Short Stories

Kimo took my breath away with his long gleaming hair held back with a strand of shiny koa wood beads. I felt the contained menace oozing from him as he circled me. I was wearing exactly what he’d demanded that I wear. He’d sent a driver with a suit, shoes, socks and the most amazing underwear I’d ever worn in my life. Lace briefs for men.

He put his hand to my crotch. “You’re not hard.” His fingers searched for the outline of my cock and my gaze fell on a chunk of lava rock at the foot of the lush green garden, bursting with birds of paradise, giddy, gaudy heleconia and jade. The foamy water worked at the rocks, the way Kimo Wilder was working at me. He grunted when his persistent strokes got me hard.

“Success at last,” he whispered and took his hand away, continuing his rhythmic circling of me.

I understood in that moment how animals in the wild felt when ravenous predators circled them searching for the weak spot, watching, waiting for that perfect moment to strike. Kimo leaned forward and with both hands pulled the silk jacket from my body. It fell in a soft puddle on the floor.

“You have a nice, tight ass.” His voice was at my ear as his right hand fondled my butt cheeks. “And you are absolutely straight?”

“Yes.” I was trembling now. I’d heard he packed a huge poker in his pants. What the heck was I getting myself into?

He shook his head. His eyes twinkled when he stood. He bent down and kissed her soundly.

Jennifer yielded. She’d never grow tired of the way his lips curved over hers.

Breaking their kiss, Brett said, “Don't want them to think we're just sitting here on pins and needles waiting to hear from them.” He kissed the top of her head. “I thought Pam had a super idea. Why don't we go to bed and imagine what it will be like snuggling with them?”

“That's a wonderful plan,” Jennifer muttered, kissing his chin while dragging his hand to her crotch.

“Jesus, your jeans are wet.”

“That's right,” she chuckled. “My panties are soaked. Hurry, let's go play.”

“We haven't even met Insatiable69—yet just thinking about them makes us so hot we can hardly keep our hands off each other.”

“Welcome to swinging,” Jennifer chortled, leading Brett by the hand, hurrying toward their bedroom. “Isn't this fun?”

* * * *

Brett grinned at his wife propped up on the bed beside him. She was teasing her left breast with the tip of a rabbit vibrator while he grazed her tummy with a finger massager. Already Jennifer seemed drifting in and out of some sort of erotic haze, probably anticipating the coming waves. He'd never tire of watching her nurse her orgasms to full bloom.

“A little lower,” she whispered. “Not my clit. Just beside it. Right there. Oh my. I'm humming all over. Don't move.”

He watched her tug on a nipple and cradle the rabbit between her breasts. Her mews made his cock throb. With his free hand, he encircled his shaft and skimmed it lightly as Jennifer began to ascend that wall he'd witnessed her climb so many times before.

Her lips thinned. She nodded. She broke into a broad smile. “Yes.” Lurching forward, she grabbed her knees and held on. 

Sunny beamed a smile awaiting her answer. "I'd like to feel your heat, if I may. It's pouring out of you."

"You may." Sheila wasn't certain she'd actually spoken aloud, but she watched Sunny's dark palm curve over her vulva. Sunny didn't move her fingers. Reflexively, Sheila tilted her pelvis, expecting, waiting, wanting penetration, but Sunny seemed satisfied cradling her heat.

"She's hot!" Sunny exclaimed, then turned to David. "Hotter than me?"

David ignored Sheila's sharp intake of breath. "Yes."

Sheila knew her eyes must've turned the size of quarters as she stared at the three persons hovering over her. Slowly, it began to dawn on her that the familiarity she'd sensed between them had not been her imagination. They were lovers. The three of them. Or at least they had been.

"Don't rush her," Marlin said sharply to his wife. "She's not open enough. Not yet."

“Joan, there’s something peculiar about this card. I get a tingling sensation every time I touch it.”

“Hmm. Let me see it.”

Billy handed it to her.

“That’s odd,” she said.

“Here,” said Billy, “Let me show you something.”

He took the card and slipped it into the front of Joan’s shorts.

“Oh, Billy,” she said. He had rarely done anything like that before.

“Just leave it there for a while,” he said.

They walked a little further.

“I’ve got a strange feeling in my pants,” said Joan.

“I did too,” said Billy.

