Trivial Pursuits Ch. 15

"I think that's enough reward," she panted with a faint smile.

Denny was panting, too, as he looked at her. He smirked. "Maybe," and then slowly rose from the floor, mindful of the lingering pain in his thigh. He gave a few swinging stretches before helping her up as well. "Need to shower first?"

"Kidding?" she asked with a cocky grin as she started walking without him. "Didn't even break a sweat." He chuckled after her, and the tension that had been there before seemed to evaporate as they stepped on the elevators and he swung a chummy arm around her neck, pulling her into his side. He even kissed her on the top of her head as she laughed. Once in his apartment, she put on a sweatshirt and stated she was fine going in what she was wearing, to which he agreed likewise.

The run for food was surprisingly uneventful, except for the thirty-second argument over who could buy the food. Alessa objected to Denny paying for everything, to which he simply remarked he enjoyed it. She countered that he wasn't her father and she wasn't comfortable with him 'taking care of her,' she flourished with air quotes. His final response was that at the moment he was attempting to woo her, and they could discuss future arrangements. She finally relented and tried to ignore her embarrassment as the woman taking care of their order eyed her curiously.

Upon their return, Denny suggested they set out all the food on his sushi dishware. They had chosen food to share instead of their own individual orders, and she was just able to subdue the excitement of sharing with him. While she plated the rolls and seaweed salads, Denny lit a few candles and warmed the sake.

When she brought the food out, the dining room was dimly lit and music played somewhere in the background. She felt the instantaneous rise of that long-developed sense to fight his romanticism, but as she had been doing for the past two weeks, she forced the response down, choosing instead to enjoy his company.

At first they only spoke of the food, commenting on the freshness of the fish and the uniqueness of the salad's dressing. But eventually, Denny began questioning her about the cases she was working on, subtly requesting she open up and share more about herself. At first she only talked in generalities of the cases, sharing factual details, but eventually he coaxed more revealing thoughts from her, nuances of not only her approach toward certain types of clients and casework, but hints of her underlying philosophy. Some of the remarks she made reminded him of their conversation at the auction. He could sense her connection to those with hard-luck lives, not because she was sentimental and optimistic, but as if she had experienced trials of her own.

After dinner, the two stood side by side in the kitchen washing and putting away the dishes. As Alessa drained and rinsed the sink, Denny stood behind her, wrapping his arms about her. His hands slipped under the edge of her t-shirt to graze over her taut skin. As he nuzzled in her ear, she felt her stomach tumble as she tilted her head to the side and allowed him to kiss her.

"What's next," she asked as she kept herself from teetering off the edge and into his strong arms.

"Mm," he began with his lips still pressed against her, "I was thinking about another game. And wine."

"What game?" she asked, tamping down her excitement.

"How about poker."

She rolled her eyes and turned around in his arms to give him a sardonic smile. "Weren't by chance thinking strip poker, were you?"

He returned her smile. "Oh, I'm sure I'll get you out of your clothes one way or another."

She felt her face heat as her smile melted.

"Maybe you will," she answered somberly.

He kissed her then, but it was over quickly, and even as he pulled away to go back to the living room, she had to take a few breaths to calm herself.

She expected to see him back at the glass coffee table, but was momentarily baffled when the room was still dim and he was nowhere to be seen. She walked down the dark hallway to where his bedroom light shone from.

"In here?" she asked, watching him retrieve a large lap tray and unfold its legs.

"Why not? Be more comfortable."

"Mm-hm," she hummed, unconvinced by his reasoning. She sat down anyway, angling herself toward his side of the bed as he set the little tray between them to serve as a card table. He picked up the deck laying on the bedside table. Arranging himself comfortably next to her with the little tray between them and his back resting against the headboard, he took out the cards, which she realized were all black. At first she wondered how you could even read the markings, but then saw that while the surfaces of the cards were glossy, the actual markings with the numbers and suit were dull and easily discernable.

"So, I don't have any poker chips."

"Then do we just play hands with no bidding?" she asked sorting through her cards.

"Well, we could. But I was thinking we could make more interesting."

"Interesting, huh? And what did you have in mind?"

