Authors: Fiona Zedde
Tags: #African American Women, #General, #Romance, #Erotic Fiction, #Adult, #Love Stories, #Fiction, #Lesbian, #Lesbians
A Taste of Sin (33 page)
“Watch it, Dez. She
is
precious.”
is
precious.”
She nodded. “I’ve been calling her for days. I even went to her house like a fucking stalker and watched her,
watched
her ignore my phone calls.” Dez looked down at the sound of breaking glass. Her cup. She’d slammed it down on the counter a bit too hard. Milk spread in a slow white stain on the cherry countertop, heading toward her denim-covered thigh.
Fuck
. She swallowed the last of her sandwich and jumped up to clean the mess.
watched
her ignore my phone calls.” Dez looked down at the sound of breaking glass. Her cup. She’d slammed it down on the counter a bit too hard. Milk spread in a slow white stain on the cherry countertop, heading toward her denim-covered thigh.
Fuck
. She swallowed the last of her sandwich and jumped up to clean the mess.
Derrick laughed softly. “I might be worried about the wrong woman.”
“Damn right.” Her cloth wiped furiously at the wasted milk.
“You’re obviously too far gone in love with her to think straight.”
That got her attention. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’ve been through the same thing myself. It’s not very easy, is it?”
She wanted to deny it. Dez Nichols was the master of the fuck and run. Love was something she’d seen tossed back in her mother’s face, something girls always claimed to feel but could never prove. It wasn’t something that she did. But there was no other explanation for her feelings. It made sense. It was fucked up. But it made sense. The knowledge of it settled into her bones as she watched Derrick down his glass of scotch then reach for the bottle again.
“I should have known that she would see something in you. I could bullshit myself and say that she was looking for a female version of me, but we both know that except for this gorgeous nose the two of us look nothing alike.” He lifted his glass to Dez. “Thank God.”
She wanted to reach for that bottle, too, but something told her milk and whiskey weren’t meant to be mixed just then.
“When I saw her five years ago I thought she was the classiest woman I’d ever seen. And pretty, too. When she told me that she was a lesbian I thought I could change her mind. When I couldn’t, I resigned myself to being her friend. That was the best booby prize I’ve ever won. She’d been there for me in so many ways, been with me through everything.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully, as if considering his next words, wondering if he should share them with his sister. Then he shrugged. “I had an AIDS scare a few years back. She let me have it for being so damn careless. Even now I’m not sure if I wear rubbers because of the scare or because of her cussing me out.” He lifted his head. “This woman means a lot to me, Dez. I love her in a way that’s hard to explain, but I think even you can understand. Don’t fuck up. It’s obviously not over between you two.”
Derrick went home and Dez stayed. She had a lot to think about. Although she didn’t quite want to, the situation with Victoria kept intruding, worming its way into her forebrain until all she could do was glare at it, squirming in discomfort. She took up the bottle of whiskey her brother had abandoned and started to drink.
Dez wasn’t going to look for her again. No matter how hard it was, she would not go. She had never pursued a woman before and she had already broken that rule by tracking Victoria. That was it. The first and the last. Dez walked around her empty house, deliberately prodding at her heart’s ache by imagining Victoria walking with her, lovely and touchable in one of her many sundresses, tilting her bright head to listen to whatever she had to say. Dez sat finally in the empty guest room contemplating her four-times empty glass of whiskey with its pale ghost of the alcohol marring the clear crystal. Her body felt light with the stuff, but that was all. The Victoria situation still lay heavy and unpleasant on her mind. Damn her and damn Derrick for bringing her into Dez’s life in the first place. The phone rang. She looked up from the glass and thought about not answering it. But it could be Claudia. It wasn’t.
“Dez.” The voice on the other end of the line made her heart squeeze and slow down.
“Hey, baby. You’re not giving me the cold shoulder anymore?”
“I was never giving you the cold shoulder,” Victoria said.
“Then what was—? Fuck it. What’s on your mind?”
“You, of course.”
“Of course.”
Thinking of more ways to make me feel like shit?
Thinking of more ways to make me feel like shit?
“I’m calling to invite you out,” Victoria paused. “Are you free this weekend?”
“Maybe. What’s going on?” She lay back on the bed and stared up at the high, arcing ceiling. Her head was beginning to swim.
