I looked at my watch. Ten to eight. The Metro Sainsbury's on the corner would be closing soon and I had no gin. Throwing on a coat, I took the elevator down to the lobby and ran out into the drizzly street. May in London. Love the weather. A car pulled up beside me and a door opened sharply, almost knocking me off balance.

"Watch out, will you?" I retorted. It happened so fast that I wasn't sure I hadn't imagined it. Arms round my shoulders jamming them against my side and something over my mouth and then...

Something hard was underneath me. My mouth felt dry and my head was muzzy. Where am I? I wriggled and found I couldn't move easily; something was restraining me. Was I wrapped up in the blankets? Was this a nightmare? I just couldn't open my eyes...wait a minute, they were open! I was blindfolded. Then it hit me. I was tied up and blindfolded and lying on a cold stone floor. What?

Working my way into a sitting position, I backed up until I hit the wall and had a think. My wrists were sore and my arm throbbed where I must have been sleeping on it. Pulling and twisting on the restraint seemed to have no effect; it was rope and tied securely. I exhaled sharply and decided to think. What was going on? Why was I here? Where was here?

OK- blindfold first. I rubbed my head back against the wall up and down and then against my shoulder...finally the cloth moved and fell around my neck. It was an irridescent pink silk scarf- how bizarre! The bad guys had taste. Then I looked up and nearly fainted. Sitting against the opposite wall in a similar position looking at me with an impassive face was Terry Thorne.

"Good, you managed that all on your own," he retorted sarcastically.

"What is going on?" I asked suspiciously.

"You tell me," he answered unhelpfully.

"How did I get here? Where is here?"

"Same way as I did. What happened to you?" I told him. He had a similar story. Locking up his car in an underground car park below his hotel, he'd been jumped. Reckon they used a needle or he would have made more of a fight of it. Next thing he knew he had woken up here and found me asleep on the floor.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I was enjoying the peace and quiet."

I pulled a face. "Funny. You could have helped me to a more comfortable position. My arm hurts."

"Mine too. I'm tied as well or haven't you noticed?"

"Yeah but this is what you do- you must know some Houdini tricks. And I thought you always carried a knife."

"They must have searched me. I've nothing on me."

"What's going on, Terry? Is this something to do with your job?"

He shrugged. "Possible but unlikely."

"Why do you say that?"

"The silk scarves are a giveaway. They are either a clue or an oversight. Either way...I think we need to step carefully here, love. This cell is bugged and there'll be a camera. You can count on it." He was scanning the room as he spoke.

"Why would someone want me and you? I don't understand."

"That is the real clue. No one would...unless they... Fuck, it has to be Dino. And if it's Dino. It's the girls, too. We've been set up by the Scoobie Gang. I think they call it Immersion Therapy. Put us together in a sealed room for 24 hours and we either kill each other or...well, we don't. Get the picture?"

"What? You load of fucking bitches!!" I turned to try and fix my gaze on the hidden camera. "I'll fucking kill you! You are dead!"

Terry started to laugh, a low chuckle that echoed through the room. "Got to get out first if you want to kill them."

I surveyed him. "OK, smart arse- then, how do we get out of here?" 

He cleared his throat, looked around and said. "You seen Gladiator?"

"Course I've fucking seen it! What's your point?"

"The only chance we have is if we work together." He quoted the lines with a fake Max voice. I rolled my eyes.

"So, what do I do, oh great leader of the armies of the north?"

He groaned. "Well, I could have wished for a more useful cellmate but you will have to do...so..."

"Just a minute. Will it involve breaking a nail?"

"A nail?"

"A fingernail."

"You are worried about breaking a fingernail?"

"What am I like when I break a nail, Terry?"

"Point taken. OK. Your nails will not be sacrificed."

"Deal. I'd shake on it but I'm tied up."

"We just agreed on something. Wow!" Terry whistled.

I grinned. "Don't count on it. It's gonna be a long night."

"Yeah." There was something in the way he said it that made me look up sharply but he seemed to be interested in something else. Shuffling over towards the window on his bum, he ran his bound wrists over the rough surface but then he swore in temper. There were no sharp edges for him to chafe the rope and fray it.

I had a think. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I eased my arms under my butt and threaded my legs through. At least my hands were now in front of me. "Clever girl...you're more flexible than me...now, come over here...have a look at my rope. And Uma, I'll buy you a fucking lifetime subscription to the beauty salon, if you break a nail. Do you really want them to win?"

