[ August 2001 ]

ANN

Two weeks later and summer was clamping in with all its glories ... and I guess I should admit that not everyone shares my love of summer in the south. I had the day's story filed by early deadline and I had a weekend of nothing but sunshine in front of me.

I charged down the front steps of the newspaper and felt my life shift on me with one jolt.

What was it that made me see him? I hit the top step and something seemed to reach out and grab me hard to pull me to a halt. I just stopped, looked up, across the street and ...

Terry.

I just stood there. Nothing in the world seemed able to make me move. If he hadn't walked over, stood at the bottom of the four polished granite steps, held his hand up to me and beckoned me down, I might still be standing there.

And there I was. Standing there in front of him and feeling like the world had just taken off on me. About all I could concentrate on was his neck and the way just being near him made me dizzy and how I'd never really thought I'd see him again. And yet, there hadn't been a night that had gone by in which I hadn't dreamed of him. And wished to know him.

"What are you doing here?" I finally asked him.

"You told me once that there would come a time when I'd want to apologize for not trusting you. You were right. I just hope you were wrong about the part where you said that when I did, you wouldn't care."

It took me too long to get what he meant.

"You read the stories?" I whispered to him and he nodded at me, slow, measured. His eyes focused so intently on my face. "You should have just called if you wanted to tell me something."

He gave me this little chuckle and stepped toward me. His presence was so overwhelming to me; it's the only reason I held my breath, stepped back and looked down at the street. "I could have called. But then I couldn't have asked you to dinner, could I?"

Couldn't fight the grin and the way I had to look up to see if he was serious. "Guess not."

Deep breath and this hard swallow as his eyes traveled down my body. It gave me a full body blush. I'd never had one before.

"Dinner then? I have reservations for Commander's Palace at 8 tonight. Say yes."

"Yes," I said ... heard myself say it instantly and never remembered forming the word except in my head. "I'll meet you there."

He rubbed on his face as he regarded me. "I'll pick you up. Like a gentleman should treat a lady."

This was when the world seemed to come back into focus. I was standing there on the sidewalk with him and I realized something ... this was my turf. I was home. I felt the power of that. And I remembered what it had felt like to always be on the move for that year I spent in Central America.

"Do you ever get tired of the life you're leading?" I asked him and he made this sigh as he regarded me. "I was just wondering if instead of a restaurant, you might prefer a meal in the kitchen of someone you know? It's the one thing I missed most when I was overseas. I used to dream about cooking for myself and not having to order off a menu."

He gave me this tired smile and I knew I'd hit the mark. "That does sound like a treat, love. But this is supposed to be a night for me to wine and dine you."

"Ah. Well in that case, you can do the cooking. And the dishes."

And that's how it happened. That's how this night came to be about him cooking in my kitchen. Almost two hours later, he came wandering out of the elevator as I held the door open to my loft and I could only tell it was him because I could see his thighs. Above that, he was hidden behind a grocery bag with a huge profusion of flowers sticking out of the top.

He moved into my loft and it was like life moved in with him. It's never been the same since. Just jabbering at me and joking and his voice and his spirit ... I was intoxicated by all that was him before he even poured me a glass of wine.

It amazed me. This was the Terry I'd only seen in brief spurts in Panama but then this wasn't the Terry I'd worked with, was it? This was the Terry who felt he could relax around me precisely because for once, neither of us were working. Yet, smooth as he was, there was just enough of the touch of nerves to enchant me.

And then it happened. The reality hit me that there was truly absolutely nothing standing in my way with him anymore at the same exact time he handed me that wineglass and noticed that I was different.

His right hand pulled my left hand up and he looked from it to me. Cocked an eyebrow at me. His face deadly serious.

I shrugged in response. "I told him as soon as I returned. I had decided that I didn't want to settle for sensible and cautious. Remember what you said to me on the beach? You were right only it took me a while to admit it to myself. I'm happier being alone than with someone I'm with only because he's safe."

"You're not engaged anymore?" he asked me, his voice going deep and his body edging nearer mine. "And I'm no longer a news source so ..."

"The possibilities are endless," I whispered as he kept backing me into the counter and I couldn't stop looking in his eyes. It happened just that fast. Bam. I leapt without looking.

And this was how I found the risk I was willing to take. The one risk that changed my life. I risked it all for the chance at love. I risked it all for the chance at him.

He leaned into me and I felt the might of his body under my fingers as I reached around to smooth my hands down his back. His hands were on my face and we just stood there for so long, absorbing this moment.

I remember the way a shaft of sunlight, fractured by glass blocks in the skylight, sparkled on his cheek with dribbles of red and green dancing in the white light. I remember the blast of a ferry on the nearby river signaling its arrival. I remember the sounds of summer outside my window ... birds chortling and leaves rushing in the wind. I remember the feel of his cotton shirt under my hands and the way the collar was open. I remember the way his neck looked, all manly and slightly shadowed. I remember thinking I'd never seen a man as virile as he was. I remember being unable to really examine his face because he was making me shake. I remember the feel of him breathing, both under my fingers and against my face. I remember thinking that in his eyes were mysteries I wanted to understand. I remember wondering if I was ever going to forget this moment.

But most of all, I remember how my body felt. Alive. Like it had found its mate. Like it would never be lonely again.

