Trivial Pursuits Ch. 13

"Clinic?" He hummed affirmatively against her skin, eliciting a shiver down her spine in response. "What clinic? What for?"

"For us. To get tested."

Alessa slowly froze against him. Denny reluctantly lifted his face from her neck. His fingers were sweeping a few stray strands of her hair from her temple before he placed a pacifying kiss there.

"What's the matter?" he asked softly, though he knew the answer.

"Tested? As in a blood test? For...STDs?"

He nodded gently. "It's important to not have any unresolved barriers between us. That reminds me, you should probably set up an appointment with you doctor," he suggested, again in a casual and unaffected manner.

Alessa was still reeling from the reality that sexual intercourse was imminent, that she would soon be sharing body fluids with another human, and so was slow to understand his meaning. "My doctor?" Denny was fascinated by her disoriented response to the conversation. "What for?"

He smiled wickedly as he leaned in to growl in her ear, "Because when I fuck you, I want to come inside you. Without a condom."

Alessa's cheeks instantly pinkened and her breath caught. He started placing warm kisses below her ear and along her jaw line and neck as he continued arousing her with his words. "Can't you imagine what it will feel like from the inside? To feel every inch of me so deep inside you that you don't know where you end and I begin? Don't you want me to fill you up when I come?"

His lips were grazing her ear, his hot breath causing her to shiver. "No condoms, Sweetheart." And then he was stealing her breath once more, pulling the life right out of her. When he eventually broke away, they were both breathing harshly, his forehead resting against hers. "I don't know how much longer I can wait," he confessed, his voice raw as he stroked her hair back. "Go to the doctor. This week if you can. Okay?"

Though apprehension was thick in her gut, she nodded, no other reply coming to mind.

Late the following afternoon, Alessa found herself sitting stiffly next to him as he thumbed through a report for one of his cases. She too had brought work to the clinic, but unlike him, she had no capacity to think of anything in the sterile environment. That all their physical intimacy should be founded on clinical procedures made a dispassionate whiteness settle cold and heavy inside, a second-guessing, surreal disconnect.

The night before she had lain disquietly in bed, tossing and unrestful. It had begun to surface gradually, the vague notion that she was his experiment, merely a woman he wished to sleep with, a challenging psychology project to rehabilitate, much like a traumatized pit bull. She accepted that whatever relationship he planned on building with her, it wasn't quite real, just practice, just a case study. And somehow, that belief provided a layer of protection around her heart, a framework to distance herself just enough. In spite of the unacknowledged sting. She continued to wrestle the confluence of such pulling and uneasy thoughts instead of looking at the files on her lap.

But then his hand, which had been draped around the back of her chair, was running along the her neck, up and down, pacifying her anxiety without the light banter that she would have thought characteristic of him. She looked at him, but his eyes were roving over the pages before him, his hand seemingly acting of its own volition. And for a moment, she felt the sharpness leave her stomach, the cold knot melt as her eyes closed and she focused on the newly appreciated pleasure of another touching her.

And then his name was called by the round woman in dowdy scrubs, and blinking at the disturbance, she watched him pack his things and disappear behind the closing white door, leaving her to uphold the weight of all the things in her head in the cold, white room. Eventually it was her turn, and when all the violating samples had been collected and she was freed to leave, Denny was waiting for her. In silence they drove back to the office, where she said her dinner and a ton of files awaited her.

Denny left her to get as much of her work done as possible, but when he was headed out at ten and saw her desk lamp on, he walked over, expecting to find her busy with some report. Her fingers were clacking rapidly on the keys, but when he was within eye shot, he saw it wasn't a document she was typing. His surprise was evident in his voice.

"Is that Mario Brothers?"

His abrupt question made her jump, before she slammed the lid of her laptop closed and spun around to face him. "Don't do that!" she admonished breathlessly.

She was clearly surprised, but he was more interested in the fact that his straight-laced, bookish girl played video games. "Open that back up," he instructed, pulling an adjacent chair around to sit next to her.

"Denny, I--"

"Don't argue, Alessa, and just do it." He had briefly wondered when she would simply begin to comply instead of automatically raising an objection to everything.

