It's not like I ever thought anyone ever owed me anything in this world. That's not really how I was raised. And maybe it's just that I've been on my own for so long. Even when I lost my job and had to sell my condo as I came frighteningly close to bankruptcy, I still never even thought about asking for help from anyone.

The thing is that sometimes I wished I had maybe been a different sort of person. I'd look around me and see other women my age, a lot like me it seemed, and they'd meet up with some guy and before you knew it, they were chasing the white picket fence and babies dream of love and marriage and men as providers. It always seemed rather tantalizing to me but something's never quite worked that way in me, I suppose.

They would make me wish I could just be the kind of woman who could really fall in love. Who could find that with a man. Who could let a man make life better, easier, sweeter.

Except the reality is ... it wasn't just the way I was raised that made me this way. It's the hard knocks life lessons, right? Somewhere along the way, I learned that the danger of that white picket fence and babies dream is that it turns on us women more often than not. You know how many women I've known, whether in my family or co-workers or friends, who got the shit kicked out of them somewhere when the dream exploded? And then where were they? Without their own money, without options ... trapped and looking around for help.

So it's so funny to me, see? Because here I am and I've met a man who has made me wonder what I've been missing all these years. Instead of seeing all the failed relationships, I'm suddenly noticing all the old couples holding hands as they stroll in the park together. I'm noticing that there are actually more women in my workplace who seem mighty content being long-time married than the number who are miserable or trapped.

It wasn't until about a week before Valentine's Day that I even realized that for once in my life, I had a man with whom to celebrate this day of love. Boy, did I scramble then. I just felt totally giddy and goofy about it all. Can you even imagine what that's like? I'm in love with a wonderful man and I finally, after all these years, get to celebrate love on Valentine's Day.

I found myself at work, surfing the net, looking for gift ideas ... What could I possibly get Maximus that would be unique like he is, that would show how glad I am to be in love with him, that would be personal, that would be something only I would think to get him, that would ... that would be perfect.

Eventually, I found two things. They weren't very expensive, which was a good thing considering my budget, but they were exactly right because of the meaning they held.

I breathed this huge sigh of relief when they were over-nighted to me. I held each one in my hand and thought about what I'd say when I gave them to him ... although I was pretty sure I'd flub my lines. And then, I thought ... well, hell ... I'll just write them ... something simple ... meaningful. Something he'll cherish because he'd know that the words were mine, and that they were created just for him.

But ... and, yeah, it's so typical of me ... but just as I relaxed with such satisfaction that I had this perfect Valentine's Day in store for him ... I realized ... well, maybe that wasn't really true.

Did Max even know about Valentine's Day? You know? It's not like he's from our time. They surely didn't have Valentine's Day in his time. Would he know? He'd been in this time for a few years ... maybe he'd learned about it? But would he know? Would it even occur to him that I'd want to celebrate Valentine's? Was he like most men ... would he not realize the importance of it if I didn't hint rather broadly?

Yeah. We can all see me hinting, right? Oh God.

But then someone had the bright idea to have a Valentine's celebration at the Pub and I thought, ah hah! There it was ... the perfect segue to ask ...

"Can I use my feminine prerogative and change my mind on us being open at the Pub about our new relationship?" He turned to look at me, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, caught in the motion of leaving for something to do with his job, some Saturday meeting that he said was nothing. "Monday night ... let's just drop in for a few minutes at the festivities for Valentine's at the Pub? We don't have to make a big show of it."

He looked at me, frowning. Holy shit, I thought, could I be more juvenile? Valentine's? Maximus? Dammit dammit dammit.

"Or do you even know about Valentine's Day?" I stammered to him, feeling myself blush. I shrugged my shoulders. "Not that it's a big deal or anything ... I've never really celebrated it before so it won't matter if we don't do anything. But there's going to be a party at the Pub and I'd enjoy it only if we were together. Does that make sense?"

"Monday night ...?" he said, tilting his head, deep in thought, like he was trying to remember. And then, surprising me with, "Yes ... I was rather thinking of doing something for the occasion. I rather approve of ancient traditional ceremonies. It's settled then. We shall dine here."

"Here?" I said, looking around his apartment like I was in some foreign country.

"Be early," he said, pulling me in toward him for a soft kiss on my lips. Then giving me one of his patented enigmatic smiles that reveal nothing. "It has all been arranged."

And he just left.

Bam.

I stood there staring at his door and then started hopping around in total excitement. I was going to do a real Valentine's Day! And Maximus had known! And he had something planned! It was going to be so perfect! Life could not ever get better!

By the time I got home to let poor Buck out to do his business, I was feeling really guilty for how I'd been neglecting him of late. So I fixed him a bit of a special breakfast before I showered and changed. We were only ten minutes late to the vet's for his appointment to have his cast removed.

Sweet Buck. My Alpha dog. He was healing so nicely. He was also bored. I'd been at Max's so much the last few days that he rarely got a lot of time with me. So I spent the day with him. We walked on the levee so he could enjoy having all four legs back in action, we went to his favorite pet bakery for treats, we dropped in to see Chili, we ran errands.

And then I left Buck with a promise to get home sometime the next day ... and took off with Max for dinner and a movie, knowing I'd spend the night at his place ... again.

