgot where she was, and what she was meant to be doing.<br/>
<br/>
His face was suddenly close enough to touch. Sara could not turn away from his eyes; a stunning, tue blend of hues. Genuine hazel eyes. Intense. <i>Commanding</i>. In that moment, she knew that his gaze—that look—was, somehow, just for her.<br/>
<br/>
“Carnegie. Class of 2010.” His deep voice was barely above a whisper, as the corners of his mouth turned up. A hint of grin. His warm, sweet exhale of words caressing along her lips.<br/>
<br/>
Deep down she knew she should pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she let him kiss her. <i>She let him</i>.<br/>
<br/>
His lips were softer than they looked; light, as if he were asking permission to proceed. The stubble of his five o’clock shadow rubbed and tingled along the edges of her skin. Sara felt frozen in place, her hand still resting on the man’s forearm, and his now on hers. His fingertips were both soft and calloused at the same time as he ran his fingers up her arm until he was gripping her firmly, yet gently, and pulled her closer.<br/>
<br/>
She let out a soft cry as Bruce parted her lips with his tongue, and pushed himself into her mouth where his tongue teased and caressed without apology. Sara was not surprised that he was kissing her so deeply, but that she invited him. God help her, she welcomed it. She wanted him to keep going. No one had ever kissed her like this before, and likely never would again.<br/>
<br/>
Forehead to forehead, their lips parted, and both were breathing heavily now. “You are beautiful,” the man sighed, and Sara felt fingers brushing through her hair.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Is this real?</i><br/>
<br/>
Sitting back, Sara felt the spell of the moment break. Suddenly, the jazzy urban tones played again. The din of voices could be heard from all around. A server’s platter crashed somewhere in the distance. Tucking a golden strand behind her ear, she looked back over at Bruce only briefly, and smiling before looking away. She could not afford to lose herself again.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, Bruce, it is getting a bit late, and I have an early day tomorrow.” She extended her hand she tried for friendly; cordial, even. Somehow, she knew that she failed at both. When he took her hand, she worked—fought—not to melt back into the taut leather cushions. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”<br/>
<br/>
On unsteady legs, she stood up. Several second passed and she realized that her hand was still held captive by the man on the couch; the man with exquisite tattoos, and a gaze that would turn any woman with a pulse into a melty pile of goo. It would have been awfully easy to stay, to throw caution to the wind and send her better judgment home without her.<br/>
<br/>
“Goodnight Mr. Steele,” she said, smiling, nearly laughing as she looked down at her hand. And it was almost a full heartbeat (or ten) later that he finally let her go.<br/>
<br/>
As she walked away, Sara had a sneaky suspicion…. Indeed, she would certainly see him again, but the thought faded the further she walked away from him. With each step, more she felt herself falling back down to reality, knowing that she would think of a dozen or more reasons to turn down his inevitable invitations.<br/>
<br/>
No man wanted a girl like her. Shy. Distant. All work, and no play. It wasn’t as though she had time to date anyone as it was. She had commitments. Responsibilities. Indeed, it was better to leave the fantasy back on the couch where it belonged.<br/>
<br/>
Sighing heavily, Sara walked pointedly toward the elevator that would take her up to her office where she could collect her coat, boots, gloves, and her purse. Quickly she pressed the Up Arrow, and waited as the numbers over the doors slowly illuminated one-by-one. It was a bitterly cold February night; the sidewalks were surely frozen over by now, and if she was lucky, there would not be a fresh snowfall waiting to impede her taxi ride home.<br/>
<br/>
Licking her still-swollen lips, a new heat swelled up inside the woman standing at the elevator, and shivers ran up her spine. It had been an incredible kiss. So perfect. And she wished for more.<br/>
<br/>
When she looked back toward the still bustling party, and as if the crowd had parted just for him, he was there, standing on the edge of the crowd, watching her. His sleeve was still rolled back, revealing his tattoos, and his jacket crisply draped over his shoulder. Sara noticed none of that, as she looked him in the eye, and smiled while absently tucking back an invisible strand of hair.<br/>
<br/>
When the elevator chimed in its arrival, she jumped and looked over at the offensive piece of engineering and electronics. Sighing, she stepped into the small cabin, and again her eyes were fixed on the man who kissed her. Bruce. Distantly she begged the elevator doors to close quickly… no, slowly…  let them pause just long enough for him to stop the doors just in time.<br/>
<br/>
The doors closed, however, and Sara frowned as she patiently waited to be taken a mere two flights up. Once off the elevator it was a short few steps to her office door that she had carelessly left unlocked. Silently chastising herself, she left the door open as she walked in and headed toward her small closet where she kept her personal things.<br/>
<br/>
The office itself was rather small, but generally comfortable. Her desk unit was modern with a black surface, and matching return and storage beneath a window where cool moonlight illuminated in the spaces between the vertical blinds. Her office chair was the latest and greatest in ergonomic support (which meant that it was the most uncomfortable contraption ever), and on the front side of her desk sat two guest armchairs of black metal, and plain neutral upholstery. Her off-white walls were decorated with “abstract” art that Sara decided long ago was an artist’s interpretation of an volcanic eruption of oil on canvas.<br/>
<br/>
The art didn’t matter though. Sara rarely paid the art any notice, and even less now as she strode through her space without bothering to switch on the lights. She only dimly regarded the dress that Lucy had left for her, and she left it where it lay draped over one of the armchairs, still neatly pressed and protected inside the dry cleaner’s bag. The dress hadn’t been her style anyway. It was sexy.<br/>
<br/>
Sara wasn’t sexy.<br/>
<br/>
She had not opened her closet door when she felt, more than heard him standing in her doorway. He was there. Well, here. Far away, yet close. Had she even heard the elevator a moment ago? Wasn’t it just her imagination? Wishful thinking?<br/>
<br/>
As a gazelle in the grass, Sara remained still, her head turned so that she would see him in the periphery, his tall, muscular frame taking up the whole of her doorway. Even though she opened her mouth to speak, she said nothing, but rather waited on a breath.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Jun 15, 2017 at 1:30 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>A dire wolf watching his prey — fueled by a piqued interest bordering on obsession — Bruce was silent as he stood, his broad shoulders nearly filling the void of Sara's office door frame. The low light cast his stern visage stolid, and he stepped inside past the threshold with quietude; the door latched behind him.The kiss they had shared at the party electrified the man; Sara was so unassuming, yet she slipped past what meager defenses Bruce had established, defenses that easily melted as he leaned in to meet her lips upon ghost couch. Bruce wondered if he had touched a hidden nerve in Sara, and he was thankful she failed to see his grimace as she approached the elevators. Bruce had stood at the elevator doors, the sounds of the gala drowned out by his concentration, observing which floor Sara arrived. He followed immediately, stalking her as one might a deer prone to fearful flight. That's what Sara had done, Bruce told himself — a fire must have been lit that challenged her degrading view of herself. Bruce had witnessed such things before. It pained Bruce to see such negativity in such a precious creature; so much that Bruce refused to tolerate her departure.<br/>
<br/>
Faint footsteps narrated Bruce's approach. His folded dinner jacket landed on a humble chair, a feat since his eyes never left Sara's. Those eyes revealed many emotions: Sara could see his nervousness at following a new acquaintance, one who shunned him trying to escape; his gravity and discipline, fueled by an indomitable confidence; but, most of all, DESIRE. Bruce <i>wanted</i> Sara, and would not accept a deferred meeting, a vagary harboring the possibility that Sara might vanish forever from his wandering life. Bruce wanted many things then, his reflection gradually manifesting — like an ardent phantom — in the glass pane behind Sara's desk. He had been wandering, with Lucy as his sole — albeit frustrating and unreliable — anchor.<br/>
<br/>
Coming into clear view, Bruce closed his eyes as he leaned in once again. Alone together, Bruce presented himself as he intended — bold, but not aggressive; sensitive, yet desperately wanting. Bruce's  tongue calmly snaked into Sara's kiss as his arms wrapped around her frame to draw her closer. Bruce's pelvis pressed into the void under Sara's beige skirt, as his pectorals pressed against the bulges on her chest. With a throaty inhale, Bruce deepened his kiss, slowly knifing his fingers into the blonde hair behind Sara's head. He pulled back after some minutes, breathless; his hazel eyes burning. Gently licking the plush center of her upper lip, Bruce kissed Sara's cheek and ear, speaking.<br/>
<br/>
"There's no need to flee from me." Half closed from the dazed bliss that coursed through his being, Bruce locked onto Sara's dazzling blue orbs.<br/>
<br/>
"Ever."<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Jun 18, 2017 at 10:51 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Captured. Entranced. Devoured by flesh and tenderness, Sara looked up into dark eyes illuminated with the blue fire of a winter’s full moon. There was anything but ice in the gaze that did not merely see her, but saw into her. He <i>knew</i> her. Somehow he just knew the things she feared to admit to even to herself.<br/>
<br/>
Her hands were braced on his shoulders, pressing lightly along the shirt’s crisp collar at the nape of his neck, and if not for holding him, and being held in return, she would have needed to sit down as her knees could no longer carry her body that was so completely swept away by <i>him</i>.<br/>
<br/>