He bent to kiss me and our lips met in softness that was never going to stay that way. Tender kiss ... pulling apart but our lips seemed to refuse to really let go. And then both of us diving in to the other, our hands pulling us in closer ... his body pressing me against the counter and bending me over it until I lost sense of everything but the feel of his arms holding me.

He made me feel safe at the same time he made me feel wild with fear of the unknown. Like he'd protect me from outside harm but he'd drive me to take real risks with him. I am not sure I can describe how welcome that was. This man ... this real man. Someone I think I trusted in from early on ... I knew from the way he held me, that he'd hold me like this forever.

How is it you can know things like that so early on in a relationship? Where you simply feel something and you just don't think about it because you know it's true.

"Do you want me?" he whispered, hard and insistent, his mouth right at my ear and his hands were dragging me up onto the counter.

"More than anything I've wanted in my life," I panted out to him.

He grunted approval and I knew then we were both of us caught within a force of nature. Our want of each other was so great ... it had been denied and banked and stoked and left to smolder for far too long. It was flaring right out of control ... a back draft blazing when we opened the door again.

The feel of his mouth on my neck made me moan and we struggled to see who would dominate in this needy moment of trying to figure out how to go slow when there was a part of each of us that simply wanted. Wanted the feel of flesh on flesh.

So we kissed ... lips, necks, shoulders ... and we licked and sucked any skin we could find ... but there did come this time when I gave in to his want and all I could do was let him touch me with his lips and hands. Just as I felt myself appreciating his power, he paused and waited for long, breathless moments until I was able to focus again.

His hand dragged one of mine over his hardness. I was looking right in his face when he did it. A very deliberate move on his part and I wonder if my moan was too obscene?

"Oh God," I finally whispered. I'd felt his arousal next to my body before; I'd just never fully appreciated how big he was until he forced me to trace the outline of his hardness.

"This is what you do to me," he growled out, firmly pressing my hand in over him, stroking himself with me, getting himself so hard. "If you knew how many nights I've dreamed of you touching me ..."

"Tasting you ..." Panting it out to him and seeing his eyes flash in response.

"Taking me inside you ..." Saying it to me in pure predatory aggression.

"Oh God."

He left my hand where it was and bent into my neck, kissing hard there, forcing me to arch back to give him fuller access. His hands were between my knees, forcing me apart so he could step into me and then yank my groin in to his. My hand was pressed between our bodies ... my wetness against my knuckles and his hardness against my palm ... and he began making these slow grinding movements against me.

For so long, it seemed to me, we just necked and petted ... like we just wanted to feel the other without advancing it. And maybe this was so because there wasn't any coyness between us ... we both knew what the other wanted and it wouldn't have stopped until I'd taken him inside me. But he was always in charge. He set the pace, he advanced and I followed.

Murmuring into me but not really with words and then seeming to force himself to step back away from the brink. His body stilling and then his hand on my wrist to stop me as I worked his zipper down.

"Show me your bedroom, Annie. I want to make love with you," he said it so plainly and so sincerely. "Let's do this right, eh?"

My knees were shaking. We both tried to laugh about it as I stumbled into him after he helped me slide down off the counter. I started leading the way ... down the hall ... my fingers trailing along the rasping contours of the exposed brick along one wall of the hall ... and then, for some reason, just as I reached to door to my bedroom, I hesitated.

Fear.

I could taste it. Delicious. I could feel it. Riveting. I stopped before I even hit the doorjamb and turned my face into the brick and just stood there breathing.

His hands came in around my waist and he held me lightly. Like he'd never press for more but ... he would never let me back down, either. His mouth kissed in along my collarbone and then his hand dragged my hair off my shoulder and he was sucking in along the side of my neck... and I was so wet that I wondered if I was squishing as I walked.

But still I feared.

And I think it was this ... I am a strong woman. I am always most in awe of men who can make me tremble.

But then he seemed to know this. And he let one hand slide down under my waistband and it found skin to fondle and skin to trail ... and I turned my head into his neck and I whispered to him to be careful with me or I'd break.

"You're safe with me, Annie girl," he told me and just then I felt his fingers touch the wetness and I leaned full back into him. "Let me in. Annie ... don't be afraid of me."

It felt just on the cusp of dirty. It was overpowering. I heard my voice ... "I like the fear. It turns me on."

This warm chuckle from him and then he pulled me from the wall and walked me into the bedroom ... the comfort of his body behind me ... the way it felt when his knees would poke into my thighs and prod me forward.

He walked me right up to the edge of the bed. Stood there, still holding me lightly, swaying with me, tasting my neck.

His mouth at my ear. Pausing like the thought just came to him and he had to share it. "Here's my apology. Ready?"

Trembling ever so slightly at what his voice could do to me. Unable to find my voice, I just nodded against him.

"You might be the first person I've met in far too long who ever helped me and didn't expect anything in return. I kept waiting to pay the piper ... never got to dance for free before, love."

I turned in his arms and put my hands on his face when I saw how solemn he looked. "I don't understand."

"I didn't trust you. Wanted to, but couldn't. You started giving me information from your sources and I kept waiting for you to fuck me over. And then you just left. I knew I'd pissed you off there at the end. Did it on purpose really. Figured your articles would reveal things I'd told you that I shouldn't have. You weren't the only one to let your guard down."

