| |
––––––––
DIADRA PARSONS DRAGGED her feet down the bustling sidewalk of head-hanging New Yorkers to catch the subway train to Brooklyn. Bodies piled on and off the train, headed home to families, dinners in front of the television, and nice cool drinks. Her plans were the opposite: a hot bath, a glass of wine at room temperature, and two left-over slices of cold pepperoni pizza. The fridge and pantry were stocked since tomorrow would officially mark the three-week point since last seeing her...guy. She didn’t have a label for the man, which left him, in her mind, as her guy. She fully expected a call from Ed. Tonight, however, all she expected was a twenty-minute soak in the tub, one glass of Malbec, and snuggling with an oversized pillow.
The train came to her stop, and weary muscles aided in raising her tired body from the seat, slipping between the on-boarders and off-boarders. Two blocks from this stop, and she would be home. She trudged down the sidewalk as neighbors chatted on stoops, lying, boasting and sharing stories, none of which interested her enough to look up. In many ways, she wanted to be excited to get home, but she was too tired to care.
An apartment with two bedrooms and a clawfoot tub, which had been the selling point of the place, had become her new home. The job which she also loved, offered challenges and a crackerjack team that didn’t really require management, but the workflows needed to be guided. Mentally, she was a pile of mush. The new bed, which had several settings for vibration along with the ability to adjust each side to the sleeper’s comfort, was one of the many new items she had purchased, along with a sex chair, just to ensure that she kept it spicy for her new guy.
The old elevator car took forever to reach the third floor, and she slogged out of the door and down the hallway to her apartment. Inside the door, she bolted and locked the metal entryway, dropping her keys in a ceramic bowl she’d purchased from a street artist. Diadra kicked off her shoes and immediately removed the bra that had been holding her C-cups in restraint, and it gave way, allowing her boobs to whisper a collective sigh of relief. The lunch bag and purse sat lonely on the kitchen counter, watching their owner head to the bathroom to start the bathwater for her soak. Slowly, upon the return to the kitchen, weary hands reached for the half-consumed bottle of red wine and located her favorite long-stemmed glass.
“Shit, I need to charge my phone,” she said, picking it up only to have it vibrate in her hand. The message came from an unknown number.
Answer the phone.
“What in the...?” she responds, nearly dropping the phone when it vibrated in her fingers. The unknown number displayed and with unsteady fingers, she slid her hand across the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hola Diadra, this is Ed,” the deep voice said.
“Hey stranger,” she replied, glad to hear his voice.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Open the door, please.”
She giggled, “Yeah right. Like you are at my front door.”
“I’m standing outside, but I would like to be inside with you,” Yuñior told her.
“Whatever man. Stop playing with me. Are you coming to see me soon?” she asked, feeling the warmth seep into her midsection.
“I’d like to see you now if you would open the door,” Yuñior said.
There was no way he could know where she lived. She’d only been in the new apartment for two weeks and her father hadn’t even been over for a visit yet. Even Quita, her second-best friend, didn’t have the address.
“Ed, please stop joking with me. I’ve had a very long day, and I’m really kind of tired,” she said, exhaling into the line. A knock came at the door which echoed through the phone. Diadra’s mouth opened wide as she ran to the entry, opening it wide to find Yuñior standing in the entryway, smelling like a bit of Heaven and looking good enough to swallow whole.
“Hello again,” he said, providing the give-me-some smile. “May I come in?”
He rolled in a designer carryon suitcase, with a matching messenger bag slung across his broad chest. From behind his back, he pulled out a large bouquet of fresh flowers shoving them towards her, saying, “Para ti.”
“These are gorgeous. Thanks,” Diadra said, taking the flowers to the kitchen to put inside the new vase she’d purchased for just such an occasion. “Did you have a good flight?”
Yuñior didn’t want to make small talk. He wanted to be in her arms for the remainder of the night, providing a detailed demonstration of exactly how missed the lady had been. However, on the phone, she’d mentioned being tired. The gentleman in him opted for a different approach.
