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“Can I have another sip?”
After my third sip, I decided the wine tasted of horses and bonfires.
“Horses?” exclaimed Aidan.
I shrugged. “That’s what I’m getting.”
I heard him scribble notes onto his pad. “Price range?” he said. “We have three categories. ‘Cheap as chips,’ ‘mid-range’ and ‘we can’t afford this so you’d better not like it.’”
“Can I have another sip?”
“You’re not meant to be getting trashed.” He put the glass into my hand again.
I drank and declared the horse wine to be lovely but unaffordable. “You could try for a promotion at work,” I suggested. “Next one, please.”
“Hang on,” said Aidan. “My turn.”
“But you know what it is.”
“I can still taste it,” he said. “Anyway, you can’t drink six bottles by yourself on a Tuesday evening.”
“Hey, I’ve had a hard day.”
I listened to him drink. After a thoughtful pause he said, “Mmm, I’d describe this as…a robust, velvety, well-structured red with notes of plums, bramble, earth and leather, and a lingering twist of smoke on the finish.”
“Cheat!” I declared. “You’re reading from the bottle. But I was right, wasn’t I? Horses. Earth and leather is horses. And bonfires is smoke. I reckon I’m a natural. Do I win a prize?”
“You do! You win six bottles of wine to share with a loved one.”
We continued tasting although technically speaking, I should call it drinking. Our descriptions became increasingly preposterous and silly, and by the time we got to the fifth variety, I declared my tongue to be confused.
“I’ll give you a hint,” said Aidan. I heard him stand and move behind me. He lifted my hair then rubbed something hard and rough against the back of my neck.
I giggled nervously, thrown by this change of direction.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Is that a loofah?”
“Nope.” He printed a kiss on my neck then scoured the mystery object over my skin once more, slow and firm. “Guess again.”
“Ade, are you horny?” I asked.
“A bit,” he said. “I like you in that blindfold.”
“I like it too. I don’t know what you’re doing though. It’s weird. Disorientating.”
He kept dragging the scratchiness against my neck until it clicked. “Aha, it’s that Rioja we sometimes buy! The stuff where the bottle comes wrapped in hessian.”
“Top marks!” said Aidan.
Soft footsteps took him back to his wine-pouring position on the opposite side of the coffee table, his jeans giving a tiny creak as he kneeled. Our neighbor’s TV was audible, but only just. I’d never heard it before. A silence lengthened between us. I imagined Aidan was reading labels, but then I wondered if he might be watching me.
I swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. “Do something else. Let me guess again.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” he said. I heard him stand and go into the kitchen. The cutlery drawer rattled, cupboards were opened. He came back into the room and said, “Stay like that. No peeping, promise?”
“Promise,” I said. I remained as still as a statue while he went upstairs. When he returned, his footsteps made my heart beat quicker, and a tingle of anticipation shivered across my skin.
“Now then,” he said. His fingers edged down the front of my shirt, deftly undoing buttons. He pushed the cotton and my bra straps over my shoulders then, taking things up a notch, he pushed both my shirt and bra farther down, baring my breasts while lightly trapping my arms by my side. He took care not to touch my flesh. The exposure and my blindness made me feel vulnerable and slutty, as if there were a distance between us that meant we could be strangers, me a poor captive being displayed for his gaze.