Shrouded in his embrace, Sara exhaled a shaky breath as she let him brush back the ever wayward strands from her cheeks and temples. God, his musk—spicy, severe, sweet—was not overwhelming but as present and intoxicating as he was. His body was firm, and chiseled as any classical marble statue. Sara was certain that at any moment she would melt, or mold, or <i>something</i> into him and become nothing but his essence. Would that have been a bad thing? There was nothing soft about this man, and yet the fingers that caressed her and the lips that kissed her were anything but hard. Although she couldn’t help but blush, feeling that one specific part of him was most definitely “hard,” and pressing against the mildly squishy flesh just below her belly button.<br/>
<br/>
The man’s entire presence left her right on the edge of words and yet not quite unable to utter them. Forming a coherent thought was task in and of itself, and so for a time she did not bother trying. When she opened her mouth to speak, only a sigh came out, and the words she wanted to say “thank you, but I really must go,” never quite passed her lips. And, the truth was, she did not wish to leave. Sara liked it right here, being held and caressed by this man. Why did she need to go? She was an adult, and capable of making sound decisions.<br/>
<br/>
Loathe as she was to do so, Sara stepped back, pulling away from the little kisses he planted along her cheek, neck, and ears. The air was colder when suddenly not pressed against him, and slowly she let her hands fall away from his incredible arms, and she looked up at him with purpose.<br/>
<br/>
Sara licked her lips unable to stop smiling as she spoke to him, “okay,” she said, “no fleeing. Promise.<br/>
<br/>
“Although, I have a history of turning back into a pumpkin after midnight.” The clock on her desk, however, read that it was just now past that appointed hour. “Ah, what would you like to do? I think there’s a late night café nearby, or the party downstairs will still be going for awhile.”<br/>
<br/>
She sensed, though did not see that their hands had already found one another, even as Sara spoke. His skin remained impossibly warm, and touch unnervingly sweet and affectionate. The smile spread upon her face, as she was excited with the touch of their hands as she had been with the kiss of their lips. More than that, she did not expect to feel as wonderful as she did with her decision to remain in Bruce Allen Steele’s company tonight.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Jun 19, 2017 at 8:01 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Bruce betrayed a warmth in his smile that belied the gravity of his quiet, fierce presence. He delighted in her acceptance of him and his bold advance; he delighted as much at her small humor. Pumpkins. "I'll take that chance," he intoned. Their hands found one another blindly, as it they possessed a latent magnetism of stars newly found. They were in each other's orbit, and Bruce felt an emotional drive akin to a juggernaut. In the pale light of her desk, away from the detestable throng, Sara was more attractive than Bruce could have imagined. Bruce, however, did not wish to consume her body in sexual lust — Bruce wanted to embrace Sara's very soul with his own.<br/>
<br/>
The skin of their hands danced beautifully, becoming intense modes of touch, warmth, promise, and suggestion. Bruce felt his forearm tingle at the softness of Sara's skin and the delicate nature of her touch. She was gentle and kind; Bruce could see those qualities clearly in her radiant blue eyes. The way her lips parted, her eagerness must have been piqued, and Bruce moved closer to guide the woman's nascent, newly kindled desire.<br/>
<br/>
She asked what they should do; Bruce knew precisely what was in store for them.<br/>
<br/>
"What I want is to <i>not</i> sully this moment with the presence of others," Bruce said slowly. From his tone, Bruce was a man who was used to clearly communicating his desires and preferences. The manner of his speech gave assurance in its direct diction — a confidence rooted in his knowledge of having exactly who he desired. "The night is young, as far as I'm concerned." Bruce closed the distance with the smooth tilt of his head. Their lips glided across several moist kisses, with Bruce's tongue finding Sara's and silent speaking his truth — Bruce Steele could have any woman from the gala, but chose Sara above all others. The sweet, manly strength of his kiss affirmed the wisdom of his choice, and he rejoiced in each movement of his mouth agsinst hers. The fabric of Sara's beige dress felt rough under Bruce's hands, as he slid his palms from Sara's lower back to her sides. Braces lips pecked lovingly as his passionate kisses devolved into expressions of tender affection. Their noses grazed along their lengths as Bruce's hands slid up to partially cup the sides of Sara's breasts.<br/>
<br/>
"What I want ..." Bruce imparted another lingering kiss that hinted at the deep, intense love he offered. "I want to see you in the dress that Lucy bought for you. You're a beautiful woman and should dress appropriately."<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Jul 2, 2017 at 8:05 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>“The dress?” Sara looked at Bruce, slowly blinking. <i>What dress?</i><br/>
<br/>
Oh. <i>That</i> <i>dress</i>. As she remembered the little black garment in the bag, she swallowed and felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Lucy had “kidnapped” poor Sara for an entire Saturday in search of that dress. It had been hours of boutiques, shops, and dressing rooms, with endless changing and shrugging into fabrics that were either soft and tingly, or itchy and horrid. And then there was Lucy’s ever whimsical and disapproving shake of the head--until <i>that</i> dress. The moment Sara pulled the dark red drape aside, Lucy stared. Then she squealed with delight, while clapping her hands together and pulling Sara into a whirlwind of a hug. It was apparently the “perfect dress that was going to leave men on their knees begging.”<br/>
<br/>
Stepping back, the she looked blankly out the window and rubbed at the goose bumps along her arms. Opening her mouth she wanted to ask how he even knew about that dress, but she guessed it didn’t matter. If Lucy and he were friends, it might have entered into any number of conversations—not that women’s apparel was a topic that men outside the industry spoke of often.<br/>
<br/>
Sara realized that there should have been alarm bells blaring in her conscience. She should have been wary of the man she didn’t know asking her to change—to strip in his presence and redress to his (and Lucy’s) design. In fact, she knew that she should be leaving the office now, and perhaps, having a pointed conversation with security in the foyer.<br/>
<br/>
She didn’t wish to do any of that however, especially as she looked back up at the man who watched her—a predatory cat with kind eyes lying in wait for the unassuming prey. There was something else there too. Warmth. Trust. His expression showed an undertone of gentle, loving promises. Regardless of what this man seemed to know about a little black dress, she just knew that she could trust him. Sara was willing to trust him. With a small smile, she nodded, not quite looking him in the eye when she did.<br/>
<br/>
“Alright. Would you mind turning around, or stepping out into the hallway, please?” Sara stepped around the man that seemed to take up the space of her entire office, and picked up the garment bag from the chair where she’d left it earlier—having to run out the door before having any time to change. Even if she’d had the courage to change into it before the evening’s event, she was never given the time with everything else on her plate.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce had done more than just honor her wishes. He quietly stalked into in the hallway, pulling office door closed, and he position himself just on the other side of her small window and faced the hallway. Not only did he give her privacy, but he made it a point to ensure that no one else saw her change either. It was a small, simple gesture that meant the world to her.<br/>
<br/>
After reaching across her desk and switching on her desk light, Sara carefully, she hung the dress up on a hook inside her small closet door, and pulled up the clear plastic, revealing a small, tasteful, but sensual strapless dress that was made to cling to a woman’s form. According to Lucy, the dress was nothing short of stunning on her. Sara was glad that she had given into her friend’s urging to get it—not that Sara would have refused such a generous gift.<br/>
<br/>
Quickly, she changed into the dress, thankful that she had been smart to wear a bra today that had removable straps. It had taken some effort and whimsical contortion to remove them without actually removing the bra, but once that was done Sara had only to slip into the soft fitted fabric that sent light flutters along her pale skin as she pulled the mini-side zipper, and fastened the clasp to keep everything closed and secure. The dress fit her perfectly, and she took a moment to smooth out the fabric before she carefully hung up her other dress. She also left her plain, everyday pumps in the closet. Sara had just enough fashion sense to know that her shoes utterly clashed with this dress—better to go barefoot.<br/>
<br/>
With a slow breath, Sara looked into her tiny closet mirror, and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to manage her natural subtle waves. Whether it enhanced her attempts at sexy, or made her look like she just came in from a hurricane, she wasn’t sure, but it would have to do. It seemed like hours just passed, and she wasn’t sure that Bruce would wait for her much longer.<br/>
<br/>
Stepping back, she called out into the hallway, not quite feeling brave enough to venture out there. “Alright. I’m ready. You can come in now.”<br/>
<br/>
With butterflies dancing in her stomach, in her head, and all along her skin, Sara rubbed at her arms, and absently bit her lip suddenly convinced that this was all some big terrible mistake. This dress… it was all wrong. Being here in her office was all wrong. She rubbed at her bare arms and shoulders unaccustomed to being so bare—so exposed—in the presence of others.<br/>
<br/>