With an uncomfortable reluctance, she opened her laptop back up and signed back on. Her screen was flashing with a paused game.

"It is Mario brothers," he said with a grin full of wonder. "I wouldn't have thought you would waste your time with this sort of thing."

"I don't consider it wasting my time," she defended. "It's just a break to free my mind a moment."

"So you're not a gamer?" he teased.

Though she rolled her eyes, he saw her smile. "Hardly."

"I think I remember this game. From the first Gameboy, right? I didn't realize you could play it on the computer."

She shrugged. "It's not the greatest quality, but it's kinda fun, you know, reminiscing."

"Okay, Allen, I challenge." When she frowned and made a confused sound he expounded. "Me. You. This game. Top score in five minutes wins." He turned to look at her thoughtfully, a devilish gleam in his eyes. "But what to wager?"

But she balked. "Denny, I really have to get back to work. I was just about to stop any way."

"Nonsense," he countered, not allowing her to miss an opportunity to spend a little fun time with him. "It's past ten, unless you have something due first thing in the a.m., you should stop. And don't argue," he cut her off. "If you won, what would you like?" he offered, luring her in.

She studied him a moment, her features tinged with apprehension. Denny saw an answer flitter across her eyes before she contained her expression and shook her head. "Nothing. Just to be left alone to get my work finished," she answered, turning back to her desk.

"What did I say about lying?" Denny asked lowly as he leaned in, his voice dropping in pitch until it vibrated through the pit of her stomach.

She couldn't look at him immediately, but when she finally gathered her courage, she turned her flushed face to him. "My feet hurt from these heels," she supplied honestly. A small smile curved the corners of his mouth as he tilted his head in question. She breathed deeply before finishing her request. "I want a foot massage," she forced out.

Denny didn't smile, but Alessa could see the pleasure there all the same. "Very well, we wager your foot massage against my neck massage."

"Time?"

"Five minutes per foot, ten minutes total on neck, and we better make that shoulders, too." There was a pause before she gave a single, conceding nod.

"Okay. Best score in five minutes."

"Deal. And since you've been playing, and I don't remember this game very well, I reserve the right to go second."

"Fine," she agreed and turned to restart the level. Over the next five minutes, Denny's attention was split between making mental notes of obstacles and appearances of villains and watching Alessa's expressive face as she concentrated at the keyboard, her eyes glued to the screen, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He chuckled a few times when she made a mistake, her nose crinkling in disappointment. At the end of her run, he admitted he had quite a challenge ahead of him, and despite the competitive nature that cringed at the prospect of being beaten by a girl, his desire to freely touch any part of her body consoled him greatly.

In the end, he fell short by several thousand points, and with a great sigh, reclined back in his chair. When he looked over at her, he was surprised by the excitement she barely seemed to contain. She was biting her smiling lips, and her body was nearly humming. And then she cracked the first, gloriously youthful smile he had ever seen. She struggled to hide her glee, but failed, and on impulse, he congratulated her by grasping the back of her neck and leaning forward to kiss her full on the mouth.

When Denny pulled back, her smile had melted to apprehensive uncertainty, which she attempted to recover from by clearing her throat and looking back at her computer. Though he wasn't quite certain why, there was something decidedly delicious about her startled responses that made him ravenous.

"I suppose to the winner go the spoils. Massage?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm not really in the mood for one right now. Besides, I think a foot massage at the office would fall under one of those behaviors Macrae warned us against."

"Nonsense, you wanted a foot massage because your feet hurt now. And to hell with Macrae. No one else is here."

"I'd rather not," she continued to argue, still not looking at him.

"Too bad, all prizes must be claimed at time of winnings."

"A. that wasn't part of the original deal, and b. if that is the case, then I'd rather just forget about it altogether."

"That's not happening," Denny stated, disallowing her attempt to avoid the mild intimacy. "In fact, I think we should go into my office, shut the door, and you should let me reward you properly."

Her stiffening body language clearly stated that was at the limit of her comfort, and so, before she could deny him outright, he stood and, taking her by the hand, pulled her with him.