“Come to me, Diadra,” he said, removing the messenger bag and securing the front door. Barefoot, she walked over moving her body gracefully as she stared at the handsome face. Yuńior’s arms were outstretched, and she walked into the embrace. Strong arms enfolded her body, holding her close and inhaling the scent of coconut oil in her hair and the faint traces of perfume on her skin. Diadra clung to him, loving the feel of the embrace and waiting for his next move, but his stomach growled so loudly, he laughed.
“Pardon me, but my stomach is a bit empty,” he said, releasing her body. “My friend, Mr. Yield, the one with the scar, I stayed with him and his family last night. Unfortunately, his wife is not a very good cook. She also is a very bad artist who made a lamp that closely resembled an antiquated vestige used to summon the demons of hell.”
Diadra laughed. “You’re funny. I didn’t expect that from you.”
“I am many things, Diadra, and a sense of humor is required,” he said softly. “May I take you to dinner tonight?”
She sighed loudly. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m beat and would prefer to stay in. I can place an order through an app and have food here in about a half-hour.”
Yuñior scowled at her, shaking his head no. “You will call and give your credit card and address to people you don’t know, to have a man you don’t know, bring food to your door? How do you know this man has not stuck his fingers in his bum then in the bag of with your French fries or laced your food with a narcotic to render you unconscious? Human trafficking is at an all-time high, Diadra. Please do not risk your safety for convenience,” he said to her.
He looked up, hearing the sound of running water. “Are you drawing a bath?”
“Yes, let me check on that. I was planning to soak for about twenty minutes, have some wine, and eat the left-over cold pizza,” Diadra said, going down the hall.
Yuñior went to the fridge, finding all the needed ingredients for a decent, freshly prepared meal, plus a few more items to make the simple dinner as Tim had shown him. He rolled up his sleeves, washing his hands in the sink and chuckling because Ryanne would run him from the kitchen if she saw him cleaning his hands in the kitchen basin. Toweling his hands, he opened cabinets to located a cast iron cook pan, and two bowls, one for the salad and the other to mix the eggs. Adding a pat of butter to the skillet, he pulled mushrooms, onions, and a bit of broccoli from the fridge. He set the oven to 375 degrees and went back to the fridge once more. Yuñior located a wedge of cheddar, milk, and eggs.
“You are going to cook?” she asked, surprised when she returned to the kitchen.
“Sí, I am going to prepare us a meal, while you have your wine and soak in the tub,” he replied, locating a knife. Diadra watched him dice onions and mushrooms in even cuts and toss them into the pan.
“You’re very good with a knife,” Diadra noted.
“Yes, I am. Go. Soak. Here, take the wine, sip, relax. I shall come for you when the meal is done,” he said, pouring wine into the glass, handing it to Diadra, and shooing her off.
“Okay, but will you come and wash my back?”
“No. Now off with you,” Yuñior said, going back to his task. He focused on the task, grateful to have his mind on anything other than ravishing her for the remainder of the night.
Diadra spoke in a low voice, “Ed, you didn’t kiss me.”
“I missed you terribly, but I’m trying to be thoughtful and a gentleman. You said you were tired. If I kiss you, I won’t stop with just one kiss. The last thing you need after a long day’s work is me walking through the door and pouncing on you. We have time,” he said, pouring a bit of milk into the bowl, cracking eggs, and whisking away.
“Okay,” she said, going down the hall.
Yuñior tossed the broccoli into the skillet, along with pieces of diced ham, and added salt and pepper to the pan. Stirring the contents and satisfied with the even rate of cook on the ingredients, he poured in the egg mixture. The oven had warmed enough, so he used a potholder to slide the hot pan in to bake and set the timer for 15 minutes.
“Now, the salad,” he said.
