Silk Stalkings (6 page)

After bringing the truck to a complete stop, he set the
emergency brake and opened the door. Yancey slid across the bench seat behind
him, carrying the dinner he’d packed.

“I hope no one sees me dressed like this,” she said,
smoothing her hair with her free hand.

“You’d still be the hottest chick here.” He was confident
not too many people would be skulking at the park, except possibly a teenager
or two, maybe the homeless, but neither would bother them. The jogging path
appeared deserted. “The hottest chick anywhere,” he added, confident in his
words.

She scoffed and blushed, nervously brushing away a lock of hair
from her face. Their lovemaking had wreaked havoc on her tresses. Her hair
tumbled in a tangled mess of sexy that tempted him to bury his face in her
untamed curls. There was that word again. She tempted him something fierce.

Diego took her hand and led her along the dimly lit path to
the first picnic table. He commonly took his meals here while checking the lot
for parking violators, day or night. The spot was peaceful late at night—the
perfect place to clear away the bullshit of the day and start afresh. Yancey
had already cleaned his slate. He felt euphoric around her.

A cool breeze flurried against his face. “You warm enough?”

Sitting on the table, she rested her feet on the bench.
“Fine.”

He unpacked the food. “Not hot but not cold either,” he said
of the food.

“Just the way I like it,” she said teasingly.

She tended to say everything teasingly. Naughtily. He liked
it but hoped for a serious conversation some day in their future.
About
the future. If she wasn’t about settling down, there was no reason to continue
down the same path only to inevitably split. There were no guarantees but he
knew what he wanted. Too soon to tell whether he wanted what he wanted with
her
.
Or whether she wanted the same thing at all.

Quietly, they ate the chicken and veggies he’d sautéed and
stuffed inside some rolled flour tortillas.

“Mmm,” she moaned, eyes closed, reminiscent of the way he’d
made her moan earlier for a different reason.

His cock, with a mind of its own sometimes, thickened
because of her sexy noises. She affected him like no one else. Moved him with
nothing more than a smile or a glance. And she affected more than just his
cock. She made him smile and laugh.

In a pocket of comfortable silence, they enjoyed the food
and ambience.

She turned her face into the breeze that blew her hair from
her forehead. To him Yancey looked every bit as lovely as she had before he’d
mussed her hair and smeared her makeup. He reached out and lightly touched her
face. She must have washed the foundation and blush away, letting her freckles
show. Yancey smiled at his touch but did not open her eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured.

She smiled wider, opening her eyes to him. “Well, then I
think I much prefer picnicking in the dark than the daylight.”

“You’re every bit as beautiful in the light of day and you
know it,” he said.

“Did you know the park was established in 1946 during the
housing boom after World War II?” she asked. Before he could answer, she
continued. “It started out as an empty field where kids congregated and played
baseball. It’s been renovated several times since 1946, most recently in 2008
to incorporate the jogging trail and upgrade the playground equipment.”

Diego satisfied an irresistible impulse and kissed her. Not
to shut her up, merely to feed his need for her lips.

When they broke apart, she said, “Was I babbling?”

“Never.” He tossed the garbage into a nearby can and reached
out to her. She placed her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. “How
’bout an after-dinner stroll?”

“How ’bout you lay me down in the grass and defile me?” she
said. “I want grass stains on my knees from sucking your cock.”

The sprinklers popped up and sprayed a mist of water onto
the carpet of grass. “Another time,” he vowed, cock twitching from nothing more
than a few sexy words from her.

Instead of rolling around in the grass, they ambled
hand-in-hand along the path. Her fingers reached out and touched the tops of
the foliage along the trail. He chuckled as she shuffled along, trying to keep
his big flip-flops on her tiny feet.

“You want me to carry you?” he offered.

“I want to swing.” Yancey kicked off his shoes and scampered
barefoot to the playground up ahead.

He shook his head, grinning, and collected the flip-flops
she’d left behind. She lazily swung back and forth, head back, eyes closed,
smiling like a carefree child. Diego planted his hand on her back and gave her
a little shove.

“Higher,” she said.

He dropped the flip-flops and caught her, grasping the
chains with both hands from behind. “Hang on tight.” He pulled way back and let
her fly.

She laughed. “We should do iton the swing.”

“Yancey,” he cautioned her.

“No?” She giggled. “On the slide?”

“Kids play on those,” he protested.

“I suppose you’re right,” she reluctantly conceded. She
slowed the swing to a stop and they continued their stroll, her still in her
bare feet. “What should we do? Call it a night?”

Not wanting to part from her, Diego racked his brain for an
activity. She’d probably settle for sex in the cab of his truck again—not a bad
idea—but he needed them to be about more than the physical. Maybe he was trying
too hard to create a relationship where one didn’t exist.
Why?
he
wondered. Because of the great sex. That was the logical answer. He didn’t want
to be so shallow anymore.