So then Monday comes around and what do I do? You know me, eh? I get sudden inspiration that is often panic-induced. And I'm driving over to Max's place, early like he said, and I realize ... Oh my God! It's Valentine's Day! Oh my God! I need more ... I need a giant red balloon heart. I need a garish red teddy bear with a giant heart on it. Eh, I've got the romantic gifts ... I need something that says, "I am head over heels in love with you and I don't care who knows."

And you know why?

Because it had dawned on me that day at work just what Maximus was doing. He was going to give me the perfect Valentine's. He was no doubt planning it all out ... 'it has all been arranged,' he'd said ... yeah, he'd done some strategizing. Just like when he'd once dressed like Chili because he thought that's what I'd like, well, he had probably studied some book about what modern women wanted in terms of a romantic Valentine's and that's what he was going to do.

All day long at work on Monday, I kept seeing him ... he'd answer the door in a tux. Soft classical music would be playing. He'd have ordered in some catered gourmet food. He'd have champagne. Truffles. There'd be candles and flowers. There'd be rose petals scattered on his bed. Silk sheets. He'd probably give me a piece of jewelry. I hoped to God he didn't spend too much money on it because I would have been happy with nothing but a card as long as he wrote 'I love you' on it.

That evening as I dressed for our special night of love, I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time in the exotic lingerie I was wearing for Max to discover.  I pictured his face, that almost sexually overwhelmed look he got sometimes ... that look that had the power to make me feel so beautiful and worthy.

I stopped at the drugstore around the corner on the way over to Max's place when I had that last minute inspiration ... and stood in line behind six men who'd forgotten what the day was until their wives had yelled at them ... and as I very smugly paid for my balloon and teddy bear, I was thinking how lucky I was to be with someone this year who not only remembered but had planned a special evening for us in honor of this holiday.

Outside his door, I shifted on my heels. As I did, I felt the g-string I was wearing give me the most delicious tremor of expectation. I opened my winter coat so I could smooth down my short skirt. I ran my fingers down the delicate silk of my blouse and unbuttoned another button. I flicked at my hair. I finished chewing my breath mint as I felt inside my coat pocket for the two tiny velvet bags that held his gifts along with tiny scrolls on which I'd written my sentiments to accompany them both. I hid the balloon and teddy behind my back; and only then did I knock.

It took a few minutes. When he opened the door, at first, I couldn't see him. Everything inside his place was pretty dark. Odd music that I couldn't even begin to place reverberated. And when I did focus on him, he was dressed ... most definitely not in a tux.

"Max?" I heard my voice kind of squeak. Cleared my throat to say, "What's all this? What's ... um ... You look ... Hi."

He was dressed ... well, mostly undressed ... bare chest ... okay, bare everything except for this rather thin band of red and black batik fabric that was ... barely, I might add ... covering his groin and knotted on his hip. Draped like a loincloth. It just was so not what I was expecting. Where I had thought 007 James Bond tux ... was he thinking Cupid and arrows? Oh sweet Jesus!

"Good evening ... step inside ... I have something to show you within..." He reached for my arm, drew me inside. 

I felt the balloon flutter in the wind of our movement as he shut the door closed behind me. The teddy bear bumped into my back. I tried to look around him, down the hall, into his living room but he deliberately obscured my view... it didn't help that no lights were on. All I really could tell was that candles flickered in there. He said he'd take my coat. I handed him the balloon and teddy; he got this puzzled look on his face. I blushed and stammered something about greeting cards, balloons and bears. I felt like an idiot. I mean, I'm carting in a kid's toy to this man dressed for sex?

He placed the bear on the table in his hall where a lone taper provided the only illumination near us. He let the balloon float to the ceiling as he dragged my coat off me.

When he turned back around from hanging it in the closet, I touched at his bare chest. There was a light sheen of some kind of ointment. I honestly couldn't quite think of what to say or where to look. I bit my lip and wondered ... what the fuck?

He held up a long strip of the same fabric he had around his hips. "Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because I want to place this blindfold on you before we proceed."

"Are you ... quite ... sure that a blindfold is necessary?" My voice quivered. I mean ... really. You know? What the fuck? He's into kinky sex and this is when I find out? On Valentine's? So much for tradition, eh? I want romance and flowers and jewelry ... but I get blindfolds and an oiled-down man instead?

"I am quite sure," he said, his voice soft, deep, commanding. His hands on my shoulders gently turned me around to where I was facing his door. I felt him move right up behind me. His face came next to mine; he took this long sniff of me and I was so glad I'd used nice perfume that night. With his mouth at my ear, he said, "For what good would it be if you were able to see where I was taking you? How would that enhance the magic of this night?"

Gulp.

This night was about magic? Oh. Goodie. So I let him blindfold me.

He turned me back around, his arms now around me, his body guiding me forward. It took a few steps but that's all it took before I felt safe there, in his arms. Even blind. Even unable to stick my hands up like I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to walk into something. Instead, I just had this instinctive reaction of total trust.

"I want to tell you a story," he said, his mouth at my ear again. "It is a legend of my time."

His voice hypnotized me. I heard nuances inside there. There was power, and it was being held on a very loose leash. And I sensed more than knew that in this night, he planned to unbind it, to set it free, to let it roam, to let it take what it wanted.

I could tell when we made it into the living room from the hall. It felt like space opened up. The heady scent of sandalwood incense invaded me. I didn't say a word, waiting on him to tell me the story.