The moment Bruce walked back into the room, Sara turned into a statue.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Jul 14, 2017 at 1:39 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Waiting outside of Sara's office was the first of many devoted acts Bruce would demonstrate freely and openly. The act itself was a demonstration that, though they had met less than an hour prior, Bruce harbored a fire of protection that burned fiercely within him. Sara agreeing to slip on the dress meant the world to Bruce, the act itself an accord that opened the erotic journey upon which they both would tread. He folded his strong arms across his broad chest, eyeing each end of the darkened hallway, almost daring anyone to reveal themselves and attempt getting past him. Excitement stirred inside Bruce's imagination at what the dress might look like, and also how Sara would look in it. Fashion could be a tricky business when it came to those personal selections. Bruce, however, had faith in Lucy's exquisite judgement when it came to pairing seemingly disparate things. Sara and her dress were one example; upon reflection, and in the same manner, Bruce and Sara constituted a choice pairing by Lucy that promised wild success. He thought of Lucy, and a last whim of sad regret clung to his gut as he heard the door behind him open.<br/>
<br/>
Sara would have seen the wall of Bruce's back, at first. He turned slowly at the sound of her soft voice, only to see the the three-inch opening she left between the door and frame — an invitation. While Bruce did not hear uncertainty in Sara's voice, he apprehended it in the way she rubbed her arms, the gesture barricaded her limbs across her form and obscured the presentation of the dress. It was a precious moment Bruce could have taken the wrong way — he could have felt slighted by Sara's insecurity, which diminished herself as a sexual image for his selfish, consuming eyes. But, Bruce knew her insecurity <i>was the reason</i> for her nervousness, and the look on her face betrayed her second thoughts.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Darling," he said.<br/>
<br/>
The latch locking the door clicked once again, and Bruce approached Sara in the faint light from her desk. Where others might have seen shattered self-esteem, Bruce observed a wounded creature in need of healing. Bruce gently reached out with hands of steady strength, his eyes filled with compassion. His fingers grasped Sara's with assurance, his gaze never leaving her blue orbs. Kissing each of her hands to quell the fear, Bruce gently opened her arms with delicate care. The revelation of Sara's beauty — her arms now widespread — was akin to unfurling a shy flower, and the unmitigated sight took the breath from Bruce's chest.<br/>
<br/>
The dress. <i>Oh, that dress</i>. The silhouette of contrast outlined Sara's magnificent figure, and Bruce felt jealous at how snug the black fabric clung to Sara's feminine contours. Bruce stood, mystified at how a simple change of wardrobe could utterly transform the mousy woman into a goddess worthy of erotic worship. "Sara," Bruce intoned, "you're ... you look amazing." Sara held her gaze downward, away, anywhere but the truth in Bruce's gaze. He brought a curled finger to her chin, lifting her face to his, their eyes meeting in the dim light. "Your beauty has such power, but you have no idea ... do you?" The warm love in Bruce's gaze came mixed with incredulous sympathy and barely contained desire.<br/>
<br/>
Lowering his lips to Sara's, Bruce slowly dragged his unfurled fingers down the soft of her throat, and then onto the upper regions of her chest. He found her skin smooth and warm to the touch. The black fabric could have felt coarse under his fingers, but it glided with a sensation close to silk. After testing the firmness of Sara breasts, Bruce dragged his hand southward, feeling the divine lace round Sara's upper thigh — like the garter top of a pair of stockings — Bruce began to wrap his fingers around the curvature of Sara's rear. He slowly tugged her pelvis toward him, so her soft belly would feel the outrageous erection trapped in his formal trousers.<br/>
<br/>
Their chests cleaved together, Bruce spoke. "You feel my heart?" he asked. "Do you feel what you do to me?"<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Jul 17, 2017 at 12:01 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>His fingertips burned as they traced along her skin. Goosebumps ran along her arms warm and tingling little jabs. Uncomfortable, but exquisite. Sara’s entire body pulsed; hot vibes running from every nerve ending straight to her core. She could only look up into glassy, hooded green eyes set against a tender expression.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” she exhaled, one word answering his question, including the one hanging in the dark space between them. <i>Yes</i>.<br/>
<br/>
His hands gripped her full curves, squeezing lightly, and Sara licked her lips, gasping. Daring to reach up, her fingertips traced along Bruce’s jaw, enjoying the coarse texture of his five o’clock shadow. She watched her fingers move; pale skin against natural tan until his lips reached out, placing light kisses on her palm.<br/>
<br/>
Pressing herself tighter against him, Sara lifted up to the tips of her toes to kiss him. Moaning, she teased his lips with her tongue until he opened, accepting her invitation. Her hand glided along his neck, pushing up through his spiky hair at the back of his head.<br/>
<br/>
The room was spinning, and Sara was surprised when she found herself pressed back on the edge of her desk. Inhaling deeply, she realized that she had been walked here, or maybe carried. It was difficult to tell, and it didn’t matter. She was now pinned as Bruce loomed over her, smirking.<br/>
<br/>
Smiling back, she quietly marveled at how easily--and quickly--her nerves had melted away. Just a moment ago she was shaking, scared, ready to run away, and now she couldn’t imagine leaving this man behind. No regrets. Silently she promised herself that no matter what the morning’s outcome, she would not be sorry for this night.<br/>
<br/>
For once, she was wanted. Desired. Sara was not a virgin, and yet that night of embarrassment and disappointment was a million years in the past. No man had ever made her feel this way. None. Incredible was only the tip of the ice berg, and though deep down she knew that it would likely be the only night she would ever get to feel this way... she chose to let it be okay.<br/>
<br/>
Tonight she got to be beautiful. Special. A woman.<br/>
<br/>
“Lift your skirt up,” he commanded, his tone having changed from gentle to something darker, coarser. Sara stepped out of her reverie, and gazed up with her big light-hued eyes knowing they communicated all she was thinking—<i>yes, I want this</i>. She smiled shyly, though it was the not at all what she felt. It amused her, however, that he would be so bossy and yet rather than just doing it himself, he gave her a choice. He left it for her to decide how far things went.<br/>
<br/>
Sara loved that beyond all measure.<br/>
<br/>
Offering a mildly cheeky grin, she looked down and gently, slowly, hooked her index fingers under the hem of the dress and the fabric easily gave way rising up her thighs. The moment her dress reached the edge of her buttocks, Bruce hoisted her up to sit on her own workspace—not that she really knew or cared where she was anymore. All she knew, was the man who looked upon her as if she were everything.<br/>
<br/>
Sara was ready to give him everything.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Jul 18, 2017 at 11:15 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Bruce had experienced romantic encounters before, but he remained a jaded man. However beautiful or however willing, the women Bruce had consorted with in the past shared a common trait. They all lacked one aspect of the myriad, composing -- to Bruce's standard -- the perfect woman; they also lacked a goodness: a yielding innocence that would not suffice until they gave until empty, wanting give more. The woman in his care, shifting with sexual response under tracing fingers of exploration, was who Bruce had been searching for all his life.<br/>
<br/>
The length of Sara's legs felt like soft marble under Bruce's hands as they slid slowly upward. Her dress bunched up around her waist as he slowly ran his hands around the skin of Sara's pelvis. The kisses they shared had deepened, and their heads moved to an erotic rhythm that built like an electric charge. A lustful urge sprang within Bruce, and he released her skin to hold Sara's face and adore her mouth with his tongue. She was special -- already, Bruce knew that Sara was the one. As he French kissed the blonde, all of his own disappointments and burdensome memories swelled up, only to pop in easy banishment: his father's designs; latent inadequacy through which he struggled in spite of, compounded by Lucy's firm resistance to settle with him. Lucy's smiling face, framed by dark curls of rich hair, was the last trace of the woman -- Bruce's defining disappointment -- to flag his evening; Sara was his woman now, and she deserved every inch of his vast, unrestrained affection.<br/>
<br/>
"Sara," Bruce whispered. His voice dripped with desperate, erotic intent. He wanted her so badly. Bruce wanted to know her flesh and naked form, then delve deeper learn every possible thing -- the iota of intimacy -- and absorb her very person. He was becoming more intense and adamant than ever before, and his actions illustrated his interior state.<br/>
<br/>
The tiny zipper gradually found its way into Bruce's deft fingers. The downward motion made little noise, just enough for the both of them to hear what he was happening. The zipper stopped below Sara's ribcage and, still speaking his silent passion with his lips, Bruce enticed Sara's chest to rise by skirting the curves of her exposed upper breasts. The firm softness of her chest gave way as Bruce fluidly sank his fingers under the cup of her bra and tugged down. Each of Sara's tits fell out, heaving slighting to her excited breaths. Bruce loved the faint, pale color of Sara's skin, and how red blotches erupted in distinct places as her blood pumped with arousal. "You're mine," Bruce said, quietly vehement.<i> Because I'm so yours.</i> "Lean back on the desk," he commanded.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce lavished his affection over every curve Sara's breasts offered. He wanted her chest still so he could exert his will unobstructed, but Bruce also desired to know whether Sara responded to direction. She had complied with her dress, and he wondered just how far the woman would obey him. Hands flat on the desk, Sara's chest lifted when Bruce ran his finger down her spine. <i>Such a good girl</i>, he thought, as he gazed at her perched tits parted by gravity in seductive presentation. He hummed as his mouth latched onto each of her nipples, his lips assessing the arousing supple nature of her mounds. Bold was an understatement when it came to Bruce and his passions -- he was respectful, but unsubtle. With decisive movement, manly fingers hooked the side of Sara's panties and, slowly pulling each side, they inched off and were stuffed into Bruce's pocket. The black panties belonged to him now, as did the needy woman on the desk.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce ran his wet tongue over every curve of Sara's chest, lapping and flicking her stiff nipples. His stern grey eyes found her blue gaze when his fingers found her dripping need. Bruce had a mind set solely on pleasing Sara that night. The painful thought arrived unbidden that their tryst was a mere dalliance, and that Sara would not want to see Bruce after that night. Bruce felt his heart freeze in his passionate chest -- Bruce wanted Sara in so many other ways. It was then that Bruce realized just what had been missing from his life: he wasn't wanted by anyone. Yes, Lucy would want him after a long dry spell overseas, but found it fit to disregard him and his foundational need for service. Bruce wanted to be needed deeply by a woman of worth.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes raised to Sara as he stood tall. "Spread your legs," Bruce ordered, breathless.<br/>
