Читать книгу Ladies Who Love: An Erotica Collection - Elizabeth Coldwell - Страница 5

I met her at a party. She was … lovely, so perfect, like one of those cakes with butter crème icing so lush and pretty that you want to dip your finger in for a taste, but the tip of your finger hovers just above it because you don’t want to mar its beauty. She had that look: confident, chin high, eyes cool, untouchable. Made me want to touch her all the more. Long smooth legs, I wanted to stroke them. I wondered if she was strictly straight, or if she might be more adventurous.

I liked the way she moved, the delicate bend of her wrist, the way she shrugged and tilted her head when she laughed. Although nearly model-thin, she was easily a C cup and her ass was peach-ripe; made drool gather in my mouth and my teeth clench. I’d watched as she made her way around the room once before finding a spot to rest. Her café con leche skin was just a shade deeper than the pale olive most Americans attribute to Latinas, and her hair was a mass of dark, loose curls that fell to the middle of her back.

The night was a purple sky, stars, and a sweep of skyscrapers that framed her as she leaned into the right side of the nearly floor-to-ceiling window casing. Her dress, a slip of raw rose-coloured silk, barely covered the necessities. When she occasionally shifted from one leg to the other, the slippery fabric dipped into the crevice the movement created between her legs. A neglected spaghetti strap slid down her arm as she raised a tall frosty glass to her lips.

She’d hardly paused before they’d begun paying homage. I stood on the other side of the room sipping a beer and watching her hold court. Men and women stopped before her, smiling and offering eager conversation, their eyes wide, faces animated. Her face remained unaffected: a nod, a word, a brief shake of her head. Rejection. They moved on. I imagined she saw me, looked at me from across the room. Her eyes assessing, probing, measuring my worth. I smiled. She didn’t.

A man approached her. He wore a dark, very nice Hugo Boss, and a haircut that allowed a swatch to fall over his eye in just the right way. He leaned against the wall, towering over her. He spoke to her, but he didn’t look at her. She didn’t look at him. She said something that made him stop and look down at her, long. Then, smiling, he turned his back to her, but he didn’t move away as his eyes scanned the crowd again. He spoke again as though addressing air before turning back to her. Extending a large slow hand, he touched the hem of her dress. Finally, the tips of his broad fingers touched her inner thigh and slid slowly up up up until his wrist was suspended just under the slip of rose silk, his hand completely hidden. She didn’t move. I held my breath. I could feel my nipples straining against the fabric of my blouse. After what seemed minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, he pulled his hand away, brought his fingers to his nose and breathed in her scent. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear, his mouth pressed to the dark curls that fell around her neck. She shook her head, and he straightened, returned to his post on the wall near her. The fabric of his expensive suit fell flawlessly back into place as did the bored look on his aristocratic face, but he didn’t move on.

The heat rose in my groin and, although I held myself still, I couldn’t help squirming a bit as I leaned against the wall on my side of the room. The man in the Hugo Boss pulled his phone out of an inside pocket and called someone. He spoke quickly, still scanning the room. He turned to her again. She listened for a moment and nodded. He held his hand out to her and she took it. I watched as they crossed the room, he acting as navigator and she floating close behind as they waded through the crowd. I sipped my beer. As they drew nearer, I dropped my eyes, not wanting her to see me gawking. Her feet were smooth, a lean line that ended in a slanted plane of glistening crimson-blush-coloured toenails and strappy spiked heels. They were so near I could smell her perfume, something soft and clean like spring. I breathed her in. She stopped, the sway of the crowd pressing her closer.

‘Come along.’ Her voice was a breath of something distant like mangoes, citrus and a breeze off the Atlantic.

I looked up and she was there in front of me, all dark eyes and sweet breath aimed at me. My lower lip dropped before I could catch it. Another moment passed before I snapped my mouth shut. She nodded and took my hand. I followed.

* * *

The Hugo Boss guy, who I later found out was a stockbroker named Adam Cruz, took us back to his place, a good-sized apartment off Central Park. She was Lira Sands, a model. Up close, when I could see her eyes, I remembered her from a Max Factor eyeshadow campaign a couple of years ago. There had been a very memorable billboard in which she’d worn a veil over her mouth and all you could see was a pair of haunting hazel eyes. The eyes were just as spectacular up close.