"In a cave on the edge of a cliff high above the sea ... the very cave in which Romulus and Remus were said to have been suckled by the she-wolf as infants," he began. "Lived a priest who was dedicated to Lupercus, a fertility god ... Once a year, young men from towns around were summoned to that cave for a ceremony of great importance and great symbolism. In fact, this ancient ceremony, known as Lupercalia, was the foundation for the later celebration you know as Valentine's Day."

He stopped moving me forward. I felt him slip around to stand before me and he simply guided me down until I was sitting on the couch. I felt the cushions shift as he joined me. He told me he had something for me to drink; I felt the pressure of a glass at my lips and opened to sip drops of rich red wine from it.

I put my hand out until I could feel his bare thigh. Like his chest, it felt like it had this light coating of oil. I lifted my fingers to my nose as he moved to put the glass aside; whatever this was on his skin had a pungent, spicy scent. Vanilla? Something else, too, that I couldn't place. I heard the soft 'tink' of the wineglass being placed at the table near his side; he settled in next to me to me again; I put my hand back upon his thigh to be sure I had a connection as I turned in his direction. His hand smoothed over mine. His lips nuzzled in at my mouth; his tongue flicked across my lips ever so lightly. When he stopped, I licked my lips and thought I could taste the remnants of wine he must have also been drinking.

"The priests would sacrifice goats, for strength. And then they sacrificed young dogs, for purification but also in honor of their strong sexual instinct." He paused as I stiffened at the mention of killing dogs. "Lupercus, after all, was a fertility god, Ann, and fertility is for naught without sex."

As he spoke, I felt transported. I didn't yet know why he was doing this, but I felt like he was giving me a priceless gift ... an insight into him that he felt free to give me. And that he'd done it in the manner he was ... there was something about it that cast a spell.

Without sight, I was left with other senses heightened. The rhythm of his speech seemed to jarringly compliment the music, which was this atonal mixture of heavy hedonistic drums and odd deep flutes. I thought about how all of this was combining to make me willing to go into this with him ... to just sit back and experience the ride into his time's version of Valentine's. His fingers stroked up my throat as he began talking again; I didn't say a word. I was far too enthralled by him ... and by how this was making me feel.

"After the sacrifices, the priests would chant incantations over the goat's blood and say prayers for the coming season's crops. They would then soak strips of goatskin in the blood. These strips would be formed into whips. The young men were bared to nothing but red loincloths to honor the gods and then their skin was anointed in ceremonial oils. They would each be given a whip, dripping with goat blood. The young men would parade out among the people, running over the Seven Hills of Rome. They would touch at the crops to bring fruitful harvest. And women ... women would willingly step forward as the boys passed. They would bare their bodies. And the boys would gently, briefly flog the women with the goat's blood to bring them fertility as well."

He paused to give me more wine. He was so near me now that I could actually hear him drinking from the same wineglass after he removed it from me. I could smell the wine's aroma. And I could smell other odors ... grilled meat, baked raisins, cumin and curry, cinnamon and cloves. The sandalwood wafting on the air. Other scents I could not place. My brows furrowed in concentration. I enjoyed this element of figuring out. I realized ... I was grateful for the blindfold because it gave this experience to me in just this way. So I could unravel the experience, sense by sense. And he would be my guide.

Fertility, I thought. Spring. Renewal. Other things. Things that never mattered to me.

In this instance, somehow, the essence of him speaking of this matter ... I had the oddest reaction. I drew my legs up under me on the couch, shifted about as he draped an arm around my shoulders and I felt invited to come into his space. As if without a word, I handed something over to him.

I felt his breath upon my neck. His thumb stroked firmly where it lay upon my shoulder, the rhythm of the stroke an exact mimic of the drums beating as another track on the CD began. I realized that the back of my own hand was stroking over his belly, light flutters, in time to that same beat. Our rhythm, in sync?

"Now, as I said, fertility is meaningless without sex. Does it fascinate you, what else Romans might do on this day in which normal social rules were relaxed in order to shamelessly celebrate sex?"

"Yes," I whispered. "What would they do?"

"There was a feast. Of course. Always a great feast on ceremonial days. Much wine would be consumed. It was one of the rare occasions when men and women participated together in the feast. It was a day to stoke and build anticipation between the sexes. Lowered inhibitions, heightened awareness of a woman's desires, growing impatience among the young men," he said. "It was a day we greatly looked forward to, we young men. And the young women as well, I can assure you. For citizens of my class, for all its cloaking within ceremony, Lupercalia's focus became sex. Shameless flirting, sexual horseplay ... And more."

"More? Like an orgy?"

"No." I heard him drink deeply of the wine. He pressed the rim of the glass over my lips; I drank in, no more sipping. I liked how it made me feel. My hand massaged his thigh. "Not an orgy. Those are modern interpretations of aberrant behavior in the time of indulgent emperors."

"Then what?"

"A sex lottery."

Time seemed still. He drank in more wine; I drank in the words he'd just said: sex lottery. I could feel my pulse; it throbbed against my g-string.

"Eligible maidens would write their names on small clay tablets and place them in an earthen jar. Eligible young men would step forward, one by one, and pick out a woman's name at random."

"What would they do? They would just go off and have sex?"

