Project Tendril Ch. 01

She pulled in her parking lot, realized she hadn't done anything about dinner and decided there were microwavable dinners in the freezer for a reason. She grabbed her backpack and made the climb up the stairs to the fourth floor. She considered it her daily, mindless exercise and she had stepped out into the fourth floor hall before she realized she was hearing music.

Chopin. Étude Opus 10 Number 2. Not easy. He had to have a very talented right hand...

And he's a Classical pianist as well? she thought as she fumbled for her keys. Of course he is... he's a demi-god. He likes plants and classical music, he's gorgeous, and he's probably a phenomenal fuck. Not with me, though... even if I got him in bed, I'm too chicken-shit to tell a guy what I really like...

As she got her door open, he finished Number 2 and segued into Number 3.

Wow... a romantic, too, she mused. Too good to be true...

She let the sounds from across the hall wash over her as she dropped her stuff, got out a spray bottle and made the rounds of her Family, giving them each a small drink, checking on them. Her four new plants from the lab surprised her. They had all grown substantially, as if happy to have escaped the artificial light of the lab. In fact, the two on the dresser -- the ivy and the fern -- were leaning far out of their pots toward the sunlight still coming in the window. The anthurium and hibiscus appeared to be seeking the sunlight as well.

Maybe I'll have to rearrange the landscape, she thought as she moved about her room. If they're that starved for sunlight, I can move them closer to the window. But that means some serious relocation of the plants I've already got there.

She was standing in front of her open freezer, surveying her options for dinner, when there was a knock at her door. Surprised, she closed the freezer and went to look out the peephole.

It was him.

The demi-god him.

She fumbled with the lock and chain and opened the door slightly.

"Yes?" she asked, totally unsure what he could be lacking that he'd need to come borrow. He held up a grocery bag while he nestled a crock pot under his arm.

"I brought dinner," he smiled, and she started to melt. "I figured after the inconvenience yesterday, you might like an evening of home-cooked instead of take-out. Unless you have other plans, of course. I forgot to get your name and phone number, to check in advance. Sorry."

"It's Sonja," she told him, opening the door wider while her pulse raced. "Sonja Richardson. I don't have any plans for tonight. In fact, I was just trying to decide which flavor of frozen I wanted, so dinner is absolutely appreciated. Come on in..."

Against all rational, sane caution, she made way for him and he entered, heading for the kitchen.

"Your place is laid out just like mine," he commented as he put the slow cooker on the counter and plugged it in. "Except you live in a jungle and mine is a lot more Spartan. Guess it must be nice to be settled in one place long enough to do all this..." He gestured at the plethora of greenery surrounding them.

"And to save you having to ask, I'm single; I move around a lot in my work; no -- I'm not usually this forward when meeting neighbors; yes -- I found you intriguing when we met and I saw your jungle, and decided I'd like to get to know you better; and yes -- I'm a fairly decent cook, if you like Cranberry Coq au Vin, garlic mashed potatoes, asparagus tips with hollandaise, a garden salad on the side with a creamy Italian dressing and orange sherbet for dessert."

Be still my beating heart... Sonja thought as she began to feel overwhelmed.

"And to drink?" she asked.

"I thought I'd leave that up to you," he smiled, dazzling her every time. "If you wish, I have some dark Columbian roast for coffee."

"Would a Pinot Noir be okay with you?" Sonja managed to ask, still struggling to keep from jumping him.

"Absolutely," Ken agreed. "If I can commandeer your kitchen for a few minutes while you set the table, everything is just about ready."

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God... was pretty much all that ran through Sonya's mind as she hurried to pull out her bottle of Rock Wallaby and get decent silver, china and stemware on the table. Please, Lord, if you have any kind of a kindly heart, please let this guy not be an asshole...

It was less than ten minutes later that Ken appeared with a basket of bread rolls and butter, and the news that the soup would be ready in about five minutes and the main course in about fifteen. Sonja opened the wine and poured them each a glass, apologizing that all she had was everyday wine.

"Hey, the Aussies make some very fine wines -- award winning, even," he smiled as he held up his glass. "Au de nouveaux amis et de nouvelles aventures!"

"French," Sonja mused. "Um... to new friends and new adventures."

"Got it in one!" Ken smiled again and it went straight to Sonja's groin. "Parles-tu français?"