Feeling the immensity of what he was saying. Seeing within his words an admission of what it's like to regret revealing yourself to someone like me who could use it against you. Understanding what it's like for a man like this to learn a new fear ... the fear that I would have turned out to be a person who could wound him. Visualizing what that felt like to then understand what it meant that he'd ever allowed himself to risk so much on someone like me. "And now?"

"I trust you."

I feel his hands smooth over my hair as I feel myself rock in place. He bends down to kiss me lightly on the lips and I murmur to him that I trust him. I feel him straighten before me and I open my eyes to absorb him as I find him in this moment.

"I believe I've always trusted in you, Terry." I say it in a whisper but I say it with deep conviction. "And I've wanted you for too long. And I shouldn't have. But I did."

He is taking over. It has been him pressing, compelling, leading me into this encounter. But with this final set of words from me, he is unafraid to show me his need of me. More than that, he is unafraid to show me physically what he is feeling emotionally.

And what he is feeling is this: the need to show me the measure of him as a man.

It is his eyes that I concentrate upon.

They tell me tales of him that are truth and power. They are my anchor.

I have been here before. On the cusp of knowing a man's body.

I have never been here before. On the eve of knowing a man's soul.

I will always want to be here. On the shore of this man's need.

I remember the last feel of the brick. That final tiny moment when I left behind that which I'd known and entered into that which I would cling to. It was the space in between that made me shiver.

He turns to pull the covers down my bed, unearthing the sheets upon which we would make love, his eyes watching as I take in a deep ragged breath at the aggressive suggestion in this subtle move. And then he unbuttons his shirt. White. Cotton. The perfect crisp Oxford shirt he's worn under his sports jacket, which he'd shed almost as soon as he bopped through my door earlier that evening.

I go to him because I read the command in his eyes just as he lets the shirt drop down his arms and to the floor even while he's almost instantly ripping his undershirt up over his head and throwing it away from him. My first real look at what he looks like under his clothes. I've often imagined it ... I never realized it would affect me like this. At first, all I can really do is run fingertips along his contours ... chest ... arms ... shoulders ... neck. But then I step in and kiss into his neck. It tastes insanely divine. I take long moments to savor similar busses along his chest. I love the feel and taste of him.

His hands rid me of my own shirt, which was mostly off me anyway from what he's been doing before. And I feel him pull me in against him. His arms surround me then and I feel encased in his hug and I feel overwhelmed by the skin I feel next to me. Under my fingers, I feel the way his muscles along his back flex.

"Do you have any idea how you make me feel?" I ask him.

"Tell me," he whispers into me even as he backs up and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. His hand tugs me into his body and there I stand before him as his fingers trace along the contours of my breasts.

"Like I'm not woman enough."

His head tilts up at me. "Shall I prove to you that you're wrong?"

This huge tremble races through me. "God. Your voice is like liquid sex. Stop that."

Quick chuckle but then his smile flees and his eyes get that tough man look about them. His big hands grab into my rear and urge me that much closer while he kneads the flesh there. He drops his voice into a smooth, deep purr: "We'll go slow. I'll be good to you. Best you've ever had, Annie."

I breathe him in and just nod my acknowledgement of an accepted truth. His scent gets to me. It is a musk I doubt I'll ever forget. It somehow seems to fix him in my brain. My trembling only gets worse as he shows me his expertise with women's clothing by getting my bra's back closure open with one smooth flick of his wrist.

But my trembling slows and slows and slows as his mouth explores my breasts after he removes my bra. It is something about the way my need for him grows and grows and grows as I feel him suck and suckle. He is making nonsense murmurs, his mouth full of me. His hands on my back keep pulling me in and then releasing me ... pulling me back as he tries to shove more of me inside his mouth ... and then letting me fall away as he licks and kisses.

By the time he's tilting his head over and casually sliding his fingers under the sides of my panties, I am spreading my legs in anticipation of anything he wants to do. "You smell incredible," he says, as if almost to himself.

I take in this hard breath at that. Not sure what to do, I let my hands slide across his shoulders. I raise each foot as he taps on them to get my panties down and off. And when I feel his fingers spread my folds, I look at the top of his head and I know for sure that he's watching his fingers explore.

It shakes me ... like I've been caught doing something naughty ... when his head suddenly turns and his eyes catch mine. Very deliberately, he lets me see him pull his hand away and raise a finger to his mouth. My own mouth drops open at the sight and as he sucks on his finger ... tasting the remnants of me there ... I moan.

"I know the feeling," he whispers and his voice is so hoarse. It is desire that sounds like that.

A second later, he has picked me up and swung me onto the bed. His body is half on me, half along my side. One hand is beneath my neck and the thumb of that hand rubs into my jaw and I find my face rubbing back against it. The other hand is cupping my sex as he stares at me. My hands run along his chest but he is waiting. Waiting.

Waiting on me, I realize with a start. Waiting for permission to possess me. "Touch me, please."

Is that me? Is that what pure desire for a man sounds like when it comes from me?

My God but he is such a man. I look down his body ... at his bare chest that is broad and real ... at his arms that turn me on like you cannot believe ... at the bulge in his pants that I wish I could examine ... I stroke the skin I can reach on his chest and marvel as his nipples peak and he takes in a sharp breath as I tweak one.

