Punching Lessons

"I. Am. Tipsy." She corrected. "Do I have to kick you again?"

"Only if I can kick back," he said.

"Hhmmpfh," she sounded her disapproval and she fiddled with the lock on her door.

"That's entirely fair," he said and he walked in after her. "You've got two kicks in already, I'd say that's equal to a punch."

"Those were just warm ups," she said.

He stepped in and looked around the small, cluttered room. It was full of stuff -- books, CD's, magazines, plants, paintings, posters and picture frames -- but it was not terribly dirty. The centerpiece of the room was a fuzzy purple loveseat, and its partner in crime, a tiger striped coffee table, complete with built in ashtray. The loveseat faced a large aquarium full of brightly colored plastic fish

"Bold decorating choice," he remarked.

Stella nodded. "When you find priceless pieces like this at a garage sale, you don't just walk away." She stood awkwardly for a moment, and then remembered her duties as host. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Water, please".

"No problem." She went to the kitchen to turn fill two glasses. When she returned he examining a piece of her artwork on the wall.

"This is a fascinating piece," he said. "but it needs a little breathing room on this wall."

The night kept getting stranger. Never did she peg Garret as a guy who'd be interested in art, or decorating.

"How do you mean?" she wanted to see if he was full of shit.

He shrugged. "This painting has such energy, such weight. Alone on a wall, I think that would be evident, but with all this other stuff around it, it looks like scrambled eggs."

At the mention of eggs, Stella's stomach rumbled. "Jesus, I haven't eaten since breakfast," she realized aloud. "Are you hungry?"

Garret's eyes lit up. He was not a chef who was detached from his work -- he loved food. "Yes I am," he agreed.

She could only offer a stale tortilla or week old moo shu leftovers, and suggested they order a pizza. He seemed about to agree but had a better idea. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be back with something better," he said while donning his jacket. He was out the door before she could argue.

She paced around the small space for a minute, unsure of what to do with herself. Whatever was happening, she didn't want to think about it. She grabbed the book off her nightstand and curled up on the loveseat, just to stop pacing. It was hard for her to concentrate on the words, though.

Garret knocked as he let himself in, "Stell-la," he sing-songed, "guess what I got?" He saw her curled up on the couch and stopped her from getting up. "Just wait there for a minute," he said, and brought his brown paper bag to the kitchen. She heard him fumble around, opening and closing drawers.

"Wineglasses?" he called.

"Mason jars," she answered. "Above the sink." Wine?

"It just occurred to me all the goodies that were leftover from tonight, just sitting in the walk-in all lonely and ready to be eaten," Garret said as he set down a plate full of fine cheeses, figs, and olives. Another plate held slices of french bread she had just baked that morning. "And can you imagine all the people that buy a whole bottle of wine, but only drink a glass or two? It would be a shame for that to go to waste," Garret reasoned.

A slow smile spread over Stella's face as she took in the feast. "Yes it would," she said and he settled next to her on the small couch. He was close enough to feel the heat of his skin next to hers.

He filled their mason jars and they toasted to the Easter Bunny. "The one fella I haven't totally ticked off yet," Stella said.

"How do you tick off the Easter Bunny?"

"Dye your eggs black and become a pagan?" she guessed.

Garret smiled warmly at her, and she felt color rise to her cheeks. The food provided a welcome diversion.

They sampled their dinner slowly, savoring the complexities of the cheeses and the lushness of the figs. "You make the best bread," Garret complimented. "The crust has a crispness to it, and inside is pillow soft."

"Thank you," Stella said, almost demurely. It drove him crazy how she could do that, go from hard to soft, smart to silly, without a hint of fakery. She would make a terrible actress, he was sure.

The wine washed the cheese plate down, and suddenly Stella felt more sated than she had since she could remember. "Can I put some music on?" he asked.

"Go ahead."

After careful deliberation, and mockery of the gag gift Milli Vanilli album he had somehow managed to find from its hiding place, he put on an old swing compilation album. The first song was lively and set her at ease.

He moved over to her bookshelf. "I'm nosy," he announced, and begun pouring through the titles. "It's amazing what you can learn about a person from snooping," he said.

"Finnegan's Wake? I'm impressed that you even have it, and will feel downright stupid if you've actually finished it, so I won't -- what have we here?"

In a matter of minutes, Garret had managed to find the most embarrassing items she owned. He had in his hand a truly terrible romance novel that a friend had passed on to her for its camp value.

"Can't a person keep a gag gift?" she argued.

"Likely story," Garret said with a devilish look. "This book has been read a thousand times, though, so I won't buy it," he said and opened the tattered old book at random. "Camilla had never been so offended in all of her life, as short and sweet as her life had been. To think that --"

"Stop! Put it down," Stella cried, embarresed because she had actually read the book. Twice. It was funny.

"To think that Demitri would consider her such a loose and immoral lady made her blood boil, and --"

Stella had gotten off the couch and was grabbing for The Pinkest Sunset. He was quick at turning his body to avoid her arm, and she could not move around him fast enough. He turned to another random page.