I chuckled and shuffled over to where he was, he turned his back. The rope was secure but I reckoned I could probably undo it if I had the time, which, of course, I did. I started work. I tried not to imagine that I was touching him in case it got in the way of what I doing. But so close to him, I could smell his aftershave and feel the warmth that emanated from his body, see his fingers, thick and long, unable to help himself for once. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I carried on working the tight rope free.

"How long you gonna be?" He asked suddenly, a little tersely.

"I'm doing my best!"

"I need to piss."

"What?"

"I need to piss. There's a bucket over there. They kindly thought of all the mod cons."

I looked and there was indeed a tin bucket in the corner. I pulled a face. "I'm not using that!"

"Well, I am. Here. Help me get to my feet." Terry fell onto his knees and I supported his hands as he stood, then he yanked me up too.

"OK. I am going to hop over there and you follow me."

"Why? Don't you want some privacy?"

He looked back at me. "How the fuck do you think I am going to get it out without your help?"

I gaped at him. "You expect me to hold your dick while you have a pee?"

"Yes."

"That's disgusting."

"No, that is the only thing that I can do if I don't want to wet myself. Do you think I want to ask this? With a fucking audience?" He looked up and shouted. "Are you not entertained?"

I thought about it. He couldn't do anything else. It wasn't like I hadn't touched him before. Oh, God...I will kill them. Line them up against a wall and shoot them lots of times and stick pins in them and gouge their eyes out and....

"OK. If we must."

We reached the required position and I tried to lower my arms around his neck but I couldn't get them past the bulk of his shoulders. So we tried the other end. He stepped into my encircled arms and I eased myself up his legs until I reached his waist. I couldn't see what I was doing, face pressed against the bulwark of his back, so I had to feel my way. I think my memory was good enough.

"Right. Ease my fly down- and be careful!"

"Why -you commando?"

"I dressed in a hurry," he replied. I snorted, wondering vaguely with whom he had woken up this morning.

It was tricky and I had to twist my palms and work against myself but eventually I got the zip down. "Go on then...I can't wait much longer," he grunted through gritted teeth.

With a deep breath, I plunged my hand through the open fly and there it was, all warm and soft. "I said -get it out. Don't play with it, for Christ's sake!"

I pulled my hands away. "I was not playing with it. I just needed a proper hold. I don't want you pissing all over my hands! If you're not more polite, I won't do it!"

"Uma, please...I need you to do this..."

I tutted but returned to my task. Securing a grip, I eased his cock over the zip front, one hand over the other and said: "Go on then!"

"You're not pointing in the bucket."

"I can't see! Guide me!"

"Two clicks north."

"What's a click?"

"Fuck! Up a bit. Stop. To the left...no, too far. Better. Right.  No, I didn't mean the direction right, I meant OK right. Too far left...that's it...OK stop. Now -stay still."

Terry uttered a low sigh as he let go of a stream of urine. I felt the warm gush and the shock made my hand shoot up. "Down!" He shouted. I guess I had sprayed the walls. I am beginning to understand their difficulties. Mind you, I didn't have any eyes. But then, first thing in the morning, neither do they, do they?

He went on for ages. Where do men get it all from? "Terry, haven't you finished yet?" I moaned.

"Nearly," he replied. I began to think about how he felt in my hand. So soft and malleable, such a tactile experience- if I were a boy I would never leave mine alone. But then they don't, do they?"

With a little shiver, he finally came to a stop. "Shake it off, Tink." God, what a temptation! "I said shake not pull," he added tartly. I duly complied, tucked him back, zipped and gave him a little pat.

"I need to wash my hands." I said.

"Tough," he replied with little sign of concern. I wiped them on his shirt.

We recommenced the jigging about to disentangle our bodies and then he stood still while I went to work on his wrists again.

"Got it, he suddenly announced.

"What?" I knelt down to get at the knot with my teeth. I realised that my face was pushed up against his butt. There was a drumbeat pulse sounding in my left temple and I could feel the rising fluttering in my stomach at proximity to one of my favourite parts of his anatomy. I was damned if I was going to let him know, though.

"The camera. There's a dummy over there above the window." I looked but could see nothing but the rail where a grimy blind hung down. "The real one is up there in a crack between two bricks. I can see where they've tried to hide the new mortar but it isn't the same colour. Hurry up. You nearly there?"

I mumbled into his buttocks and I felt him move his hips slightly. Was he helping me or just adjusting himself? Was this closeness getting to him too? Just at that moment, the knot unravelled and I pulled it away.