But then my focus becomes me ... where he is touching me. And I let out this long sigh as I realize he knows what to do. "Oh. God." The words croak out of me and then I arch into his hand and it gushes from me ... wetness below and words above ... "Terry ... oh God ... it feels so ... oh God ... so good ... please ..."

And just like that ... all it takes ... two fingers slipping inside me and his thumb rubbing as it explores what it takes to set my clit on fire ... and I am coming but by then I am speechless.

His mouth drops over my open mouth and I find the will to respond to his searching kiss. "How did you do that?" finally slips out of my mouth after his tongue retreats. But it's too late because he's slipping down my body and I realize his tongue left my mouth in order to leave a wet trail down my skin all the way to ...

My back arches and I have begun to writhe in the bed in reaction to each place he devotes himself to ... and in anticipation of where I know he is zeroing in on. He blows across me and I spread my legs, bend my knees, giving him unmistakable signals that I want him to taste me.

By the time he really begins to drink my wetness from me, my hands are on his head and it's a combination of wanting to keep him there and wanting some understanding of what's going on. I'm just not used to a man who takes such delight in this. He's now got his hands under me so he can control me somewhat. But I am not in control and I think this drives him beyond his limits.

Somewhere deep inside me, I know he wants this to be so very good ... I know he wants to show me what a lover he can be. But I am really learning another lesson and that is this: he is generous and loving and caring ... and he wants someone in his life that he can show that to.

It makes me cry. It truly does. And then I am calling his name as I come and it almost sounds sad to my ears but I know that what is really happening is that he's touched me and I wasn't really expecting him to touch me where he has because I'm not used to anyone getting there. In my heart. That's where I feel him already and I would tell him that, but it's an insanity that I feel him there, so I don't.

As I calm, I feel him slide away from me. I watch as he stands and sheds his pants.

"God. You're so beautiful," I whisper in such awe.

And he is. He stands there before my gaze and I take in his body. Thighs that make me tremble to imagine them between my legs for they are powerful and so masculine. His proud and rigid cock, glistening and dark-headed, rampant and just a bit threatening. Hips that are the perfect balance. A belly that looks soft enough to be a pillow and firm enough to reflect his fitness. A chest I believe might be just broad enough to contain the heart I'm beginning to get some clue of the immensity of. Biceps that make me feel like there will never be anything to fear as long as he is near. And a neck that I believe I've always panted over.

But his face ... its masculine beauty. Subtle flaws that rob it of pretty and lend it vitality. Eyes that do not let me go as he moves back into the bed.

"Touch me," he orders.

Kneeling over me, bending down to kiss into my neck ... in this perfect place where my hand can stroke his hardness and where I can obey his panted instructions as he teaches me the touch he most desires. My other hand cups his balls and they are heavy, which, for some reason, makes me let out this groan that sounds so deep and obscene that he suddenly shifts position.

He shoves my hands off his cock, grabs it and jerks on it in preparation as he moves down to kneel between my thighs. Incredibly intent now. His other hand is rough and pulling up on my knees.

But I put my hand on his chest and he looks up at me. The way his face looks ... predator ... and his lids come down to slightly hood his eyes in mystery shadow when my fingers glide down his body until they find his tip. I feel the drops of pre-cum there and shiver in need. The words almost stick in me before they can come out in a fading whisper: "I want you, Terry. But I've not had anyone as big in me. Be gentle."

He nods at me and we both know it wasn't necessary to say that to him. But now I know I can relax because I won't worry about him hurting me too much.

I swallow hard as I feel him sweep his head into my wetness. He is studying my reactions as he slowly enters. Part way in and I know my eyes widen at the feel of where he's touched. When he pauses and asks should he go slower, I say, "More."

My eyes slide shut slowly ... shutting a bit more the closer he gets to being fully in me. Filling me up. Never this full before and just when I wonder if I can take more, he's in me to his root.

"Jesus. Ah fucckkk." He grits the words out through clenched jaw.

"Oh Godddd." Like it's my mantra ... it comes out of me as a sigh.

We hesitate for only the time it takes for our eyes to meet. And then we both move. I don't know that I've felt this instant rhythm with anyone before. But I don't find it so much as I feel it take me over.

And he's whispering to me. Dipping to kiss me. Keeping time to his thrusting. Whispering more ... subtle words at first that help me understand what he wants. But then he's describing how he feels ... how I look to him ... sweet endearments that don't sound rehearsed or jaded ... never complete sentences ... just these combination of words. Punctuated by cursing that is both a mark of the way he's in wonder at what he feels and of the way he is holding back because he would like to simply fuck.

I feel his heart racing in his chest each time it rubs across mine. And then he pants out, "Oh yeahhhh. Oh baby, that's right. That's right. Uhnnn. Yeah, like that ... Annie ... do it ... Jesus."

I think I'm speaking. Perhaps I'm not. Maybe it's more like babbling. I can hear a woman's voice and know it's mine but I'm not listening to her as I'm only hearing the man's deep thrumping voice that moves straight from my ear to my clit with a speed and completeness that's a bit frightening.

I also have some awareness that he turns us ... sometimes it's me on top and sometimes he's pounding into me from above. I like it best when he's leaning hard into my body and I can feel his weight pressing me down and he's in such control of my mouth that I wish he owned it.