“It makes me want to kiss you and make out with you,” she giggled.

“Me too,” said Billy.

“I’ll bet Susan is behind this, or Diana.”

“You think so?”

“You know we’re all witches, don’t you? Or at least we’re trying to be.”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve told me all that stuff before.”

Janet was a nice girl. She wasn't particularly smart, or pretty, or good at anything, but she was nice. She worked as a secretary at a small office in a large city. She lived alone with her cat, her bird, and a tank of tropical fish. She hadn't had a date in months and felt inadequate.

She had gone to see the Gypsy. The colorful woman always seemed to be laughing at something. But she hadn't laughed last night. She had gotten serious when she dealt out the Tarot cards and scanned them.

"This is bad," she said. "Very bad. Very bad."

"But there are none of the bad cards showing," said Janet.

"Oh," said the Gypsy, "that's true. None of the really bad cards are here, tonight. But this one here… this one worries me. And it seems to be in a dominant position."

The Gypsy pointed to a card right in front of Janet. It was only the Five of Pentacles.

"What's so bad about that card?" asked Janet.

"It portends bad things," said the Gypsy. "Bad things. Bad things will happen to you. Soon. Really soon. Maybe even tonight. Or perhaps tomorrow. But bad things will happen in your life."

It was the first day of school when all the kids had trundled off to the bus and I quickly shoved Tom out the door. Sure enough, I found my dark Adonis beginning his usual ritual. I knew I needed to get the washer loaded and started soon or I would surely miss the excitement.

I threw a small load of tee-shirts into the machine. My girls’ tennis shoes, the dirtiest they had been in a week, fit nicely on top. I poured myself a glass of orange juice, topping it off with just a taste of champagne left over from our anniversary party and headed upstairs to get my favorite suction cup dildo.

I could feel my juices beginning to build as I slid my underwear down to my knees. The soft skirt was billowy enough to allow me to sit on Fred the Longfellow without taking a chance of exposing myself to anyone who should happen by my perch in the laundry room and notice me. It was the Longfellow who fought hard to make me miss my rendezvous as he refused to stick to the porcelain paint. After a few minutes of struggle, I finally found the right mixture of spit and suction to properly hold the erect rubber in the upright position for me to squat over and mount the formidable friend. With just a touch of lubricant from my mouth, I slid him deep in me.

My eyes closed as that full feeling of a dildo reaching home grabbed my attention. I squeezed gently as the bumps around the shaft began to hit that little round spot just past my lips. A few wiggles of my hips and I was settled in for the duration.

To my surprise, Larry was finished with his daily yoga regime and had proceeded to his outdoor shower, a well-placed unit that was directly in my line of sight. He was early. I was not ready for that yet. The machine wasn’t on the rinse cycle and my nipples weren’t even hard.

I unbuttoned my blouse from the top, leaving one single button at the bottom to hold the shirt together, just in case. I grabbed the binoculars, fitting them to my eyes as I switched the washer to the extra long spin cycle. Through the glasses I could see his shoulders running white with soap as the shower splashed across those long, hard muscles. His hands worked the soap all along his torso until he finally lathered his legs, pulling his calf muscles tight with each stroke.

Now we’re getting somewhere. I could feel my legs begin to tense as the shoes began to pound out a rhythm in the drum of the washer. I, again, squeezed Longfellow as I shifted my left hand down between my legs. With a stroke or two of my clit, I was finally catching up with the guy next door.

His hands were huge. I guess he needed hands like that to be able to soap up his dick efficiently. Even soaping his balls helped bring that long, fat penis to life. I gasped as the full length and girth of that hardy prick became obvious. He stepped under the showerhead to wash the soap from his body as the protruding organ stood tall like a battle ship gun awaiting use.

My juices were flowing over my finger while I rubbed gently on my clit. A stroke or two would send small electrical shocks up my spine, driven harder by the pounding of the washing machine. I slid my finger out for just a second to give my nipple a slippery tweaking. Good old Longfellow was beginning to thrust as the balance on the machine had shifted quite nicely from pounding to violent banging. I briefly looked down at my tits as they bounced in time with the washer.

