Naughty or Nice (11 page)

“You do?”

“Comfort Inn. Suite 2218.”

His smile was almost as anxious as mine. Still, this had me bouncing my leg.

He followed me back toward I-8. Hotel Row. Miles of places built for indiscretions.

 

Room 2218 was upstairs, away from the office and street traffic.

The room was just that, a room. King-size bed that had a little sag in the middle, old cover in blues and earth tones, industrial green carpet, a chair with no arms next to the dresser at the foot of the bed, another chair with arms at the small desk next to the bed. Heavy golden curtains and some sort of atrocious green and gray wallpaper throughout. There was barely enough room to walk by the foot of the bed and the dresser. A mirrored closet was on the other side of a small nightstand, a reflection that would reverberate whatever happened on that bed.

The door closed behind him.

There were no more words between us.

No words meant no more bullshit.

I pulled the curtains up, left a sliver of light.

He turned the little radio on, found soft music, then came
over to me. Our kiss took us to the bed. He grew against me and I shifted him so he was on the right spot, then bit my lips and moved against that growth. I pulled his shirt off; he did the same with my top, my breasts rising with my breathing. He took the ponytail holder away and my hair fell, framed my face.

This liquid sensation ran through me, one I'd had before. It was warm, tickled me all over. The same sensation I embraced the night I lost my virginity. When I wanted to experience something I had never experienced before. Anticipation of a new pleasure excited me.

He whispered, “What do you like?”

So many erotic images went through my mind.

I swallowed. “Surprise me.”

He moved my hair from my eyes and I touched his chest. He was strong. He touched my breasts with both hands. I tingled. A fire grew inside me. He lowered his head and I closed my eyes, felt his tongue moving back and forth over my left nipple, then my right, making my breasts shine with his saliva. My eyes tightened; my first moan escaped me, followed by squirms, then more sounds that let him hear that dark and erotic side of me.

I touched his back, raked my nails over his flesh. His patchouli scent was seeping into me, into my skin, and his hair smelled like lavender. I loved lavender. It oozed sexuality. We had other odors, the ones that came from dancing and sweating, and those were just as erotic.

He asked, “Still nervous?”

“Don't stop.”

To tell the truth I was terrified, like when the roller coaster was at the top and I could look down and see that first drop. He tugged my pants down over my hips, my thighs, and they bunched at my ankles for a moment, then he took my shoes off, dropped both, each thump sounding like my heartbeat, and pulled my clothes away from my feet.

Cool air covered my skin, telling me that I was naked.

He touched around my vagina. “Brazilian wax.”

“Yeah.”

“It's beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“You smell so damn good. Love it when a woman takes care of herself.”

He tongued my hipbone, my pelvis, took my toes in his mouth. I squirmed and moaned, God, how I squirmed and moaned. He was on his knees, holding the back of my thighs, pulling me into his mouth, praising me with his tongue, flesh that was very gentle, as smooth as water, a rhythm that made me hold the sheets and float, float, float.

It felt so good that three-letter sounds became four-letter words.

My shudders and twitches told me that this was real.

Now a stream of ten-letter moans and four-letter words came from me.

This was awesome. He was going to eat his way to China.

He moved away from me, left me twitching and breathless, heat rising between my legs, struggling to open my eyes, then panting and watching him take his clothes off.

My cellular phone started vibrating against the dresser, a blinking blue light in the darkness. It had to be three in the morning. Only one person would look for me at that hour.

In the blink of an eye, a thousand thoughts came and went. I thought about my husband, all of our ups and downs as a couple, about my life so far, about morality and immorality.

He said, “It's okay to answer it.”

My cellular hummed again, danced across the dresser until it fell on the floor, then vibrated against the carpet. I watched it until the blue light quit flashing like a warning.

“Bird, you okay?”

I nodded. My words caught in my throat. “I want to watch you touch yourself.”

He sat in the armless chair, stroking himself. I was curious what he would feel like inside me, to taste him, to become . . . official . . . I think that's a good word . . . to become official with him.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still tingling, my hands squeezing my breasts.

He told me, “Touch yourself, Bird.”

I did. We entertained each other.

I said, “Hope you brought something.”

He walked across the room, his dick bobbing up and down. I watched the solidness in his legs, in his back. I wanted my body to look that solid again. He dug in his pants and pulled out a Magnum. That made my vagina tingle and purr. A woman always hoped a man wore Magnum. Not only wore them, but was qualified to wear them. In that moment I remembered an ex who bought Magnums, but him wearing them was like me putting on a dress four sizes too large.

I asked, “Can I put it on for you?”

He smiled and came to me. I got on my knees, touched his offering. It was darker than the rest of his body, hot chocolate with thick veins running down the sides, one big muscle.

