Darlene (5 page)

"Oh.
My bad. Didn't know you had plans."

"It's okay," I say. "Maybe we can have a drink later on."

"Yeah." Awkward pause. "Okay, have fun … wherever you're going."

"I will," I purr, smiling at him as he heads toward the stair well.

***

The smile I'd given Adam earlier was just as genuine as the one that now lights up my face for Kevin. They just had different meanings, you see. This smile is one of sheer excitement, because not only do I hope to get a little closer to Kevin tonight to get more goods on this damned gem show, the probability is high that I'll get to ride some good dick in the process.

"Someone's happy to see me." Kevin beams as well.

Right now, I feel like an old vinyl is scratching somewhere in the universe. We're not in love. I've got to quit this shit. My cheeks rest a bit, drawing my grin into more of a pleasant smile. "I'm looking forward to this authentic Italian meal you've promised."

Kevin's smile relaxes as well, albeit for a different reason. "Hopefully you won't be disappointed."

After a very short cab ride, he takes my arm and we walk into an indistinct, dimly lit Italian restaurant a few blocks away from the hotel. Dinner service is just starting, but there are already a number
of tables filled. A good sign. Of course, Kevin asks for a quiet booth in the back and the teenaged hostess leads us there with decorum and grace.

"Sasha will be your server this evening. Enjoy."

"Thanks," Kevin and I both reply in chorus.

I'm quiet, waiting for him to say something interesting. I don't want to sound too eager to talk about the gem show, so I'm happy when he suggests that we start with a wine.

"So, white or red?"

"I love both," I say, just as our waitress Sasha approaches, with rosy cheeks and pleasant eyes as if she were fashioned just to wait tables.

"Hello! I'm Sasha, and I'll be taking care of you. Can I get you started with some drinks?" She smiles and nods, as if we need to be coaxed to eat.

"I think we'll order all at once and perhaps you can check back before dessert?" Kevin gives her a fatherly smile.

I like Kevin MacInness a little more after this assertive move. We'll be able to talk uninterrupted, which I like.

"Sure," Sasha nods again, still smiling.

Kevin looks at me. "You don’t mind if I order for the both of us do you?"

"Not at all," I
say, my voice husky. The biggest hurdle I'll have for tonight is remembering that for now, we're on a date. Kevin wants to give me an incredible dining experience. I'll get to the diamonds and dick later.

"Great." He turns to Sasha. "For the
antipasti
, we'll both have chopped salad and arancini. For the
primo
, we'll take the baked cod and steamed mixed vegetables with the three cheese tortellini. And please bring us a bottle of Pinot Grigio."

"My pleasure," Sasha responds, sauntering off toward the kitchen. She knows we'll be here for a while, I suppose.

I seize my chance. "So, why a gem dealer? I mean, how does one get into that business?"

"You're an inquisitive one," Kevin replies, smiling. He leans across the table and takes my hand. "I got into the business two fathers-in
law ago and haven't looked back."

My eyebrows go up. "Two?"

"Yes," Kevin sighs as he drums his fingers nervously on the table. He shrugs. "Unfortunately, both of my marriages have been incredible failures."

"I'm sorry." I feel genuinely sad for him. It's obvious that I've struck a nerve without meaning to. "We don’t have to talk about that."

"Oh, no. Please … I don't mean to be morose."

I sip the water that Sasha has put on our tables for the time being, nearly spitting out a laugh.

"What?"

"Morose? So, not only are you a gem dealer, twice-divorced New England boy who can only make girls, you're a fucking poet too?"

Kevin chuckles as well. "Only make girls? Talk about an uppercut."

"Of course you know I'm joking," I say, purposely taking longer than necessary to corral my straw with my tongue.

"Yes, yes." Kevin waves at me. "I know."

"Do you think you'll get married again?" I'm more serious now.

"Who knows? I haven't ruled out the possibility."