He worked quietly, securing plates from the pantry, along with silverware and cloth napkins. Satisfied with how the table looked, he reached for his phone, and cued up what he considered being relaxing music, Jean Sibelius - The Violin Concerto in D minor, Op. 47, allowing the strings of the violins to fill the room.
“Perfecto,” he said as the timer dinged. Potholders on his hands, he removed the frittata from the oven, satisfied with the bubbling cheese topping. Searching the drawers in the kitchen, he found a trivet for the dining room table. Yuñior poured himself a glass a wine, and took a seat, waiting for her to join him. His wait was less than five minutes before she came down the hall, wearing a long red robe which showed off a firm thigh with each step.
“It smells wonderful, whatever you cooked,” she said, looking at the results of his efforts and listening to the music playing in the background. “You even set the table!”
Yuñior rose to pull out her chair, pushing just enough for the metal to touch the back of her legs. He remained silent as he used the pie cutter to slice out a wedge of dinner, adding it to her plate. Drizzling the salad with dressing, he doled out a serving for the lady, then himself.
Taking a seat across from her, he said, “Bon appétit!”
“Whew, a girl could get used to this,” she said, using her fork to sample the meal. “A quiche?”
“A frittata. A quiche has a crust,” Yuñior replied, silently thanking Tim for his culinary lesson.
“I half expected you to jump my bones when you showed up and leave a few bucks on the nightstand. This is very pleasant and surprising. Thank you,” she said.
“This jump the bones, please explain.”
“Oh sorry. I thought you were going to come through the door and drag me off to the bedroom, have your way, and then leave. You brought luggage, which means you’re staying for a couple of days,” she said softly.
“I must leave on Sunday. I have work on Monday,” he replied, “The luggage... I needed to get a hotel room close by, however, if you wish me to stay here with you, that too shall work, which I hope will be satisfactory.”
“Yeah. I’m going to be really satisfied,” Diadra said, licking her bottom lip. She watched him eat. Impeccable table manners. Classical violin playing in the background and he could cook and set the table. Shit. He’s married. Shifting in her seat, Diadra wanted to approach the subject carefully. “Ed, can or will you tell me if you belong to another?”
“My soul belongs to Jesus, however, lately, we’ve had a difference of opinion on the status of our relationship. He can be quite aggressive with the chores and things I need-to-do lists,” he said with a smile. “Soooo demanding.”
“Funny. I guess what I’m asking is do you have a girlfriend?”
“Sí. She is a lovely woman that I prepared a wonderful meal for, and more than likely, when the food digests, the plan is to...what was the term...ah sí, jump her bones,” he answered.
“So, that’s the way you’re going to play this.”
“Diadra, I’m not playing at anything,” he said, putting his fork down. He sipped a bit of wine to wash down the food, looking up at her with clear intent. “I do not have a wife if that is your question. To answer the next question, you are the only woman in my bed, or your bed to be more specific. I go to bed at night alone. My last feeding, if I may choose such a term to describe sexual interactions, came from our prior morning together.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. I’m fucking starving for another serving and sitting across from you and keeping my hands to myself is making me absolutely ravenous, but here we are,” Yuñior countered. “However, my lovely lady, a better question to you would be, will ‘Jamal’ or ‘Andre’ burst through that door to come to kick my arse?”
“Who is Jamal and Andre?”
“A lover or another man in your life.”
“No, none of those. Plus, I’m not even certain of what I have with you. What... this is between us. It feels wonderful but it scares me.”
Yuñior knew this would be the perfect time to explain the situation but he needed time alone with her first. The two of them, alone in her bed, loving her without interruption was the plan. He spent three weeks licking on fruit and he wanted to try his skillsets.
“We are here,” he said, offering nothing more.
“We are here,” she repeated.
The meal progressed in silence, ending with Yuñior clearing the table and washing the dishes. He felt a great deal of pride at having gotten through the entire meal without coming across as a rabid dog in heat, but his patience was over. An odd thought crossed his mind.