<br/>
The sound of another zipper permeated their combined panting. Bruce did not need further encouragement as he revealed his enlarged member. The cool office air made his foreskin tingle, but his stiffness ignored the briskness as his head sank steadily into Sara's pussy. Her head looked upright as strong hands found her scalp and gently took hold, his cock stretching her wider and wider.<br/>
<br/>
"You are such a woman," Bruce intoned. "You're my good girl."<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Jul 22, 2017 at 7:34 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div><i>You’re my good girl.</i> Those few words became fleeting and lost amidst their mutual exploration of intimacy. Only later would Sara reflect, and come to understand the meaning behind Bruce’s comment—how powerful the declaration truly was—and what Sara, herself, would become.<br/>
<br/>
Gasping and wide-eyed, Sara marveled as she was filled and stretched until she thought that she would come apart at the seams, and yet she did not. Her hips shifted, and rose to meet, and welcome him. The sensation she felt now, the completeness, had no comparison. She had never felt anything like this before, and even if she did try to put it into words, she knew it would do nothing but cheapen the moment.<br/>
<br/>
Reaching up, she cupped the man’s chiseled cheek, loving the feel of smooth and coarse against her soft hand. “Bruce, I-” she sighed with a wanting smile. She had intended to say something, tell him something worthwhile and important, and yet the thought was lost just as soon as it was formed. Cradled in his arms, he pulled her up, and filled her mouth as completely as he filled her core.<br/>
<br/>
His kiss left her writhing beneath him, wanting more—encouraging him to offer more. God, she needed him so much. Sara had never wanted anything as much as him, and this moment <i>with</i> him. A found piece of her life that she did not know was missing until this very moment. Holding onto him, as he too embraced her, she kissed him back feverously, running her hands along his neck, and shoulders, while he slowly started to slide his penis in and out of her. Sara moaned into Bruce’s mouth, savoring the exquisite sensations that ran along her pulsing, hot body, a sheen of perspiration forming on her pure, and flushed skin.<br/>
<br/>
Running her fingertips along his shoulders, she frowned when she could feel only his shirt. Redirecting her attention to his chest, Sara fumbled as she worked to unbutton the offensive fabric that wouldn’t let her feel and explore his firm, tattooed body. She did not get very far, however, before Bruce pulled back just enough to look down at her with an intense fury that she did not expect. Biting her lip, her insides flip-flopped, and she was suddenly worried that she had done something terribly wrong. Gently, but firmly, the man took her wrists, and pushed them away from his shirt.<br/>
<br/>
Sara braced herself back on the table, understanding his wordless command to remain there—to let him take authority. She held her breath, waiting, watching, and she displayed her surprise the man simply ripped his shirt open, the tiny buttons pitter-pattering across the floor and desk. Heatedly, he tossed the shirt away to some unseen corner of the room: instantly out of sight and mind. With his chest bare, she took the sight of him in from his firm, strong pecks and down lower to his immaculately toned abs. Sara barely noticed as she licked her lips hungrily. She wanted to touch him, to feel the ridges and firmness of his torso. She wanted to explore him as much as he did her, but he made it clear that tonight she would not get that choice.<br/>
<br/>
Perhaps some other night?<br/>
<br/>
Bruce helped her lie back on the desk, then, and his eyes looked to every part of her from her eyes, to her red, swollen lips, and down to her full breasts that splayed out atop her prone form. He might as well have looked into her very soul, and as Sara too looked up at him, she licked her lips wanting him so much, but also happy to be on her back as it pleased him. And, now, he seemed quite pleased as his hands traced from her neck downward until they took hold of her breasts, both of his hands cupping, exploring, worshipping. Sara arched her back beneath his touch, her hips rolling, aching, for more of the sensation and feel of him moving inside her.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re incredible, Bruce,” she said, her voice laced with need and exhilaration and wonder as she looked up to the man towering, and leaning over her. She meant every word, as he made her feel so beautiful. <i>So powerful</i>. She wanted so much more. She wanted all of him, to feel his skin against hers, to feel him filling her until she no longer knew where she started and he ended. “I love how you make me feel.”<br/>
<br/>
His ministrations were slow, but deliberate. It was as if he wanted to make sure that he touched every single part of her; he wanted her to feel him completing her, and soon, they fell into a mutual rhythm, her hips rolling to meet his thrusts. Bruce brought her legs up, hooking his arms under her knees, and she spread her legs wider—not just for him, but for her own desires as well. Sara wanted him; she wanted him to touch her, to take all of her. She wanted him to fuck her, even as the thought itself seemed so terribly cheap and inadequate for the moment; two descriptors that could not be further from the intense exquisiteness of this night.<br/>
<br/>
“Ah yes,” she panted, his strokes growing faster, and more intense, telling him, as much as showing him how much she liked what he did. Sara could not keep her pleasure quiet, her mouth gaping open as she looked up into his eyes, keeping her gazed fixed upon him, exhibiting her unrestrained thrill. Calling out his name again, and again, she was lost with him, inside him, wanting him to give her more, until soon her cries grew wordless, and he too matched her sounds, as they cried out in unison, just as their bodies joined, and moved in perfect harmony.<br/>
<br/>
Sara’s entire body shook as her orgasm struck her. She threw her head up against the desk, and her back arched off the table. Crying out his name, she stretched her arms out to either side, grasping with clawed fingers at thin air. Her muscles deep within contracted around his shaft; tightening, caressing, and what seemed like only a second later, she felt Bruce find his own release, and he shuttered on top of her, bracing his hands on either side of her, pushing himself deeper, and deeper inside her.<br/>
<br/>
It was like tiny explosions, she felt her entire body rock and tremble, a second and more powerful orgasm right on top of the other. She had never felt anything like this: perfect ecstasy, a moment that would last a lifetime.<br/>
<br/>
This was what Heaven felt like.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Jul 24, 2017 at 7:53 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>The cum that passed from Bruce's pumping member felt even more exquisite when Sara came the second time. He felt her legs squeeze up and around his waist involuntarily, and her form crumbled up in unmistakable need. Bruce ended his own ejaculation with a series of short thrusts while still buried deep in her warmth. He held Sara's head against his chest, the tips of his fingers incrementally massaging and assuring Sara's silky, blonde hair.<i> It's the hair of an angel,</i> Bruce thought. He found his stomach clenching nervously as the last ounce of his cum left him, Sara's clenched pussy milking him dry. Had he gone too far, too fast with Sara? Bruce cared little for himself, disregarding his safety in the equation they had just drawn up together. However consumed by lust, Sara was a shy creature. The bliss that rushed through his body like a warm wave must have affected Sara with twice the potency. He knew it did; Sara held nothing back and exhibited her total surrender to the ecstasy that claimed them both.<br/>
<br/>
The plate glass window defined the back edge of Sara's office; Bruce saw his reflection, his face starting back at him. The top of Sara's blonde head nestled under his face, and Sara's pale legs wrapped around his torso. He enjoyed watching himself with Sara and was in no hurry to end their tryst. The city could be seen outside, dark vertical tower spangled with rows of tiny lights from offices, apartments, and stores. The world stood outside, and Bruce felt a sudden, euphoric urge to explore it. He normally kept to his own, as his dad would insist -- the unfortunate product of Bruce being more like his father in more way than he cared to recognize. <i>A man was an island, and there are no friends ... just acquaintances.</i> Bruce hated his father's pseudo wisdom that merely hid his cowardice and spite. Bruce sensed a world of wonder and delight -- a hundred thousand moments of laughter and joy waiting to be found. But, he would not be alone. Bruce kissed the top of Sara's head, stray blonde hairs frazzled and deformed from their intense heat.<br/>
<br/>
The un-stiff mass of Bruce's former erection lingered inside of Sara. He remained bent over her, his minor gyrations grinding upon her still swollen clit with epicurean slowness. Bruce's solid arms held Sara, conveying the assurance in his ardent arms, his heart poised and ready to attend to her with more love than he thought possible. The heat they had shared would bleed out the moment Bruce dismounted Sara. She was nothing less than perfect to Bruce, and he was not finished wanting to spoil her. Gently kissing Sara's flushed visage, Bruce spoke with a voice both hopeful and husky.<br/>
<br/>
"I think you should slip that dress back on and accompany me to dinner." He paused, licking his lips. "After that, you can visit my home for the evening." The warm breath that flooded Sara's ear hinted at the suggestion of what would come next. All Bruce needed was her consent.<br/>
<br/>