Returning my gaze to my neighbor brought me to the full realization that he, too, had joined in the Monday project by giving his dick a slow, sensuous massage. With his left hand cupping his balls, he stroked slow and easy along the thick shaft and up onto the gland and down again. Through the binoculars, I could see the head stretching and turning purple under the strain of his strokes. I had to give my boobs a good squeeze and gentle slap before increasing my pressure on the dildo now rubbing clearly and fervently on my g-spot.

I could see his knees getting weaker with each stroke of his cock. My own knees were beginning to cramp as the constant pressure to keep myself from slipping off the washer built with each bumping and vibrating the shoes caused as they clunked around in the washer. In the crease created by my tailbone heading down my ass, I felt an orgasm building, a small twitching of the nerves in just the right spot. I knew before long the damn thing would work its way to my pussy, flooding the washer lid with my juices. My body shook. A small piece of me dreaded the coming quake, fearing I would never stop, but I couldn’t keep the wall of pleasure from coming any more than I could stop a hurricane from striking land.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked, feeling bold.

Jason raised his hands just like any person would when a gun was pointed at them. Everything he did seemed scripted. Jen searched her mind for a way to change things, to turn the tables before she became some quivering woman who acquiesced to him. She would not play the submissive heroine to his hero. Still, he did kind of make her quiver with arousal, the bastard.

“I think the question, pretty girl, is what are you going to do? You’re the one holding the blaster.” Jen nodded, then an idea came to her. She gestured with the weapon for Bell to get on the bed. “Lay down,” she commanded, sounding tougher than she felt.

Reaching into her climbing gear, she came across a few lengths of nylon rope, and proceeded to secure Jason’s arms and legs to the bed, spread eagle. I guess rock climbing has advantages, thought Jen as she tied each knot one-handed. He pulled against the restraints, then raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, well, here’s a woman I can relate to. Kinky. I like it.” He grinned and she could not help but smile back. She was melting despite her best efforts to remain aloof. He looked a bit taken aback for all his bold talk, though. She stood there, blaster pointed at the prone man. Jen considered calling Katya in to deal with Bell, but she decided against it. He was sexy all tied up like that, and how often does one get an opportunity to meet the man of her fantasies?

“Usually, now is when we get naked.” As Jason dropped a lascivious wink at her, she felt adrenaline rush up her spine. Why not? After all, he’s tied up. What can he possibly do? Nodding once, she untied one hand and both ankles, pointing the gun directly at his crotch. “Take off your pants.”

“Roses?”

“Yes sir. On an occasion as auspicious as tonight promises to be, nothing other than roses could possibly suffice.”

Mathew stared across the room, fascinated. His valet was actually vibrating in satisfaction. He could only assume he’d meant to sound portentous. It was a shame he was only twelve inches tall, really, because it was hard to take the reedy little voice seriously.

“Red roses, I presume?” Mathew asked.

“But of course.” The valet looked up, his brow even more furrowed than normal. “Ah! Now I see, sir. You were jesting. Blood red roses are simply –” He sighed. “– Suitable.”

Mathew attempted a weak smile. The prat was driving him insane. Perhaps that had been his mother’s plan when she’d insisted he take Frederick along with him on his hunt for a bride. If he was buried under protocols, weighed down by what he could – and could not – do, then surely he’d simply give up.

Or not.

Mother had obviously underestimated just how seriously he was taking this one last chance to save his soul.

While he’d been contemplating the ceiling, Frederick was bustling around the room, smoothing non-existent wrinkles in his perfectly pressed coat, re-arranging the revolting gold-and-silver backed brushes his father had given him for his 200th birthday. Could the man – he mentally corrected himself, gnome – never stand still? There was probably a rule against it in the ‘how to be a perfect valet’ handbook.

“Blood red roses? But what sort of blood?” Mathew steepled his fingers, refusing to meet his valet’s scandalized gaze. “Arterial blood is such a lovely bright red. A cheerful color. The blood from the veins, however…”

He licked his lips, purposely baring a single fang just to see Frederick shudder in horror. Frederick. What kind of name was that for a gnome anyway?

“Sir?” Frederick’s voice wavered even more than usual.

Mathew closed his eyes. “It’s so... luscious. Totally different. Thick, flavorsome… Mmmm.”