"Je parle français un peu," Sonja smile in return. "And in the informal to boot, I notice."

"Well, I'm hoping this friendship becomes very informal," he told her with a slight smirk.

Jesus, does he know how to flirt! Sonja thought as they clinked glasses.

"Well, Sonja Richardson, how about you sit down at the table and I'll bring in dinner..." Ken suggested, heading back into the kitchen.

"It's just Sonja," she called after him as she sat, "and I didn't catch your last name!"

"Buford," Ken called back. "As in General John Buford of Gettysburg. A distant relative, actually."

"Well, Ken Buford," Sonja acknowledged, "from here, dinner smells scrumptious!"

Ken walked in like a waiter balancing multiple dishes and proceeded to lay them out before Sonja and his own place. As promised, it was great and conversation ground to a halt as both tucked in. Eventually though, they each went back to surreptitiously assessing the other.

God, he is fucking perfect, Sonja thought. There's got to be some fatal flaw but I'll be damned if I can see it. He is educated, refined, talented and for some completely unknown reason, interested in me. Maybe he's some kind of domineering monster in bed or something... but right now, I'll take it.

"So what do you do for a living?" she asked rather inelegantly, deciding direct was good and hoping he could handle it.

"I'm a security consultant," he told her as he stood to clear the dishes. "I'll be back with dessert in a moment."

Security consultant, Sonja mused. Physical, IT, what...? She waited for him to return before asking.

"Actually, I do a little bit of everything," he told her as they started in on their sherbet. "Most of it is physical, but I've got training in network and mainframes as well. I'm on call 24-7, but I managed this weekend off because I'm moving. They wanted me closer to the home office."

"Where's your home office?" Sonja wondered.

"Fort Meade," Ken answered, continuing to eat dessert.

Sonja stopped in mid spoonful.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed as she stared at him. "You're NSA!"

"Yep," he confirmed. "No Such Agency." He didn't even slow down enjoying the excellent sherbet.

Sonja didn't know what to think... a "security consultant" for the National Security Agency... Jesus!

"Okay, I'm going to put my foot in it," she told him. "Are you like, a spook or something?"

Ken laughed and Sonja's pussy clenched at the sound of it.

"If you mean like a covert field operative, per the CIA, then no," he assured her. "I do deal with issues of National Security and I do have to travel and I do deal with civilian, government and military personnel. But I'm not some kind of James Bond, Secret Agent."

"Wow... but you're trained to be one?" She just couldn't let it alone.

"Sort of... Bachelor's in Administration of Justice, third in my class at FLETC, additional training... but nothing like the real spooks get," he told her. "For now, I'm involved in designing some counter-terrorism training for our people. That's why the move to be near headquarters."

"I hope that doesn't make you nervous," he went on. "And along those lines, what do you do to pay the bills?"

"I'm a research botanist," Sonja told him, still distracted from discovering a spy wining and dining her. "For a local lab. We do mostly DARPA contracts."

"DARPA?" Ken was surprised but smiling. "Now who's the spook? What does it take to be a DARPA research botanist, whatever that is? Probably a bunch of Ivy League doctorates or something? Or would you have to kill me if you told me?"

Sonja shook her head, smiling. "Some of it is Classified, but no Doctorate required. Basically, I've got two Bachelors', one in Phytochemistry and one in Genetics, and a Master's in Molecular Biology. I'm really good at taking plants apart and putting them back together. Animals, too, truth be told, but I prefer plants."

"Obviously," Ken smiled, gesturing at the surrounding flora. "That explains a lot. Are these plants all custom-built jobs?"

"No, not really. A few are rescues from projects that got terminated, some are finds from traipsing around in the wild, some are from local greenhouses... plants just fascinate me and I'm always picking up more for my collection. I really love Nature in all her wonderful variety."

"So then, you're a Naturist sort of person," Ken suggested and his tone of voice went straight to Sonja's nethers. This conversation was taking a turn and she really liked the direction.

"When I don't have to entertain..." she drawled. "Yes, I prefer to be in my Natural State."

"You prefer Arkansas?" Ken kidded and to Sonja's blank look he added, "the State nickname? On their license plates? Arkansas -- the Natural State?"

"Oh," Sonja answered, deciding to get a little risqué. "I thought the Natural State was sans clothing."

