Crushed Ice (4 page)

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Authors: Eric Pete

BOOK: Crushed Ice
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Her nails clawed at the sheets as if trying to escape my grasp. I brought my hands over hers, intertwining our fingers. My pelvis smacked against her ass as I pushed harder into that luscious, creamy center. She thrust her full, round hips back into me, another orgasm claiming her as she took me on a magical ride.
“Does he fuck you like this?” I whispered in her ear, my hips working around and around. I corkscrewed in and out until she lay on her stomach, her feet dangling off the bed.
“No! No! No!” she screamed emphatically, tears streaming down her face as our bodies moved in rhythm. Her legs bent, feet curled up toward me like a yoga master. She braced her arms underneath, pushing herself up and arching her back to form an almost perfect “C” beneath me. Her sexual prime being fulfilled was almost a religious experience. “Please, please don't stop,” she pleaded, for fear of losing the revelation of which she was in the midst.
Iris.
Her name was Iris. She felt the need to share that with me as I'd peeled her dress off her—before I'd kissed down her trembling, naturally tanned body and plunged my face into her damp, steamy pussy.
She wanted to give more of herself to me than I was willing to accept. What we were doing tonight was instinctual, no thought. Thought takes up too much of my life. Sex is the only time when my thoughts aren't necessary.
“I . . . I want you to cum,” she growled as she sent another wave of warmth cascading over my swollen dick. Her sweat-covered body shuddered, losing all control and coordination beneath me.
Pounding harder and deeper into Iris, I appreciated the rare gift she'd given me. I felt it emerging from deep within me; tried to fight it.
“Sí,” she hissed. “Do it. Give it to me.
Damelo.
”
My ass cheeks tightened and my eyes rolled back as it roared to be free. I was no longer its master as my body gave in to Iris's plea.
I gasped as I erupted; my seed released and joined with her flow.
The choice bed dampened by our encounter, Iris pur-red beneath me, blissful dreams taking hold after a good fucking. To think she was just escaping her kids and a mundane life for the night. In her, I'd found an escape of my own.
“Gracias,” I mumbled, succumbing to the exhaustion of the moment myself.
The sun was still dormant when we emerged from the townhome.
“Feel like some breakfast? You must be hungry,” she said. The wrinkles in her dress were visible as she staggered down the driveway to her car. I'd parked the 650i convertible on the street, so as not to block her in.
“Starving, but I have places to be. Stayed way too long.”
“Guilty as charged,” she said as she looked back at me. “If you ever need a place to stay or anything . . .”
“And I'd be tempted, too, but . . .” She could've been useful, but I guess I still had a heart somewhere in there.
“I know. You do crazy shit for apparently no reason. Not healthy.”
I walked her to her car; gave her a tight good-bye hug “Get back to your kids before they wake up. Maybe you can work off any remaining frustrations on hubby.”
“I doubt it,” she replied as I closed her door. She started the Corvette, a throaty growl emanating from its exhaust. She wanted me to kiss her. I couldn't. “But if he's able, I'll give it a try.”
“That's the spirit.”
“
Aparte del sexo, yo se que llevas algo bueno adentro de ti
,” she intoned, figuring I understood. Aside from the sex, there was some good in me.
“You're just saying that because you still have that ‘glow,' ” I joked, rather than acknowledge such delusions.
“Try not to get yourself killed, okay?”
“Goodbye, Iris.”
“Adios . . . whatever your name is,” she said with a wink.
With a shriek of its tires, Iris gunned the auto down Hartman Street and zoomed around the corner, leaving me alone in the pre-dawn hours and dreading the long drive back to Dallas.
Chapter 7
I took a sip of the black currant iced tea, engaged in another conversation across the ether.
Anything new for me? Slow news day for these other busters. Need something major. Keep these hits up on the website, y'know?
Busy working on a job. If something comes up, I'll holler.
Please do. The bigger, the better. You know nobody's $$$$ is betta than mines. Where are you living these days?
Nowhere. Everywhere.