"It was more involved than that. For a year, the two were paired off. It was accepted but it was not a marriage but they were a couple that year. Sometimes, it led to marriage. Mostly, it was a sexual odyssey between a young man and a young woman. Romans were a pragmatic people. Such rites released them to enjoy a healthy physical life, to procreate if they were lucky."

"For a year? Just ..."

His lips moved against my ear; he took my lobe gently, stroking it with his tongue, tugging on it with his teeth. And then, deep, dark, whisper of pure man: "A year. Bound together. Living as man and wife. Sexual odyssey. Would that have appealed to you, Ann?"

I swallowed hard. His hand touched between my thighs, gripping me there, keeping me close to him as I absorbed the scene he'd set for me.

"Did you do this? Did you ever ... take part in the sex lottery?"

"Oh, yes. Even in the provinces, we celebrated Lupercalia. But only once did I enter the lottery. I was away every other year in which I was eligible."

"You ..." I hesitated until I felt his breath on my neck, knowing he was watching me absorb this idea of him, so free in a time so much franker than ours in this respect. "Tell me about her. This girl you won in the lottery."

"She was not really a girl. She was older than me. A recent widow. Experienced in ways of love. Generous. It was ... a most pleasurable time ... unfortunately, I was home for only a few months before leaving for the military."

I pictured him. This young, magnificent stag who would become this man. Indulging, for the first time, in unfettered, readily available sexual liaisons. A woman teaching him. Him taking over before long, because I knew he would. I felt my blood pulse wildly.

"I would wish for you to help me recreate this celebration tonight. Lupercalia ... let us make this legend rise again ... in this modern era? It is a chance I have never offered another woman."

He knew I'd say yes. When I nodded, instantly, I felt his fingers begin undoing the knot in my blindfold. As it fell from my eyes, I was facing a darkened room with candles set upon the mantle, on several of the small tables, the coffee table before us ... the cave, I thought.

I looked at him ... he lounged back on the couch as he reached for a wineglass on the table next to him .. the band of cloth lewdly and unselfconsciously gaped open to show that it was all he wore ... the red loincloth.

And his skin glistened ... the ceremonial anointing by the priests.

He looked at me over his shoulder; he sipped wine as his eyes narrowed in concentration on how I was absorbing this ... rising anticipation.

"What do we do first?" I asked him, rising on my knees to reach near him as he straightened. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted that connection. He let me, but he didn't really participate.

And this is when I got it ... he was in charge. This was his night. He'd set this up. He knew exactly what he wanted. He was showing me that sometimes, it would be all about his sexual power.

"As you can see, I have been anointed. I am attired already by the priests. Do you remember what part of the ceremony comes next?"

I blinked. His hand stroked over my rear and gripped in. "Um. The goatskin in blood?"

"I was unable to find goatskin. Or goat blood. I thought perhaps substitutes would do as well for us in this modern city."

"Oh. Good."

He chuckled at my relief. I grinned at him. He rose from the couch, padded across the room to the kitchen table. When he returned, he was holding a shallow bowl and a ... black whip with inch-wide segments rather than thin tassels. Not that I was actually really watching what he was carrying because my eyes couldn't seem to stop staring at the only part of him that was hidden. He touched along my arm with the whip to draw my attention to where he wanted it; the whip's strands were leather that was remarkably soft.

"Wine," he said, indicating the red liquid floating in the bowl. He dipped the whip into the wine, dunking it a few times as he simply looked at me. And then, lowering his chin, he said, "If you wish to be flogged as part of the ceremony, do you remember what you must do?"

"I have to remove my clothes."

"And present yourself ... willingly to me."

So I rose from the couch ... what else could a woman do with that kind of invitation? I unbuttoned my blouse, let it fall off. I was wearing a black lace bra that shoved my breasts into the deepest cleavage. I watched his face. He smiled, his head nodded, his tongue touched at his lower lip ... but it wasn't the look I'd envisioned he'd have from the sight of me in lingerie. I put first one foot, then the other on the edge of the couch and rolled my thigh high hose down slowly. And then I turned from him so he could watch as I unzipped my skirt. I lowered it part way down my hips and then looked back at him. His eyes were following the skirt's movement. I arched my back, lowered the skirt a tiny bit more ... to show off the lace of the g-string's top band ... to show that my derriere was bare ... and then a bit more ...

He blinked. Not once. Not twice. A few more times. His jaw worked. His mouth opened slightly. His tongue worried at his top lip. He eyes seemed to unfocus a bit. This ... this was the look I'd wanted. His hand holding the whip wasn't quite as steady. His loincloth ... it seemed to move.

"Pearls?" he whispered, taking this half-step toward me before drawing himself to a stop.

"Pearls," I said, letting the skirt fall. I turned so he could see ... the strand of pearls ran from the back, down that cleavage, around to the front, up that valley ... a strand of white pearls that were suspended from the g-string's band of black lace around my hips ... pearls, touching me in my most private places. Nothing else but pearls.

He swallowed deeply; his eyes traveled up my body. "There it is," he said hoarsely as he looked into my eyes.

"There what is?" I asked him.

"That look you give me ... the way you hold yourself with such sensual confidence ... every so often ... a look of pure invitation that has a warning that if I am not man enough ..."

"Oh, Max, you are always man enough. Always."