I said, “Open it up for me.”

While he tore the wrapper, I primed him. I've always loved holding a man like that, his heat in my hand, looking deep into his eyes, hearing his breathing thicken, watching him lose control. Even when he handed the condom to me, I kept stroking him, feeling his energy rise until he closed his eyes and moaned. I was tempted to make him orgasm like that, not invite him inside me. I had the power to make him feel good in any way I chose.
That look
was on his face, the one that said this was so good.

His mouth parted and he licked his lips over his ragged breathing.

I said, “You're thick.”

He smiled, touched my locks. My words boosted his ego, showed in his eyes. Always compliment a man on his penis. That was his vanity.

I put the condom on him, made sure it was there to stay.

I said, “Sit on the chair.”

I straddled him, kissed him, his warm body against mine, his
hand grabbing my ass. I was so wet. He stretched my walls, hard and strong, slipped deep inside, surprised me. The shock of a new lover being inside me made me shudder and gasp, then we were hanging onto each other. He pulled my hair, eased in and out of me, moved me away from pain.

Moans rose.

He pulled my hair, kissed me hard, slapped my backside and I was lost in . . . lost in . . . moving up . . . down . . . fucking him. I swallowed, panted, found enough wind and control to chant over and over. He was deep, rigid, hungry. Didn't expect it to be like this. The back of the chair slapped the wall. People next door had to hear. People passing by had to hear.

I lost it, said so many pornographic things.

His grip on me, so tight. My movements so . . . so . . . powerful. That was how I felt. Powerful. That rush of control had me so heady . . . so high. Then he hardened . . . grew inside me . . . his release . . . damn . . . so hot . . . again . . . leg trembled . . . back arched . . . saw a thousand flickering stars . . . soared on the wings of an angel . . . disconnected from this world and fell back into that place that owned no pain, that place that made me feel so alive and so close to death all at once, and I tried to stay there. Inside Orgasm lies healing. The zenith lifted the soul above all pain. But even a bird could only fly for so long. On the other side of every orgasm was reality. The truth I needed to avoid. My descent came back a breath at a time, and I struggled against it, moved against him with a fever, like I was in a hot-air balloon, easing back toward the ground.

I rested on him, his hands moving up and down my back, my hands doing the same to him. He was sweating a little and I was perspiring. Moisture gave his skin a nice glow. I rocked and moved against him, felt him go from firm to flaccid, then he softened and slipped out of me. I took his hand, put his finger on my spot, helped him massage me to the other side of the edge.

My shudders and twitches decreased. No more moans or four-letter words.

The ride was almost over.

When my breathing calmed a bit, I whispered, “God . . . that was . . . really good.”

His hand played in my hair. “No, that was you.”

“I was just responding to what . . . to . . . damn.”

“You've got my head spinning.”

“Best first-time sex I ever had.”

“We're not done.”

“Shit. I'm in trouble.”

We kissed again.

I asked, “Want me to get up?”

“Not yet.”

I reached down and touched his penis. The condom was still on.

We were back to being clumsy, naked, realizing how exposed we were, having a certain lack of grace. Two people who had been intimate and didn't know what to say.

I had committed adultery.

C
arpe carried me to the bed. We pulled the ugly covers up to our waists, our odors perfuming the room, me on my stomach, him on his side, our legs touching. I rubbed my leg against his the way a woman did when she wanted her lover to hurry and recuperate.

He touched my face, said, “You have beautiful lips.”

“And you have a beautiful dick. Oh, you meant these lips, thought you meant those lips.”

Carpe rubbed my body, admired me all over. “What size are you?”

“Five-five and I weigh one-thirty-eight, okay?”

“That's not big.”

“For me it is. Gained eighteen pounds.”

“The average size of a woman in America is twenty-two.”

“But if you take out Oklahoma and Texas, it drops down to size nine.”

He laughed.

I told him things I didn't want to. Good sex made a person talk. People were most honest in the first ten minutes after sex. Good dick was liquid Ecstasy and truth serum.

I said, “Gained most of my weight in the last four months. My hips and ass.”

“How?”

“Had a Depo-Provera shot.”

“What's that?”

“Birth control. Weight gain is one of the side effects.”

I was wondering how he saw me, knowing that I was married, knowing that we had just met, knowing that he had conquered, never thinking that I had conquered as well. I think men saw us all as whores. Maybe damn near every woman was someone's whore: her husband's, her boyfriend's, always reduced to being someone's whore.

My cellular hummed again, irritated me and danced in the carpet and lit up the room.

I looked at the mirror, saw myself in bed with another woman's husband.

I crawled to the foot of the bed and picked my phone up, answered.