His body tightened at the thought, every cell suddenly screaming for nourishment. He couldn’t help wondering just how decadently rich Sophie’s blood would taste as it rushed down his throat. He’d sink his fangs in her neck and his cock –

He sat up abruptly, forcing his mind away from the frantic beat of Frederick’s heart. It was too long since he’d fed, and if he wasn’t more careful he’d be having Frederick for a pre-dinner snack. And that would not be good for his already-tarnished soul.

He stood up, his eyes swiveling to follow his valet’s crab-scuttle around the edge of the room. Frederick was eying him as warily as he would a hungry tiger. He smiled, knowing the flickering candlelight would gleam on his fangs, then stalked from the room. Occasionally Frederick needed a reminder of just who was the predator – and who was the prey.

 She pummelled her pillow in frustration as a door slammed down the hall, banging repeatedly in the wind until someone finally latched it properly. Ghosts? Huh!

“Annoying, isn’t it?”

Kate sat up abruptly and scanned the room, uncaring that her nightgown was low cut and the voice so very definitely that of a man. Deeply masculine, and warm with amusement, it caressed her skin, its lingering vibrations heading unerringly to her stomach.

No one.

She flopped tiredly back onto the bed, again staring at the pitted plaster of the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time a recorded voice had been used, supposedly that of the ghost. What was a first was the fact that the voice had appeared to be talking to her. Not mumbling about some wretched lost love, or carrying on about vengeance and retribution as the supposed ghost floated through a wall, but a pithy comment about the fake ‘ghost effects’. It was certainly different; she had to give the innkeeper brownie points for imagination.

“And the creaking sign does grate on the nerves after a while.”

Her stomach curled with pleasure. It was such a beautiful bedroom voice, the sort of voice that if he asked...well, she’d certainly have to consider.

Lena smiled, more determined then ever to make Nicco remember this day not for his truncated art, but for the ecstasy she had every intention of giving him.

Her tongue guided her, flickering softly between her lips as she placed kisses like stepping stones down the center path of his prick, from the top of the hilt to just below the ridge of the head. Nicco’s other hand caressed her cheek, his rough fingers warm and promising. Lena did not take her eyes off Nicco’s pulsing member, the veins now bulging beneath the smooth skin. Her lips parted into a devilish smile and her tongue found another chord to Nicco’s groans as she traced a smooth line from the pronounced ridge to the tip, hungrily lapping up the clear pearl that formed at the head, smearing the remnants over her lips…

He stood across the piazza on his black marble pedestal, foursquare and firm. I walked toward him, ignoring the crowd, the babble of a dozen languages around me. As I drew near, I raised my chin, letting my gaze linger over his feet, strong white feet, able to walk all day and into the night. His ankles were slim, yet sturdy, his calves well shaped. I saw the veins in his calf, the sinews connecting lower leg to knee. His legs were long, lean, strong.

Have I told you of his magnificent body, of the strength of his arms, his legs? Of the beauty of his naked chest, his uncovered shoulders? Do you know what a real man looks like, how the muscles lie close to the body, so that every movement becomes a symphony in efficiency? His right leg holds him upright, while the left relaxes. His left arm is lifted, holding a sling, with which he will defend himself—or me—from harm through the long, dark night.

His penis hangs softly, but I could imagine how it would grow under my touch—swell and grow into a shaft of velvet-clad steel—rampant, ready. For me.

My mouth dried at the thought, butterflies fluttered in my middle. I imagined his hands on my shoulders, his fingers touching my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. I felt his mouth upon mine, not cold like stone, but hot. Wet. His tongue invaded me, swooped between my teeth, tangled with mine.

My knees grew weak. I trembled. The smoldering warmth flared into flame, consuming me. Perhaps I cried out.

“Signorina, you are ill.” A strong arm encircled my waist, a hard body supported me.

I smelled sweat and tobacco, a faint aroma of wine, as I was lowered to the pavement and propped against the pedestal supporting my love.

The eyes staring into mine were brown, soft like a doe’s, ringed with thick, long lashes of sooty black. The face was familiar—like so many I saw daily in the streets, a poor replica of my David’s. The hand cupping my cheek was hard with callus, but gentle, tender in its touch.

“No, I am not ill,” I said, but my voice betrayed me. It quavered with the aftermath of my helpless passion.