His eyebrows rose. "Tonight, we are in my time. Therefore, it is my desire that you will address me by my real name."

"Maximus ... I present myself to you ... willingly ... for the ceremony."

He took the whip's strands from the wine, let it drip a bit, put the bowl down on the side table. I stepped right up before him. I felt the wet softness of the leather as he gently flogged ... no force ... this was an anointing of my own skin. He flogged over my belly ... my breasts ... I turned and could feel the flogging on my back ... down over my buttocks and even to the back of my knees.

"Now what?" I asked when nothing seemed to happen for a few seconds.

"The feast."

He took my hand and led me to big floor pillows before the coffee table. Here, he had me sit. There, he brought platters of food ... and we fed each other, using only our fingers, grilled goat meat spiced with curry; warm fragrant rice that held cumin and saffron and raisins and capers and spices I could never have named. Anise-flavored bread. Roasted vegetables that had been drizzled with aromatic herbs and oils. I asked ... at least I'd gotten it right that he'd have the meal catered. So I gave myself a few points for that and figured in the long run, I might have not minded at all that I had gotten everything else pretty wrong. Well, I ask you ... a night of him creating magic and mystery? I was fine with that. More than fine, actually.

He flirted with me throughout the feast. It was never innocent flirtation, mind you. It was designed to ramp me up. I flirted back ... his eyes would flash at me, like he was logging that in some mental ledger where he was calculating all the things he'd make me pay for later.

We drank in of the wine ... a deep, rich rioja I knew he favored. And I said to him that it struck me that as we drank wine, I had wine drying into stickiness upon my skin and how this somehow seemed so decadent to me as we sat there wearing nearly nothing and barely touching with anything but our fingers. It made our nearly nothing that much more titillating.

I checked myself several times during the feast. I kept wanting to slip my hand under the gap in the batik that covered ... somewhat ... his groin. I wanted to feel him ... soft or hard ... warm ... sensual man. I wanted to sniff my fingers after, to smell his arousal, his musk. But I knew that until he initiated it, I needed to simply follow his lead.

So when there came this moment when I was teasing him with a clump of sticky rice in my fingers ... this moment when, without warning, he grabbed my wrist and shoved my fingers inside his mouth ... I just kind of sat there, watching this slow smirk spread across his lips as he chewed slowly and then swallowed. He pulled me in toward him, bent and licked remnants of the wine trail on my chest. I felt his other hand on my rear ... felt the tug on the pearls ... and then felt his finger creep down the line of pearls.

It was ... hard to convey, I suppose. A feeling of weightlessness ... wine, heady in my veins. His mouth at my breasts, only able to really see the top of his head. His bare arm sliding over my buttocks, his finger between my cheeks, pressing and dragging pearls over a part of me that had been awakened and aware for hours, ever since I'd first put the g-string on and looked in that mirror at myself.

I whimpered ... told him I needed him ... needed relief ... I felt like the wine gave me permission to just be greedy about it all.

That's when he released me. I was shaking; he prodded me to sit back on the pillow. I watched, unsteady, as he sipped at his wine. I kept on watching, silent, as he fed me a grape that tasted of rum and cinnamon and cloves. I licked his fingers and when he left one inside my mouth, I tongued it until his own tongue came between my lips. He feasted on my lips; there's not another way to put it. He enjoyed it. I could tell. And then I was on my back and he was tasting my skin ... and I thought to myself, I want to taste his but I have to wait.

And then I felt ... I felt ... I felt his hand slip between my legs, in my crotch ... oh, just say it! His big hand stroked the line of pearls ... everything inside me focused down there ... the feel of those pearls ... it was ... it was ... it was torture and it was release and it was freeing. I thought about what he'd said ... the awakening desire of women ...

And I felt his mouth over my sex ... over the pearls. I arched under him. He forced my legs wide. His tongue teased the line of pearls ... dragging it one way, then the other, back and forth across my clit, jarring it along the whole line. He said ... he said ... he dared me to come ... he said my coming was his to grant or deny.

I held his head in place and raised my hips. His hands shoved me back and held me down. He gave me one last touch ... the tip of his tongue pressing a pearl right up against and into my opening. I felt tears behind my closed eyelids as he left me there like that. I trembled at the loss of his body heat; I shivered at what it felt like to have him play with me like that.

By the time I sat up again, he was on the couch, lounging back. His skin glistened. That scrap of cloth ... it did no good except to accentuate the bulge that had grown.

"Bring me that pot," he said when our eyes met; pointing behind me, along the wall. There was a clay pot, one of those red ones I use to grown geraniums in the summer. I crawled over to it. I did that on purpose. I wanted him to watch me move. I wanted him to see how the pearls affected my movement. How I exaggerated the sway of my hips just to cause the pearls to rub my sensitive areas. How my own sense of decadence had grown. How I was maybe more dangerous for him to be near than he might have thought.

With the pot in both hands, I moved back to him on my knees. Slowly.

Inside the pot were a bunch of folded scraps of paper. I handed the pot to him and then sat back, waiting.

"It is now time for the sex lottery," he said softly. "Inside here, are names of the eligible maidens who will be part of the lottery. And so, I ask you, Anna ... do you wish to place your name in here as well?"

"I don't know," I said, smiling. "I need to know a bit more about this ... lottery. For instance, will you be participating, Maximus? And what other men are participating?"