You know I'ma keep hounding you until we meet one day.
How do you know we've haven't met?
I typed, feeling silly.
U like fuckin' with a sista.
Smiling at her comment, I checked my receipt, waiting for my order to be called. Number 332—a side salad and a cup of the black bean soup. A light lunch was what I needed after all the drinking and whatnot in Houston. Had been eating too heavy recently anyway. Being swift in mind, as well as body, often went together.
The soup took me back to New Mexico. Reminded me of Mary's comfort food while my mother worked long hours at the inn where we stayed. Mary, who worked a different shift, was like a second mother to me. When we moved to California, there was no more Mary. And the comfort, as well as the food, was gone.
I opened a window on my laptop. Began planning for Vegas. I needed a flight and somewhere to stay. With a click from my wireless mouse, I opened another window, viewing dates of the music awards simultaneously. My mind began assembling what I would need and who to reach out to. Natalia, Natalia. Time to get to know you even better.
From inside Café Express, I paused from my multi-tasking to gaze across the street at the Gables Uptown Tower, on alert for faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, that might want to pay me a visit. A palace compared to the places I'd grown up, it was where I'd been living since moving to Dallas. Just one of many structures that provided me shelter, except this location had a different purpose from the others.
“Three thirty-one.”
I glanced at my receipt again. There was a woman at the counter. Tall sister. Long brown hair with honey streaks that matched her jogging attire. Instead of picking up the order that had just been called, she spoke with the manager. She had an attractive stance, swaying rhythmically while she conversed. Perhaps a nervous habit, but it was inviting; drew you in to whatever she was saying. I recognized the manager, as I'd been here often enough to chill and unwind. He drove a red Nissan Versa with a dent in its bumper right next to the worn R
ON
P
AUL
FOR
P
RESIDENT
sticker. Grad student at SMU if I wasn't mistaken. And I rarely was.
“Three thirty-two,” they called out over the loudspeaker. About damn time.
My laptop could stay open while I retrieved my lunch, but I was sure to log off from my conversation. The dirt that I funneled anonymously to the Internet gossip site 4Shizzle worked both ways. It was a nice side gig, courtesy of the information I gathered in my usual pursuits, but it also served my purposes as another tool in my arsenal.
“Chris?” the woman speaking with the manager asked as I walked by them. Not my name; I didn't answer.
“Chris,” she called out again. This time, I looked in her face instead of admiring her body.
Fuck me.
Sophia. Collette's cousin.
The odds of her running into me were . . .
As I reached for my tray of food, I eyed the few other customers in Café Express and then the parking lot before turning my gaze back to my apartment building across McKinney Avenue.
Nothing out of place.
“Everything okay with your order, sir?” the man asked, sensing my hesitation. I just nodded.
I knew how this would have gone—if I'd set it up. Eye-catching beautiful girl, chance encounter . . .
Except it was Collette who introduced us.
And I trusted her.
The only person I trusted.
“Hey . . .” I replied, having put my fears to rest. Paranoia and guilt sometimes threatened to consume me. Collette stayed nearby, so it wouldn't be that odd that I'd run into her cousin. “I'm sorry. I forgot your name.”
“Sophia,” she said. Seemed like she was genuinely hurt by my feigned ignorance. “You eating?”
“Looks like it,” I answered, being a smart aleck to break the ice. “What you up to?”
“Doing some jogging. Have to keep this body tight,” she answered, drawing my eyes to the flat stomach that showed below her sport top. Sweat had begun to dry by her belly button. “Stopped here to see if they were hiring.”
“Dressed like that?” I asked.
“Do you object? Hey, I was in the neighborhood. Not having any luck anywhere else,” she huffed. The way she pouted her lips was amusing. Attractive on some level too.
“I'm surprised. I'd hire you. I mean, if I had a job to offer.”
“You don't even know what I do.”
“Besides modeling?”
“Damn. How'd you know?” she asked, a smile returning after the disappointment she'd shown over her name. “You're good. Either that or you're just trying to flatter me in hopes of getting into my pants.”