His eyes bore into mine, into my clothes, the skin beneath. For the first time, I'm uncomfortable, but not because of Kevin's glare. It's the threat of normalcy in my life. Things regular people do like fall in love, make babies, and raise them in
surburbia in cookie cutter houses with two-car garages and good schools nearby. I'm glad for Sasha, who breaks silence with our salads. Kevin will tip her well, I'm sure, because she sets our food on the table so stealthily I almost forget she's there until she asks, "Would you like any parmesan?" Kevin and I both request healthy shavings of the creamy cheese and dig in.

"This is delicious," I say between bites of the small, fried balls he's ordered. "What are these?"

"Heaven," he says. "They're fried balls with rice and cheese." He pauses to wipe his mouth. "Your turn."

I take a gulp of the Pinot, buying myself some time. I
fold my arms in my lap, trying to look nonchalant. "What do you want to know?"
I'm going to make it up anyway.

"Okay," Kevin grins, leaning back in his chair. "I'm going to ask this question at the risk that you'll never talk to me again, or that you'll think I'm the biggest moron on planet."

"Okay." My eyebrows are scrunched and I know that I have a certain look on my face that Nelly tells me is intimidating.

"What's your ethnic background?"

I laugh.

"See? Now you think I'm an idiot. Admit it."

"You're harmless." My mouth waters when the tortellini and fish come, and I'm the first to scoop up the beautiful pillows of pasta covered in a steaming orange-red vodka sauce. "You're not the first person to have asked me that, so don't worry about it. It's an American problem that I find quite fascinating—the need to put people in need little boxes of white or black or some other designation so that nothing goes topsy turvy with our system of race." Kevin has stopped chewing for a minute and I can tell I've gotten perhaps a bit heavy. I continue, "Nonetheless, it's okay. My mother is half Haitian and half Greek. Her mother married a Haitian man while working as a missionary over there. My father's from Canada, which is where I was born." I take a bite of the crostini. "But I was raised in the states. Northern California, but mostly Chicago."

"Wow." Kevin pauses to sip his wine and refill my glass. "Well, I'm impressed. What a rich family tapestry."

"Mister poetic." We share a smile.

Sasha places the dessert menu in front of Kevin.

"I'm stuffed. You?"

"Ditto," I say, draining the last drop of wine from my glass. We've finished the bottle and most of the food. "You were right. That was absolutely delicious."

"Glad you approve." His face goes flush, as if embarrassed that I'm reading his mind. "I'm thinking of something else for dessert that I have no doubt would be just as equally delicious."

Chapter 8

Kevin was right.

The way his tongue delightfully twirls to suck up my wetness tells me that he indeed thinks I'm delicious. The coolness of the mini bar's countertop on my smooth bare cheeks contradicts his warm tongue in a wonderful way. I've already come once and even though I'm hot and sensitive in all the right places, I won't dare make him stop.

"Yes, just like that!" I grab every wisp of his hair that my trembling fingers can find.

His hand finds my nipple, rock hard, just as he starts to playfully nibble on precisely the right spot. I go wild. Clearly this pleases him, since he grabs both hips to give him leverage to drink all of me. He slithers his way back up to eye level, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Even more delicious than last time."

"Yeah," I say. "Except I'll kill you if you leave me hanging this time."

"Oh, I have no intention of doing that." Kevin picks me up and I eagerly straddle him as he walks us over to the floor beside the bed.

"The—“ I start to object, but Kevin cuts me off, flipping me around at the same time. Without a word, he plunges into me from behind, clasping his hands on my shoulders, driving hard into me. "Damn!" I scream, loving every minute of it.

Kevin's dick is huge, even by my standards, and he has no problem filling me up. Our bodies smack, the pace quickening as he works
himself—and me—up. Our moans sing a beautiful opera, a story of pleasure, desire and unrestrained lust. Kevin slows, surprising me when he withdraws, leaving me feeling empty with the hole he'd just filled.