When his truck came into sight, they’d made the full circle
around the jogging trail. The sprinklers shut off for the night. Feeling the
pressure of her question, he replied, “Dancing.”

Yancey laughed again. “Dancing?”

He pulled her along to the truck, digging his keys from his
front pocket. He shoved the key into the ignition, turning it a couple of
clicks until the radio turned on. He adjusted the station and volume before
returning to her. She continued to laugh at him until he pulled her into an
embrace that seemed to take her breath away.

“Dancing,” he repeated, swaying her in his arms. “In the
fucking moonlight. How about that?” The old Diego would never have suggested
such a romantic activity. He’d have found a dry patch of grass somewhere.

She locked her fingers behind his neck and sighed, hopefully
at his romantic gesture. Not that romance was a language he spoke fluently.
Spanish was, so he nuzzled her neck and whispered, “
Mi cielo
,” in her
ear.
My angel.
She did seem heaven sent, except when she was tempting
him to sin.
My temptress.

A tiny gasp escaped her lips.
Lips.
She had great
lips. His mouth covered hers for a deep, slow kiss. The kiss didn’t end until
the song did—a testament to his dedication to leaving no tooth in her mouth
untouched by his tongue. Her fingers remained clutched behind his neck as his
hands roamed her body with tender caresses.

He held her and swayed long after the song had ended and
another, much faster song had begun to play.

“We should go before my battery dies and I need to call Chip
for a jump start,” he said. Being stranded would be memorable but not romantic.

She simply nodded, seemingly dazed by his kiss or the dance
or the image of Chip giving them a jump. Yancey was not an easy woman to figure
out.

Chapter Six

Yancey stared at her computer screen over lunch in the
employee break room. If her coworkers caught a glimpse of her naughty list
they’d…what? What would they do? What could they do? Nothing. Judge her? She’d
been judged plenty. In college she’d been stereotyped as your typical good girl
next door with a better than average IQ and below-par carnal experience.

Dressed in her short skirts, high heels and sexy stockings,
she not only sensed the judgment of the gawking conservatives but also felt the
eyes of men, young and old, caressing her and feeling her up. Sometimes a
pleasant experience, but not always.

Her boss probably suspected that he’d been duped when she’d
gradually changed her appearance from business casual to call-girl casual. It
had started with ditching her eyeglasses for a pair of contact lenses. Her
dresses and skirts had got shorter, her heels had got higher. It served the
newspaper right for not implementing a written dress code. They probably had
someone working day and night to rectify that mistake. But Yancey wore the appropriate
undergarments and covered those undergarments with clothes. She stayed on the
right side of proper, if just barely.

Back to her list, Yancey quickly added showing up naked at
Diego’s apartment to her spreadsheet. Along with a little light bondage—very
light. So light it had been nearly nonexistent. She’d count it anyway. She sort
of wanted more bondage—from him and only him. Yancey sighed, reflecting on the
night before. He’d eaten her pussy. That was nothing new. A couple of other
guys in her romantic past had done the same with different results. More like
no result. But the way Diego had tongued her and fingered her and brought her
face-to-face with an orgasm to end all orgasms—that had been new for her. A
zing of sizzling desire coursed through her at the memory, so fresh in her
mind.

Diego had bent her like a pretzel into a variety of
positions the previous night after their picnic. Not that she knew the names of
the positions to list them. Yancey absently added an impromptu picnic in the
park to her spreadsheet. Strolling in the dark. Swinging under the stars. And
dancing in the moonlight. Activities so out of character for her studious and
serious former self.

Such silliness for a grown woman, she thought.

Yancey wondered if such frivolous behavior would lower her
IQ. If so, good thing she’d already earned her college degree. No one could
take it away no matter how far she fell from grace or from academia.

She’d insisted on going home after the impromptu dance the
night before, but he’d insisted that she agreed to dinner
and
breakfast.
She didn’t make him persist very hard or for very long. No place she’d rather
be than in his bed, Yancey decided. He’d made her tremble again that night and
once more very early in the morning before a hearty breakfast. And again in the
shower. The memory caused a shiver of need now.

She squeezed her thighs together to end the aching, but it
persisted.

Yancey powered off the computer and sighed. Diego was dreamy
with a capital
D
. Not boyfriend material, though. His tattoos told a
story of a troubled past. Men being men, she speculated he would also have
trouble in the future. Drugs. Alcohol. Infidelity. He struggled with demons.
She just didn’t know what variety of demon or demons. A man who knew his way
around a female body the way he did had to be a womanizer. That’s sort of why
she’d chosen him—for his expertise. Or sexpertise. That and his supreme
hotness. Why she kept returning to his bed, truck and shower wasn’t as easily
explained. A clean break would be prudent, before she got hurt. She guessed
women were like potato chips to him—he wouldn’t be able to eat just one. Not
for long. Not forever.

