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exertion. Suddenly he felt it- as Violetta threw her head back, over his shoulder, a cry escaping her. He pummeled her, pushing away his climax, hardly able to stand her screams, her moans- her eyes closed tight- crushing silk fans, crushing black butterflies, her pink-painted mouth open in a scream. Fuck, Blaise thought, blinded by his raging lust. Listen to her- Christ- Then it hit him. With a sensuous clench of her pussy, he felt himself coming, his body wracked with shuddering, slamming pleasure that came like white lightning flashing relentless through his loins. A deep, growling cry tore from his throat, and she moaned, feeling him, feeling it, even as she came- his cock jerking inside her, along with his fevered pounding, fusing their sensations, molten like steel. Blaise let his head fall forward, inhaling through parted lips. His breath felt hot, heavy. Violetta lay sensuously languid between the cold glass and the warm wall of his body, slick with sweat. He ran his hand up her stomach slowly, across her ruined blouse, feeling her breasts through the ripped fabric, his touch idle, lingering, leisurely. "Did you come?" she asked, after a moment, rolling her head back. He laughed quietly. "No, but it was nice just being close." He felt, rather than saw, her smile. "So," he said, coolly, "what do you think about me now?" "You should be dragged off and put to work building houses with President Carter," she said. "All of you." Blaises eyebrows skewed into little peaks of vague reaction. "Carter," he informed her, "is not our President anymore." "Yes, I know," she drawled. "The proof is in my pussy." "I think you like it," Blaise murmured against her neck. "I think you want me to prove it again." Violetta stifled a smile. "I need a drink," he whispered. "Do you want a glass of wine?" "I dont like Chardonnay." "Actually, I drink red." "Really? How does the pack feel about that?" "Fine, so long as it its expensive." He pushed himself back from the window with a sigh. The Balenciaga slid slowly back over her hips, falling down around her once more, rumpled and ravished. She made her way to the couch and sat down, as he fastened his zipper and walked to the kitchen. Blaise glanced at her. "Your shirt is ruined. Why dont you take it off?" Violetta watched him indolently from the low black sofa as he filled two balloon glasses. "It isnt ruined," she said. He laughed. "Dont be silly- that thing is shredded." She smiled. "Its deconstructionist." Blaise smirked. "Yes, I deconstructed it, all right. Dont be ridiculous. Ill buy you a new one. Leave me your address." Violetta laughed, leaning back. "If youre modest, here. Take my shirt." "Modest…" she seemed amused. She pulled off the ripped garment, held it out for his inspection, then let it fall demonstratively on the floor. Then she did the same with her bra. "Yes, Im so very modest. How very modest of me to spread my legs and let you fuck me up against plate glass." He admired her breasts, calmly, as he handed her a glass. "Overdressed the entire time, however." He took a seat across from her and took


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a sip from his own glass, eyeing her with casual indulgence. "You managed well enough." "Youre overdressed as we speak." "Really?" Blaise nodded, lifting his eyebrows. "That skirt is black-tie. The dress code for my bedroom is strictly casual." "What, like chaps and a penis?" His lip curled in a vague smile. "Funny- I heard that was your last still-life." "Yes," she cooed dryly, widening her eyes. "Chaps and a Penis- a watercolor. I think youd like it- very Ralph Lauren cum Tom of Finland. " "What about the skirt?" "No penis under there." "Excellent," he drawled. "You have nothing to lose but the skirt itself." Violetta sighed and finessed open the clasp one-handed, wriggling out of the Balenciaga in a flurry of rustling and undulating that did not require her to stand. It slipped over the edge of the couch onto the floor like an amorphous black Slinky, piling on top of itself. "Satisfied?" she asked, lifting her wineglass and putting it to her lips. Blaise shook his head as a slow, dark smile flitted over his face. "Hardly." "What time is it?" she asked, glancing outside. "Almost midnight," he replied, leaning back. "Why? Are you going to turn into a princess?" "Like your Pauline duPries?" She smiled coolly. "I doubt it." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you know her." "Were acquainted, yes…" Violetta shrugged. "I dont think its possible to know the nature of chronic vacancy…" "So you do know her." She smiled, at last. "Yes." "Are you cold?" Blaise asked suddenly, regarding her naked form- naked, that was, save for the garter belt. Garter belts were not exactly thermal. "I was much warmer before." He picked up his Yves St. Laurent shirt and handed it to her. She put it on, but left it open, her eyes on his. "That isnt what I meant," she said, slyly. Blaise sat back, his lips resting against his hand, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Do you know," he said, facetiously. "I almost thought you meant- me- for a moment…that you were warmer when you were fucking- me. Isnt that ridiculous?" "Ridiculous," she agreed, her eyes twitching at the ends. Blaise rose and went to her, pulling the shirt closed and buttoning it, slowly, as she watched his hands. "I think- youll be warmer," he intoned, "in my bedroom." He pointed down the hall. She paused, as if she would say something, but the phone rang. "Ill join you in a moment." Violetta rose, wordlessly and made her way down the hall, giving him a slight smile as she went. Blaise watched the phone, lighting up with each ring, and poured himself another glass of wine. Pauline, no doubt. It was nearing Pauline Freak-out Hour. The machine picked up. "Blaise? Its Alex. Is...this is fucking stupid, but hes making me ask- is Violetta there?" A pause. "He wouldnt even know her, Maxwell." Alex said, muffled, speaking to someone behind him. "Listen, Blaise- I know youre there, youre probably just screening- I dont fucking care about that, but I wanted you to know that Marcus took Pauline home tonight." A sigh. "Not that I guess youd care too much, but- FYI, buddy." Blaise found himself smiling. "-Anyway, Maxwells girlfriend is missing, and hes just having a hissy