Adam poured drinks, wine for Lira, another beer for me, and what appeared to be Scotch neat for himself. Drinks in hand we followed him over to a huge, richly upholstered play pit. He sank onto one of the thickly cushioned units, sprawling with his back to the incredible view of the Park below as Lira slid in next to him. I sat across from the two where I could enjoy the view. Adam pointed a remote control at a series of panels on the wall and jazz, something interwoven with muted horns and an occasional Mingus bass, deep and throaty, began to play. After about twenty minutes, there was a knock at the door and he came back with what must have been a couple of ounces of coke. This was apparently why she’d come because the smile that she beamed up at Adam was large and genuine when he sat down next to her and began to prepare the lines.

He handed the sheet of clear plastic with its rows of white lines and the tightly rolled twenty-dollar bill to her and the lines disappeared. She pinched her nose, swiped at it a bit and smiled over at me. I smiled back, I think. Adam and I did a few lines while she took her little beaded bag to the bathroom. When she came back, she sat between Adam and me. She had already slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders; they hung just beneath her arms. She pushed the dress down, pressing it beneath her breasts so that the rose-coloured silk framed the succulent cream-coloured globes. A slight movement and they bounced free of their confinement. They were buoyant and eager, the tips tight and brown. The neck of my beer bottle halted, poised on my lower lip waiting. She had my attention. Leaning forward, she trailed a finger down a line of white powder, rubbed the finger over her nipples, and turned towards me.

I put the bottle down and lowered my mouth to the jutting buds. They were hard and hot. She pulled me closer, running her fingers through my newly cropped hair. I sucked harder; she moaned and squirmed, pulling me down onto her as she fell further into the gold satin of the play pit. Adam was above me kissing her mouth. Now she had one hand in his hair too. I slid one of my hands along the length of her thigh, the flesh firm, soft and warm. She slid her legs open and my hand slipped over and along her inner thigh. My fingers moved up, caressing the smooth warm skin, the tight flesh, as she squirmed approvingly. Her inner thighs, just beneath her sex, were moist, a fact that made me extremely happy. The thin line of hair that trailed down the V of her sex did little to shield her damply swollen labia. I stroked the line, petting the sweet puss, and then trailed a long finger over her wet nether lips before sinking it into the depths of her hot, sticky wetness. She bucked, trying to press her sex further onto my stiff finger. I slid a second finger in. As she pressed, trying to pull them deeper, I sucked the other nipple, nipped it with my teeth, the coke causing my lips to tingle and feel slightly swollen. Adam was still kissing her, but his hand had found its way down the back of my pants. He was gripping and squeezing the cheeks of my ass and sliding a couple of rough and gentle fingers down the crevice to tuck them under my ass and tease the sensitive skin between my legs. I was a little surprised, but it felt good so I let him.

‘Take them off,’ he said against my hair and then he stood up and began removing his jacket and then his shirt.

I sat up, a little dazed, and did as he asked. My pants made a dark puddle on the floor that pooled into Adam’s. He stood over us, naked now, his engorged sex heavy and thick, the dark hood straining upward. I massaged the dampness that saturated my panties, stroking my labia and teasing my clit, before drawing them off and kicking them into the puddle.

Lira sat up and began on the buttons of my blouse. She leaned in and sucked at my lower lip, nipped at it and then slid her tongue in deep and slow. I sucked on her tongue whenever she slid it in, while my fingers, imitating her tongue, slid against her sex, slipping between the moist lips. I could feel her smile in the beginning, but as her thrusts became more insistent she made little mewling noises and tugged at my sleeves. Then she was on her back and Adam was pushing the skirt of her dress up around her hips, revealing the thin arrow of hair and swollen vulva that I had been teasing with my fingers. Her legs parted and the layers of plump pink lips fell open. Adam sprinkled bits of white dust over them. He lowered his head to her breasts and left the sprinkled confection for me. I lapped it up and slid my tongue, long and slow, along the seam before finding her jutting little clit to lick and suck and tug. She squirmed and pressed her sex into my face. I held onto her hips and continued to nip and lick as she bucked.

