A small, bullet shaped dog with a snubbed nose and giant ears came rushing out of the house to jump all over Peter who was trying to hush him. When the dog noticed me, he came over to check me out. I squatted down holding out my hand so the dog could sniff it before I scratched him. His fur was short and soft. He was mostly white with some gray patches around his eyes. He had the air of an older dog.

“Cora, please meet Fang,” Peter said, and I scratched the little dog's side as he melted against me.

“What? After White Fang?” I asked.

“White Fang? Who’s that?” He held open the door and led me down a short, steep flight of stairs. The apartment was very white. Since it was a basement apartment, there were almost no windows, just a few small openings at the top. The white paint made it seem very open despite being mostly underground. A few art deco absinthe advertisement posters hung on the walls, and large overstuffed plaid couch, straight out of the 70s, made the room feel lived in.

“White Fang? The wolf dog in the Jack London book?” I asked, sitting on the sofa. Fang scrambled up beside me, and I petted him while Pete turned on some lights.

“Oh. I don’t know if I’ve read that one. I named him after Hagrid’s dog, Fang,” he said taking his coat off and throwing it on a hook by the door.

“Hagrid?” I asked.

“You know, from the Harry Potter books?” He sounded confused that I wouldn’t get the reference.

I shrugged off my coats and said, “I know. I’m just shocked you read them”

He replied, “Of course I did. Everybody reads Harry Potter.”

“I thought you guys found them insulting?”

“It’s just fiction. What do I care that a made up little boy lives in a world of technology and uses it to defeat a dark hacker? Besides they’re a fun read. I loved them. Did you read them?”

He went into the little kitchen area of the tiny basement studio and got our beers. It was some brand I had never heard of with a cute label. I drank some and petted the dog, looking around at the comfortable small apartment of the good looking man asking me about children's books.

“I did read them. They weren’t my favorite tech book, but you’re right. They were fun.” He smiled at me, lifted Fang off the couch, and set him on the floor. Fang barked at him, and Peter showed him his teeth. Fang very pointedly sat on my foot with his back to Peter, and I tried not to laugh at the whole exchange since they both so obviously took it seriously.

“May I kiss you now?” His voice was soft as he slid across the couch until he was next to me.

I took a long sip of my beer and pretended to contemplate the offer. “I don’t know. Fang doesn’t seem to think it’s a good idea.”

“Fang will drink out of the bowl if I leave the toilet seat up, so I wouldn’t trust his judgment too much.”

I laughed, and as I was laughing, Peter kissed me, his mustache rough against my lips. He slid his hand over mine and removed the beer bottle without breaking the kiss. Where he put it, I wasn’t sure. A moment later his hand was on me again and pulling me to straddling him. I squeezed him with my knees as he slid his hands around my waist. When I ran my fingers through his hair, I was surprised to find it a bit crunchy from the product he used to make it stand up so nicely.

I pulled back and said, “Your hair is stiff.”

“That’s not all that’s stiff,” he said as he bounced me up on his lap and wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I was laughing again when he kissed me. He slid one hand under my skirt. I didn’t stop him. I let him rub my thigh, kneading it with his fingers. It felt good, as did his tongue in my mouth and his hand on the back of my neck. Without meaning to, I moved my hips back and forth as his hand pulled me to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he lowered me onto the couch, his body over mine. He moved me around like I weighed nothing.

Pinned beneath him I wrapped my legs around his waist and ground my hips up against him, dry humping him like we were in high school. My dress had a long row of buttons down the front, and he undid them, kissing the skin as he exposed it. Kiss, unbutton, kiss, unbutton. His mouth moved lower and lower. When he passed my bra, he kissed me more firmly. My legs were still wrapped around him, almost slung over his shoulders. At the top of my panties he paused. For a moment I thought he was going to remove them. Instead, he kept unbuttoning the tiny buttons, kissing me over the lace of my panties. When he’d finally opened my whole dress, he stopped.

