"That's a sword."
"Yes, but what is it called in fencing?"
"That is not a fencing weapon. In fencing, there are only three." Gingerly, and with great caution, I lift the sword off its hooks. "This is a real sword. I purchased it when I was in Bern, Switzerland, and I walked into a knife shop. There was a secret room at the back with swords and other weaponry, and a knight's armor. I'd been fencing with blunt edge weapons for so long, I decided to spring for the real thing." I direct the tip at the ground, and Mallory looks over the intricate handle. "It's unbelievably sharp. In case you're wondering, I have cut myself on it. Not badly, but still." I replace the sword on its hooks.
"Here's what I know about fencing," Mallory says, taking a step back with one foot. She lifts a hand, raising a pretend sword. "On guard."
She looks so cute, so playful. First she let me nerd out over olives, and now this? It doesn't get better than this woman.
"That's your starting position," I indulge her, mirroring her body posture. "You could retreat to create space or dodge an attack." I demonstrate a simple step back. "Or lunge, to step forward and reach your opponent." I do this as well, arm extended.
Mallory presses a hand to her arm. "You got me."
"Good," I tell her, advancing. She lets me wrap her up in my arms. "Not letting you go, either."
"I have another confession to make." She bites the side of her lower lip, eyes lively.
"And that would be?"
"Jolene made a joke about me wearing your gold medal and riding you."
That has never been a fantasy of mine...until now.
I let her go, taking her hand, leading her down the hall.
"Where are we going?"
"To my closet to get my gold medal."
An excited giggle behind me. The cutest sound.
Hand in hand, I take her to my closet, to the small fireproof safe where I keep both medals. When I have it in hand, I turn to Mallory. "Strip," I tell her. Eyes locked on me, she listens. When she's naked, all womanly curves and soft skin, I place the medal over her head. Settle it between her full breasts.
She looks down, admires it. "It's not as heavy as I thought it would be. But it is cold."
I can't focus on the weight of the medal, or the temperature. A goddess, a siren, an American wet dream stands before me.
"This image will live on in my mind. In infamy."
Mallory smiles in this sexy, coquettish way. "I should be wearing spike heels. Then it would be perfect."
I'm shaking my head before she can finish her sentence. "It's perfect because it's on you." I point at my bed. "That's where we're headed." I make short work of my clothes. For a fantasy I've never had, I'm pretty damn excited about this.
Clothing shucked, I climb on the bed. Mallory hoists one leg over me, bracketing my body with her thighs. The medal lies against her creamy skin, looking one thousand times better on her than it does on me.
Her hand wraps around me, pumping, like she's getting me ready for her ride. And as much as I love it, I have a different ride in mind for her first.
"Up here." I nudge, lightly smacking her behind.
"What?" she asks, confused.
"My face. That's your ride."
"Hugo, I"—her head shakes—"I've never done that before."
Something possessive in my chest unfurls. We're at ages where we can't give each other many firsts, but I love knowing this isn't a road she's traveled with anybody else.
I wink at her. "Guess I'll have to break you in."