"Come here," he whispers, patting the bed. I start to lie down, but realize he has other plans. Swiftly, his strong arms lift me on top of his hard manhood, standing per
fectly straight, waiting for its juicy prize. I easily slide up and down him, working my hips to the rhythm of his hands that glide up and down my skin. I adjust myself, my ankles at his ears, moving faster now, watching his beautiful eyes roll back into his head as he moans with passion. "Darlene! Yes, don't stop, baby!"

For a moment, I close my eyes, too, relishing in the slipperiness of us together, the amazing pressure on my G-spot that threatens to buckle me over on a massive orgasm. My eyes flutter and I see the dreamy look in Kevin's eyes as they move over me.

"Yes," he murmurs, almost a whisper. "Mmmm."

His orgasm is explosive, his grip on me solid as he pumps into me. My hand barely slides over my wet lips before I'm coming too, my back stiffening into his strong hands.

Moments later, our breathing slows to normal and I'm staring at the ceiling contemplating whether that might have just been the best sex I've had—ever.  Much to my surprise, Kevin snuggles up to me, gently pulling me into his arms.

My head swirls, my brain working overtime.
This guy is … holding me.
But I don't move. I rather like the way he just lets me lay silently, strumming my hair with one hand while the other traces invisible fluid lines on my bare hip. I clear my throat.

"You're uncomfortable."

That's all. He follows it up with nothing, patiently waiting for my response, allowing the weight of the silence sink into me.

"No …," I start. I realize it's a lie, so I purse my lips.

"Yes." He rolls onto his side, looks me in the eye. "It's okay. I understand we just met."

"Right," I say, moving to sit up on my elbows.

"Where are you going?"

I stop, resting, my hair falling behind me. I have no idea what's going on and I suspect that Kevin knows this. He takes a nipple in his mouth, softly and expertly working me up again. Heat rises between my thighs as my lips, already dripping with the satisfied ending we just had, throb. I've never fought myself so hard. I'm terrified of what else might happen if he stays, but I'm loathe
to let him go. I like his touch, his breath, him being inside of me. I
want
it.

"I want more of you," he whispers, burying his face between my breasts, full again with arousal.

For someone who's accustomed to being in full control, all the time, I suddenly can't talk. I can only let this man make love to me again. No, we're not even fucking at this point. I can tell he's waited for this moment with me and it scares me to death.

Then, he's inside me again, holding me, kissing every part of me his mouth can reach while gliding back and forth inside of me, now soaking wet and hungry for more of him. For a time, everything is about Kevin. His eyes, his hair, the scent of him that only gets sweeter the more he sweats. My nipples grazing his hot skin, his very satisfying
manhood that seems to fit me perfectly and as much as I don't want to be emotional, I realize that I can't stop this moment from carrying me completely away with it.

And just when I think he's done with me, he leads me to the shower where I take the perfect opportunity to show him that my mouth doesn't just whisper intelligent words. I taste his salty-sweetness and love it even more when he picks me up to straddle him, this time, slipping into me and pounding me with a measure of aggression that is nothing like selfishness, but everything like passionate adoration.

Chapter 9

It rolls down every part of my body, finding its way into the deepest of crevices, hot and refreshing at the same time. I shut the water in the shower off and pause to slather on some gelled body oil before walking across the plush bath mat I've laid on the floor. Kevin has worn me out, without a doubt. I'd love to fall into a deep sleep of contentedness.

But I've come here for a job and I like my money. Aside from the money, there's also the thrill of ripping people off and getting away with it.

I suppose I should be honest with you about my skills, though. I was arrested once. I was twenty. A dumb first time offender who decided, on a whim, no doubt, that I'd steal a fabulous dress from Nordstrom for a New Year's Eve party. I'd managed to get about three feet in front of the exit before I was wrangled up by two store security guards flanked by a Boston policewoman. To this day I haven't forgotten the look on my father's face when he came to pick me up from a holding cell later that same day. Six months later, having been a model offender in a diversion program, a judge determined that I'd made amends to society for my misgivings through fines and community service, and he promptly expunged my record. I've been stealing all kinds of shit since. The thrill has never left me. I've just gotten smarter.