"What say you, my beautiful woman?"<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Aug 1, 2017 at 3:02 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Every fluttering kiss he planted on her ear, her cheek, and back on her lips was a cry for “yes.” He surrounded her, kneaded her back, one large hand roaming and pulling her closer, while another brushed out her tousled hair. And still he was inside her. Comforting her from the inside out.<br/>
<br/>
Their lips met again, the kiss so light, but so deep. Gentle, but their lips parted and they tasted one another again as if it was the air they breathed. It was going to be impossible to turn this man down. Sara imagined the rest of their night together:<br/>
<br/>
<i>They redress together—her in her little black dress, and he in his simple but devastatingly stunning gray suit. He wraps his arm around her, and together they step out into the cool February night. They find a small diner where light oldies played in the background and they sit together in red leather booth enjoy coffee, and a midnight breakfast. They can’t stop touching each other, shameless public displays of affection. For hours they talk. Laugh. Share stories and experience with bright, new eyes; fresh and new love.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>It is 4 am when they finally leave the diner, and she slips on the icy sidewalk into an embankment of slush and dirty-gray snow. He smiles down at her, reaches down to bring her back to her feet, only to slip as well; in a heap he now joins her in the cold, damp, frozen mound. They both laugh until they can’t breathe and then they kiss, and slowly freeze to death in the cold, not caring—hardly noticing— as they are merely happy and content to be together.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>They get themselves up, eventually and he carries the rest of the way to his home, putting her down only after crossing the threshold, and then they live happily ever after.</i><br/>
<br/>
It was a beautiful dream, and nothing more. Staying with this man tonight would be a monumental mistake:<br/>
<br/>
<i>They redress, and they walk arm-in-arm until they find themselves at a smooth all-night bar. Light jazz plays in the background under dim lights. Servers walk by with white button-down shirts and black ties. With a amber night cap in each of their hands, they talk. Sara speaks about the only thing she knows: her job, and soon Bruce’s eyes start to wander. They gloss over, and eventually a younger, prettier woman with immaculately styled hair and wearing a stunning, short, shimmering evening gown passes by, with a prowling gaze. Bruce smiles up at the other woman, and fifteen minutes later he is excusing himself, and saying goodbye with nothing more than a friendly peck on the cheek.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Sara never sees Bruce again, and is left with only memories and regret.</i><br/>
<br/>
He would see her for what she really was all too soon. He would grow tired of her—a plain, mind-numbing girl who worked endlessly—and just as quickly as he entered into her life, he would be gone. Like so many others he would want more than she could give; he would feel ignored. Unsatisfied. Sara would be left with only memories of what was, and daydreams of what could have been.<br/>
<br/>
Sara wanted more than faded memories and regrets. She wanted him.<br/>
<br/>
It was the hardest thing she ever did when she pulled back, taking a deep, shaky breath, and breaking their kiss.<br/>
<br/>
“No,” she said, her chest rising and falling heavily against him, “I mean, yes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night.”<br/>
<br/>
Looking up, she gently raked her fingers along the short, cropped hairs along the side of his head. Trying to smile, she needed him to know—to see—that she was not saying no. She was saying yes. Silently, she prayed he heard her saying yes. “I would like to see you again when it is a plan. A date, I mean. A date.”<br/>
<br/>
Bruce sighed, and closed his eyes taking her head into his hands, just as she held him, and together their foreheads touched. Sara felt like she couldn’t breathe, and yet the way he still held her was the greatest comfort. Was it possible to stop time and live in this moment forever? Perfection. But the spell was broken all too quickly, as the man kissed her forehead, and then her lips one last time before stepping away. “Tomorrow night,” he echoed, “a date.”<br/>
<br/>
The minute Sara was alone, she shivered and rubbed her arms. It was terribly cold, and her hands shook as she pulled up her dress and tried to re-secure the zipper into place. It took her several tries, before she was successful.<br/>
<br/>
She picked herself off the desk, having to carefully navigate around the remains of their utterly blissful, top-of-the-world-roaring-heights sex. It was hard to look at and not remember the pleasure, and knowing that now it was little more than a sticky, messy puddle slowly dripping toward the carpet. Sara hadn’t a clue what to think about it—having reveled in the before, and now staring down at the in the aftermath. It was far, far better to act, rather than think or dwell.<br/>
<br/>
Opening up her small closet she took out a role of paper towels, and all-purpose cleanser. Quickly, and ever so carefully she took a square of the paper, and set the roll on a corner of her desk. Only distantly did she hear another sheet of paper being torn from the roll. Wincing, her body seemed to reject the intrusion of such a coarse, cruel material—and yet it seemed to still want something more. Something else. It wanted to be touched again. It wanted him. <i>She</i> wanted him.<br/>
<br/>
Sara inhaled, slowly remembering her Mindfulness exercises, and exhaled again just as slowly. It calmed her just enough to think clearly as she pulled down her skirt and smoothed it out over her hips. Being clothed again helped. A little.<br/>
<br/>
Quietly, she pulled out her phone, and ordered an Uber ride, knowing it was far too late to safely take the train, or bus home. And while she waited, she quietly sprayed down, and cleaned up her desk. Leaning forward over her table, she sensed he was watching her, and when she looked up, sure enough those gray eyes and subtle smirk were right there to meet her uncertain stare. Sara smiled back, shrugged almost apologetically, and finished her task before bundling up to brave the frigid winter night.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce walked with her down to the lobby, their hands automatically meeting and fingers interlacing. His warm hand meant everything to her, and still Sara felt like a fool. Her pretty little dress was now entirely hidden under a large down, fur-trimmed winter’s coat of plain, dull brown that draped well past her knees, and thick silver boots, also fur-lined. She had not bothered to match her outerwear for the evening’s event—she did not expect anyone to notice or care what she wore to or from work. It never mattered before. Besides, Sara hated the cold. Hated it.<br/>
<br/>
It was only a few minutes of waiting before her transport arrived, and it was time to say goodnight. They arranged to meet the next evening at a nearby Italian restaurant at 7 pm. Bruce agreed to make the reservations; then they exchanged their contact numbers, and kissed one last time before he helped her into the car and Sara was alone for her long ride home to Sleepy Hollow.<br/>
<br/>
Sara was halfway home before she realized that the man she kissed goodnight still had her underwear in his pocket.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Work the next day was nothing less than a slow, unending torture. Sleep came only out of sheer exhaustion almost the minute she got home to her small bungalow loft, and that peaceful oblivion was cut short with her standard 5 am alarm. Stretching like a cranky cat awoken too soon, her body ached and protested the movement. The ache, however, was the most wonderful, if not the most unusual feeling. Part of her felt as though she was glowing, and the other part of her felt horrible. A part of her felt like it was missing. She was alone, and that was, strangely wrong.<br/>
<br/>
Rolling out of bed, Sara decided to skip her usual routine at the corner gym, and instead she merely ran on the treadmill until her body was too worn out to care about its newly acquired void. Returning home she quickly showered and dressed in a simple black pants-suit and white shell for what would be a long day at the office; the very office where she had sex. Perfect sex. Mind blowing-numbing-exploding sex. Where she basked, floated, and drowned in powerful, affectionate male. Bruce. Bruce Allen Steele.<br/>
<br/>
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she stared at <i>the spot</i>. The spot where he held her in his arms showing her what Heaven truly was. Absently she reached out, and ran her hand over the surface of her desk knowing that even though it was clean, a permanent mark had been left. No amount of cleanser or wiping would make it go away. Her office would never be the same. Sara smiled at that thought, though whether she was embarrassed, honored, ashamed, elated, or glad… it varied with each passing moment.<br/>
<br/>
By five that evening, Sara was just about out of her mind. It was a day of endless phone calls, opening and closing report investigations, and responding to emails; thousands upon thousands of emails all of which were critically important. Dinner was going to be soon, and this time, she wanted to be ready--to look as pretty as he made her feel. However, she needed a new pair of shoes worthy of the pretty black dress with lace accentuating her hips. She promised him that she would wear it again; and she was already going to be late to an appointment for her hair to be done by someone who actually knew what they were doing.<br/>
<br/>
In a sudden fit of petulance, Sara stuck out her tongue toward the offensive computer screen as six new emails, all marked urgent, popped up on her Outlook. Rather than opening any of them, she locked her computer, and switched off the monitor. With her, her coat, and extra large purse carrying all the make-up she planned to use for the night, she was out the door and off to take care of the only thing that mattered at the moment: herself. And Bruce. She so desperately wanted to impress him tonight, because never seeing him again was… a big fat nope.<br/>
<br/>
Those final two hours had been a mad dash; a decathlon of rushing and navigating the streets of Manhattan that only a master of the Big Apple could accomplish. Hair. Shoes. Makeup. Sara managed, as she always did, and after returning to her office just long enough to change into her dress and new shoes, she dared to brave the evening winter air without her snugly brown coat. And, oddly enough, Sara decided that she didn't even mind being without underwear either. Boy, was she full over her own surprises today.<br/>