“If I was doing that, it wouldn't take much,” I teased, looking at the loose drawstring dangling from her waistband. “You want some lunch? My soup is getting cold.”
 
 
“What's up with you and my cousin?” Sophia asked, having taken me up on my offer.
“Nothing. Collette's a good friend. Why? She said something different?”
“No. She doesn't talk a lot about you.” Sophia devoured the remaining roasted turkey sandwich, leaving the sweet potato fries for last. For someone as thin as she was, putting away food wasn't a problem. Probably had the metabolism of a jackrabbit. Probably fucked like one too, but I digress.
“Should I be hurt?” I asked as I powered down my laptop. Wasn't going to get any work done with her in my presence, but this conversation was allowing me to figure her out.
“Not if there's nothing going on. What you writing about today?”
“About a guy and a girl. They're in a restaurant, and the girl asks too many questions.”
“Hmph. Thought you were writing about Las Vegas.”
“Why?” I asked, pretending I was unfazed by the curveball she just threw.
“Saw you had the Strip pulled up on your laptop. When you set your lunch on the table,” she said matter-of-factly. “Vegas can be a wild place . . . if you know where to look and aren't afraid. Research?”
“Yeah, just a little research. How was your food?”
“Good. Thank you for paying for it. Remind me to return the favor once gainfully employed.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?” I asked, curious and wanting to take control again.
“Anything,” she replied. “Been on an interview every day. At first, they're all interested, and then . . . It's just hard. . . .” She trailed off.
“You have a record or something?”
“No.”
“'Cause if you do, I wouldn't hold it against you. For real.” With the people I dealt with, it was easy to empathize.
“Some legal issues back home. Collette doesn't know about that. She hasn't seen—
oops.
I mean, we haven't kept in touch over the years,” she shared, cautious in her answer. “I'm just frustrated with things. Cuz is nice enough to let me stay with her, but with no job and no money, I'm going to have to move on.”
“Back home?” I probed. “Cali?”
Sophia glared at me. “Yes. How did you know? I kn-ow Collette hasn't spoken with you since Borders. First you know I used to do modeling, now this. You're scary.”
“Nothing to it. From your height and the way you carry yourself, I guessed at the model stuff. I've been around enough of them,” I admitted. “I picked up on the Cali accent you try to hide. Just observant.”
“Are you from Cali, Chris?”
“Been there. Been a lot of places.”
“Never a straight answer from you. Like an eel,” she said, snaking her hand through the air in front of my face. “Are you really even an author? Or are you trying to take advantage of my cousin because she's blind and loves books?”
“You don't know your cousin then. Just because she's blind doesn't make her dumb. She would tell you herself that I have been a perfect gentleman from the day we met. How is that taking advantage of her?”
“I dunno. Perhaps I'm just being overprotective. Chris isn't your real name though, is it?”
“Before I share all my secrets with you, you have to be willing to share all yours, Sophia.”
“Fair enough,” she relented as she dipped a sweet potato fry in some ketchup. “Is there anyone you know that can get me a job? Please. I need some real money to get back on my feet.”
“Collette doesn't know anyone?” I asked, not wanting to get all caught up in her issues.
“Like I said, she doesn't know about some things. I'm used to a certain standard. Like it is around here,” she said, happening to point directly at my building. “Bet you stay in one of these.”
I didn't acknowledge her guess. “I'm a private person, and don't like people forcing their way into my life.”
“That's not what I mean to do. It's just that running into you today is a sign. I believe in signs, Chris. I'm desperate.”
“I have some work that's taking me out of town. Can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do. I'll call you when I get back.”
She leaned over the table, exposing the tops of her large Bs/small Cs as she came closer. I wanted to reach under her top and caress them, taste her sweat from between them. She closed her eyes, kissing me on the lips while I remained motionless in my chair.
“Thank you,” she offered, no evidence of regret present in the low, trembling whisper that escaped her lips. “I'm willing to do anything.”
Only a fool is willing to do anything.
But is a greater fool one who accepts such an offer?

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