"How about truth-or-dare poker. Each hand played, the loser has to submit to truth or dare."

"Any end goal?" she asked cautiously.

"Oh there's an end goal. But it doesn't need naming."

She was silent as she considered it, her interest and wariness tempering her decision. "Any penalty for refusing to answer or complete a dare?"

"Well, that's not really fun to refuse, but let's say if you do you take a shot of tequila," Denny suggested casually.

Alessa made a face of disgust for the tequila idea, but in the end agreed. "Elch. Fine then. But I'm not really a poker player. You'll have to refresh me on the rules."

Denny stated they could keep it simple with just five-card draw, and then he enumerated the hierarchy of winning hands until she had it down. He dealt, and quite quickly the first hand was played. She won with a pair of threes, a shy smile twisting at her mouth as she laid the winning hand down.

Denny gave a dramatic sigh, and then leaned back against the pillows. "Very well. I choose truth."

Alessa's mind was instantly littered with a thousand naughty things she could ask, but she suddenly realized she actually knew very little about Denny. Not Denny the successful lawyer, not Denny the junior partner, not Denny the amazing kisser. She knew little about Denny the man, the person.

"Where did you grow up?"

There was a flash of surprise and then pleasure in his eyes. He smiled. "Just outside of Redding. Our ranch was primarily cattle, but we had other livestock and a good patch of alfalfa and rye."

She remembered him telling her how his grandfather had all but forced his dad into ranching, but she never made the connection that he must have grown up on a ranch himself. "Go back often?"

"Not as much as I'd like." He chuckled. "Not as much as my mom would like."

She pursed her lips in understanding, nodding her head slowly. After a silent moment she said, "Okay. Another hand?"

"You bet." He gathered up the cards and handed them to her to shuffle and deal. She won again, and much to her chagrin, Denny chose a dare. Alessa sighed as she failed to grasp something worthwhile. She knew the point of the whole set up was to lead towards more physical intimacy, but she wasn't quite certain how to proceed. A few racy things scrolled through her mind, but she wasn't quite ready to attempt any of them. Then something embarrassing, perhaps.

"I dare you..." she began slowly, "to stand up and perform a death scene."

Denny could only look puzzled.

"You know, like a scene from Macbeth or some famous movie."

Denny was smiling incredulously at the clever, unexpected request. Hiding his smirk when an idea popped into his mind, he stood up from the bed and went to stand at the large space at the foot of the bed. He took a silent moment to collect himself, standing still with his head bowed as if channeling the ill-fated character he was about to portray. Alessa leaned in, the quiet of the moment drawing her in until she sat rapt.

In a sudden and dramatic move, Denny's head snapped up, his crazed eyes staring at the ceiling as his hands wrung themselves over and over. His voice was shaky and high-pitched as he said with great flourish, "Oh! You cursed brat. Look what you've done!" He began to slowly bend his knees, making his stature shorter and shorter. "I'm melting! Melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness." He was nearly in a full crouch, as low as he could go, and on a dying voice whimpered out, "Oh, I'm gone, I'm gone, I'm going. Oh. Oh." And here his head hung down in death and the finale of the scene.

When Alessa had first realized what he was portraying, she had smiled in amusement, and now with him dead she was laughing and clapping. "Bravo!" she cheered. "Very convincing performance."

Denny had stood and was taking a bow before joining her back on the king-sized bed. "Thank you, my dear. I am happy to see you truly appreciate fine performances," he drawled as he picked up the cards and began shuffling.

She was still laughing when she asked, "How do you even know that?"

"What can I say? I had a younger cousin, Spencer, and he loved that movie. When they'd come to visit on the weekends we ended up watching it at least twice."

Alessa was still smiling, and perhaps it was her distracted focus that caused her to lose the next hand. When Denny looked at her questioningly, she stated, "Truth," with an expression as if she were bracing herself for something painful.

Denny narrowed his eyes at her before he sported an evil half-grin. "Tell me, Sweetheart, do you always keep yourself so...well manicured, or was that special preparation for this weekend?"

Alessa's eyes went wide and she looked forward away from him. She cleared her throat, and though her face was pink, she braved an honest answer. "No, I usually keep myself...tidy," she answered on something of a shaky voice with a breath of relief when she finished answering.