He dragged me to him with only his hand behind my neck. He gave me a vicious kiss, full of every bit of testosterone he had coursing through him. My body lounged along his; I could feel his hardness against my hips; my hands stroked along his slick chest. When he released me, it was with a nip at my bottom lip.

"There is only one man participating in this lottery."

"You?"

His chin raised. "What other information did you need before making your decision?"

"What am I really getting myself into? Max ... Maximus .... this is just a bit of ..." I almost asked, is this just a bit of role play. But something stopped me. It was his eyes. It was this light there. Danger. Fascination. Desire. Challenge.

"Can you tell me the idea of this does not excite you? I can see how it makes you feel ... remember? I am the man who never has shied from your wild side," he said, his voice enticing me to let go completely of every reservation. His hand stroked down my back, moving me into him, letting me feel him. "What would you want that I could not possibly give you? You already know what kind of man I am ... but how much more is possible for you? Wouldn't you like to find out? Enter the lottery ... take the chance that I will win you for a year."

I gave him a nervous smile ... what a game, eh? A build up to a night of extravagant sensuality and an incredible jump in intimacy between us. Why did I hesitate? Was it this 'year' thing? I don't think I'd ever dated anyone that long ... but this was game, right? He wasn't really asking me to commit to a year ... I mean, that would be rather scary at this juncture. Wouldn't it? Or would it?

"Yes. I want to enter the lottery."

"Good. A pen and piece of paper are there, on the table ... enter your name ..."

"What if you pick someone else's name?"

"It is too late for doubt ... too late for questions." I looked at him, his eyes glittered at me over the wineglass he drank from. He was far from drunk but he was enjoying the ease of the grape's affect on him so far. "Let fate decide if we belong together."

Fate. Luck. How I could trust that? I bit my lip ... and tossed my name into the lottery.

"We would have lined up. The young men, before the priests. The young women, nervous, lounging along the wall, waiting."

He pulled me up on my knees from where I sat on the floor, at his side as he lounged on the couch. One of his hands stirred the strips of folded paper in the clay pot. The other stroked down my jaw. Just the tiniest of movements drawing me in so close.

"We would have eyed each other ... had our own dreams of who we might select. I would have dreamed hot fervent dreams of you, Anna." His lips glanced across my neck, just beneath my ear. I felt this shiver down my spine in reaction. Because his body language, his voice ... what was in his mind was how near he was to an acceptable wild experience with me.

"I would have dreamed of you, Maximus. My heart is beating so wildly. What if you wouldn't get my name?"

"We would have placed our fate in the hands of the gods. It is not my heart beating so wildly tonight. It is a whole other part of me."

I looked down his torso. That strip of cloth. Damn the fabric for what it concealed. My palms were sweating. My mouth was dry. I wondered how far he'd take this lottery bullshit? For some reason, it seemed just like him to chance this ... I was so close to something significant and what if ... what if the gods conspired against us?

He flicked his fingers around inside the pot, drawing my eyes as he pulled one of the slips out. He opened it; read what name it contained. Looked at me. No expression on his face. I swallowed hard. He handed the paper to me. I held it in my fingers for a moment before reading it. There, printed, black ink on white paper ... "Anna" is what I read.

He picked me up ... no effort ... slung me over his shoulder. I heard a squeak come out of me. But I didn't resist. I just put my hands on his back and felt dizzy as he turned to head down the hall toward his bedroom. I thought he would toss me on the bed, but when he reached it, he paused in mid motion ... as if he thought better of it.

I felt one of his big hands smooth over my buttocks. I took in a ragged breath. I gasped and moaned when he smacked down hard, once on each cheek ... and then pushed in on the pearls. "You are a temptation I refuse to resist," he said darkly. "What can I tempt you to do with me this night?"

My head rose and I took in what I could see. Candles, many of them, were touching everything with an orange glow. He had gone to so much trouble. It was all so mysterious ... all so not what I would have imagined with him.

He pulled me slowly down from his shoulder until we were face to face, with me feeling like I was almost dangling in mid-air before him. I ran my fingers down his beard, touched at the neat leather thong he wore around his neck with those talismans of alligator teeth.

"You can tempt me into anything tonight ... Maximus, anything."

He raised his eyebrows; I found it hard to breathe. He laid me on his bed; I found it hard not to tremble. "You are bound to me for one year, Anna. To be with me. Tonight ... tonight I show you the man who's chosen you."

I felt this nervous smile on my lips. He was still into the ritual ... the lottery's consummation.

When he left to get the wine, I sat up in his bed and began slipping off my bra. I looked up toward the door just as I was sliding the straps down my arms ... to find him lingering there, watching me. I wondered if my skin glowed as warmly as his did in the candlelight. I wondered if the sight of me clad only in a lace and pearl g-string did for him what the sight of him in that red and black loincloth did for me.

I rose up on my knees to push the g-string off of me; he told me he would remove it when he was ready. I crawled to the edge of the mattress to be there when he arrived. We did nothing but kiss and hold each other. After he paused in the kiss to swig wine, I took the glass from him and asked him to lay down with me. I was putting the glass and bottle on his bedside stand ... bent over ... felt his big hand smooth over my bare derriere. And then ... without warning ... his mouth bit into me there.