She once heard Donnal’s mother speak of her May Day. How the press of the cocks deep into her body was unlike anything she had ever felt before or since. How the many men brought her pleasure beyond any other as they continued to come into her over and over. After only one night with Donnal, she wanted that. She wanted this night to remember the bliss of a man’s cock thrusting inside her.

He reached out and trailed his fingers down her chilled cheek. "Your skin is so soft." He shook his head. "You are so beautiful, so young. I do not remember what it is like to be so innocent." He stared deep into her eyes. The sparkling green depths of his own were filled with such pain, such loneliness and longing that it made her bosom hurt. "Come. I will lead you home."

He took her by the arm as if to lead her from the ever-darkening wood. She stopped, pulled her arm free from his grasp and, caring naught about her old skirt, sat on the ground at his feet.

"What in the name of God do you think you are doing?"

The sound of his voice reverberated through her, causing her breasts to tingle and their tips to harden to the point of pain. Her most private parts grew moist with her body's dew, dampening her shift and petticoats.

"You are one of them, are you not?" she asked as she boldly stared up into his too pale face. "How lonely you must be." She tilted her head, the thirst of her youthful curiosity needing slaked.

Curious, she looked around the dimly lit interior. Dance music blared from the loud speakers, reverberating throughout her system. A plethora of men stood around the circular bar, hungrily eyeing the few women who dared to patronize the place. They didn't nickname this bar 'The Meat Market' for nothing.

Vivianne tried not to make eye contact. She didn't want to encourage another man who didn't appear to be her type. She turned toward the door, wondering if she should just go home and her gaze found a new man entering the bar.

His black trench coat covered his torso and a fedora covered his head. He looked dark, mysterious. Black eyes, set in a stern implacable face stared into hers across the room, over the heads of the shorter men who surrounded him. He appeared young. She should be ashamed for even looking at him with hungry eyes.

She licked her lips. He was tall, almost too tall, and dark. How handsome he might be, remained to be seen. Ebony eyebrows slashed over those dangerous eyes. Lips that seemed a hair too red for a man, curved into a smile as he strode her way.        

His slow gait and confident expression definitely belonged to a man who didn't expect to be rejected. He stood before her, still wearing his hat and coat. His hand reached out.

"Dance?"

His expression had been so sure, so confident that Vivianne wanted to say no just to make a point. Instead, she found herself inexplicably placing her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She looked up into those dark eyes and felt lost. His intense stare held her prisoner. She swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Yes, I'd love to."

He led her onto the dance floor just as a slow song started to play.

"Why don't you take your hat and coat off?"

"It adds an air of mystery, don't you think?"

Her thoughts told her this man didn't need more mystery shrouding him. His black eyes and hair lent an air of darkness around him. His too pale skin gave him an ethereal look. If she couldn't feel his warmth seeping into her skin through his coat, she could have believed him a corpse due to the whiteness of his skin.

"I don't think you need much more mystery surrounding you. Speaking of mystery, what's your name?"

"Do you like this?” The voice, deep and gravelly whispered into her ear, chills rushed down her spine as his breath danced across her skin. The voice was familiar, almost recognizable but different from any voice she'd ever heard. Could it be that he didn't want her to know who he really was?

A warm mouth encased her nipple as strong, supple fingers tangled through the nest of short curls at the apex of her thighs. The long fingers circled the small nubbin, leaving her quivering with need.

“Do you like this?” Another male voice, similar to the first one but with a tone all its own, sent another round of shivers dancing down her spine.

Dear God! Could there really be two of them?

Gooseflesh rose on her skin and she shivered again before she nodded.

Their hands were everywhere, gliding up her legs, dancing over her stomach to the sensitive tips of her breasts. An inarticulate cry of ecstasy escaped her lips as two warm mouths closed over her sensitive nipples. Never before had she felt so close to the edge, just from foreplay. The men’s hands, no longer buried between her thighs, merely skimmed lightly over her stomach and legs, still driving her so near the edge of another climax.

“You have got to be the strangest vampire I’ve ever met.” She kept her tone low, since Deb couldn’t seem to stay away from their table. The woman kept bending over the booths on the other side, cleaning the seats and wiggling her ass toward them. The short skirt of the tight uniform rode up her thighs, exposing part of her ass and the fact that she wore a thong.