"Why?" he questioned with a smile.

She took a breath to answer, but had no words ready on her tongue. She finally looked at him, slightly puzzled herself. "I suppose, in a way, it was my expression of my sexuality. I don't date—"

"Correction, you didn't used to date," Denny interjected.

She fought rolling her eyes. "Right. I wasn't dating, wasn't having sex, but like you've pointed out, I instinctually still wanted my sexuality, even if it was to myself. So I shave and I wear underwear I think is sexy. It makes me feel desirable, even if it wasn't for anyone but myself."

Denny was quiet as he considered her words. Alessa took the deck and began her turn of shuffling and dealing. The game continued on, with each losing a near-equal amount. Denny had to disclose if he had ever cheated on a girlfriend; he had not. Alessa had to detail her most embarrassing moment. Denny had to share both what he would do if he had only twenty-four hours to live and what he would have Alessa do if she were his slave. Both answers filled her stomach with heat as they both involved her naked. She had to confess if she ever watched porn; rarely.

She was through two glasses of wine by the time Denny won a hand and she was brave enough to go with dare.

Denny didn't comment on the length of time it took her to submit performing something for him, undoubtedly afraid it would be of the sexual nature. He decided to compromise.

"I dare you to fake an orgasm"

Her eyes were wide and she was instantly blushing. "Right now?" she nearly whispered.

He chortled. "Yes, because you sure as hell won't be faking when you're with me."

"I-" she started but couldn't seem to finish. She was shaking her head in disbelief. "Denny, I can't...I don't know how to fake that. What does that even mean?" She scowled as she contemplated the prospect of the embarrassment to come. "You're just being cruel," she accused.

He smiled playfully. "Nah, I just think it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard."

"What?"

"When you came around my finger," he reminded her.

She felt molten. And then erupted in a self-conscious laughter. When her giggles of discomfort died down, she made the mistake of looking into his intense eyes. "I dare you," he said slowly.

She huffed out a defeated, angry breath. "Fine," and after a second looking around, she stated firmly, "but you have to close your eyes."

Denny was tempted to give in, but decided he didn't want to miss anything, knowing there would be more than just her voice to listen to. He slowly shook his head.

She tensed up as if she were about to refuse, but surprised him by scooting down in the bed so she could lay her head on the pillow. "Fine," she growled, throwing her head back and closing her own eyes. Denny waited patiently as she calmed herself down, breathing more slowly, deeply, her hands clenching and relaxing by her sides. He could tell she was trying to work herself up, to get comfortable with the feeling and muster the bravery required to make her moaning voice the only sound in a quiet room. Her feet moved restlessly up and down, and then she stilled. Her breathing came more quickly, a rhythm of several shallow and then a deep.

Her breathing was harsh enough to be audible, allowing her to ease into the performance. Denny thought he heard a noise like a moan deep in the back of her throat, but wasn't sure. Her head turned away from him, almost sensually. Her hands were gripping the blankets beneath her, balling them up in tormented fists. And then he was certain he heard a moan followed by another.

Her body was slowly coming to life, writhing subtly, but gaining in rhythm and momentum. Her breathing was interspersed by moans and the occasional sexy whimper, and she couldn't seem to go long without biting her lip. Her head was rolling back and forth on the bed and her chest and back began to rise off the bed as her moans grew in furor.

Denny was slowly hardening at the erotic sight of this woman writhing in front of him, but when she whispered his name, her head back and neck long, he was instantly rock hard. He felt himself leaning in towards her, despite being separated by the damn lap tray with the cards strewn on it, and drew back so as not to disrupt her concentration.

She was getting close to the climax, he knew, by her increased breathing and the intensity of her expression. Though it was only a performance, the little minx was actually doing a decent job, better than over-the-top pornos, but it was still no comparison to her response to him the night before. He hoped her performance would have an equal response on her own body as it had his, arousing her without ever being touched. And then she was calling his name more forcefully, her body straining, her head arched back and hands fisted in the twisted duvet.