When I whirled around, he had this evil smirk on his face. I pounced on him, told him I was going to bite his ass now in retaliation. It was the oddest thing, that moment between us. I had been getting the least bit nervous and shy; that bad boy bite of his had turned me on a dime.

I never did really try to bite him; I got distracted when I realized ... I could feel him all I wanted at this point. This was what he wanted ... me, wild and free with him. I licked his chest ... I sucked in on his skin ... I touched ... everywhere but under the loincloth. He kept saying to me, take me ... But until I was ready ... I wanted to taste the anointing oil. I wanted to feel the rise of his goose bumps as I traveled.

When I reached his hips, I turned to look in his eyes before pulling the loincloth's knot out ... with my teeth. And then I just tasted what I wanted to ... everything ... warm and musty ... his scent, his taste ... as he slowly writhed beneath my attentions. I felt his hands on my hair, pulling it up, moving it out of his way. "I want to watch you take me deep," he said with a growl.

And so he watched. And he coached. And he asked for what he wanted. And he moved. And he thrust.

"Come here. Let me see all of those pearls ..." he said suddenly, even as he was buried deep within my mouth. I felt his hand on my hips, moving me until he was lifting one leg and positioning me over his face. I got this crude image as he pushed my legs further apart and ran his hand from one end of the pearls to the other. Imagine, I thought, he is seeing everything. Everything. Everything you sometimes hate to show a man. But I didn't care. With him, I didn't care. I was okay.

God.

His tongue played among the pearls, like he'd done earlier. He just drove me mad. I finally had to just leave his body ... pull him out of me even as I pulled away from his tongue and fingers. I just couldn't take more.

I tried wiggling, flat on my belly, to get those damned pearls off of me. They had me over-sensitized, over-aware, over-ready. With them on, I couldn't slow, I couldn't pace, I didn't think I could even come at that point.

He growled at me to stop. I couldn't. I want them off, I told him. I want them on, he told me.

I felt his hand at my belly, lifting me up onto my knees. Another hand at my breasts, pulling me upright until I was kneeling up on the bed and he was behind me, clamping my back to his chest. He was hard, wet from my mouth, hot from within, damp from pre-cum. He pressed in against my back crevice; the pearls strummed against my clit.

"Leave them," he said. He lifted me off my knees; his mouth at my ear spoke wild profanities of what he'd make me feel, of what I made him feel. "Where do you want me, Anna? Put me there. Do it."

So I did. I reached down, moved the pearls aside, placed him just inside my vagina. This ... after all ... oh, it was where I'd needed him, of course. He went in deep, smooth on slickness that had been building all night. As he moved, I felt the pearls in my back crevice move with him.

"The pearls," I gasped, my hand going to the lace band to lower my g-string, to put me out of this sublime misery. But somehow ... I just couldn't.

"Are you speaking of these pearls?" He whispered those words, enunciating each syllable slowly ... even as he put a hand between us and pushed in on the strand that was now taut.

He played with me. I couldn't tell where to concentrate ... on where his cock drove inside me or where his finger rubbed pearls against that ring of muscles that protected something I'd only ever shared with him.

When I came, it was deep inside. Hard to fathom a coming that complete and solid. I had nothing to cling to; all I had was him holding me up, him inside me, his mouth biting into my shoulder, his hands now firm on my breasts, his groin reminding me of all the places in me that he could touch.

"Why this?" I panted out to him, coming down from the high, still soaring.

"Because when I dream of you, they are not always nice dreams."

"Oh." That one little sound ... it shivered out of me. I swallowed. "I don't always dream nicely about you either."

He didn't say anything. I knew he was filing that away, that someday he'd explore that, test it, test me. He let me sink down into the bed. I curled up around one of his pillows that was within my reach. He kissed along my spine as he slid my g-string from me, gentling the pearls from now swollen flesh.

I turned over to watch him as he moved. He was still hard. I marveled at this. "You must be in pain," I whispered, reaching to stroke him. He groaned, deep in his chest. We seemed to move in unison. I opened to him. He came to me. I wrapped my legs around his hips and he rutted into me. We were very noisy. Never compromise.

"Max?"

His mouth was buried in my chest. I heard the half-conscious rumble from him ... a deep "hmmm?" of a man who'd give anything if his woman would just let him sleep.

"Tonight ..."

My fingers ran into his hair; once so neat, now damp and disheveled. "Tonight?"

"The paper ..."

"The paper?"

"My name ... it read 'Anna' on the paper you showed me."

"Yes ... Anna ... your name."

"But I wrote my real name ... Ann ... on the piece of paper that I put in the pot."

I felt his chest expand against mine as he took in a deep, slow breath.  "In my time, I would have known you as Anna. It's how I think of you now ... inside ... Indulge me in that?"

"Was that name on every slip of paper in there?"

"Of course. Would I have left that to fate?"

"Say my name again. How you did. Say it ... say something in your language, just for me."

I think he knew. Maybe he had always known. His voice ... ah, his voice.

He slowly moved from where he was, his head at my breasts. He rolled to his side, right next to me, his big hand flat on my belly, one leg draped over my thighs. His mouth at my ear.

"Anna," he said softly. I let out the breath I'd been holding. Closed my eyes. "Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur."

"What does it mean? It sounds so divine."

"I will tell you some day. I promise."