Our mouths are locked together when I finally really let go into a coming. I go almost rigid as it starts and then when it rushes over me, he's sucking down a scream until he lets me go and by then I am reduced to whimpering.

He says I'm beautiful and it makes me cry again. Because even in the midst of this incredible physical experience, he never lets go so far that he forgets a woman likes to hear things like that. He says it like he means it and like he just cannot believe he's there to see it.

"I can't hold on," he grunts at last. "I'm just ... Jesus, baby ... the way you feel like this ... Let me see your eyes. Just wanna see ..."

Later, after, he tells me that in that moment, feeling me spasm around him and seeing this smile on me and then seeing something in my eyes that reminded him why he likes being a man ... that he's powerless to stop and he comes with such a jolt ...

It's why he makes that virile roar next to my ear and why he just pumps in hard and hard and ... fuck, so hard! ... and I feel his seed shoot into me. It's warm and it begins to leak out around the fullness of him as he slows his pumping. All I'm doing is hanging on and I don't tell him until later that coming around him while he was coming in me was just the most incredible feeling.

We neither of us can move. He is slumped over me and I am holding him to me. And then slowly we both seem to remember where we are. It was that powerful.

"Hold me for a while," I plead with him.

He just grunts and rolls to his side and pulls me in to where my face is buried in his chest and my leg is between his thighs.

I can feel the wetness all around me. Beneath one hip on the sheet. Between my legs. Upon my thigh where his damp cock snuggles. Upon my cheeks where tears make me smile.

For so long, I am soft and content ... and in awe that we really did this and that it was so good ... the feel of his hand circling lightly if possessively on the small of my back lulls me to this half-sleep state.

But then he starts talking to me ... in this voice that sounds a mix of sated male animal and tired warrior ... like he is forcing himself to stay conscious long enough to tell me something that's important to him that I know just then. He tells me of the operation in Panama. Of things I did not know from his perspective but that he knows I had been told by government officials whom he briefed. He knew I'd had knowledge that it hadn't been an easy time for his team. It's why he had come to apologize, I think, in the end. Because I wrote enough about it to show him that I knew many details that could have compromised his ability to work in that country again, but I never revealed anything that might have endangered him ... but most importantly, that I cared enough to not have printed anything that could have endangered his operatives who lived there.

And in this action, in his revealing these details, I feel like he's telling me that he is grateful I turned out to be someone he respects. But he's also telling me that I've turned out to be someone he thinks is strong enough to hear about these kinds of things.

When he's finished, I know he's tired. "Did I say too much?" he asks me when I don't do anything but hug him hard.

"Never," I say and pull away to look down at him. "I'm glad you felt you could unload that on me."

I get this sad smile from him and his hand cradles my cheek just before he shifts to get more comfortable and then pulls me back to him. It isn't long before I feel him slide into sleep.

In the gathering shadows, I think about this man. He is so strong. Strong in body, strong in mind, strong in spirit and strong in resolve. I can honestly say, I've never known anyone with his intoxicating blend of strength, honor, intelligence and vulnerability.

It is the vulnerability that I think has claimed me in this day. But it is that in combination with his virility that devastates any chance I have of ever forgetting that I was lucky enough to meet him and grateful that we made love. It has been a risk worth taking after all.

TERRY

How much did I owe her?

Thought about that hard as I leaned on an elbow and just watched her sleep. Didn't know the last time I'd just watched a woman sleep next to me. Certainly not with a smile on my face. She had such a look of innocence about her. Made me want to wrap her up tight and keep her safe from anything bad touching her again.

I leaned over and sniffed at her neck and tried to memorize her scent. My movement jostled her; she responded by moving closer to me. Her little hand reached around my waist and she held on.

No matter what I had hoped for in coming to New Orleans to see her, this was not really what I'd expected. But then, she's never been what I expected from the beginning ... she is this elusive spirit who is incredibly strong yet tantalizingly fragile. And I know I'd only begun to see her as she really is, a woman of depth and contradiction. But even then, just in those first hours of learning more about her, she made me want it all with her ... all of it. I wanted to understand why she let her guard down with me in this one day. I wanted to understand why she was willing to take a chance on someone like me.

This was when I saw what had been missing, the thing I'd been searching for without being able to name. I had been in exile. And I wanted to come home from there and be with someone who made me feel safe.

She made me remember what it felt like to know what you wanted in life so clearly that you went for it and made it happen. She made me remember what it meant to have someone who made me glad I had a heart.

I think I'd known just from the way she instantly searched for me when she left the newspaper building that she felt 'the pull.' She looked right at me. That moment will stay with me forever.

No matter what else she had shown me by then, I had always known she didn't play games. Not between us when it mattered. Like how she'd had no need this day of being coy about wanting me like I wanted her. Like how she'd been unafraid to show me her fear of opening herself up to me. And she'd known I'd demand that ... she'd said as much that night on the beach in Panama. That it would never be just about sex with us ... it would be about sharing intimacy.

Jesus, she made the decision and she opened herself wide enough to let me crawl inside. Had I returned the favor? What would she have said if she knew who I really was? Would she have taken such a risk with me if I'd told her?

Did I owe her the full truth of why I was there? Should I have told her about Terra Nova before I made love with her? Should I have come clean about who I am? Did she deserve to know that it was entirely possible what we were feeling for each other was this bullshit 'pull'? That I had come there with the express purpose of seducing her into letting me pull her into my life? That I was damned well determined that I wouldn't screw up this chance?