“There’s a party in the Keys this weekend. At Odette’s.” Her voice dropped off as if she expected Dez to say something. “Do you want to come?”
“Sure. Why not?” Odette was famous for her anything-goes, all-night girls’ parties. Dez had been there several times but the one visit that stood out most in her mind was the Friday three years ago when she’d gone in and not left until Sunday afternoon. She’d ached in places she never even knew existed. It had been a
very
good time. O had lots of money, lots of coke, and lots and lots of hot women friends. Dez didn’t even think that a woman like Victoria would know O, much less want to go to one of her parties.
very
good time. O had lots of money, lots of coke, and lots and lots of hot women friends. Dez didn’t even think that a woman like Victoria would know O, much less want to go to one of her parties.
“I’ll leave your name at the door as my guest,” Victoria said. Which meant they wouldn’t be arriving together.
“I never went home with that woman.” The words jumped out of Dez’s mouth despite her determination not to say them. “Do you believe me?”
Victoria’s silence was damning enough. She listened to her lover breathe on the other end of the phone, heard the soft catch in her breath that could have been anything and nothing. “You never lie, right?”
“Not about things like this.”
“Okay.” She paused. “So I’ll see you on Saturday?”
“Yes.” Dez didn’t bother to ask what time. They both knew what time Odette’s got started and when the giant pleasure palace closed its doors, locking its patrons inside until the morning. Dez hung up the phone before Victoria did. She didn’t want to hear the finality of the disconnecting “click.” She’d hear it soon enough in her lover’s voice on Saturday.
Chapter 30
O
n the night of the party, Dez dressed with care, like she was going on a date, but sexier, taking more care with what was underneath her clothes. Her body smelled good, was clean and soft and lickable. Although the outcome of the night’s activities was uncertain, she wanted to be prepared for anything. She also wanted to be irresistible to Victoria. If her lover was going to cut her loose, Dez was going to damn well show her what she would be missing. First she pulled on sheer white silk, then the leather. At eight o’clock, she rode her motorcycle down the turnpike against the flow of leftover rush-hour traffic, speeding toward the Islamorada.
n the night of the party, Dez dressed with care, like she was going on a date, but sexier, taking more care with what was underneath her clothes. Her body smelled good, was clean and soft and lickable. Although the outcome of the night’s activities was uncertain, she wanted to be prepared for anything. She also wanted to be irresistible to Victoria. If her lover was going to cut her loose, Dez was going to damn well show her what she would be missing. First she pulled on sheer white silk, then the leather. At eight o’clock, she rode her motorcycle down the turnpike against the flow of leftover rush-hour traffic, speeding toward the Islamorada.
It was a short ride from Highway 1 to the renovated two-story beachfront hotel. It was just after ten when she pulled the bike up to the building. The lights were dim, but as Dez drew closer she could hear the muted voices of dozens of women and, beyond them, the siren call of the ocean. She parked her bike in the parking lot facing the ocean with its thick cluster of vehicles illuminated under the half moon.
At the door, a tiny woman stood taking names and tips, smiling up at the many women who walked up to then past her. The light sea breeze ruffled her fuchsia Afro. When Dez gave her name, the woman looked fully at her.
“Desiree Nichols? No way, she left us for a boy years ago.
You can’t be her.” Her pretty face dimpled.
“Lenny, don’t be mean.” She pulled the woman up from the stool and kissed her vanilla-scented throat. “The point is I came back, right?”
Lenny blushed in the light. “I guess. Don’t disappear when you get inside. I want to chat with you before you get too into things.”
Dez nodded. “You know where to find me.” She put her motorcycle helmet in the cabinet just behind Lenny and walked into O’s pleasure palace.
She sauntered past the curtained entrance where women stood scoping out newcomers for their potential as companions for the night. Her boots were quiet against the wine red carpet lining the stairs that led to the main ballroom. The decadent atmosphere sucked at her leather-covered skin, welcoming her into its heat.
Three of the pale walls flashed different images of women dancing, kissing, posing provocatively with naked backs and thighs, parted lips and sweating cleavage. The images flashed in tune to the music, giving newcomers an idea of what would happen later on in the evening if they let themselves go.
Dez looked around the cavernous room. No sight of Victoria. She straightened her jacket and headed for the bar.
“Oban. Two fingers, neat.”