“Yes, Tony. What? What? What do you want?”

“What the fuck is going on, Livvy?”

“What the fuck you think, Tony?”

He said nothing for a moment. “Two weeks.”

“I know. I have a calendar.”

“Two weeks and you can't leave a message. I'm going crazy.”

“Do you know what time it is? It's late Tony. After three in the morning. It's late and I'm tired. I have to teach in the morning.”

“Livvy, don't—” He took a hard breath. “I went by Dermalogica today.”

I knew what he was about to say. “How did you like the baby pictures?”

“You used your comp days and took the rest of the year off. So why are you lying about working?”

“Any word on the DNA test?”

“You took the rest of the fucking year off and . . . Where are you?”

“Did you tell me where you were when you were fucking that bitch?”

Thought that when I heard Tony's voice I'd quiver and cry. I was naked, with another man. Guilt was there, but it didn't smother me. No thick catch of regret was in my voice.

He asked, “Where are you?”

“Why? You wondering if I'm being naughty or nice? Ask Santa.”

“Just tell me—”

“I am where I am and that's where I'll be until . . . until I'm somewhere else.”

“I miss you, Livvy. That song ‘Always' by Pebbles . . . our song . . . it's playing in my head twenty-four-seven and . . . look . . . let me . . . please . . . can I come where you are?”

“Nnnnnnnnnno.”

“Livvy,” Tony said, exasperated. “I'd shove my head up my ass if I could.”

Carpe had my foot in his mouth, sucking my toes over and over.

“You've already done . . .” I struggled with my breathing. “You've . . . damn . . . you've done that. At the dinner party . . . in front of everybody.”

“I know, but I had no idea . . . Olivia, I love you. I'm sorry. I miss you. Come home.”

“When will . . . when will . . .” A wave of tingles warmed my spine. “Oh, God . . . Jesus . . .”

“Livvy—?”

“When will . . . you know if the baby is yours?”

“I haven't heard anything, Livvy. I told you over and over, it might not be mine.”

“But you still . . . you still . . . fucked . . . fucked . . . fucked her.”

“We've gone over that.”

Carpe had his finger inside me, stroking my swollen spot. I squirmed. Wanted to push his hand away. That finger followed me until there was nowhere to run. I closed my eyes, imagined his hand was Tony's hand, let myself get lost in Tony, fought to swallow my moan.

“I'm . . . I'm hanging up, Tony.”

My husband called my name.

My love was coming down and I was losing my motor skills,
fumbling with my cellular, couldn't find the button to turn the damn thing off, so I broke it in half and let the pieces fall.

More heat and electricity curved my back, and I moaned, “Oh, God. Shit, nigga. Fuck.”

My leg wobbled. An orgasm rampaged through me. It was so damn strong.

When it was over, I struggled to breathe, stared at Carpe, shook my head in disbelief.

Carpe took my foot in his mouth again, asked, “What size shoe do you wear?”

“Eight.”

He asked me that like there had been no phone call to interrupt our conversation. I answered the same way. Tommie's voice was inside my head, whispering about pink elephants.

Carpe said, “You have a body that could make an army surrender.”

“Mmmmm.”

“They could've sent you to Baghdad and ended that war in fifteen minutes.”

Carpe put his mouth on my breasts, tried to arouse me away from all bad thoughts.

I was angry at Tony. I was missing Tony. I was feeling emotional, another side effect from the Depo. Part of me was feeling dirty, ready to go home, another part not wanting to go home, and needing to get back to that place where nothing mattered, all of that at the same time.

I closed my eyes, imagined I was with Tony, cradled his erection in my mouth, and tasted us. I knew how to tell a man that he'd walked into a den of insatiability. This wasn't Tony. Not our flavor. Tony's call had stolen my high. I needed to get as far away from Tony and these thoughts as I could, find my way back to the edge.

I asked, “We're not finished, right?”

“Tell me what you need, Bird.”

I whispered, “You ever rent a car?”

“Yeah.”

“You drive it different than you did your own car?”

“Yeah.”

“How so?”

“Drove it harder, faster. Pushed it to the limits.”

“That's what I want right now. Rental car sex. Put me through the paces.”

He kissed me, put on a condom, eased on top of me, entered me slow, and took me back to that place where there was no thought, no pain, that place that owned no reality.

The second fuck was always the best. I'd learned that over the years. Never to expect much from a man's first fuck. Never expect it to be too time consuming. It was the second one, the one that was nice and long, the one where they had to work longer and harder to get off, that was the sex I always craved. He sank in me and I shivered, let out so many sexy, melodic, and harmonic sounds. First we moved slow, then went from cool and calm movements to being gritty and guttural. He fucked me hard and I fucked him back with the same enthusiasm.