I laid back on the pillow, pulled her in to me. Felt her cuddle into my body. Closed my eyes and considered my options. In the end, I decided to not over-think this. Whatever was happening between us, it was something I wanted to see develop. But to tell her my secrets now? She'd think I was crazy. No good way to tell her ... might as well wait until I knew this was really something that would last long enough for it to even matter. I love when I lie to myself.

Dozed off for what felt like five seconds but it was dark when I awoke. What woke me? Christ. Her hand was petting me. She mumbled against my shoulder and I could tell she was talking in her sleep. I was getting hard again. Just the thought that she must have been having a sex dream.

Whispered to her. Asked her what she was dreaming. I followed her directions ... her dream determined how we made love. By the time she was awake, I was pulling her on top of me and the look on her face as she felt me seat her on my cock ... This time of making love was unhurried if largely silent. Slippery remains of our first time and her body was taking me in easier. I loved the way her eyes stayed locked to mine until just before she came and then her neck arched back and she just gave herself over to it.

We might have stayed sleeping there forever if not for the fact that my stomach suddenly gave this huge growl. Unfortunately, at the time her ear was pressed right over it. She grumbled and told me I made a pitiful pillow if I was going to make such noises. Right. I grabbed in around her ribs and started tickling her into a bit of respect but she tried to get away. Manhandled her back to the mattress for a bit more tickling and nibbling. But then something about the way she looked at me ... that full challenge ... when I captured her wrists against the mattress and let my strength control her body ... I got this sudden insight into her.

She was a woman who'd never really be controlled. She was always going to be a challenge. But there was just something else there ... a sweetness she couldn't hide. And a bruised soul that I knew the tiniest bit about already. A lethal combination to me.

"What a beauty," I whisper to her and, in the glow of the bedside lamp, I see her face as she blushes at the compliment. And before I know it, we are simply kissing ... but it's so tender in that moment and the kisses between us reflect it.

I ask her to tell me something, anything. I want to hear her voice. She tells me about the story she worked on that day and then about moving into the loft the week before. It's why there're so many unopened boxes around. That explains it, then, doesn't it? This was a new place; no wonder the address I'd had for her was wrong. Guess the old place had been shared with him, the fiancé.

This seems auspicious somehow. A chance to make my mark in her space without her even really thinking about it. I tell her that I'll help her unpack her boxes this weekend.

"Yeah?" Examining me now; not sure I mean it until she takes a good long look. Then this sassy tone in her voice, saying, "Then I better feed you, big boy, because you'll need your strength when I put you to work."

"I'll need my strength all right ... but for more important matters than bloody unpacking," I say, raising an eyebrow and deliberately giving her a full body scan. I am rewarded by this deep swallow of nerves that she does and it makes me grin at her. "Right. Food. But I'm cooking. Remember, love?"

She moans in mock horror at the idea of me cooking and I toss her from the bed. I'm smoking a ciggie when she strolls out of the bathroom after washing up. I can't take my eyes from her. She is nude and there are subtle markings on her skin that belie what we have just done ... evidence of me. She hasn't even tried to tame the wildness that her long blond hair has given way to. It makes her look free and totally sexed up. Or maybe it's the lazy smile on lips that seem swollen from what I've done to them. Or it could just be the way her body's moving as if she's walking differently after me.

I'd take her again, right then, but I decide that patience might be better. So I'm wiggling into my jeans and she's just standing there watching me. If she doesn't stop that, the way she looks at me, I'll have no choice. I toss her my shirt and tell her to cover up so I can concentrate on dinner.

But then I'm watching her button up and she just ... fuck. Is there anything sexier than a freshly fucked woman in a man's shirt? I'm kissing her again before I even realize I've touched her. It's only with the greatest amount of self-control that I finally break the kiss, toss her over my shoulder and stomp in to the kitchen. I deposit her arse on the counter and then take a moment to look around.

"Right. Where's your wok?" I ask her, rubbing my hands together and eager to do for her in this night.

"My wok?" Takes her a second. "Oh! You're cooking me a wok dinner?"

"A wok is a manly cooking instrument," I pronounce as if this was incontrovertible truth.

"Sure. Whatever you say. The fact that you even know what a wok is makes you suspect in the manly man category," she mumbles at me as she slips from the counter and heads for a closet. Such a sassy thing. I love that about her.

I start digging through the grocery bag when ... 

"Fuck. Jesus Christ." Our eyes meet. I hold up the container of meat -- now spoiled after having been left out for all these hours. In our haste to discover each other, neither of us had put the groceries away when I'd come in.

"It's okay, Terry. You can just cook the vegetables. The meat's not that big a deal, is it?"

"No meat, no dinner. Important rule for an Aussie bloke, love. Better learn it now," I growl out to her.

"Touchy, touchy. Okay then, meat. Let me see what I've got in the fridge that I can whip up for us."

I grab her hand as she heads for her refrigerator and yank her toward me. Pick her up and put her back atop the counter. Now we're eyeball to eyeball. I lean in, hands on either side of her. Try to look fierce. I know it works when she licks her lips nervously. "Right. Pay attention. This is supposed to be a meal I provide you as part of an apology. So you won't be cooking it. Understood?"