"Denny, what are you planning?" she asked nervously.

"Only rewarding you, my little gamer."

"Yes, but how exactly?"

"With my hands."

Alessa took a deep breath as he guided her into his office and closed the door behind them. With a flick of his wrist, the privacy shade rolled down, covering his wall of windows facing the office. For a moment it was dark, and then a light at the opposite side of the couch went on, casting him in gold and shadow.

"Come," he invited.

She was still uncertain about the entire notion, preferring to not engage in any type of intimate act, let alone in the office when they had been specifically warned against it. But perhaps she could keep him to only a ten minute foot massage and then could make her excuses and leave before anything got out of control.

She sat warily and then watched him position himself at the opposite end of the couch. His body was angled to hers and he held open his hands, obviously indicating she was to lay from one end and rest her feet on his lap at the other. Gingerly, she turned herself, bringing her feet up as she kicked off her black heels. Thankfully, she was wearing black stockings, offering at least a veiling coverage.

But to Denny, the shapely legs that had been his long-held obsession were finally stretched out before him, and dressed in the sexy, black hose he thought the scene was anything but modest. He kept his approval to himself, knowing it would only make her self-conscious, if not right out refuse the offered massage. He found her feet cool, but not ice cold, and felt a whiskey-burn in his gut as his fingers finally touched her.

Alessa was tense as she felt the first graze of his fingertips making the initial contact, somewhere between a tickle and an itch. But then his teasing fingers trailed around to her arch and applied more pressure, effectively digging in to the aching places. Within seconds, she was melting under his masterful hands that rubbed the ache and pain away and replaced them with warmth and pleasure.

Though it was perhaps a dangerous position to be in, she couldn't help the closing of her eyes as her body flooded with the delicious sensation of his massaging hands. It had been ages since she'd had a proper foot massage, maybe over four months since the last time she'd taken Cadence to get pedicures as a reward for her spring track season. And now, to have such pleasure gifted from another human, her defenses were melting fast. Each deep stroke created a glowing pleasure to wave through her.

Denny's strong fingers even worked the sides of her feet and up onto her ankles, manipulating the often tight tendons developed from her nightly runs. And then his firm fingers were on her shins, kneading the small ancillary muscles alongside the bone before wrapping around to the back to dig deeply into her calves, hitting small knots here and there, pushing and circling to release the built-up tension.

She had never realized how stiff the tissue around her knees was before his fingers were there, rubbing loose all the tightness until her skin could glide over the hidden structures freely. And how had she neglected the sides of her thighs, she pondered, as his hands found the tight bands there and pressed firmly to glide up and up.

And then Alessa's head snapped up as her hands grasped his when she felt his fingertips hit the edge of her skirt that had ridden up her legs.

"That's not my foot," she husked out in alarm.

"No, but I bet it would do you little good for just a foot massage if we neglected the rest of you," he murmured, his eyes never leaving her legs.

Alessa watched him for a few heartbeats. "Stay out of my skirt," she warned as her hands slowly released their grip.

His mouth did a conceding twist, as if indicating he could work with that, and so she lowered her head back to the arm rest, but kept a watchful eye on him. Still focusing on her legs, he resumed his massage, pushing in deeply to the supple flesh. When he was satisfied with the tight band down the sides, his hands moved to the tops, pressing no longer with the heel of his hand, but squeezing with his fingertips.

Though her muscles were melting like butter under his ministrations, the touch was becoming decidedly more erotic and she thought more than once she should stop him. And then she felt the edge of her skirt catch on his fingers and move up her thighs, exposing the tops of her stockings and the straps of her garter belt.

Again her hands caught his, and when Denny finally looked up at her, her breath stopped and some deep part of her liquefied.

"You said to stay out of your skirt. You didn't say anything about moving it out of the way."

"Denny," she warned, but couldn't quite muster a firm rebuke.

"Trust me," he whispered. At length her grasp loosened again, but her hands never left his. He began to slowly rub her again, the skin of his fingers finally meeting the skin of her thighs. He squeezed and kneaded the silky flesh, moving up her legs and closer to the juncture there, all the while her hands stayed atop his. He assumed it was to stop him if need be, but there was something absolutely erotic about her hands on his as he touched her.

