Blue's eyes went wide as Lou dipped his head to hers.

"If you do get cold, just tell me," Lou said, voice serious, his well-defined masculine jaw slanting to her less-than-feminine jaw, his beautiful firm lips seeking her not-so-beautiful, lax lips.

No quick kill here. Though clearly he had no need to romance her, Lou took his time over her seduction. He had to know how his closeness affected her, how he drew her, how susceptible she was to him! Yet, he kissed her tenderly, as though he really wanted to kiss her. As though he had nothing else in mind, as if the embrace wasn't a stepping-stone to somewhere else. He took her lips as though the kiss was a destination in and of itself, not just a brief detour on the express lane to bed.

She resented the hell out of Lou, then. Get out of my face and into my pussy where I need you.

"Doing okay?" he asked against her open mouth.

"Effin' f-fine."

"Good," said Solemn Lou. "I'm glad you're fine."

Oh, but she wasn't fine. Wasn't fine at all. His gentle kiss devastated her, swept her away. On the dark pier, she felt unmoored, a clunky boat -- an ugly barge -- set adrift. How could he do this to her?

Two big hands swallowed up her small breasts. But rather than smother the fire, his touch added gasoline to the flames when he petted her nipples. Fully engulfed, about to spontaneously combust, she moaned in pained, open-mouthed pleasure. Belly clutching, she wound her fingers in his short, conservative hair. "Don't stop."

At her heated instruction, something changed. Where before Lou had reverently fondled her breasts, now he squeezed. Kneaded. Pinched the tips!

"Damn, damn, damn," he muttered.

Jeez, she rated three cusses in a row!

In the darkness, his mouth found her gaping mouth again, his tongue -- forceful now -- pierced the interior again, ramming this time toward the back of her throat. Despite the best of intentions, she slid ever deeper into Lou's weird, mild-mannered rap.

Though -- though -- where had his mild-mannered nature gone?

The rough kiss, the boxer's hold on her, the heady grunts and groans, were hardly the sort of foreplay she'd expected from this quiet-spoken guy of the dark suit and tie. Lou's preliminaries were not neat and tidy. Not a tribute to a staid businessman's organizational skills. His moves contained no artful choreography; the arrangement of steps did little to impress. His hands, uncool now, unsteady now, moved all over her, seemingly in several directions at once.

His clumsiness thrilled her. Had she done that to him?

En route to his zipper, his wildly roaming, clutching, greedy, entirely human hands bumped into her similarly inclined hands.

"No!" he growled. "I'll come if you do. Let me do you."

Blue Heron on the receiving end of foreplay?

New concept, that. Just never happened. And a man taking charge? What the fuck!?

But "O-okay," she managed to stammer.

After she gave the go ahead, fear, that pleasure-depriving monster, slammed into her gut with the force of the seven furies.

What was this? What was going on? Why was she letting him do all the work?

Evidently, Lou didn't view foreplay as work. Or if he did, he certainly enjoyed his occupation. So, she let him. Quite simply, she submitted. Anything else required more energy than she possessed. For some reason, her stamina had hit the skids.

"Lou, Lou, Lou," she gasped, and sputtered, and choked.

"Yeah. Who knew?"

Fuck, not her. Where had this delight come from? Like fragile fireflies, the glittering feelings, the brilliant emotions, lit up the darkness inside her. She hadn't expected this reaction, didn't necessarily even want this reaction. Experimentation without commitment? Yeah! Bring it on! But a draining upheaval that left her weak and depleted? No, no, no! She didn't need this shit in her life, not now.

Big hands moved from her tits to her ass, a close-cropped head bowed, a mouth latched onto her pierced nipple and pulled. Pulled. Pulled. Powerfully pulled. Slightly edgy, unquestionably erotic, this new Lou person was powerfully pulling the rest of her, too. Unprepared, unsuited, to go to that place, to enter the vortex, at first she resisted the awful attraction. Couldn't he see, couldn't he tell, she was not like other women? She was used to taking charge! Calling the shots! Giving the orders!

When his teeth scraped delicately back and forth against her hardened nipple, he completely unhinged her. She howled like a she-wolf to the night sky. The void between her legs went from dripping drenched to pussy puddles; tingly nerve endings vibrated on the outside of her skin. Everything, all her perceptions magnified, and raw, raw outside and in, she gave herself passively over to Lou.

Who was this stranger? And who was this girlie-girl she'd morphed into in his presence? Why had she allowed him to set the lead when she'd never allowed anyone, neither man nor woman, to set the pace in anything?

Until tonight, she'd never followed anyone or anything. Not social dictates, not fashions, not other people's moralistic idea of what was right and wrong. She was her own person. No one told her what to do. She governed herself!

But when Lou mouthed his way from her breasts to suck on the tight, hot flesh of her belly, and said, "Your trousers…open them," she didn't question his authority over her. Rather, she rushed headlong into dangerously submissive territory.

Two streetlights shone down upon the pier, the dim electric globes illuminating the moonless night hardly at all. A thick cloak of fog rising from the river covered the dock as well. And she wasn't shy about her body. Nudity was only nudity. Only the unrevealed human form. She had gone naked outside many times…

What with the price of supplies, the cost of studio rentals, and the few works that ever sold, artists never had any real money. Who could afford the expense of hiring a life model? In the culture to which she belonged, swapping off on posing only made sense. For that reason, she was forever whipping off her clothes for some artist or other. After spending a few hours in the buff, seen as nothing more than line, shape, form, color, size, texture, and position, she had long ago lost her inhibitions.

But this nakedness differed from all those other previous occasions of nakedness. This was nothing like the essentially boring, under-the-covers-in-the-dark nakedness with her previous lover. Nor was this the teasing nudity of Sprout's. And because this nudity seemed so strange, her usually sure and facile hands fumbled.

Still, riding high on the promise of imminent pleasure, she managed, albeit gracelessly, to release the zipper on her trousers.

"Down and off," Lou demanded, his former mild-mannered voice now frighteningly authoritative. "Boxers, too. Bare to the skin."

Who was this scary dominant guy?

And why couldn't she tell him to go fuck himself?

But, no. She said nothing. At his edgy command, she silently pushed the baggy trousers and underwear over her hips, lowering them together down her legs. When they fell loosely around her ankles, she kicked free. In her gaping shirt, work boots, and socks, she faced Lou, the slight breeze off the river doing nothing to lower her fever.

His intense dark eyes surveyed the pubic curls on her pussy. "Soft and silky." He squatted down in front of her. "Open your legs."