She nods obediently and just waits while I give it a think. When I hand her the phone book, I tell her to read me out the number of her favorite Chinese restaurant that delivers.

We've got like twenty minutes to kill while we wait for the delivery. Wonder what kind of trouble we can get into, I ask her. She looks away and bites her lip as I slowly unbutton her shirt. I can't get her to look me in the eye so I let one finger stroke across the folds of her sex. When she shudders, I know it's partly that she's now sensitive there from what we've already done and partly because she's already learning my touch. But I decide I can still be patient so all I really do is lean in and snog with her. She kisses ... with this heartfelt erotic motion and she tastes a sweetness that makes me almost want to devour her.

By the time the food's there, I am thinking about how she responds to me with such candor. For a woman of her spirit and independence, to see her make the choice to be with me as she has ... I would take everything she'd give me and still want more.

Coming back into the kitchen, I catch her trying to climb off the counter. "Stay right where I had you. I didn't say you could move," I growl at her.

She makes the mistake of flipping me the bird.

"Bad move, love," I tell her and I stand right before her so she can't get down. She settles back into where she was but I'm watching her eyes and I know she's planning on how she'll escape. So I pull the little white and red cartons out of the delivery bag and start setting them around her body, fencing her in, making it impossible for her to really move. My final action is to flick open the shirt. I do it only because I like the way she looks like a pure wanton.

She doesn't say a word to me. Just watches me, raises her eyebrows and never considers taking this kind of treatment. I know she's already planning revenge. So I need to control this as long as I can.

I whack open the chopsticks that came with the order. She asks where hers are and I just grin at her. Tell her she better be nicer to me because there was only one pair in the bag and I'm in control of them.

She wants to argue with me. I can see it flash in her eyes ... this instant flare of hating the lack of control. But then she seems to accept the challenge. Doesn't want to back down. I enjoy this kind of game with a woman who has the spirit and strength to play it. I am feeling like I might just have engaged a worthy opponent.

I reach out and grab a carton, open it and look inside. Flick the chopsticks in my hand and she gives me mock applause in honor of my skill with them. I give her a glare and then help myself to the kung pao beef strips inside.

Her eyes just watch me. She's waiting. Patient. Knowing I'm up to something and probably hoping she's able to keep up with me. I have no doubt about her abilities but I know right then and there that testing them will always be a joy.

I pause as I pull out another helping of food. Hold it up for her to see. Look in her eyes. Get the toughest voice I own and whisper, "Open."

As I move it slowly toward her, I note how the sauce splashes down across her exposed skin. I wait until her lips part and she angles her head up so I can place the food on her tongue. She sits and looks at me. Waiting on me. And just in that one moment, it becomes a different game entirely.

"Chew."

I watch intently as she very slowly chews the morsel I've given her.

"Swallow."

I find myself swallowing right along with her ... and when she licks her lips after, I feel this knot inside me that knows I won't be patient much longer.

I reach for another carton and she suddenly giggles as she smoothes her hand along my wrist. "Are you going to feed me dinner?"

"If you're very good, I will. If you're not, you may have to sit there and watch me eat." I lean a hip against her thigh and begin to feed myself from the carton. These long, exaggerated motions of digging out mounds of dark, tangy Szechwan pork and opening my mouth and dropping the food in so slowly as my head tilts up at the ceiling and I ignore her completely.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her bite her lip and I smile indulgently at her. "Hungry?"

She nods but I know it's not just the food she's hungry for. I can feel what that look of hers is doing to me.

"Ready to be good?"

She drops her chin, looks down and makes a visible effort to keep from chuckling. When she looks back up at me, I know that she wants to see what I'll get her to do for me. "I'll be good."

Open another carton. Next up on the chopstick ... a delicate, pink shrimp dripping a light Cantonese sauce. I hold it up, raising my eyebrows as if asking if she wants it. She smiles sweetly at me and bats her eyes. Gotta love it. I bring the shrimp over to her mouth as she leans up for it. Bits of the warm sauce splash into her cleavage ... distracting her.

"C'mon, Annie love. Open for me."

Oh, but that look she gives me. Daring me. I hold the shrimp just out of her reach ... moving it away each time it's almost close enough for her to grab. It doesn't take more than a few fake outs for her to rebel at this. Her back straightens, her mouth closes and her eyes glare at me.

"No fair, you bastard," she says. Tough little girl.

Can't keep in the evil chuckle. "Love, you look so good with your mouth open and your tongue coming out and ... I keep picturing your lips around my ..."

Her mouth opens to say something and I pop the shrimp into her mouth. 

Now she changes up her approach. With each new morsel I hold out for her, she begins to open her mouth and wiggle her tongue in ways that she knows look obscenely inviting to me. Enticing me and knowing she'll mess up my concentration. But it's too inviting to resist and I start alternating the food between us.

My aim is often off. I am doing it on purpose because the splatters on her skin make this a game with a few twists. Pretty soon, the hunger in my stomach is less and the hunger in my groin is worse. I put the carton I am holding down, tilt her chin up and simply lick up the spatters from her breasts to her belly. When I am finished, I am about to dive in to kiss her mouth, but she has decided on a bit of revenge.

"Open up," she tells me.