At last his hands lay at the tops of her legs, his thumbs stroking her skin just under her bunched up skirt. He knew he was close as he could feel the large tendon of her inner thighs that connected to her pubic bone. So close, he could feel heat spilling from her core. He felt the slight tremble of her legs under his hands.

She was watching him, her eyes half-closed but wary, her mouth opened slightly, her breath kicking out a wisp of her hair with each rough exhalation. She wasn't ready, he realized that. He didn't want her to just feel good, he wanted her to crave it, to demand it.

He wanted her ravenous.

And so he kept his touch relatively tame, only stroking to fan embers, to soothe discomfort with the intimacy, but not press his advantage. And after a time, she seemed to calm under him, even her hips with the slightest of undulation gave her away.

He pinched the edge of her skirt and pulled it back down to cover the top of those fucking sexy stockings.

"I'd say that's been your ten minutes," he said, trying for levity but the huskiness of his voice betrayed him. "Let me take you home," he asked, siting up from between her thighs.

Alessa watched distraught as he righted his appearance, rolled down his sleeves, straightened his black suspenders and stood ready to leave.

"I think I can manage," she said, swinging her legs off the couch and slipping on her heels. She was embarrassed with how easily he aroused her, how close she was to giving in.

"Not doubting your capability to look after yourself. I simply want to do something nice for you. And I want to see you home safely."

"I'd rather not," she murmured, standing. She was striding away from him, intent on going back to her desk and gathering her things, when a hand grasped her about the arm and swung her around. She looked up shocked as she nearly collided with his chest.

"Stop arguing," he instructed tersely a split second before his mouth landed on hers. His lips instantly slanted over hers and his tongue was there, stroking for admittance. Aroused as she had been, Alessa put up little resistance and allowed him to overwhelm her. When he pulled away, he growled, "Now, get your things, I'm taking you home." He pecked her once more and turned her to send her off. She blinked in irritation at how easy it was for him to get his way. Though, as she went to do as bid, she wondered what was wrong with his way.

On the drive to her place, Denny tried to make tentative plans for both of them over the weekend. She didn't know if she was grateful for the out or not, but she declined stating she had plans to go to Walnut Creek to spend time with her mother. He spontaneously reached out to hold her hand. She didn't know how to interpret the action and so remained quiet as he brought it to his mouth to kiss it. He then asked to keep the next weekend opened for him.

Her immunity to him must have been building, because, though swirls swept through her stomach, she recovered enough to fake disinterest and state she would have to confer with her calendar. He only chuckled and kissed her hand again, before resting them together on the console between them.

He texted her throughout Saturday and Sunday, sharing random tidbits from his days, asking her questions that made her think, or giggle, or roll her eyes. It was her fifth text Sunday morning when her mother, Eileen, finally asked, "Who are you texting that keeps making you smile?"

They were laying on her mother's bed, both full from the delicious breakfast Alessa had made her. Though she offered her mother a smoothie with plenty of veggies, Eileen had opted for Belgian waffles with homemade maple syrup instead. Alessa was dressed in baggy gray sweatpants, a white tank and a loose, unbuttoned plaid flannel shirt. She looked up from her phone, her smile dimming. She instantly tucked it under her leg on the other side of her and looked at the TV.

"No one. Just someone from work."

"Really? A male someone from work?" Eileen pried.

Alessa attempted a disagreeing smile that came out more like a grimace. "A friend. I told you about Rachel Louise, Lou, right? Well, she was the one who helped me with my hair and makeup for the party," she replied, still not looking at her mother, seemingly distracted by the cooking show. Eileen's eyes were skeptical, but she didn't push the matter further, understanding her daughter had secrets that weren't easily prized from her.

Her weekend with her mother was over too quickly; it had been nearly a month since she had made the twenty-five mile drive out to see her. And as Eileen wasn't feeling well, they had spent the majority of the time in her cluttered, tiny room, much to Alessa's relief, and out of the company of Bill.