"Good girl," he said as he rubbed his wrists and sat down to untie his ankles. I found myself beaming at his praise. How sad is that?

As soon as he was free, he turned to my bonds and took substantially less time than I had done to undo them. As he knelt down to reach my feet, I looked down on his thick hair and longed to bury my face against it; it took an act of great self-discipline- rather more than I thought I was capable of- to resist the urge.

"Right. Now for the camera. Clear your throat. Spit in your hand."

"What?"

"Gob up on your hand. I'll lift you up and you smear the lens with it. It will obscure their vision sufficiently.

"I will not!"

"I'll spit in your hand then."

"You will not."

"Then what do you suggest, Brains?"

I shrugged. He picked me up, yanked my palm, spat on it and raised me to the height of the camera. "Can you see it there? That tiny piece of glass?"

"You just spat on my hand! You are so disgusting. I should wipe it in your hair."

"UMA- do you want them to watch?"

I followed his orders and wiped the spittle on the place indicated although I couldn't see a camera lens. It suddenly occurred to me he might be making this up. But why would he do that?

Down on the ground again, I wiped my hands on the back of his pants. He laughed.

"Food. Let's see what's under that cloth."

There was a small wooden table with a tray that was covered by a checked cloth. If I needed proof of who was behind this, I had it. The tray was full of peaches. "Peaches!"

"Fucking peaches! Jesus, nothing more substantial than that?" Terry groaned.

"And how are we supposed to cut them up?" I inquired.

"You broken your teeth as well as your nails?' He teased.

He threw a peach at me and took one for himself. They were PW specials- very big and juicy and as soon as he bit into his, the juice ran down his chin. I made a little whimper at the sight of how it nestled in the cleft. My tongue flickered out onto my bottom lip unconsciously as if to lick it from him.

"Stop drooling and eat. It's all you're gonna get." Terry threw over at me. I blushed and bit into mine. He watched me eat but his face registered nothing. Nor did his groin. I felt mildly put out.

We sat back down at opposite corners of the room and had our meal. Peaches eaten as a meal get rather boring after a while. I refused a second. My hands were sticky and I wiped them on my jeans. We were both getting rather grubby.

"So, what do you think they plan to do?"

"Keep us here a day or two. Make us talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"The fucking price of fish-what do you think- us, of course!" He shouted in exasperation.

"Is there anything left to say?" I whispered quietly.

"Maybe we could start with - sorry," he was whispering too now.

Across the bare cold stone floor, we sat and looked at each other.  Whatever our mouths were prepared to admit, our eyes were honest. I read his pain and knew it merely reflected my own. But still we didn't move. Just sat and stared and watched and longed across a few feet of shabby dungeon, still miles apart when it came to taking a chance.

I felt hot. Suddenly I realised that I was sweating; so was he. "Someone's turned the heat up," he observed. It wasn't our libidos. It was the temperature. Or maybe both?

Terry stood up and took off his shirt.  "I suggest you do the same. It's hot." I stripped down to my underwear, thankful that it was decent.

"Take your pants off," I suggested.

"I'm naked underneath. Remember?"

"Have you got something different from other men?" I answered.

He smiled, a rather mischievous smirk, raising his eyebrows in that naughty boy look he does rarely, but so well. However he kept on his pants, unfortunately.

"Well, let's talk then. How've you been?" He began.

"Fine -and you?"

"Great."

"It's not working. That's not what we want to say,'" I remarked.

"Maybe you should come over here. Make it less impersonal."

I stood up and walked over to him. He opened his legs and made a space for me to sit between, my back resting against his chest. As his arms gathered me in, my head began to swim and I found it difficult to think clearly. I heard a voice, as if from far away, muttering something sweet and low.

His mouth was on my ear, warm breath smelling of peaches, and he began to whisper the things I longed to hear while his fingers stroked my face, along my cheeks, across the bridge of my nose, and came to rest on my lips, tracing the pattern and caressing them gently. It was like a blind man using his fingers to see. Had we both been blind, stumbling in the dark and unable to see the path that was so clearly set out for us?

"Turn around!" His voice was low and husky as he muttered the gentle command. I turned.

My vision cleared. I felt the warmth of a naked chest and the rough scrub of an unshaven face against my own. He rolled me back against the pillow and rose above me whispering, "Good morning' darlin'. Want some morning love?"

I gasped. Cort.