Lira’s hands were pulling at my hair and Adam was stroking my bare back, his fingers running along the knobs of my spine and finally moving down to cup my ass as I slid up the length of Lira’s body, her chest to mine. Pushing my thigh between her legs, I pressed it hard against the sensitive tissue of her sex while I slid my sex against the firm flesh of her thigh. My breasts were tight, the nipples screaming hard as they tried to pierce her skin. She squirmed beneath me and I pressed my thigh deeper, pressed my breasts into hers. Her softness pooled around me. She grabbed at my ass, my back, her nails scraping, trying to gain a grip. I plunged my tongue into her mouth. She sucked it eagerly, pulling me into her. I pressed myself tighter, her wetness and mine coming and spilling as I rode her until she cried out and I saw trembling streaks of white.

I sank into her body, relishing the soft supple flesh, but after a minute or so she slipped out from under me.

‘I’m going to do another line,’ she said as she stood up. ‘Adam wants to fuck you, OK.’

He was behind me stroking my ass again. How long had he been there? He pressed his condom-covered cock into the crevice of my ass, the knob against my anus.

‘No,’ I groaned and, scrambling up, I made an uncertain effort to move out from under him. I was nearly up on all fours as his hands gripped my hips.

‘No?’ he asked as if to confirm my choice. ‘Maybe later.’ And then he pressed the hood of his penis to the slick opening of my sex and pushed home, the whole of him rasping and pressing against the walls of my canal as he gripped my hips with his massive hands, his thumbs pressing into the flesh of my ass.

‘So tight and hot,’ he breathed. ‘You haven’t had a man in a while.’ He pressed forward, his penis ramming its head against the depths of my womb. The feeling of fullness and the rhythmic slide of his flesh ignited a flash of need in my already trembling sex. Maybe it was the coke or maybe it was that my pussy was still pulsing from my last orgasm, but it felt good. I pushed back against him, wanting to feel the rasp and press of him as the hard heat stroked my walls. He pulled back and pressed himself into me slow and long, letting me feel the stroke and rub of him as he set a faster pace that had me writhing and pressing my pussy into his groin. I wanted to feel more of him. I wanted to feel the slap and heat of his sack, the agonising pleasure of the scratch and scrape of his groin hair against my hungry labia. His hands were everywhere, stroking the length of my back, the crevice of my ass, pulling at the flesh and extremely sensitive skin of my hips and ass. He groaned, the sound punctuating the wet slapping rhythm. A vibration washed over me and a shudder rushed down the length of my body. He almost lost his grip, but he reclaimed a fleshy stronghold and the pace increased. His penis swelled and tightened, filling every inch of me with firm hot flesh. He slid a sly finger beneath me to press and stroke my swollen clit.

It was too much, the way he filled me, the rasp and pull of his cock along the walls of my sex, the slap of his sack against my tingling vulva, and the wide finger that pressed and pushed my screaming clitoris. My body tightened around his, my pussy squeezing him, sucking at him. He grunted and increased the pace, his hands gripping my hips, trying to steady my body for his assault. He was pounding into me and I was falling forward, my arms trembling, no longer capable of supporting me. I was a mass of tingling nerves. He grunted again, jerked and pulled me back, holding me to him, my rear to his groin. I could feel the rush as he came and came, his body stiff as his penis throbbed and surged forward. My sex vibrated around his, sending an electric wave through my body. I couldn’t move, my arms and face and breasts splayed over a large segment of the play pit. And then he was falling forward, the lower half of my body collapsing beneath his.

I lay there, a mass of tingling nerves, insensate, for I don’t know how long. After a while, Adam slapped my bottom lightly and said, ‘I like fucking you.’ With that, he got up and padded out of the room.

I nodded, but I couldn’t talk just then.

* * *

Lira sat across from me, her legs curled under her. She was sipping a Diet Pepsi from a can. Her dress was in its proper place. The straps were even resting on her shoulders where they were meant to be. She had been watching us. There was a bit of white powder on the end of her nose.

