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her in an attempt to fit it all in the car. He picked up the trailing edge and wrapped it carefully over her lap. Once he had the car started he relaxed a little. He lowered the window and the sounds of the party met his ears once more- the laughing, the low buzz of conversation, the jangling, giddy bounce of the opening chords to "The Safety Dance". Christ on a cracker, Alex- he thought, dimly. Why? Violetta leaned over the stick shift and put her hand on his arm. "Drive," she whispered. She leaned back in the deep leather seat as he peeled out of the drive and headed for the freeway. Her arms were raised above her head, resting, relaxed. How could she relax? Didnt she know how narrowly hed escaped? "Why did you come with me?" he asked, after a moment. The streetlights blurred into a running neon line that reflected blue from a hundred unknown sources. Violetta paused, smiling diminutively. "Because," she purred, "I want to fuck you all over your sterile yet tastefully decorated apartment." Blaise stared at the road ahead, feeling himself surge at her words. His cock was checking in. He wanted her, he realized- and not just because she was there. He wanted to- "Hey Brad? Could you turn on the radio?" He complied. "Human Nature," she said with a sigh. "This is a good song. The best songs are always B-sides." "Yes," he answered, evenly, feeling a rush of surrealism. "Thriller is a great album. Great video. That guy has talent." "Where are we going?" she asked, abruptly, turning to look at him with one eye. The other was covered by the sweep of her hair, the black side. "To my place," he said, automatically. She laughed. "Of course." His apartment was near the top- not the penthouse, but just short of it. The ride up was excruciating in uncounted tiny ways. He kept marking the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breasts beneath the stylishly worn top. But the presence of the elevator man precluded any pre-emptive strikes on his part, so he stood beside her in tightly wound silence, replying to the elevator mans polite inquiries with vague monosyllables. Each floor was coded for security and private access, and the elevator opened right into his apartment. It was a nice touch, one of the reasons hed chosen this building. That and the sauna. "Thank you," he told the operator, tersely, as the doors closed behind them, and there they were, suddenly, alone. Violetta was looking around, appraising her surroundings. Low, sculpted furniture, open space. Immaculate white carpet. Above the black marble fireplace hung a Liechtenstein. Exposed brick on the interior wall, superficial walls all matte white, like a photographers backdrop. "The whole floor is mine," Blaise said, sliding his arms beneath hers. She broke away from him gently and went into the living room, her tulle skirt trailing with a tantalizing rustle. He didnt follow right away. He watched her, coolly exhilarated. This was incredible, unthinkable. And yet he was thinking of it. Thinking in detail. She was like a strange, exotic bird. A macaw? he thought, smirking, briefly, as


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his thoughts touched on Maxwell Cox. No, he decided, as his thoughts resettled, fully intent upon the girl who now leaned against window, looking down at the street far below. A bird of paradise…but that was a flower. Blaise stopped trying to figure it out. He went toward her, running his fingertips gently down the center of her back. "Its amazing," she murmured. "This whole wall is a window." "Floor to ceiling," he whispered. "But dont worry, its tempered." It was dark outside, and the lights seemed far away and surreal, as if they were high above the earth. "Its like fucking Cloud City," he said, softly. "Isnt it?" Violetta nodded. "Do you like it?" "Yes," she said, turning to face him. He admired her eyes at this new, captive vantage. They were pale as opal. He slowly moved forward, trapping her back against the glass, an arm on either side. "Do you like this?" She smiled. "Dont you?" "Very much," he said thickly. "Is that a Brooks Brothers suit?" she asked, dreamily, her black-smudged eyes closing slightly. Her mouth was parted and his loins lurched at the sight of it. "Yes," he breathed. She laughed lightly. "Of course it is. Youre a yuppie, arent you, Andrew…" "Blaise," he said firmly, squeezing her cheeks between the fingers of one hand. "My name is Blaise." "Blaise," she agreed, her eyes glowing in the electric blue half-light. "I could fuck you like this," he said, touching her on the upper chest where her skin was bared. "Against the glass." Violetta gazed at him for a moment, then boldly, without taking her eyes from him, pulled up the huge, stiffly billowing skirt. "Fuck me," she whispered. "Yes." Blaise couldnt believe her sexual energy. It was inborn to her pores, somehow. She wore Chanel, he noticed, dimly. Coco. Pauline wore No. 19, which had always seemed like an old ladys fragrance to him. Not like this. It smelled exotic, compelling. It smelled like pussy- or at least as good, as it left him feeling the same. Ready to fuck. Oh, so ready. He realized that this Violetta wasnt wearing anything beneath her billowing Balenciaga but a red garter belt and stockings. Her pussy was exposed to him, vulnerable. She favored the landing strip, which was nice- short, sweet. Who wants to be like fucking Ponce de Leon, after all, thought Blaise absently. He hooked his fingers beneath the garters themselves and ran them slowly down the length of the straps. As the back of his hands grazed her thighs she moved, reflexively, throwing back her head. She eyed him, willing him on, silently, a tiny smile playing about her pale lips. Nice, he thought, trying to maintain his calm. Very nice. Hed thought he was well jaded. No one had made him this hot in a long time. Not Pauline, not Nancy, not Traci, not Courtlynn, not Francesca, not Cynthia. What was it with this chick? It isnt her, he thought. Its the taboo aspect of our converse social/sexual association. Thats just basic sociology. God, she was kissing his neck. He closed his eyes. "Now," she hissed. "I want it now." He was hard, already, just at the suggestion. She was