I didn’t know they made butt floss that big, she thought cattily. Her companion almost choked on his steak and gurgled out a laugh. She scowled at the proof that he’d read her mind again.

“What do you want? An old timer vamp? You’re in the wrong district for that. Besides, I was just turned about twenty years ago.”

“Turned?”

“Sure. You did know you could be turned, didn’t you?” He looked her over. “He didn’t offer? I mean after the accident.” He waved his fork at her face. “He didn’t offer to turn you? You would have healed faster, better. No scars. Don’t tell me he didn’t offer it to you.”

She nodded. “He did.”

“Then why didn’t you accept?”

Tears ran down her face. “I don’t know. I guess I had some idealistic man in my head who would tell me everything would be all right. Someone who would say, the scars don’t matter because I love you.” She turned to look out the window to her right. The dark street was nearly empty. Everyone was either already home or still partying next door till closing time. “I was stupid.” She pushed her chili away, no longer hungry.

“He never told you that?”

Tavia shook her head. “He offered to turn me so I could heal without the scars. Then all I could think of was that he only wanted me because I was beautiful, not for me. I want him—”she sobbed, “—I need him to love me, for me.” She brought her hands to her chest before covering her face with her hands and wept.

The door opened behind her and she felt her husband’s presence. He was upset, but she still no felt anger from him. Not the type she would have expected, anyway. The anger emanating from him felt directed at himself.

“Hello, Darrin.”

“Hiya, Logan. What brings you out so late?”

“Your little tête-à-tête with my wife perhaps?”

Tavia blew her nose into the napkin she’d pulled from the shiny metal holder on the table, then turned to face her husband. “You two know each other?”

Monica took Rene’s head between her hands and tipped it back. She looked down into his eyes.

“Talk,” she said, “or we’ll make you talk.”

“Guess you’ll just have to make me,” he said.

Monica released his head and placed her hands on Rene’s shoulders. Bright red nails moved down over his chest to his nipples. “Ever had your nipples tortured, Rene?”

“That’s an unusual interrogation technique, isn’t it?” Rene glanced at Holden. “Are you going to allow that, Detective?” he asked, his voice silky and seductive.

When the doorbell rang, I walked to the door and was surprised to see Victor Moore standing there.

He held out a bottle of wine with a big red bow wrapped around it. "For us, later," he said.

I opened my mouth, closed it again, told myself to try not to sound like an idiot. "Come in. You didn't have to…"

"I wanted to. Am I the first one here?"

"Yes, actually." I took the bottle from him. "Thanks."

"My pleasure. I didn't want to look too eager." He grinned. "Guess I flubbed that one, eh?"

I was holding his coat in my hand, a little awestruck by how damn hot he was. He wore a pair of blue jeans, probably designer. They fit him like a glove. A simple red shirt topped off the jeans, open at the neck. I busied myself in the closet. "The others will be coming soon," I announced as I turned around. "Like I said, it's not very exciting, just a bunch of kids trimming a tree."

He took off his boots. "You're going to be here, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then it will be exciting." He met my gaze.

I just stood there, then I smiled again uncertainly and cleared my throat. "Yeah, well. It was nice of you to come."

"I haven't done that yet."

He lowered his cock towards his mouth, letting it slide teasingly over his lips. He felt the tip of his tongue dart out and move over the tip. Um…it felt so good. He grabbed the base of his cock with his fist and moved it slowly back and forth over those full lips, leaving a trace of his pre-cum. With one hand, he pressed back his forehead watching as the jaw opened, allowing him to…

“Nothing wrong with that,” Martin breathed. There was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

Clare watched him lick his lips again. “Are you hard? If you’re hard, it may be why you…”

“I’m warm. It’s warm in here,” Martin said.

“Take off your shirt,” Clare invited.

“But the writer is coming.”

“The writer won’t mind,” she smiled. She watched as Martin began to undo his shirt. Slowly he removed it and laid it on the bottom of the bed. “Better?”

Martin nodded. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t see the need to make a lot of changes in that one. It’s pretty clean. I caught the typos.”

“You need to listen to it out loud. Do you ever read it out loud, Martin?”

“No, not usually.” He wiggled a little in his seat.

“Well, then let’s read some from one of the other books, the more raunchy stuff.” She noticed his hands shook.

He nodded. “Okay.”