‘What’s your name? I know you said, but I’ve forgotten.’ She stretched her legs and feet out over the large square table that filled the open space in the middle of the pit.

‘Ada,’ I said sitting up and looking around trying to locate my clothes. They were wadded in the pile of clothing near the opening of the pit. We had apparently fucked our way to its centre. I tried scooting back down the cushions towards the clothing, but my bottom was wet and sticky and I didn’t want to smear my juices all over the upholstery so I stood up, feeling quite self-conscious about my nudity when Lira sat across from me clothed.

Adam appeared wearing a dark-red cotton robe. He handed me its twin. I took it gratefully. It was smooth, brushed cotton, and large enough for me to tuck my feet under it when I sat down.

‘Hungry?’ he asked. I looked to Lira. ‘Lira never eats. Chorizo and eggs?’

‘I could eat,’ I admitted.

‘Juice or coffee?’

‘Both.’ He smiled, nodded, and headed into the kitchen.

A blue Miles was floating about the room, the sounds melancholy and strangely cleansing. Lira sipped her Pepsi.

‘Why me?’ I asked.

‘I liked the way you looked at me,’ she said without forethought.

‘How?’

‘Big eyes, dopey.’ She sat her soda can on the table, pulled her knees up and leaned on them, her chin resting on her folded arms, her hands, beautiful and slender, peeking out. The nails were painted the same soft colour as her toes.

‘Dopey?’

‘Adoration. Lovestruck.’

I could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. I’m used to it.’

‘Are you and Adam …?’

‘Not really. We were once. It didn’t work out.’

I felt myself nod at that, like some reporter amassing information.

‘Do you often go with women?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes, but … it’s just that there is no ultimate reward, you know,’ and she pressed her splayed fingers to the silky fabric that concealed her sex to emphasise her point, or lack thereof. ‘But you were good. I enjoyed it with you.’ Was she trying to appease me? ‘Adam enjoyed you too. He came hard, and he’s cooking for you.’

I didn’t say anything. She watched me, quiet. I watched my feet and thought about the last hour.

‘Do you often go with men?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘You seemed to like it.’ Her eyes bore into me.

‘It was probably the coke.’

‘Adam is good. He likes women.’

‘And you? Do you like women?’ I knew I was pressing her, but I had the evidence of her pleasure still glistening on my lips and thighs.

‘Not particularly. I brought you for Adam.’

‘I see.’ What could I to say to that?

Adam was back with a tray heavy with two plates of eggs scrambled with spicy sausage, toast, orange juice and coffee. He pushed Lira’s feet off the table and set the things out. It smelled good, hot buttered bread, pica spices and fresh-brewed coffee.

I dug in. He plopped down on the floor and followed suit. Lira sipped her Pepsi.

‘So, Ada, what do you do?’ Adam asked after swallowing.

‘I sell books.’

‘Books?’ That from Lira. He cast her a shushing look.

‘What kind of books?’ Adam asked.

‘I own a used bookstore.’

‘How long have you owned it?’

‘Nearly five years now. I bought it off a friend. She needed money for medical expenses. I was just going to run it for her, hold her place so to speak, and then she didn’t need it any more.’ The eggs were good. I wondered where he bought his chorizo.

‘You don’t like it?’ I knew he meant the store and not the eggs. He had to see the way I was gobbling them down.

‘Sometimes I love it, but the hours are long. Do you like being a broker?’

‘Sometimes. It pays well. Do you have a woman, a lover?’ Whatever happened to transitions? I chewed more slowly. Lira watched me. Adam took a large swallow of coffee and then another forkful of eggs, but I felt him waiting for my answer.

I swallowed. ‘No.’

‘No woman?’ He ate some toast.

‘No.’

‘A man?’

‘No.’

‘How long?’

‘How long what?’

‘How long since you had a lover?’

‘Why?’

‘I like you. I like the way you feel.’

‘This was fun, but it was a one-time-only event.’

‘It doesn’t have to be. You like Lira. You like me?’ He sipped from his coffee cup, his eyes watching me over the brim.

‘Lira doesn’t like women.’

‘Lira? Where did that come from?’

‘She said so.’

