A Taste of Sin (17 page)

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Authors: Fiona Zedde

Tags: #African American Women, #General, #Romance, #Erotic Fiction, #Adult, #Love Stories, #Fiction, #Lesbian, #Lesbians

BOOK: A Taste of Sin
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“No,” Victoria sighed the word, like it could very easily turn into a yes.
“Fair enough.” She closed her eyes and took another deep lungful before backing away.
“I—” Victoria took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to sound that way, it’s just that—”
“You don’t have to explain.” Dez felt the surrender in Victoria’s body. If she hadn’t said no, then they would have been sliding around naked on the kitchen floor, fucking like they’d just invented the word. “Where do you want to eat?”
Victoria sighed. “The porch is fine.”
The temperature had fallen again, so south Florida was back to its average winter high of sixty-five degrees.
“Go on out. I’ll bring your plate to you. Do you want anything to drink?”
“Um . . . orange juice if you have any.”
“Of course.”
When Dez walked out with the plates and glasses balanced on two trays, she found Victoria sitting on the porch steps leading down to the beach. She stood up to help Dez with her burden.
“Thanks.”
They sat down and began their meal in silence. Victoria’s eyes widened when she took a good look at what Dez had prepared. She didn’t know that this meal of ginger-scented
French toast with mango jam and the thick broccoli, almond, and havarti cheese omelet had once been enough to land women in Dez’s bed.
Dez watched Victoria between bites. Despite the superb breakfast, she looked miserable. Still, Dez made no effort to break the awkward silence.
“This is very good toast,” Victoria finally said.
“I know. Thanks.”
Victoria looked up sharply, only to encounter Dez’s teasing smile.
“Can I tell you that I’m sorry again?”
“You can, but there’s nothing to forgive. I know me. You did the right thing.”
“No, I didn’t.” Victoria put her toast down, then picked it up again. She dipped it in the small saucer of mango jam and finished it off in two neat bites. “I don’t want to be like the others. I don’t want to fall for you, fall into your bed, then fall by the wayside on your way to the next conquest.”
“And how do you know that’s what I’m going to do?” Victoria’s look said it all. “Derrick again, huh?” Dez took a careful sip of her water. “I’m not going to make you any promises, Victoria. You’re an incredible woman and I’m very attracted to you. We could have a good time together. But if you don’t want to do this, just let me know now.”
“I wish this was simpler.” Victoria brushed the hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Derrick and I have been friends for a long time and I think if I go through with this, then our friendship is going to change permanently. It might even end. This is not something I’m willing to do lightly.” She took another triangle of toast between her fingers. “I want you, but I want to be sure.”
Damn.
Dez nodded at her brother’s best friend over the rim of her glass.
Why couldn’t I have gotten infatuated with Nuria or one of those other easy, no-hassle girls?
“Fair enough.”
“Do you hate me?”
“No. I do like you for your honesty, though. This just lets me know that I’m going to
really
enjoy you when you’re sure.”
Victoria shook her head and smiled around her toast. “No comment.”
 