When she went limp, her breathing was a little faster than was typical, and though she didn't truly have an orgasm, her face was flushed from either embarrassment or true arousal. Denny finally worked around the lap tray to bend over her. When her eyes snapped open, he kissed her.

"You're so fucking sexy," he growled, before sitting back on his side.

Alessa cleared her throat and quickly scrambled to sit up, her fingers combing through her hair and brushing it over her shoulder in effort to regain some sort of control over her body. The humiliation of the task coupled with the nature of her performance had had a great effect on her body, and she had to concentrate to pretend she was not as aroused as she was.

"Whose deal?" she attempted nonchalantly, but failed when her voice shook.

"Yours, I believe," he answered, watching her, still aching at the sound of his name as she pretended to come.

She nodded and took the deck in a trembling hand. The next round went even worse for her than the previous, and as Denny held a straight to her pair of fours, she was forced yet again to choose. She was about to say truth as the last dare had nearly been too much. But while it had been a challenge, there had been a rush or endorphins from facing something so mortifying, and she had become aroused without real fulfillment.

"Dare."

Denny knew an addict when he saw one. His smile sent a bolt of pleasure through her body; she knew he would make it good. "I dare you to let me draw you. Naked."

She felt the breath leave her, as if she'd been kicked in the gut. "Shot of tequila," she said instantly, remembering the alternative.

"Easy out," he countered, the slightest note of condemnation in his voice, as if her cowardice disappointed him.

She was blushing so hard her skin hurt. "Fine."

Denny gave a nod and small smile. "Good." He stood from the bed and took the tray. He set it down on the large desk as he left the room only to return a minute later with a large drawing pad and a few pencils. Instead of returning to the bed, he sat in the cushioned club chair that was positioned off in the opposite corner. His intense gaze directed at her, he instructed her to stand and take off her clothes.

She appeared to draw in apprehensively, but stood slowly nonetheless. Reaching for the bottom of her workout shirt, she drew the material up her torso. After a brief pause and deep breath, Alessa pulled the shirt off and tossed it bravely onto the chair near her side of the bed. She stood still only a moment as she allowed the frissons of fear to settle away, and then slid the tips of her fingers inside the top of her running pants. Though she had meant to be perfunctory with the whole ordeal, the great mental effort she poured into concentrating on quieting her nerves caused her movements to be slow and purposeful, almost seductive.

The alternating sway of her hips as she shimmied out of the tight black leggings was not lost on Denny, who sat with rapt attention despite his struggle to contain his ardent excitement. She stood before him in just her black sports bra and gray, lace-rimmed panties. Her hands clenched several times at her sides before she reached for the bra and, crossing her arms, pulled it over her head and off. Alessa gave a stuttering breath to stand more exposed before him than she had before anyone else in her life.

But the truth was that Denny had already seen her breasts—thoroughly-as he had made love to them the evening before. Unfortunately, the knowledge wasn't enough to encourage her to proceed with divesting the last of her garments. Her hands moved as if to take off her underwear, but they were shaking so visibly, she pulled them back tight to her side.

"Denny, I don't think I can do this," she confessed on a weakening, quivering voice.

Even with her head down, he could just make out the lines of mortification on her face. His heart swelled with pity for her. "Alessa," he spoke, forcing her frightened gaze up. "Sweetheart, you can," he declared resolutely. Though the tension seemed to ease just slightly, she still wore her apprehensive expression. "Have you any idea how much pleasure you give me? Just by looking at you?"

That did it, he knew, watching the breath leave her body and the blush that had been staining her cheeks spread downward to cover her revealed breasts. "And once I'm naked?" she asked with more confidence.

"Lie on the bed. I'll tell you how to position yourself then."

Her eyes took in the plan and then she nodded. Unhurriedly, her thumbs caught on the edges of her panties, and with a last breath, she eased them down from her hips, skimming her thighs and then released them to fall to the floor. She turned to sit on the bed, and after a pause, laid herself down, finding a comfortable position for her head on the pillow.

Once she seemed settled, Denny readjusted himself as he sat, his erection throbbing for attention had become distracting now that her unintentionally provocative strip tease was over. Denny's chair sat at the angle of the opposite corner from her, so he had her shift so her body was at a less awkward angle.