“You’re wearing stockings,” he said, and he playfully snapped one of my garters.

“It’s kind of a retro dress. It only seemed right,” I said not wanting to tell him I had worn them in hopes of getting lucky.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. Not at all.” Kneeling between my legs, Peter hooked one finger under the tiny band of my thong. “Were these expensive?” he asked.

It was such a weird and unexpected question I wasn’t sure how to answer. “What?” I asked, hoping for some clarification.

“If they were, I’ll pay you back.” Abruptly, he tore the thong apart at the sides. It happened to so fast it didn’t hurt.

“You can’t just go about destroying my underpants.” It was probably the sexiest thing anyone had ever done to me.

“I just wanted to do this while you were still wearing your stockings.” He lowered his head between my legs. I thought about telling him I had worn the thong over my garter belt so I could take it off and leave them on, but when his tongue touched me, I found it hard to think about anything other than what he was doing and how I could get him to do it harder and faster. He was languidly moving his tongue against me while his hands gripped my thighs so hard I couldn’t move. Since he left me no other option, I grabbed his shoulders, pulling him toward me, which didn’t do anything. I wanted to reach my fingers into his hair to pull him in closer, but I wasn’t brave enough.

Steadily, the speed of his tongue increased until I couldn’t take it anymore. I bucked against him. Only his hands on my thighs kept me from moving away when the sensation got too intense, but the moment of unbearable intensity passed. I crashed over to the other side. He followed up with a few more shudder-inducing licks. I could have sworn his tongue looked a little flatter and a little pinker than it should have, but I was too blissed out to be sure.

As I lay there, trying to compose myself, he slid up and kissed me so I could taste myself on his lips. We kissed, and I started fumbling with his pants and belt. He interrupted the rhythm of our kisses to pull off his shirt. His chest was hard, and while he wasn’t overly muscled, it was very clear from his flat stomach and thick, muscled arms that he worked out.

I ran my hands all over his chest, pulling at his hair and raked my nails down his back as he nipped at my neck. When I started tugging at his pants again, he was happy to oblige me by sitting up and pulling them off as I lay there panting with my legs sprawled on either side of him.

He wriggled out of his pants, turned toward me, and corkscrewed my legs. The next thing I knew I was laying on my stomach while he sat between my legs and rubbed my back all the way down to my thighs with long strokes. His hands rubbed over every part of my back, and then he knelt over me on all fours, his penis touching my back and butt.

Slowly he entered me, and I stretched to fit him. After the buildup of making out, having him inside was a satisfying release. I moaned and pushed up against him. He slid one arm beneath me and pulled my hips up to meet his, his body curled around mine. His hand was between my legs to rub my clit, as he thrust into me. His body was hot against me, both inside and out. I couldn’t think about anything else. Even holding myself up became too much. I collapsed with only his hand holding me up against him as I came and cried out. He climaxed a moment after I did, and when he did he howled, a low spine-chilling noise he muffled by biting my shoulder.

We lay there on the couch, and he went soft and shrank, sliding out of me. I squeaked, and he pushed up so I could roll over onto my back. I lay there pinned under him happy to feel the warmth of his body. As I listened to his slow regular breathing, I realized he was asleep.

I called his name, “Peter?”

No response.

“Peter.” I tried again. “Peter!”

Still nothing. I shook him and finally wormed my way out from under him. He hadn’t seemed that drunk, but he had passed out so hard all I could think was he must have been drunker than I had thought. I sat on the floor naked and looked at him.

He looked very sweet, if a little silly asleep. His mustache had lost its neat curl with one side straight and the other curled down. He didn’t even wake up when I pulled my dress out from under him. I left the apartment and didn’t return any of his calls over the next few weeks. It hadn’t been bad at all, and that was what was dangerous about it. The last thing I wanted to do was settle down. It was easier to avoid settling down if I only hung around with bad boys.