<br/>
Ten minutes later she hurried down the concrete steps and into the hidden gem that was the elegant candlelit basement restaurant, Bacaro, at precisely five minutes before seven. Being on time was a miracle. Being early? The Big Guy upstairs was clearly cheering her on tonight.<br/>
<br/>
Her nose was a bright cheery red, as were her cheeks, and she greeted the Maître d' with a smile and gritted teeth to mask and silence the chattering. The Maître d,' with a thick Italian accent, informed her that her companion had not yet arrived, and so Sara graciously accepted the invitation for her to wait at the bar until her date arrived. The Sommelier tending the bar offered her a complimentary glass of their red house wine, and Sara smiled and accepted while waiting. With each minute that passed more butterflies multiplied and danced about briskly in her stomach.<br/>
<br/>
Her hair had been styled in loose, twin braids twisting around to the back of her head, and there twisted in a complex, but intentional mess (or so she figured) with a single pony-tail of sorts cascading down the small of her back. Tendrils of her wavy blonde locks had been artistically left to fly free, and frame the sides of her face, and neck. Her makeup was left rather understated, with light, smoky eyes and a touch of pink, with bright red lipstick that was just bright enough to make everything stand out just a little bit brighter. Sara had never worn such a bold color before, and she prayed that he liked it. Or maybe she looked like a clown. <i>Oh goodness, please don’t let me look like a clown.</i><br/>
<br/>
The final addition to her look, were a set of black ankle boots, cuffed around the ankle with shimmering rhinestones. The find was perfect blend of formal glamour, and sensible seasonal comfort, if perhaps, a bit heavy when worn with the dress. She hoped it would be her only imperfection.<br/>
<br/>
Sara’s appearance, however, was nothing compared to the stunning dining room on display before her. The restaurant was like a dream, old world and natural from the slate stone tiles of the floor to the natural, and original brick walls. A grand, glowing chandelier hung near the bar. It had to be magical, as the dark wood furniture below, the heavy lacquer shining beneath such brilliance. Even with the candles at each table, the room seemed dark and intimate. It was pure and honest romance, bordering on erotic.<br/>
<br/>
She hoped that Bruce would be there soon, before those butterflies ate her alive.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Aug 8, 2017 at 7:10 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Being denied came as a surprise to Bruce, but his patience won out as he nodded to Sara’s concession of delay. <i>Tomorrow</i>. Could he wait that long? He would; Bruce would wait an eternity for Sara to come down from her protective perch and join him. Lines of worry etched lightly in the margins of Sara’s angelic visage, and Bruce could not have missed the undertone of concern in the woman’s voice. Had he known Sara better, he would have demanded answers – not for himself to assuage his priced at denial, but to unearth the discord that obviously roiled within the Sara’s soul. He could have barked and turned belligerent, but that was not Bruce Allen Steele.<br/>
<br/>
He left Sara then, stealing away with the minor wound in his heart, which he would bear in private until next they met. Yet, an indelible gravity made his footsteps feel leaden, slowing to a gradual halt as the elevator doors came into view. The sounds of the gala still vibrated through the sophisticated, architectural flooring, and they masked his about-face, deliberate return of steady pace. Bruce stood silently, like an imperial sentinel, tall and firm. He watched Sara hustling over her desk, hoping to erase the stain of their act with Chlorox and elbow-grease. <i>There’s no need to be ashamed,</i> Bruce thought. Sara slowed her cleaning and her face turned to his, the ends of her lips lifting in a gesture of mild apology. Bruce returned the smile, extending his hand to escort her downstairs to her ride home.<br/>
<br/>
The aged Toyota Tercel that purred to the curbside seemed the most ignoble of coaches to chauffeur Bruce’s lovely Sara. He would have driven her himself, but Sara seemed of a mind toward skittish independence. That urge came not from inner strength, but the needless worry of betrayal; Bruce could abide such weakness, but would not reward it with his conditional company. She entered the Toyota and surrendered a stiff smile; Bruce’s expression – one of solid, content glee – had not changed all evening. After standing in the cold and watching Sara’s Uber ride become a pair of tail-lights that turned down 5th Avenue, Bruce sought his car to drive home.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce was halfway home before he realized that the panties of the woman he kissed goodnight were still in his pocket.<br/>
<br/>
When Bruce parked his car in the garage adjacent to his apartment, he took out the underwear, spreading them wide. His fell, gray eyes examined them. The undergarment was solid, dowdy, and inelegant for a woman as gorgeous as Sara. But still, they had belonged to her and so they were his most cherished monument to her affections. Bruce set them to hang discretely on the stem of his rear-view mirror, smirking as they would remind him of the undeniable love he felt every time he got behind the wheel. Some men and women hung tacky shit, like fuzzy dice and beads – icons that betraying their prole-like taste; Bruce hung Sara’s panties as a pronouncement of his find, his palpable relief at having found a woman of true worth. Some might have wondered if Bruce would worry if Sara might spot them later; Bruce was, in fact, counting on it.<br/>
<br/>
Of all the potential locales to meet Sara, Bacaro alone would suffice in meeting Bruce’s stringent criteria — the stakes were high and much was on the line; <i>everything</i> was on the line. The choice of the Lower East Side venue would prove crucial to their second encounter, and Bruce sought to exert as much control over what Sara experienced as possible. The venue, itself, needed to exude character, ease, charm, and healthy dose of intangible materiality: the overhanging timber supports, the exposed brick partitions, the stone foundation walls. They were all real, not hidden artifacts behind edifices of insubstantial glitter. Bruce’s emotions and intentions for Sara were quite real, and he wanted the honest, expressive weight of the place to speak for his ardor and soul. The décor afforded calm conversation, without pressure or restraint, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to provide Sara with an evening where she felt cradled, nurtured, and relaxed – these sensations were what Sara needed, in Bruce’s estimation, and he would do all in his power to provide them. He called ahead, verifying that the heating unit was operational and asked about the average temperature during the evening hours. Bruce went a step further, texting Sara a seemingly simple question.<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">BRUCE STEELE</span></span><br/>
<i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">What is your favorite type of wine?</span></span></i><br/>
<br/>
To which, Sara responded almost immediately.<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">SARA BLUM</span></span><br/>
<i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">Something a little sweet?</span></span></i><br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff"><br/>
BRUCE STEELE</span></span><br/>
<i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">Wonderful. See you tonight.</span></span></i><br/>
<br/>
Bruce could not hinder the growing smile that dominated his face like a romantic war machine. <i>Of course</i>, Bruce told himself, reflecting upon Sara’s reply. The woman had a love affair with sugar, though not to her detriment. The fact was stored away in the apt and ready databanks of Bruce’s mind, for he intended on memorizing each and every preference the woman had on any topic. Bruce called Baraco once again, insisting that the top five labels of Riesling, Gewürztraminer, and Rosé be made available for that evening. When the bar manager informed Bruce that liquor orders were placed on Mondays, Bruce proffered a thousand dollars for them to scour the City for the fifteen bottles. “And, I expect them chilled by 7pm,” Bruce finished before hanging up.<br/>
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<br/>
Traffic seemed to conspire against Bruce as he drove to Bacaro that evening. Every light turned red upon approach, and the pace of movement crawled before stopping periodically. Being late made Bruce insane with anger, though his traffic woes paled in comparison to the lack of parking. The original garage he intended on parking at – a mere block walk from Bacaro – was closed for re-surfacing that evening, forcing Bruce to circle about, engaging in more traffic, to find adequate parking. Bruce ended up calling a friend who worked in the area; the friend, in turn, gave Bruce the numeric code to his corporate parking spot in a five-story garage. <i>Bottle of Scotch for Ted</i>, Bruce thought as he took hold of Sara’s present and quickly glided toward the elevator. He found himself on Division Street and soon entering Baraco’s front entrance.<br/>
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The atmosphere that met Bruce’s entrance was precisely what he had hoped to find waiting for both he and Sara. Bruce endured the hostess, his gray eyes already locked onto the back of Sara’s form. A swelling urgency gripped Bruce, and he forced himself to breath in a controlled meter in time with his soft gait. He crept, were he honest with himself, for gifts were best delivered when least expected. Sara faced the bar, and the red rose floated into her field of vision. The feel of warm, loving lips caressed and landed softly on Sara’s right ear.<br/>
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“You look stunning, Sara,” Bruce intoned.<br/>
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Bruce kissed Sara yet again, this time closer to her face. The petals of the red rose grazed her throat and dragged – long and slow – down the front of Sara’s chest, nestled in the valley of her breasts before lifting once again. Bruce leaned upon the radius-ed bar edge in front of Sara, he smiled in satisfaction. He had been trying to exercise patience all day long, and the moment of reward had finally arrived. Bruce swept his eyes over Sara’s form, her dress and appearance, finally resting on her face and visage. The hand holding the rose stem surrendered it to Sara, and his composure shattered at the sight of her: the sexy, black dress, her delicate make-up and braided hair. Gray eyes never wavering from her blues, Bruce placed his open palm – exposing the tattoo on his right back of hand – upon Sara’s bare knee. Bruce leaned in close to Sara, breathless at the sheer beauty Sara possessed. His lips met her lightly, in tender love – a hint of the passion they shared the previous evening, and what Bruce hoped to share after dinner. A second, teasing kiss focused on Sara’s lower lip.<br/>