"Well, that could work, too," the demi-god grinned. "Sorry for being crude, but I've been noticing you've got some really nice curves hidden away under the loose clothing... and before you jump to conclusions, there's absolutely nothing wrong with full skirts and scoop-neck blouses! Other than, they tantalize."

Sonja felt the blush creeping up her neck. "Are all your clothes tailor-made?" she asked, mostly to get the attention off of her.

"These?" He looked surprised. "Actually, no... these are all off-the-rack. I have a couple of tailored suits and tuxes, but that's pretty much it. I'm a business casual kind of guy when I can get away with it."

"So where do you carry your weapon?" Sonja asked. She had enough experience with prior lovers who carried on the job to know it was probably part of his routine.

Ken sighed. "Tonight, I'm not," he told her. "On the job, either a tuckable IWB with a polo over it, or a shoulder rig under a jacket. But that isn't important. Tonight, the hardware's back over at my place. You aren't by any chance hoplophobic, are you?"

"If you mean afraid of weapons, then no," she answered honestly. "I can shoot and I've had lovers that carried for work. It just isn't usually part of my work, except when I'm passing through the guard station at the lab."

"To completely change the subject for a moment, Ken," she went on, "I am curious as all hell as to why you, a demi-god on earth, might be interested in a homebody like me. Is it okay to ask?"

"A demi-god? Really?" Ken asked in surprise. When he saw Sonja flush with embarrassment, he hurried on, "Wow... thanks for the compliment! I don't see myself as anything special. In fact, I think I'm pretty mundane. But your question was serious and deserves a serious answer."

"Why would I be interested in you? Okay, there's lots of parts to that. Let's start with our first meeting. I'm trying to move in and cursing the Universe for the elevator not working and a vision of loveliness with an attitude interrupts me. Vision of loveliness -- okay, so I guess it's True Confessions time. One, I love redheads. I've loved them since before I discovered my pecker. My mother was a redhead... there's probably something Freudian in that. Two, I love curves. Probably also goes back to my mother and being breastfed. Skinny just doesn't do it for me -- I tend to see the fashion models as anorexic. And trench coat or not, you were curvy -- confirmed when I managed to get you into my arms at the top of the stairs."

"Attitude -- well, you were irritated, but very deftly showed a fine command of English sarcasm in letting us know it. And you were flexible. We offered an unconventional solution and you took it. Lucky me, I got you to fall into my arms. And then there is this amazing apartment. They say you can learn a lot about a person by looking at their bookshelves... subjects, authors, how they're arranged and so forth. In your case, I couldn't find the bookshelves... everything is covered in plants! That was intriguing right there. I was up quite late last night trying to figure out what was with all the plants."

"Of course, you being a botanist explains a lot. So I guess in base animal terms, I was initially attracted to you for reasons of pure lust. After that, curiosity took over. Hence my attempt to not only break the ice, but shatter it into a million pieces by bringing over dinner. How was it, by the way?"

"Dinner was perfect," Sonja managed to tell him, while her pulse, respiration and pussy were all going nuts. "I take it you're a world-class chef as well as a concert pianist."

Ken grinned. "Guess I play too loud, huh? Sorry about that. And again, I don't think of myself as world-class or anything. My mother was insistent I learn about a wide range of things, cooking and music included, and my father insisted that whatever I did, I did my best. Between them, I guess I got fairly good at things other than video games and fast cars."

Sonja's pussy decided it had had enough of this and took over Sonja's mouth.

"Does that include sex?"

Now Ken really grinned and it was blinding. "Would you like to find out?" he asked softly.

HELL YES!!! Sonja's pussy screamed at her. Externally, she was a bit more calm.

"I know this is going to sound stupid, but..." she started, "I'll admit I'm very interested in you. I am also incredibly intimidated. I don't usually jump in bed on the first date... in fact, I like to be dating a guy over several weeks before getting that intimate. To find out if I really like him, or if he's going to turn out to be an asshole. Truth be told, though, all you'd have to do is crook your finger and I'd be kneeling at your feet, slavering like a bitch in heat."

Ken smiled and gently shook his head -- then raised his index finger and beckoned her with it.

Sonja knew her bluff had been called. And she knew what she was going to do.

She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, calmly stood up and walked over next to him, then knelt beside him, looking up into his beautiful blue eyes, waiting.

"What about the slavering part?" he asked, bemused.