When she arrived at her dreary office, a security guard from
the lobby held a bouquet of flowers over the trash bin. The burst of
colors—pinks and yellows and reds—brightened the entire room. But not Stanley’s
face, nor the security guard’s for that matter. Both frowned in the face of her
vase of pure bliss.

“These came while you were at lunch,” the security guard
said flatly, still dangling them precariously over the garbage can.

Stanley looked away in disgust or loathing. Jealous, she
guessed, aware of Stanley’s little crush on her. She walked a fine line between
encouraging their friendship while discouraging his affections. They had to
work together, after all.

She leaned in and smelled the spray of flowers. “They’re
beautiful.”

“If he cared he’d have sent red roses,” Stanley said.
“Everyone knows that.”

Roses were predictable. Diego wasn’t.

“Where’s the card?” she asked.

Stan looked away. The security guard examined the floor and
shrugged. Yancey spied the card in the garbage can and plucked it out, shooting
both men a dirty look. No doubt the flowers had been destined for the same
fate.

“Must have fallen,” the security guard said. “Accidentally.”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered.

Can’t stop thinking about dancing beneath the stars with
you
, his card said. Written in his own scrawling, nearly illegible cursive,
if she had to guess. So he’d personally gone to the florist. That told her he
cared enough to take the time to personalize the gift. Might even have picked
out the bouquet himself. He’d signed the card simply with a capital
D
.

“What did he do?” Stanley asked. “Cheat? Stand you up for
dinner? Ditch you for work?” That last one he said quite ominously.

“My money’s on cheating,” the guard said, placing the vase
on the edge of her desk. One bump to the desk and the flowers would tumble into
the waste can.

Yancey held the precious card at both corners between her
thumb and index fingers and swayed side to side. “None of the above.”

“No?” said Stanley and the security guard in unison.

“Nope,” she said. “You both sound surprised.”

“Are you seriously going to continue dating him?” Stanley
asked. “He’s so common.”

“Common,” the guard echoed. He did an about-face and left
the room.

Diego was the exact opposite of common. “We are
not
dating,” she insisted. “We’re hanging out. That’s all. Friends.”
Friends
with benefits.
He had a generous benefit package. Yancey giggled to
herself, deciding it was best not to flaunt her giddiness or share her
thoughts.

“Friends don’t send flowers to other friends unless they’re
dead or dying,” he said flatly. “Are you dying, Yance?”

“You said it yourself—roses would be the romantic choice. No
romance. No feelings.” She tucked the card into the envelope. “We simply have
to eat…both enjoy eating…so we eat together.” Heat flamed at her cheeks. She
fanned herself with a file folder from her desk.

“Sounds like a date,” he muttered. “So if this Diego guy
dropped dead you wouldn’t shed a tear?”

“I’m not heartless, Stan.” Evidenced by the stabbing pain in
her chest at the mere suggestion of no more Diego in her life. No more life in
her Diego.

She’d miss his seductive skills—his lips, hands and cock
working in tandem to please her. He was also a fine cook. Polite. Considerate
of others. A caring person, in spite of the skull tattoo on his chest adorned
with a halo of barbed wire, the words “I’ll laugh when you’re dead”scrolled
beneath it, all pointing to the contrary. The tattoo on his biceps of the
flaming heart pierced by a dagger and dripping blood hinted at a broken heart
in his past. Same as Yancey. Love could be cruel.

In spite of his history he was a gentleman. So far. Sort of
an unsung hero, helping folks in distress the way he did. The world would
certainly be worse off without him. Especially her world.

She sniffed back a tear. “I’d miss him the same as I’d miss
you,” she added. “So let’s all just try to stay alive. Okay?”

Stanley scowled.

Mitzy Dunbar from editing shuffled into the office. She
stopped, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and said, “Hi, Stanley.”

“Hey.” He waved absently, not making eye contact. Clearly he
was determined to pout about Diego. Knowing Stan, he could and probably would
pout for the rest of the day and part of the next.

Mitzy handed Yancey an interoffice correspondence without
taking her eyes off Stanley for even a second.

“Hi, Mitzy,” Yancey said, even though she knew Mitzy only
had eyes for Stan.

Mitzy turned to her, as if she’d just realized Yancey was
there, despite the fact she’d handed her a manila envelope. “Oh. Hi, Yancey.”
Turning her attention back to Stan, she took a step away. “Bye, Stanley.”

“Bye.” He sounded truly annoyed.