My eyes dart to her hand and notice that she has simply dipped into one of the cartons and is holding pieces of beef in her fingers. I give her the eye and open my mouth, letting her slide two fingers inside but then I capture them, sucking the sauce that clings to her skin and watching with satisfaction as her eyes get huge at what my tongue is doing.

She repeats this a few more times, seeming fascinated with how I chase after her fingers. And what I do with them once I suck them inside my mouth. And then I leave her sitting there, as I go to the refrigerator and get a bottle of beer. I stand there, sipping, and observe her. Her color is up; her breathing erratic, but she is patiently awaiting my next move.

In front of her again, I lean in, kiss her hard, leaning her back a bit ... and then bring the bottle to her lips and tell her to drink. She thinks she's being cute and puts her lips completely around the long necked bottle like she's fellating it; her eyes widen as I tilt it up and pour beer down her. But she sputters and then yanks my wrist away. Beer splashes down her chin, jaw, neck ... dripping in long rivulets between her breasts. I lick the beer off her, following the trail down and she is wiggling under the assault, laughing and gasping all at once.

And then I am right there and I suddenly feel like I want all of her. Dive in to the part of her that I cannot get enough of. She gives this shocked shriek at the suddenness and roughness of my movement. My fingers pressing into her hips, I yank her into my mouth. My tongue is as deep inside her as I can go but I am still trying to get in deeper.

I hear her plead with me and it drives me. Something about the primal nature of what we're doing ... this game of domination combined with food lust ... I let myself enjoy the wildness.

Her hands clutch into my hair and then she holds me to her clit. I feel her shift under me and she slides down to her back atop the counter. Between us, we manage to upend or shove off most of the cartons. The counter and the floor are turning into slippery messes.

I rise up and look down at her. Her eyes are glazed and she holds her arms out to me. Giving me a husky voice that makes an instant impact on me. "Don't stop. Take me again."

Look down her body. Her wildness matches mine. I spread her legs so far, lean over and blow across her folds. Swollen ... pink ... damp ... greedy.

Whispering to her because I just can't keep it in ... 'fucking beautiful cunt' ... and telling her how good she tastes. And then back for more, only this time, I let my teeth touch her, showing her my control and my precision. And then I suck. No mercy.

She starts coming, arching her back, her hands reaching out along the counter, trying to find something to hold on to. I hear her babble and only a few things are intelligible to me: 'fuck me' ... 'Ça c'est bon' ... and finally, so breathless, this tiny cry of 'God, no more'...

"Yes, more," I grunt out to her and it's then that I unzip, pull her to the edge and shove myself right up into the wet warmth of her. I am watching myself invade her and then I'm leaning over her, pulling her up to meet me. Her arms latch around my neck and we are both of us too far gone to be gentle. I think I'll pass out before I'm ready to come but when she starts spasming and bites into my shoulder, I come hard and like it'll never stop.

But it does. And when it does, I feel as though I've been through some sort of madness. I am holding her and she feels so small to me. I ask her if I've hurt her. I fear I have but she murmurs to me that she came so hard. I pick her up and carry her to her bathroom where we shower off the remains of the sauces she's been squirming in. She's so tired that I have to help her stand up. After drying her off, I tuck her in under the covers of her bed before sliding in behind her, holding her to me. She kisses my hand and I fall asleep almost instantly.

When I wake in the morning, I have one clear thought on my mind: what do I owe her? I should have told her something. It's been less than a day since we've been intimate and already I know ... I don't know how to tell her these secrets of my world. And I want her in a way I haven't wanted a woman in far too long. Maybe ever. Is this the way to start with her? By keeping secrets that she probably deserved to know in case it would have changed her mind?

If she's the one, and I feel certain she is, then first I need to make her mine.

ANN

He stays the weekend. We don't leave the loft until he has to go to the hotel room he'd taken at the Monteleone Hotel in the Quarter and get his luggage because he's leaving. I sit in the car and wait on him and I watch people walking on Royal and I wonder if they can tell that my life has changed.

And I wonder if he can tell that I am so sad that I can barely breathe.

Most of all I wonder if I can control my emotions enough to think to say something ... anything ... that can convey my wish that he'll be out there somewhere in that big world looking out for me whenever I might need him.

I don't know why this is but just the idea of him existing out there gives me the greatest sense of comfort.

He's barely back in his seat ... still struggling with his seat belt ... when I whisper, "I'm going to miss you, Terry."

And I don't even bother wiping the tear that's falling from my eye as I look at him and watch his face absorb that I just want him to have the gift of knowing that. His big hand reaches over and I feel his thumb catch the tear and hold it until it's absorbed into his skin. He slides the hand behind my neck and even as he's pulling me toward him, he's leaning across the console to kiss me.

Murmurs against my ear and then, low, deep voice that I can feel tugging on me: "I'll be back as soon as I can straighten out my schedule. When I come to see you next time, let's at least spend one night partying on Bourbon."

And now I'm wrapping him up in my arms and kissing on his face and not even caring if he's lying because in this one moment, I know it, he wishes he could stay with me.

By the time we make the airport, I am choking it all down inside. I want his last vision of me to be one in which I am smiling and perhaps a bit sad, but still ... no tears and no grief. It'd be embarrassing to be remembered that way.

He calls me the next day. I happen to be sitting at my desk and fingering the leaf of one of the coral roses he's sent me. He asks me if I'm busy the next weekend.

This is how it really begins.