To My Real Rose: Smile for me.
* * * * *
Sunday night in Blacksburg Virginia. Summer. No screaming hoochies walking around. No drunken frat boys. The police roam the streets, wishing the peace would last. The River's edge was sparsely populated with locals who enjoyed the lessened presence of students. Harold Masters sipped his cider slowly, his eyes lazily scanning everyone as his internal clock ticked off the seconds. 23:30. Finishing his cider, he rose to leave, his chocolate skin wrapped in black: tee shirt and denim pants, with a fisherman's hat topping his skull.
He made his way to his car, an all black Honda Civic. Heavily armored, and with an engine most college kids would kill to own, it was a drug runner's wet dream. Harold had left the Game years earlier, his paranoia and skill earning him near god-like status in Blacksburg's underworld. Powering up the engine, he headed for Roanoke... and a meeting.
At the airport, he waited patiently, his eyes hidden by the dark shades he wore. Security looked at him carefully, wondering why he wore sunglasses at midnight. Still, he never did anything suspicious, so they resolved to watch him closely.
He saw her instantly, her hair dyed blonde and wearing the rose red dress they agreed upon. Even so, Harold was amazed. Full breasts threatened to rip the fabric. And her hips swayed just right. She carried a large black bag and a suitcase, barely enough for her weeklong stay. Not that she would be wearing much clothing, he thought with some amusement. Rising slowly, he made his way towards her, knowing full well security was now on full alert for anything out of place.
* * * *
Rose Wynter searched the crowd for her friend. She knew approximately what he would look like, but also knew he was a master of hiding in plain sight if he wanted. She searched for his chocolate form walking towards her. She had just turned her hear to the right when she FELT his presence. A warm comfort that could only be her Scally. She smiled, yet did not look at him. When she did, several things immediately caught her attention.
He wore shades, keeping his eyes and emotions hidden from normal vision. She saw through it immediately; he was nervous and excited. His walk spoke of a seasoned street warrior: confident, careful and ever alert. He smiled as she eyed him, the corners of his lips twitching with effort to control his excitement.
"My Rose..." Spoken real-time, not over the phone, Harold sounded like a bastardization of a gutterpunk and a politician, with a healthy dose of scholar thrown in for added good measure.
She dropped her bags and ran to him, hugging him close to her body. The sheer amount of sexual energy between them nearly overwhelmed her, forcing her to focus on everything BUT his strong arms around her. He freed himself, grabbed her bags and they headed to his home.
The ride was swift and filled with talk. She asked him about his car, getting only the most scant information about it. He never liked talking about material things; they never seemed to matter much. Once at his apartment, he helped her get settled into her room before returning to his own. An all black door guarded his Den of Thieves. She respected his privacy, removing her dress as she locked her door. Something told her he could see her, however. So she made it as erotic a display as possible, wiggling more than was necessary.
Down to only her bra and panties, Rose was shocked to hear a knock at her door. She wondered if she should put something on, then decided against it. Ever the flirt, she wanted to see his reaction. She unlocked the door and opened it. There stood Harold, clad only in boxer-briefs. Black. His hands held two glasses of sparkling wine.
"It's a Riesling. I hope you enjoy. Come out into the livingroom when you're ready, My Rose."
"Help me remove my bra?" she asked. Her eyes flashed as they caught sight of the HUGE bulge between his thighs. He followed her gaze, a small smirk pulling at his lips.
"Sure," he whispered. Rose turned around, knowing full well she had on a front snap bra. Her nipples were painfully hard. She loved teasing... especially before a night of good sex.
Not that it was planned. She KNEW they would have sex. It was a given. Yet she wanted to remember this time with her Scally. His hands slid up the small of her back. Totally unnecessary, but very welcome. She sipped the sweet white Riesling slowly, letting her arousal grow slowly. Not slowly enough for Scally it seemed; he was definitely guiding the course of her arousal. His hands seemed to let the warmth flow along her body, even to her fingertips. Moaning softly, she set the glass onto the dresser, swaying gently to his caress. When he got to where the bra snaps should be, his fingers did not hesitate.
"Hmm. Must be a front snap device. Let me see..." His last words were only gusts of air against her neck. How he managed to move so silently still puzzled her.
* * * *
Harold enjoyed the game Rose played. While new to flirting, Harold was indeed a master of seduction. Years of watching spaghetti westerns, kung-fu action movies and cartoon had fairly warped his young mind. Yet a strong sense of self was able to use this twisted thing and create a truly dangerous child. One who was decades more mature than he should have been. Then Fate placed him in the Projects. Ghetto. Sprawl. Different words.... Same scum and filth. Somehow Harold managed to rise above it all. In the process he learned secrets about seduction and power and control.
His hands slowly slid along Rose's back, making lazy, unpredictable patterns on her flesh. Once or twice he would let her feel only phantom touches of his fingertips. Each time she seemed to shift slightly, longing for... and dreading... his touch. Harold felt his own lust rising, but refused to allow it any measure of release. Not yet; they had an entire week together.
"Hmm. Must be a front snap device. Let me see..." Harold slid his hands just over her heaving breasts, pausing only to tease her nipples through the silk fabric. Rose groaned and leaned forward slightly. He continued to only allow her those phantom touches.