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The Maître d' stood behind Sara at a respectful distance. He cleared his throat, respectfully. “Sir and Madam, your table is ready.”<br/>
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Bruce’s face still hung in orbit near Sara’s features, gilded in sexual temptation. The fire of passion smoldered in Bruce’s eyes. He slowly stood and regarded the Maître d', holding his arm out and weaving Sara’s arm about his.<br/>
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“I do hope it’s private,” he addressed the Maître d'. "Lead the way.”<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Aug 16, 2017 at 3:52 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Swept away in a candlelit gale, Sara found herself imprisoned in the tempest of Bruce’s power and overwhelming force. Abruptly, his eyes bored down into hers as he drew close, and tasted her wine-stained lips. Her hand rose up, but held not the rose, but the tattooed hand that held the rose as it tickled and teased along her throat and over her breast— the feel of his bare skin so warm it set fire to her very soul.<br/>
<br/>
Dear Lord this was hardly the place for such a display, and Sara was suddenly acutely aware of the strangers surrounding her; parties of friends, family gatherings, and co-workers come for fine dining and a relaxed evening after a long week of work. Sara locked her blue eyes up against his gray stormy, ready to speak a word of greeting, acknowledgment, graciousness. She merely smiled at him like an idiot—a melting idiot—and her imagination flashed with every single way this date was going to go wrong:<br/>
<br/>
She would spill wine on his fine suit; they wouldn’t find anything to talk about, or suddenly they would find they had zilch in common. Everything would become awkward. Uncomfortable. Boring, Or worse, flat out frustrating. They would disagree and argue, and Sara would find herself on her way home alone, and disappointed.<br/>
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<i>Please, God, no disappointments tonight. Sara- you can do this. Just calm down, and do everything right. No mistakes. Just be perfect.</i><br/>
<br/>
It was not easy for the girl to reconstitute herself from the puddle of goo that had been seated at the bar. Flooded with feeling and desire she needed every ounce of Bruce’s support to keep her steady as they strode behind the maitre d’ through the small, intimate dining room. Twice, Sara managed to drop the single red rose that had been gifted her, and twice she managed to kneel down, legs together and balanced on the balls of her feet to retrieve it. Her legs trembled the entire time, and Sara had never been more grateful for the tiny moments of grace granted to her in that moment.<br/>
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Their table was nestled back in a small, arched alcove of the dining room where the amber radiance from twin sconces were dim, and shadows against the old world brick were long. A single candle glowed as a simple elegance inside a frosted glass cylinder amidst the arrangement of wine flutes, folded napkins, and pure white saucers; a nestled little table, set just for two.<br/>
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Bruce did not have to ask Sara to move, as they took their seats; her chair legs scratching against the stone floor unceremoniously as they met together on the same side of the table, and neither of them wasted time as they shared a single menu to decide their course for the evening. The conversation was all business, as Sarah chose a shrimp polenta entrée, and Bruce ordered a pasta and duck ragu. Together they agreed upon a simple appetizer of meat, cheese, and of course, wine.<br/>
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When finally the couple was left alone, Sara looked over at her date, smiling, even as she took a sip of her vivid, yet sweet Riesling she knew would pair well with her food—thanks to her mother’s passion for wine. As she set her flute down, she placed her hand over Bruce’s that had been resting on her thigh for quite awhile now. That his hand was there did not bother her in the least—in fact, it was having quite the opposite effect, and if she didn’t find a way to douse that persistent inner fire soon, the night was going to become more than a little embarrassing.<br/>
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Gently, she coaxed the man’s hand off her leg, and entwined her fingers with him. The feel of his hand in hers was honestly… not that much better at all. It was suddenly far more intimate than she imagined and did very little to clear her addled senses. Oh well, she thought as she fought to form a coherent thought through her own heady haze—points for effort?<br/>
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“So, Mr. Steele,” she mused smiling at him, her nose scrunching slightly against half-moon eyes, “you seem to know quite a bit about me, already. Tell me something about you.”<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-size: 10px"><i><b>MerlotBeauty - Aug 21, 2017 at 7:26 PM</b></i></span>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>Placing his hand upon Sara’s leg had meant many things to Bruce. The gesture was meant as a sign of affection, but it implied much more. Any action that Bruce undertook was intentional and calculated – there was no such thing as an accident when it came to his transactions; regret bore him little use. Bruce could hardly contain his joy – his nascent arousal – at Sara’s choice to wear her black dress once again. The memory of unzipping the side enough to expose her breasts and tugging the skirt up to penetrate her left a smoldering pleasure within him where his ejaculated cum had resided the night before. Dominance took time to develop properly, and Bruce regarded himself as a master of erotic insinuation – incurring signs of want that never offended, yet left little doubt. Nothing less that the total ownership of Sara’s heart would suffice, and Bruce planned on moving in – relentless – until Sara’s heart was his dominion. Thus, the laying of his hand upon Sara’s leg constituted a form of claiming, though the act contained a modicum of strategy. The dress Sara wore presented two different legs to adore: the side farthest from Bruce showed the touch of black lace with a high-cut slit; the side nearest Bruce remained covered from Sara’s hip to her just above her knee. The feel of the fabric under his fingers would be all Bruce needed to stake his claim. Striking out for the exposed side of her thigh would have been crass and classless; this evening was about affirming that the previous night was not a fluke and that Sara was not a dalliance.<br/>
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The heart in Bruce’s chest seized the instant Sara lifted that hand, and he feared she would instill a nonsense mandate of “distance” between them. But, as her hand turned in place and their fingers intertwined, Bruce felt his heart – if anything – grow for the beautiful, young blonde. A roguish, lop-sided smile took hold of Bruce’s lips, and he found himself lost in Sara’s blue gaze. The question that Sara asked should have been expected, but it took Bruce aback. His reaction came even and controlled thanks to decades of fighting for every scrap of decency and respect he ever earned. Bruce existed as a force of forward motion, ever probing and testing limits. Sometimes, in his dreams, he saw himself as a cavalry commander in some war, leading a pack of mounted warriors skirting the periphery of dangerous territories, seeking skirmish and advantage. There was so much he could tell Sara, and the darkness of his heart crept up, but stopped at his throat.  He swallowed those treacheries down. <i>Another time</i>, he thought. Sara had all the trappings of a suburban existence: middle-class values, middle-class propriety, middle-class taste; and yet, her goodness called to him as strong as it did at the gala event. Bruce sensed Sara’s expectations – the way she chirped so adorably, innocently – but, he did not want to send her screaming from the restaurant.<br/>
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“About me?” Bruce asked. He sighed. Caginess would only breed suspicion, and … were he honest … Bruce did not want to hide anything from this woman. She would learn everything about him in due time. He released the hand the Sara held, sliding his arm behind her shoulders on the leather upholstered bench they shared. Bruce brought his other hand to replace his other, feeling a sudden loss at the momentary loss of contact. As their fingers laced together once more, Bruce felt as if a part of their spirits intermixed in free-flowing love.<br/>
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“I’m originally from Pittsburgh. And, to suit the stereotype, I worked at my father’s metal scrap yard. I spent my youth salvaging steel for re-sale and re-casting at my father’s industrial yard. I had a knack for finding the best parts no one else spared a second glance. But, working labor wasn’t my calling. I wanted more – I needed to break free of my dad. So, I ran off to college. Now, I’m here … with you.”<br/>
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Bruce smiled as he let his soul release in a confessional rarely shared. He calmly drank the Lagavulin Scotch whiskey set before him, calmly studied Sara’s reaction. The earnest intensity that defined Bruce returned like a tornado that scoured deceit.<br/>
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“I must admit that I’m not keen on sharing my past, but I want no barriers between us. If you ask me anything – ever – I will always answer you and tell you the truth.”<br/>
<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Sep 21, 2017 at 1:35 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>No. Sara frowned, casting her gaze down and her teeth gently digging into her bottom lip. She upset him. Made him speak of things he didn’t like. Heaven help her, she made him uncomfortable. Unhappy. It was not what she was supposed to do on a first date.<br/>
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So much for perfect.<br/>