‘It’s just that I have a lover, a husband actually,’ Lira inserted.

‘Then why are you here with us?’ I didn’t believe her or I didn’t want to, and, even though I knew it was irrational, I was angry. ‘If you’re so content with this husband, why were you at Jack’s party without him?’ I didn’t like that they had been working together to manipulate me. And worse, I didn’t like that I had been so needy and that it had been so obvious.

‘I told Adam I’d help him find someone. He doesn’t like the bar scene. He’s quite picky and he picked you. We picked you,’ she said easily.

‘Why me? Because you figured I’d be easy prey?’

‘Because I like the way you wear your clothes, the loose fit of your trousers, the way they hang on your hips, the way your breasts push against the fabric of your blouse, the cut of your hair, the way it hugs your head accentuating your cheekbones.’ Adam watched me, his eyes on my face, as he spoke and then he took a sip from his coffee cup and was silent.

I wondered where he’d been when we were at Jack’s, how he’d been able to watch like that, without me seeing him.

‘I like that you fit just under my chin, that your body just slides into place. I could put my chin on top of your head without bending my knees – if you’d let me. Do you like anything about me?’

I didn’t even have to think about it. ‘The eggs are perfect,’ I said, looking directly at him so that he could see the honesty in my face and the limits I was setting. He laughed anyway. Lira pursed her lips.

‘Anything else?’ His voice was strong, the same dusty baritone, and there was no whine, but the words felt like need. I thought about it, running through the last few hours, beginning with his hand under Lira’s dress.

‘Lira says you like women,’ I offered.

‘I do,’ he confirmed.

‘I believe you,’ I said remembering how he’d stroked my clit to make sure I came before him and that he’d thought to bring me a robe afterwards. And that he hadn’t pressed his advantage when he was behind me. Not fully, not this time anyway. I sipped my juice and watched him eat. Lira leaned over and tore off a piece of his toast.

‘I liked the way you looked at Lira,’ he continued as though there hadn’t been a lull in the conversation. ‘As though you wanted to swallow her whole. It made me jealous and I had to have you. Now that I have, I find that I want to keep you. At least, for a bit.’

‘I’m not sure whether to be flattered or frightened.’

‘Flattered, definitely,’ he said, finishing his eggs.

Having eaten everything, I pushed my plate away, gathered my clothes into a manageable bundle and made my way to the guest bathroom I’d seen near the entryway. A few minutes later, I was fully clothed and ready to say my farewells. I figured I would shower when I got home. When I came out of the bathroom, Lira rose from her cushions to stand before me. She leaned down, pressed her lips to mine and slid the pointed end of her little tongue along the length of my lower lip.

‘I like you. I really do, but this thing with Charlie is new. It’s like I told Adam, I want to try it out the traditional way, but I can be here for you on occasion. If that’s what you want. Adam likes you.’ She pouted.

‘I’m happy for you.’ I slipped around her and extended my hand to Adam. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He took it in both of his.

‘Encantado,’ he said as he brought the palm of my hand up to his lips. His riposte and the crinkle of skin around his eyes showed that he appreciated the irony of our farewell. Then he pulled a business card from his robe pocket and tucked it into my pants pocket. ‘So you can contact me if you change your mind or if you have need of anything.’ His eyes tried to snare mine, the end of his lips curved upwards.

I nodded, refusing the connection, and extracted my hand from his. He shrugged in the European way as I made my way to and through the door without even looking back at Lira.

Once I had exited the elevator and walked the length of the red carpet to the main entrance, I dropped the card into an ornate stone ashtray that stood next to the doorman’s post. The uniform-clad black man hastily tossed and crushed the burning butt of his cigarette beneath the toe of his patent-leather shoe. He smiled up at me, but his eyes were weary beneath the hard lip of his military-styled cap. ‘Good evening, ma’m,’ he said as his hand rose to the brim of his hat and he tipped it up without it ever leaving his head. I smiled back and asked him to hail me a cab. A shrill whistle and a yellow cab appeared at the curb just as the pewter sky began to lighten. I slid a couple of dollars into the brown palm that held open the door before settling comfortably onto the cracked faux-leather seat.