After breakfast, they put on sandals and went for a walk. “So where are we?” Victoria asked.
“Sarasota. A little snowbird town on the west coast.”
“I could tell that from the highway signs. I meant the house. This piece of land.”
“Ah. This was Aunt Paul’s home away from home. She brought me here all the time when I was growing up. I spent most of my summers with her, either in Florida or traveling to someplace new.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It was, mostly.”
When nothing else was forthcoming, Victoria looked across at her.
“What?” Dez asked.
“Do you deliberately do this mysterious thing or is it just a bad habit?”
Dez blinked. “What are you talking about?” “Nothing.” She laughed and shook her head.
Their walk took them up from the house into the interconnected, bird-named streets that ran through the larger neighborhood. Between the time that Dez’s aunt had bought the house and now, the little slice of paradise had become a suburban jungle. Only the fact that she owned an acre of land on each side of the house—including the beach—stopped the suburban termites from getting close.
“This is a cute neighborhood. It has a little bit of everything.” As they walked, houses gave way to a circle of shops and restaurants.
Dez’s mouth curled with distaste. “Yeah, it does. A little racism here, a touch of homophobia there, with a touch of elitism for spice.”
“I thought you liked this place.”
“I do. But sometimes I just wish that the people would disappear.”
“That bad, huh?”
“It can be.” Dez shook her head, dismissing the subject.
None of that was worth talking about now “Come on.” She took Victoria’s hand. “I want to show you something.”
It was still early, but there were already a few people about, mostly joggers and the occasional retired couple walking their matched set of French poodles or Great Danes. One jogger almost stepped in a hole while gawking at Dez and Victoria’s joined hands. They crossed the street and darted into a well-lit alley littered by flowering dandelions, black-eyed Susans, and smooth stones that were supposed to have made a pathway, but instead made walking in thin sandals difficult.
They left the manicured sidewalks behind and ended up walking in high grass that tickled the backs of Dez’s knees and poked under the hem of Victoria’s skirt. The high grass cleared at the edge of a retention pond. It was quiet and peaceful with the sound of the ocean breeze racing through the weeds. Dez sat down and pulled Victoria down beside her.
“This is where I played when I was a kid.”
The pond water flashed blue with a clear reflection of the sky. Dragonflies played above its surface, dancing between the cattails and tiny mangroves. Dez took Victoria’s hands again, this time putting them against the concrete between them. Etched in the surface was Dez’s name right next to her aunt’s with their matching handprints.
“She was a hooligan, just like you?”
“That’s what my mother used to say.” Dez chuckled.
“Auntie Paul could never understand how she could have such an uptight sister. Her words, not mine. It wasn’t until I was almost in high school that Mom started to loosen up and do what she wanted to. It was good to see, especially after the divorce.”
“It’s hard to imagine your mother not being as free as she is now.”
“That’s a good thing. Before she was so rigid and judgmental. Everything had to be just so or else.”
Why was she telling this woman all this? Dez was sure that Derrick had told her all this and more.
“Let’s get going,” she said. “There are much more interesting stops on this tour.”
Back on Main, they walked past the entrance to a “white store.” Victoria peered at the glittering white dresses in the window.
“They sell expensive white clothes and shoes to rich white people after Labor Day,” Dez mock-whispered.
Next to an old-fashioned ice-cream and candy stand stood a small door with opaque glass and an innocuous-looking sign that advertised the store simply as THE WOMAN’S ROOM. The windows were opaque, too, but had rich swirls of color, all muted the shades of the rainbow, decorating them. Dez opened the door and held it wide for her companion.
“Come on in.” Her grin was absolutely wicked.
“Good morning,” the woman at the counter chirped as they walked in. She was thin and boyish, with dark brown hair spilling down to the middle of her back in shiny waves. Her face, the same shade as honeyed chamomile tea, broke into a smile when she got a good look at who just walked into her store. She jumped from behind the counter to hug Dez. “Jeezus! It’s been how long since I’ve seen you?”
“Too long, Trace. What’s going on?”
“Nothing much, as you can see.”
The store was empty except for two employees bent over open boxes, restocking the shelves. One of the girls looked up and waved at Dez as her giggling coworker looked on. Dez smiled back.
“Trace, this is Victoria Jackson. She owns the indie women’s bookstore in Miami.”
“I’ve heard of your place. It’s called Victorian or something like that.”
“Victoriana,” she corrected with a smile. “Good to meet you.” The two women shook hands.
“Victoria, meet LaTracia Delgado.” Dez grinned. “She’s the owner and proprietress of this lovely den of decadence.”
For the first time, Victoria seemed to realize what sort of place they were in. The area where they stood could have been the hallway to any number of homes she’d been to before. But that was where the similarity ended. Off to her left and going deep into the store was a space made up to look like a sitting room, complete with a mock-up of a burning fireplace, a high-pile Persian rug, and at least a half dozen inviting, burgundy cushions on the floor. Each wall was covered by dozens of shelves that were neatly stocked with love oils, potions, toys, and even edible panties. The room beside it was made to look like a kitchen, with a sink, a bar with two stools, and more shelves. It was a cozy kitchen, one more intimate than most with its cozy blues and yellow, and the tile-work around the “appliances” decorated with yonic flowers in various stages of bloom. Instead of spices and groceries, the shelves here held self-heating lotions and oils, honey dusting powder, battery-operated cucumbers, and various other erotic delights. Next to the kitchen was the bedroom. Sumptuous shades of plum and lavender decorated the walls and four-poster bed with its gauze drapery and thick pillows. This room had even more shelves than the other two.
“Welcome to my pleasure palace.” Trace waved her hand around the store. “Would you like a tour?”
“This place is amazing.” Victoria walked with Trace into the bedroom. “I thought about adding a sensual aid section to the bookstore a few years ago, but it just seemed like too much trouble. Don’t you ever have frat boys and cops come in here trying to harass you?”
“Yeah, a few, but nothing too serious. This is a great location. The college girls love it. It’s a place where they can come without being stared at and made to feel strange for wanting to control how they get off.”
Dez thought Victoria would be offended, but instead she laughed, putting a hand on Trace’s arm. “That’s great.” She turned to look back at Dez. “Thanks for bringing me here. This is fabulous.”
“Yeah, it is.” She left the women to their shoptalk and made her way into the “parlor,” a small room at the rear of the store with sofas and magazines and other miscellanea for the weary shopper.
A display of harnesses and dildos caught her eye. The leather harness she’d used for years was comfortably well-worn and supple from her own body’s oils, but there was always room in her treasure chest for new equipment. She fingered one that the label described as “The Pony.”
“Shopping?”
Dez turned to face Victoria.
“
Window
-shopping, yes. Did you find anything you like?”
“Oh, yes. Trace has some things here that I’ve never seen in Miami.”
“True that. I always buy my Kama Sutra stuff from her. She has the best selection outside of the Internet that I’ve ever seen.”
“So that means you come here often?”
“I used to, but it’s been mail order the last couple of years. Got to support the independents, you know.”
Dimples appeared in the curves of Victoria’s cheeks. “I’m sure she appreciates your business.”
Behind them, Trace stood talking with some customers, a group of hippy-ish young girls with shy smiles. When she was done, she came back over to Dez and Victoria.
“So, what else can I show you two?”
 

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