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It was something she could fix, however—sooth the savage beast. It was a cliché to be sure, but apt as she desired, more than anything, to fix her mistake. Sara needed to make him happy again. Divert the evening, and make it something that didn’t end in awkward regrets.<br/>
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Sara forbade herself to think too much, or to do anything other than act as she looked into dark-cloud eyes, where amber light reflected in an intimate dance against the black. Her gaze lingered only the span of a rapid heartbeat before she leaned in close and pressed her lips against his. She didn’t know that her hands now held his face, at least not until she her fingertips felt the smooth of cheeks, offset by the coarse stubble of his cropped, yet well-groomed beard.<br/>
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The kiss wanted to be more. She wanted to be more; Sara wanted to show him how much she wanted <i>them</i> to be, and that she was willing to wait for him—however long it took for him to be ready.<br/>
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Heat shot through her nervous system, a direct line of electricity that ignited her very spirit until she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, clamping her legs firmly together as if others might spy her clear and present arousal. This was hardly the place for such a display. Why did this man affect her like this? She loved the sensations brought by his touch. She feared it, too.<br/>
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Even as her lips drew away from his, their foreheads remained pressed lightly together. “I don’t ever want to make you sad or uncomfortable, Bruce. Share your story only when you are ready. We have all the time in the world.” Sara licked her lips, as she spoke breathlessly to the man she held. In that moment she started to forget where she was, or their purpose for being there. The first course of their meal was already growing cold at their table, having been served quietly while they kissed.<br/>
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<div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>MerlotBeauty - Nov 26, 2017 at 5:05 PM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥​</div></div>
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</div><div style="text-align: center">​</div>Breathless. Entranced. The presence of Sara's lips and love so close to his own threatened to ignite a solar flare to eclipse all others. The care in Sara's blue eyes made Bruce discard all fears and past pains in effortless temptation. Bruce wanted nothing more than to lose himself in this woman. The concern in those eyes flowed both ways, and he sensed that Sara responded against his own reticence.<br/><br/><i>I don’t ever want to make you sad or uncomfortable, Bruce. Share your story only when you are ready. We have all the time in the world.</i><br/><br/>Bruce had heard the plates landing in front of them, and their scents wafted up while they shared kisses that grew deeper and deeper. The way their foreheads touched epitomized the tender nature of how they just<i>felt </i>about one another. Bruce dragged his nose along the line of Sara's bridge, kissing the soft skin under her eyes. His arm slipped behind her back as his lips hovered near her ear, his voice an earnest whisper.<br/><br/>"The same goes for you."<i>Kiss</i>. "I can't change the past, and I'm not fond of sharing it. But then ... I've never found someone worth sharing it with." Goosebumps riddled up and down the man's arm; Sara's mention of their longevity wished that the restaurant and patrons could vanish in an instant -- he wanted to gratify Sara in the most intimate ways right then and there. He smiled. "I wish I could have done everything with you," he said, "but, I'm thankful that you're with me now. I think you're perfect."<br/><br/>A parting kiss on the lips signaled a reluctant separation, and the food upon the table called to them both. Bruce grinned. "Allow me," he said quietly. He took each of their napkins -- starting with Sara's -- and laid it upon her lap with the care of a butterfly landing upon a flower petal. His hands spread the napkin smooth, following the contours of Sara's leg. Bruce fixed his own napkin upon his lap, grasping his utensils and cutting a slice of Filet Mignon. The fork levitated over the plate for a moment, and then paused before it made the journey to Bruce's mouth. An interested eye glanced at Sara.<br/><br/>"Would you like a taste?" he offered.<br/><div style="text-align: right"><i><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Rhizome - Dec 6, 2017 at 10:45 AM</b></span></i>​</div><div style="text-align: center">♥♠♥<br/>​</div>She slowly chewed and savored the shrimp, drenched in a white wine sauce with just a hint of tangy lemon—holy smokes, it was delicious! Had she been home enjoying this mean, or even remotely capable of cooking anything so fine, she might have devoured it while caring nothing for manners or refined eating habits. It took a fair amount of concentration to remain the lady that she was expected to be.<br/><br/>Sara dabbed at the corners of her mouth gently with the napkin Bruce had taken such care with arranging on her lap. Looking down at the cloth, it was silly that she felt even a little twinge of guilt as she used, and then placed the object of his affection back on her lap. Should she have used it at all? Was there a special napkin etiquette she didn’t know about? No touching it when the date is chivalrous and polite?<br/><br/>Ugh. That was going to bother her for at least an hour. It should have been a triviality.<br/><br/>Smiling over at Bruce, she nodded, sparing only a brief glance down at the expensive cut of beef. “Certainly.”<br/><br/>Of course, even as she was all too ready to accept, she soon realized her folly. Such moments were a staple of sappy, romantic movies: tender silence between the lovers sitting in candlelight. The camera angles would bounce from him to her, and back to him again. The food would look perfect as it was placed onto the fork (chocolate, of course, or maybe a perfect piece of red fruit). In the movies, in any fantasy really, it should have been a perfect moment.<br/><br/>Sara was certain that she was going to muck this up terribly. She would try too hard and suddenly find herself assaulted by the metal fork. The mishap would leave her with a bleeding wound, upon her lip or chin. It would be the very antithesis of sexy. Or even worse, the beef would fall into her lap, and permanently ruin the dress Bruce seemed to love—not to mention the evening’s mood would be lost. Anything and everything was about to go wrong with this plan.<br/><br/>The room was suddenly too warm as she watched Bruce cut a new triangle before slowly dragging in slow tracing circles around the melted, buttery sauce. Licking her lips, she looked at her date with a smile, hoping that she didn’t prove that she was a complete and utter failure for a date.<br/><br/>Without realizing it, she was clutching that napkin again, and then staring at the small piece of beef as it made the grand journey from the plate to her mouth. She licked her lips briefly before opening and allowing the gentleman to place the savory meat upon her tongue. Carefully, she closed her lips as the prongs of the fork were pulled from her lips,after.<br/><br/>She let the flavors rest for a minute.<i>Dear lord! </i>Slowly, she savored every sensation that danced along her tongue, and she could not take her eyes from Bruce. Despite all fear, and the ever gnawing certainty that she would cause some epic calamity at the simplest of invitations, it was a perfect evening. Bruce was a perfect man.<br/><br/>“Oh, goodness,” she said, carefully covering her mouth as she spoke, her eyes widening as the flavors were absolutely incredible. “That’s incredible.”<br/><br/>She didn’t deserve him at all, but there he was. With her. Dining with her. Sharing his meal with her. She, of course, reciprocated his invitation, but true to male form he smirked at her whimsically and swiped a shrimp off her place with his own fork. Sara couldn’t help but laugh (with relief as much as mirth).<br/><br/>It turned into a splendid night as the couple fell into the ease of comfortable conversation, humor, and friendliness. Sara lost count of the number of time she laughed, and she never got bored of listening to his cool coarse voice that was filled with life and experience. Their hands touched often--as did their lips--and through the various courses of their meals, and her ever full glass of wine, Sara didn’t notice how they inched closer together. Their gazes leaning closer, as the meal drew to a close.<br/><br/>With a contented sigh, Sara could honestly say that she was well satiated, and utterly at ease as she laughed and shared the end of her most embarrassing college experience. “I was, at this point, well into my fourth glass of jungle juice. Most of the students were done with their finals, and so I just quietly helped myself to the punch bowl off and on while I was studying like crazy for my last final. At the time, of course, I had no idea just how… powerful the drink was, but it tasted like normal Kool-Aid, and I figured just one more cup before I headed out to my last final of the semester. But as I rushed to the admin building, the buzz suddenly hit me. Of course, naïve as only a 19 year old freshman could be, I told myself it was just pretest jitters.<br/><br/>“The only thing I remember about that final is when I finished I raised my number two pencil in to the air, and shouted: ‘I solemnly swear that I just aced this test.’” Sara laughed as she polished off the last of her wine. “Everyone looked up from their test booklets, and after a very awkward pause everyone in the room started cracking up, and a few even started to clap and cheer.<br/><br/>“The TA just stared at me, absolutely horrified as he lost control of the entire room. Slowly he just nodded, said ‘oh, umm, that’s… great Sara.’<br/><br/>“Well, sufficed to say, I did not ace that test, and the professor told me the next day that I was lucky not to be placed on probation for my behavior.”<br/><br/>Sara never shared that story before. Perhaps it was her third glass of wine that made her so bold. It didn’t matter, and she loved that she was so at ease with him. Looking down bashfully, for the umpteenth time, she truly hoped that he was having a good time as well.<br/><br/>“Desert?” The server smiled respectfully toward the first-time couple from across the small table, and Sara looked up at him, remembering all too well the menu’s description of signature cheesecake drizzled in a one-of-a-kind raspberry-infused chocolate ganache. Sara smiled at Bruce, and shrugged questioningly. Did a restaurant even permit orders-to-go?