“You think too much,” Jenny said to him.
Giles opened his mouth to protest-- no, I do not think too much– but in the next moment she plucked off his glasses and the audacity chased his words away. She untied the scarf from around her waist-- black silk, yards of it, heavy and rough under his hands-- and wound it around his forehead, blinding him. Once, twice around. She tied it at the back of his head. The tails hung heavy down his back. Giles sucked in a breath. She couldn’t know. Couldn’t. Though his reaction might have given it away already; he was trembling. He raised a hand and touched the silk.
“Jenny–” he said, but didn’t know how to continue.
“Rupert, sweetie, you spend too much time in here.” Jenny’s hands rested on his temples. “You live there. Behind your eyes. Thinking, reading, watching. I want you to live here tonight.” She rested a hand on his chest, over his heart.
“Oh,” he said, foolishly. He searched for some other response that wasn’t inane, but thinking was difficult. All his blood seemed to have rushed below his waist. He wondered if she’d noticed. He wondered what she was planning to do.
“Where were we?” she said. “What were you about to do, Rupert?”
“Ah. Um. Kiss you. If you seemed agreeable, that is.”
“And why would I not be? See, this is what I mean, Rupert.”
Giles laughed nervously. Her fingertips stroked down his face, down his neck, and rested on his tie. She tugged at the knot. Giles felt it loosen, felt the collar of his shirt open as she undid one button, two. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, on the warmth of her body brushing against his, on her scent, on the pleasure of arousal.
“What were you hoping would happen tonight?”
“I, uh, more of what happened Tuesday.”
Tuesday night had been dinner, followed by Jenny’s invitation to have a glass of wine. The wine bottle had sat open on the coffee table, driven entirely from mind by their fascination with each other, their first tentative kisses and caresses. The evening had ended with them stretched out side by side along Jenny’s sofa, pressed against each other. Not quite ready to go to bed, but close, so close. In a state of sweet sexual frustration, tightened and heightened and wound until at last they would yield. Soon. Tonight? Almost certainly. All the sweeter for the delay, in Giles’ opinion.
“Is that all?”
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, then pulled them out. He felt faintly ridiculous again. He rubbed his palms against his trousers. “Well, I-- I had some ambition. That we might consider, ah–”
“Consider what, Rupert? Hmm?”
“Going to bed. But I wasn’t in a rush.”
“Mm. Is that how it is with you?”
Giles touched his hand to the scarf again, at once abashed and pleased by her perception. Jenny tugged at his tie, and he obediently took a step forward. Two steps, into the center of her living room. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Giles obligingly shrugged it all the way off. She whisked it away from him and stepped away. He took the opportunity to slip his watch off and into his pocket. Thinking again, he realized. Thinking, planning, plotting, looking ahead. It took more than a simple blindfold to blind the Watcher. As Jenny would learn.
He shifted his stance, balanced himself, and got himself oriented. Reached out with trained senses. Found her-- three steps away, by the sofa. Giles moved, seized her around the waist, and bore her down onto the sofa, giggling. He pinned her and slipped his knee between hers and showed her what he hoped would happen next. At last he kissed her. He’d never tire of kissing this woman. Never.
He pulled back to catch his breath again. He nuzzled under her ear. “I love that scent. What is it?”
“Honey, musk, and rose,” she said. “Do you like it?”
Giles answered by biting gently along her throat, down her neckline, between her breasts, as far as her dress would allow him. She’d scented herself here as well. He groaned. It was driving him mad. He needed to see her.
He reached up to push off the blindfold, but she laid her hand over his.
“Do something for me,” she said, breath on his cheek. “Leave it on. Trust me.”
“Whatever you wish,” Giles said.
“Yes.” And he shuddered again.
She squirmed out from under him. Now he was underneath her. She had an agenda, it seemed: one shoe pulled off, dropped, then the other. There went his tie, yanked out from his collar. Jenny’s weight shifted. She moved down so that she was straddling his hips. Giles groaned and writhed under her. She ignored him and made her way down his shirtbuttons. His shirt, gone. His chest was bared to her gaze unseen by him, to the warm air of her flat, to her hands moving everywhere. Flickering touches, through the hair on his chest, over his nipples, tickling down his ribs. He reached up to seize her and stop her, but her weight was gone.
She gripped his hand, reassuring and firm, and tugged him up. Giles stood uncertainly. She led him forward. He was too aroused now to be aware of where he was, and he stumbled. She guided his hand to her waist.
“Trust me,” she said, and he stepped forward more confidently.
She led him out of the living room, down what felt like a hallway, into another room. Hushed, quiet. It smelled like incense-- piñon and chaparral. Wonderful; not what he would have expected. Giles drew in a deeper breath, and felt a little more of the tension leave his back and shoulders. He felt safe in this room, though he wasn’t sure why.