Sonja stood up, hiked up her dress and pulled her panties aside, spread her legs and told him, "check."

Surprised, but not about to back down, Ken reached forward and felt her shaved pussy, inserting a finger and releasing a flood. He also elicited a soft moan and felt the shudder rip through her.

"Wow," he acknowledged. "You're soaking."

"Uh-huh," she managed to moan in agreement.

Taking that as his cue, Ken began fingering her in earnest, searching for her G-spot and cervix, learning the lay of the land as it were, and the more he diddled, the faster Sonja ramped up. She had seldom gone from zero to sixty like this in her life, but this man was driving her towards the inevitable in record time. When he found her G-spot and slipped in a second finger, going after it with that steady "come hither" motion all the women's magazines talked about, she lost it. She had to grab his chair to steady herself as she felt the orgasm crash through her and she bit back the involuntary cry.

Ken reached out his other hand to steady her as he eased up and let her come down.

"You, woman, are amazingly sensitive," he commented in awe, withdrawing his fingers and tasting them. "And your pussy tastes wonderful. If you are not too besotted with dinner, shall we perhaps take this elsewhere?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Sonja agreed, putting her panties and dress back in place and trying to move without her knees buckling. "Couch?" she asked. "Until dinner settles?"

Ken smiled, stood up and picked her up effortlessly, carrying her in his arms to her living room and settling her on the couch. "TV?" he asked, looking around. "Movie? Music?"

Now it was Sonja's turn to smile. She reached over to her end table and picked up her media center remote, turning on her CD player. The last thing she'd been listening to was Hooked on Romance from Louis Clark's Hooked on Classics and suddenly Bach's Air on a G-string with its soft, enchanting melody now filled the room. It also got a nod and smile from Ken.

"Nice," was all he commented as he sat down next to her. He extended his arm along the back of the couch and she let herself snuggle into him, kicking off her shoes and pulling her knees up in front of her.

Okay, I'm deciding right here, right now, whatever this man wants to do, I'm in, Sonja thought as she caught his scent and it sent a thrill through her body. I feel like I'm back in bloody High School...

Ken held Sonja to him, letting her rest her head on his chest as he gently stroked her face, neck and shoulder. He felt her relax into him, so he decided to get a little bolder -- he trailed his hand down onto her chest, tracing the outline of her breasts with his fingers, teasing her cleavage. When she didn't object, he decided to take it another step further.

"If you don't mind..." he said softly as he deftly began to unbutton her blouse. He had apparently lucked out, catching her right after work, still in her "skirt and blouse uniform." She softly shook her head "no" into his chest and he was delighted when he parted her shirt to find her bra clasped in front. Thanking whatever gods were at work on this one, he easily unhooked it, letting free the objects of his desires.

She had to be a double-D, maybe more, he decided as she fell free from the bra. A little saggy, but not like a lot of women with larger breasts, and on a 5'7" frame or so, she was proportional. She had plenty of firm tit behind those cups and might actually be able to get away with not wearing a bra at all. And she had big, beautiful, dark areolae with fingertip size nipples! Oh, he was so going to get lost in suckling those beautiful tits!

He cupped one of her breasts with his hand and leaned forward to draw it into his mouth. He was already semi-erect. The sigh he got from her as he tongued her nipple finished the job.

"Oh, God, Ken..." Sonja moaned as the little shocks ran straight from her tit to her clit, "your Momma must've taught you something right..."

"Mmm-hmmm," he agreed as he brought his hand off the back of the couch to take over tit-support duty, freeing his other hand to drift down her abdomen, gently caressing her, until he reached the waist of her skirt, where he had to pause. It was too tight to easily slip under.

"Oh, fuck it!" Sonja muttered half aloud as she felt him hesitate. She reached behind her and unzipped the skirt, pulling it down and letting it fall to the floor where she kicked it away.

"As you were, soldier," she almost growled at him as she turned her face into his neck and began gently kissing it.

Before following instructions, though, Ken took her face in his hand and turned it up to him, where he gazed steadily into her jade green eyes for several moments before slowly leaning down into the kiss. Sonja felt her heart going ninety miles an hour as their mouths approached and he gently -- they ever so gently -- brushed their lips together, followed almost immediately by a passionate, crushing kiss, mouths opening slightly and tongues dancing around each other.