"Her loins had never been so tender, or moist," he laughed with delight, "and he could sense it, like a tiger senses his prey."

Stella had no other choice. She tackled him from behind, and as he was propped up on his knees she was able to throw him off balance. He fell onto the rug and she made a dive for the book, but crawled over her to beat her to it.

She lay on the ground, defeated. He knelt over her, book in hand. "Shall I continue?" he asked with a smirk.

Her blush was endearing. "Since you like it so much, you can have it. I'll make sure the guys in the kitchen know your taste in literature, so they make the right choices for you birthday presents and such."

He dropped the book, grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the ground, straddling her. "By all means," he said sweetly.

Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her ribcage. A dense second passed, the book forgotten. "Close your eyes," he quietly commanded.

Her world went dark. All she knew was the warmth of his thighs, hugging hers, and the musky spice of his skin. His grip on her wrists loosened, his fingers lightly traced the lines of her palm, and wrists.

He lowered his mouth to her ear. His breath tickled her hair. "Stella," he whispered from somewhere deep in his throat. "Stella," he said her name as if it pained him, "I don't know what is happening, but I don't think I can stop it," he said.

The corners of her mouth turned up in a serene smile. "Then don't," she said.

His lips were a little chapped, but they were full and warm and tender. Their mouths met first as a question of how best to please each other. The answer was ravenous, the hope having been sparked into need like a prairie fire. He sank down, pressing his body into hers as his mouth devoured lips and tongue. She answered by hugging his weight closer to her. She lifted her hips up into him and he groaned. He was already painfully hard.

His hands brushed down the curves of her sides, and back up again, taking her sweater with it. She wore a see through demi-cup bra. He wanted to take his time and savor her, but it was no option.

"Bedroom," he said, out of breath, and helped her up. She led him to the foot of the bed. "You are so sexy, Stella," he whispered before his mouth found her collarbone. She mewled as he suckled her sensitive neck, every point in her body was an electric pulse leading straight to her core. She did not hear her bra drop to the ground, but it was a whole new plane of ecstasy when his tongue met her ultra sensitive nipples. Her trimmed nails dug into the muscles of his back.

"You like that, do you?" he asked.

She moaned her response but she needed more. She needed all of him and she needed it now. She reached for his pants and worked the buttons while he toyed with her breasts. She rubbed his bulge through the pants before she yanked them off and he lightly bit her nipple. A wave a pleasure coursed through her; she felt him tugging at her jeans, his mouth and fingers never leaving her breasts. She was dizzy with such pleasure that she could not contain her voice.

They shed the rest of their clothes quickly and tumbled on to the bed. There was no hesitation, no tentative motions. They were only heat and fluid energy, ready to be connected.

Garret found Stella's pussy to be dripping in arousal, she opened her legs for him so wide and sweet. She was so close to the brink that a few soft circles over her clit was all she needed to shout his name for all the neighbors to hear.

He tried to give her a moment to recover, nibbling at her earlobe. "Now, Garret, please," she urged him.

His cock found her entrance and eased in. She was so tight, and he was so large, that he pushed in slowly, stretching her with a fullness she'd never felt before. She was so wet that he glided slowly in, and out of her with ease. As he rode her gently, he reached up to squeeze her nipples.

"Ooohhhh Mmmmm," she moaned and bucked her hips, urging him to go faster.

He increased pace just enough to drive her mad. She squirmed underneath him, opening as wide as she could to take him more deeply. "Yes. More, give me more," she moaned. "Please, now," she finally begged.

He broke their bond for a second and flipped her over onto her hands and knees, and entered her swiftly from behind in one powerful thrust. Her moans reached another level of urgency as his cock met with new depths. He held her hips steady as he jackhammered into her with unparalleled urgency. He reached around to rub her clit and her whole world exploded into a ball of white heat. As she came her cunt clamped around him in spasms, milking hot spurts of his seed deep into her.

It took them both a few minutes to catch their breath, for their hearts to relax to a less frantic beat. They settled into a few sweet kisses and a tight embrace before they were carried off to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Stella woke with a warm fuzzy feeling that radiated outward. Before she opened her eyes she replayed moments of last night and smiled ear to ear.

But as she drifted into consciousness she knew something was wrong. There was a cold space next to her, where Garret should have been. All the warmth that had been just a moment ago was instantly replaced with ice. She felt so sure that it was more than sex. A headache came on along with the urge to put to use that punching lesson.

But that wouldn't make the ache in the center of her chest go away. It was as if someone had slammed a sledgehammer into her heart and just left it there. She numbly walked to the bathroom, bemoaning the fact that they worked together and she would have no choice but to face him. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself. She sat on the toilet and cried herself silly before she saw the note taped to the mirror.

Stella

You don't know how sorry I am that I can't wake up in your arms this morning.

Thank you for the fantastic fuck last night. I will surely spend all day thinking about making love to you, tonight.

Garret

ps. Happy Valentine's Day