He heard the sound of a match striking, then Jenny moving. Candle wax. He could imagine what she looked like in the warm light, dark eyes and dark hair, pale skin over the deep red of her dress. He raised his hand to the scarf again, at his temple, but left it in place.
Hands on his belt, tugging. Giles resisted the urge to help, to bare himself more quickly. Belt open, trousers undone, unzipped, pushed down. He lifted one foot, then the other. A moment of uncertain vanity: would she admire him? He wanted desperately to hear that he pleased her. Rustling, and then a touch on his chest, trailing down his belly. A hand on his hip.
“Mmmmm, nice. The tweed hides more secrets, doesn’t it, Rupert?”
Giles felt a flash of satisfaction, then her hand stroked down the underside of his penis, and he was unable to answer. He swayed, and reached out to steady himself against her. But she had moved, and was behind him. She touched his rump.
“Why do they allow you to wear clothes? It’s indecent to hide this.”
Giles smiled, then hid his mouth behind a hand.
“I saw that, English,” she said, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. “Okay, to bed with you.”
She pushed his chest. Giles staggered two steps backward, then the bed caught him in the back of the knees. He fell into sheer bliss: satin sheets, soft pillows. He wriggled himself into the middle of the bed.
“You just relax, sweetheart.”
Giles lay on his back on her slick sheets and tried to obey. It was impossible. He strained his ears listening, trying to guess what she was doing. Undressing, he hoped. The bed shifted; she was with him now. Skin to skin, breath to breath. Giles wished he could be looking into her eyes, hoping that she could see in them how he felt, because he had no words for it. Couldn’t say it. I think I’m in love. I might be in love. I’m scared and thrilled and please please touch me like that again. He kissed her desperately and wished her to guess.
Jenny urged him onto his back. She sank down onto him. He raised his hips to meet her. He swore under his breath.
“I heard that,” she said, but her voice was unsteady.
And now the timeless rhythm of man and woman, moving together, pleasuring each other. He slid a hand up along her thigh, her flank, seeking her breast, as yet unseen. Cupped. Dared to pinch, and was rewarded with a gasp.
“I wish I could see you. Jenny.”
“What do you think I look like?”
“Beautiful. You’re beautiful. My darling Jenny.”
She would be a dark-haired goddess, astride him. One hand touching herself, he hoped, the other stroking his belly. Head thrown back, as she got closer and her breath grew more ragged. He groaned and thrust up underneath her. He shifted himself so his feet were flat on the bed, for better leverage. And then she was shuddering around him and crying out. Giles nearly followed. Not quite, not quite. He held still, letting her ride out the last of the waves.
She collapsed forward onto his chest. Her hands were on his shoulders. Rings on her fingers, the pendant around her neck falling forward, resting on his chest. Giles breathed in her scent: honey and musk, sweat, sex. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled, took command, willing to wait no longer. He left the scarf around his eyes. His eyes were closed underneath it anyway. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulled him in deep, and shuddered again beneath him. That was enough to send him over.
He slid off and collapsed face-down on her bed. She sighed and stretched next to him. He rubbed his face against her arm, kissed the warm skin, then let his head fall onto her pillows. Marvelous. Perfect. Everything he’d hoped for.
At last she undid the knot at the back of his head, and unwound the scarf. Giles blinked, and rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes adjusted. Flickering candlelight, a four-poster bed, hung with patterned fabric, dark colors against white walls. He pushed himself up onto an elbow and looked at his new lover at last. She was beautiful, and perfectly comfortable in her nudity, lounging next to him. Her skin shone with sweat, and her hair was a scattered ruin. Her jewelry glittered against her skin, rings and earrings and pendant resting between small perfect breasts. Something glinted in her navel-- a gold ring, with a red jewel.
“Oh! That’s where you, ah, dangle–” He touched it with a cautious finger, then smiled up at her. He blew breath against her navel and recited. “My well-beloved was stripped. Knowing my whim, she wore her tinkling gems, but naught besides.”
She closed her eyes. “Mmm. I’m no sultan’s slave.”
Rather the reverse, Giles thought, but he occupied his mouth kissing his way up from belly to breast. A gentle kiss between, another hint of that honeyed musk, and then he sighed. He subsided next to her, his head on her shoulder, one arm across her waist. Jenny idly wrapped the scarf around his wrist. Giles held out the other to her, tentatively, wondering if she played those games as well. She froze for a moment, then bound his wrists together, loosely. Giles shivered, and let his joined hands rest on her thigh.
“You’ve done this before,” she said. She tugged at the scarf gently. “Cheater.”
Giles cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“You like this.”
It was not exactly a question, but he answered anyway. “Quite a bit.”
“Oh, Rupert, we are going to have such fun.”