Walking backward toward the door, Mitzy seemed oblivious to
Stanley’s rudeness, so Yancey decided to be offended for her since Mitzy
couldn’t manage to be offended on her own. She finally turned and shuffled
away, sort of dragging her feet.

“Bye, Mitzy.” Yancey waved to her back but got no response.

Yancey’s cell phone blipped. Checking the text, she squealed
with delight.
Diego.

“You’re nothing but a booty call to him.” Disgust resonated
in Stanley’s tone.

Yancey bounced on the balls of her feet and giggled. “Do you
really think so?” She’d never been anyone’s booty call before. A dirty little
fuck buddy he kept a secret from his friends and family. “He wants to drop by
my place and see me tonight.”
See me naked.
He hadn’t said as much but
she could dream.

“For a booty call,” Stan mumbled.

I certainly hope so.
“He’ll need to work me in
between tow calls,” she added, biting her lip, fearful he might get too busy to
drop by. She crossed her fingers and hoped for safe driving and responsible
parking for all.

“That’ll be the definition of booty call in the dictionary
someday,” he added. “Including a picture of you.” Seemed Stanley needed the
last word.

Yancey made a clucking sound at him. “If we’re lucky.”

* * * * *

I’m coming,
Diego had texted Yancey.

She’d nearly
come
on the spot when she read the text.
Her stomach dipped every time she thought of him. And she thought of him often.
We’ll grab a bite when I get there,
he’d added before she had a chance
to respond.

Just don’t draw blood
, she texted him back. Yancey
knew what he meant but couldn’t get rid of the image of him biting her, leaving
teeth impressions on her skin. She could bite him in return, each of them
marking their territory with a semi-permanent scar.
Mine.
For now. A
brand on her flesh to remind her of him.

I’m hungry, smarty pants. I want to eat out
, he
replied.

I want you to eat me out too
. She giggled at her
attempt at sexting, something else she could add to her resumé of naughtiness.

Someone wants another spanking
, he texted back,
getting into the spirit of things. She figured he’d lead her down the path of
decadence, but seemed she was usually the one yanking his chain, nearly
dragging him to Naughtyville. He eventually fell in line with a little
prodding.

Yes, please. After you eat me out and bite me. Grrrrr
.
Yancey was enjoying herself immensely, a shiver of delight rumbling through her
body.

You win. We can eat food later. Tomorrow. Or next week.

She snorted a laugh and hoped he wasn’t sexting while
driving. Dangerous. She had a vested interest in his continued good health.

Drive carefully
, she texted him. And she meant it.
All that talk earlier of Diego dying had got her thinking about life and death
and what he really meant to her. Why did Stanley have to go and ruin her
superficial tryst by forcing her to think? She shouldn’t blame Stan. It wasn’t
his fault Diego was a keeper. He’d make some other woman very happy, which made
Yancey a little sad.

I always do
, he responded.
I’ve got a lot to live
for
.

She smiled, her heart fluttering with infatuation. How long
could they keep up this sex-based affair, she wondered? Until her list was
complete? With her adding sextracurricular activities to her list every day,
that could take some time. Besides, she intended to pad her sexual portfolio
with a variety of men. Maybe even a woman. Why not? Sample the techniques of
the world before settling down. She might take a sexcation to a tropical island
where the drinks were strong and so were the men. It was a lovely thought but
fleeting. No man held her attention like Diego.

But Diego Ramos was just the beginning of her journey. The
end was yet to be determined.

Her stomach flip-flopped when she heard the rap on her door
a few minutes later. Yancey had considered answering the door naked but
envisioned another scolding if she dared. She checked the peephole, just in
case.
Diego.
Her breath caught in her throat. Opening the door wide, she
struck a practiced pose. Being sexy did not come naturally to her, or so she’d
been told in the past and so she believed now. She also believed that with
research, practice and effort, she could master nearly anything.

Her sexy stance was studied and rehearsed. Her suggestive
attire was inspired by fashion magazines.

“Hot damn, you look good,” he said.

Heat spread to her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” He didn’t wait for an invite to
cross her threshold and nuzzle her neck.

“Is that a pizza in your hand or are just happy to see me?”
she asked seductively.

“I need fuel to keep up with you.” Diego stepped away and
circled her like a predator, his eyes devouring her in a lusty stare. “Me
like,” he said, caveman style. “I’d hoped you’d leave your saucy little work
outfit on.”

She wore a short-short wrap skirt, mile-high peep-toe shoes
and her signature thigh-high silk stockings. Underneath her saucy clothes she
wore sexy underwear. True, no one could see it, but sexy being a state of mind,
Yancey needed the mental boost to her self-esteem that came with barely there
panties and a matching bra.