The bartender was back with the whiskey before Dez could settle herself properly on the stool. With a slow nod and the slip of a crisp twenty across the bar, she acknowledged the woman’s promptness. She took her drink and turned to watch the show on the floor.
They were at the foreplay stage of the evening. The large ballroom was barely half-filled and the music undulated at medium speed with a deep hypnotic bass that drew a few dozen women to the dance floor, panting over their partners, sliding sensuously against them, warming up for what was to come. Despite the variety in age of the women here, they all gave off a similar energy, one of hunger and sensuality and near-danger. From heroin-thin ingénues to buxom beauties, Mrs. Robinsons and even the ripe fearlessness of women well past their fiftieth year, the ballroom was well stocked with every kind of woman, every kind of desire.
“You all alone tonight, baby?”
Dez turned from the dance floor at the sound of the provocative voice near her shoulder. She took her time looking the woman over, from her sleek cap of hair tapering down to a graceful neck, to the acres of cleavage cradled in black silk straps that barely passed for a blouse, down to the flat belly and long, long legs revealed by the matching skirt. Her eyes took an even slower trip back up. The woman allowed the scrutiny, even posing for it, turning in so the faint light gleamed on her deep brown skin and the diamond star winking from the navel. A grunt of appreciation escaped Dez’s throat. But . . .
“No. Maybe some other time.”
The hot girl pouted in disappointment then, after a light brush against Dez’s thigh, disappeared back into the sea of women.
A chorus of disappointed groans came from some of the women seated at the bar. They could find someone else to entertain them with a public fuck session tonight. Dez took a sip of her whiskey, savoring the slow burn across her tongue and the smoky fragrance that briefly filled her nose. She spread her thighs wide against the stool, then leaned back against the bar to wait.
An hour passed and she grew nervous. Would Victoria stand her up as a punishment for failing some fidelity test on Sunday? The lump in the pit of her stomach grew in size with each passing minute. By hour two it had migrated to her throat and no amount of distraction from Lenny—who spent forty-five entertaining minutes catching Dez up on the happenings of the last two years—could get rid of it. Just as she was about to settle up with the bartender and go home, she saw the flash of ginger and copper curls at the door.
Gratitude and relief flooded her chest. In that moment, she hated Victoria. She wished that the woman had never come into her life making her feel this humiliating rush of love and lust and misery and anticipation and dread.
Victoria stalked in, lush and luscious in a honey-colored leather vest the exact shade of her skin and matching pants that sat low on her hips. The vest was cut low to show off Victoria’s wealth of breast and soft skin, but she’d modestly covered up with a long piece of copper silk worn around her throat like a scarf then tucked down into the leather bodice. The silk appeared again from beneath the cropped leather top, allowing only teasing glimpses of her belly through its semi-sheer weight before flowing down, butterfly-light, to the floor and over her pants and high-heeled boots. It made Dez’s hands itch to move the cloth out of the way, to feel that hidden skin. Victoria
would
make this hard for her.
would
make this hard for her.
You play a very cruel game, Ms. Jackson.
Dez wet her lips. She knew the exact moment when Victoria saw her sitting, quiet and watchful, at the bar. Her eyes met Dez’s, then slid away before coming back.
Dez wet her lips. She knew the exact moment when Victoria saw her sitting, quiet and watchful, at the bar. Her eyes met Dez’s, then slid away before coming back.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as soon as she was close enough to be heard.
“As long as you made it before they closed the doors for the night.” Dez made her response deliberately noncommittal. She wouldn’t let Victoria know how she had worried and was still worrying.
“So you’ve been here before, then?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.”
“Of course.” A deep breath shook her curls and brought her closer to Dez. “You airing that out for me?” she murmured as she slipped between the sprawl of Dez’s thighs.
“Well, it has been a while since anybody’s been in there.” Dez tossed back the last of her whiskey and released an exhilarated breath, uncertain whether it was from the Oban or Victoria’s smile mere inches from hers. “Dance with me.” She stood up, brushing her fingers along the flowing silk over Victoria’s breasts.
A Madonna oldie shook the floor as they made their way through the crowd of gyrating women.
“You look incredible.” Dez traced the soft line of Victoria’s back, pulling her closer as their hips moved in time to the heavy, sensual beat. “I’m glad you came.”
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