I turned to look at him. Steady gaze at me; as if the storm had broken, cleansed him, calmed him. I nodded at him. Okay. He'd tell me ... I understood. Not now. Maybe what he'd said had meant that much to him that it was enough to say it even if I didn't understand it. "Can I tell you something, Max?"

"You may tell me anything, Anna. You don't tell me enough. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah. I do." I nuzzled in next to him, put my mouth at his ear. "You make me feel more a woman than I thought I was."

I used to be so scared around him, as if he'd find out I was not his match. And maybe I'm not, maybe time will find me out. But what I felt in that night was more confident in my own sexuality than I would have imagined possible.

He never said anything to me in response. He just relaxed around me. It's how we went into sleep. To dream.

Morning woke me. I came to with a start ... that sudden realization that comes to you deep within a dream that erupts in a panic as some inner clock blares out to you that you're late for work.

I opened my eyes and searched for the clock at my bedside and then remembered I wasn't home.

"Good morning," he said, his voice soft and clear.

I turned to look at him; he was leaning on his elbow and just watching me. "What time is it?" I asked him.

"You're not late," he said, knowing what was going on in my mind.

I rubbed my eyes, stretched ... and then nuzzled in against his warmth. "Did I wake you?"

"No. I have been lying here enjoying the view."

I peeked out at him, my fingers stroking over his chest. "It is a good view from here."

"This is the view I would always wish ... you, in my bed, each morning."

"Yeah? That's so sweet." I snuggled back against him, my mouth drawn to kiss somewhere on his body and my tongue tasting remnants of last night.

He kissed into the top of my head. "You are bound to me for a year, remember. I may take my rights." He tickled me playfully.

"Yeah, I see that happening, Max," I giggled. He pushed me over onto my back; I dragged him down into a hug. "You need no bindings, master. I'm always your slave. Right?"

"I never wanted a slave. Only a partner."

He said it softly; but I knew what he meant and I knew that sentiment was real and deep within him. "I like that about you, Max."

"I have a present for you, Ann."

"No more Anna? I'm disappointed. I liked the way you said that." He rose back up on his elbow; he had this look on his face that made me feel so soft. "A present? For me? Really?"

"Really. I believe it is your custom ... to give a token of love on Valentine's."

"Yeah, but it's the 15th so it's not Valentine's anymore," I sassed.

"Very well. I shall return it to the store ..."

"No! No, I was kidding. Max!"

He held one of his hands up to me; it was clasped in a fist. I drew it to me and kissed in at his knuckles. It opened; a sleek gold chain drooped down from his hold; a small, square golden pendant dangled from the gold chain, swinging before me. I glanced up in his eyes.

He just watched me. I reached to steady the pendant so I could study it; it had an etched design on one side that seemed nothing so much as some nonsensical pattern of straight and gently curved lines. Hidden somewhere in this design, I knew, was a message I was meant to understand. But I didn't.

When I didn't say anything, he dropped his hold on the chain and I was left holding the pendant. He put a fingernail on the pendant's design and began tracing the lines and curves. He traced out a series of letters, as if all the letters in the message had been piled one on top of the other. "Here is an 'I'", he said. "And an 'L', 'O', 'V', 'E' ... and a 'Y', 'O', 'U'. Can you see that?"

"I can. A hidden message ... in plain sight ..." God. He was learning me so well. I bit my lip. Swallowed. "You did this for me? This is so perfect. I love it. I'll wear it always."

"Let me place it around your neck."

As I felt his fingers working on the small clasp for the chain, I remembered that I had never given him his gifts. As soon as he finished, I jumped from the bed; told him to just wait there. Raced in to where he'd hung my coat, got out the two tiny blue velvet bags in my pocket and then raced back in, hopping into the bed while he chuckled at my enthusiasm.

"Okay, let's pretend it's last night and I've remembered to give you your Valentine gifts on the proper day, shall we?"

I dropped the first bag in his hand. He frowned at it, concentrating, trying to figure out what it was. But at last, he released the drawstring and dropped the contents into his hand. He regarded the silver frog, not much bigger than a small stone and wearing a gold crown. He looked at me, his eyes puzzled.

"You have to read the scroll that came with it," I said, watching his eyes as he read.

"See, that's one of our legends. It's a fairy tale. The frog who'd been a prince and had to convince a woman to kiss him before he'd be restored. Romantic ... I never understood the appeal until I met you," I said.

"I take it this is a compliment?" he teased me before pulling me into him for a lingering kiss.

I slid the other bag into his palm as I edged away after the kiss. This bag weighed nearly nothing. Inside, he found, was a charm suspended from an 's' ring. It was a gold key, rather spare in design but quite masculine. Read the scroll, I said softly.

"I would love it if you would ..." I said.

He was already widening the 's' ring and threading it over the thin leather that held one of the alligator teeth around his neck. In a moment ... there he'd placed it ... near his heart. I crawled up into his lap and stroked over where the key now joined the other talismans that he'd worn both in his day and in this.

It occurred to me. Rather profound ... for me, anyway. There was something meaningful about how we'd honored this little holiday. We do come from radically different pasts. We have different approaches. Different reference points. Undoubtedly different ideas that will clash; they cannot help but be wildly divergent sometimes. But here, we'd found a way, without conflict, to meld our customs, take the elements of most importance to us as individuals to end up with something uniquely ours.

We were learning.