“I realized, listening to the music, I have never made love to a violin concerto,” he said, looking at her as she dried and put away the dishes.
“Brahms in the boudoir would be an interesting take, but to get your loving on, you have to have Luther or Al Green,” she said.
“Al Green, I do not know this man,” Yuñior said.
Diadra pulled out her phone, cueing up “Let’s Stay Together.” He listened, bobbing his head. The tempo was too fast.
“Too fast, unless you want the quickie,” he said, “maybe the other...Luther?”
She slid her finger, looking for a “House is Not a Home.” The sultry voice of the soul singing crooner came through the phone, making his eyebrows raise. He held out his hand, asking her to dance.
“I like this one,” he said, pulling her into an embrace. They moved from side to side, Yuñior leading her across the floor. The Bachata moves he had taught her when they first danced, she employed, moving sultrily against him, stoking the simmering hot embers. He hardened immediately and sighed into her neck, maneuvering her down the hall towards the bedroom.
Diadra reached for his belt buckle, unfastening the leather, tugging on his waistband.
“Undress me, Diadra,” he commanded.
Anxious fingers unbuttoned the shirt. Diadra yanked it off his shoulders, tossing it into a chair. Yuñior took off his shoes. Diadra yanked down his pants, running her hand across the bulge in the underwear. He exhaled heavily, stepping from the pants.
“Socks,” Diadra whispered.
“Forget the socks,” Yuñior said, reaching for her long red robe, watching it slide down the slender arms. She was bare under the material. The firm breasts stole his breath, creating an ache to be inside of her. “Simply lovely.”
Yuñior lowered his head, his lips coming to hers, kissing her lightly. The greed and need took over, deepening his kisses and allowing his tongue to mate with hers. Calloused hands from working the fields ran over unblemished skin, cupping her firm butt cheeks to bring her body closer to him. Falling to the bed, they reached for each other hungrily, but he didn’t want to rush the connection. His hand trailed over her smooth belly, stopping when he came to a swatch of material affixed to her skin.
“¿Qué es esto?”
“Birth control patch,” she said, not really knowing Spanish, but the inflection meant it was a question and his hand was on the patch.
His fingers trailed lower, between the juncture of her thighs, feeling, searching, inhaling the heady aroma. He brought his finger to his mouth, tasting the nectar before he made a full out assault. Her brown skin was radiant under his touch, making him want to heighten her passion.
Yuñior slid down the bed, kissing her body as he went, sucking a nipple, sinking his teeth into the flesh of her belly, and finally reaching the patch of girl curls. His face moved between her legs. An anxious tongue sought to taste what he’d craved, giving a gentle lick then a flick to the nub of flesh making Diadra moan. The remaining process he didn’t think about as he lapped at her — his own private peach.
Diadra gyrated her hips, moving the mound against his mouth and moaning under the administration under his tongue until she couldn’t hold off any longer. She exploded in a burst of warmth, clinging to the sheets and trying to call his name, but her breath caught in her throat. He didn’t give her time to recuperate. She heard the tearing of paper and he moved over her, sliding his body between her legs and sinking himself deeply.
Strong fingers locked with hers as he moved inside of her. This time he didn’t use the one steady stroke, but rolling to his side, Yuñior raised her leg. Each thrust went deeper until Diadra found herself panting in anticipation of the next impaling of the instrument of love. Yuñior rolled to his back, bringing her atop him and watching her eyes as he lifted his hips with slow even strokes until she cried out his name.
“Ed! Oh Ed!” she called, leaning forward and moving back and forth as if her hips were in a sensual belly dance routine.
Diadra rode him until his eyelids fluttered, and she changed her pace. Her hands rested on the yellow tattoo, covering the red eyes of the serpent as she bounced up and down over the hard shaft. Yuñior gripped her hips, speaking in Spanish and providing instructions. She didn’t know half of what he said nor did she care. It felt good, and they were here.
Her second climax arrived with a full announcement from the lady in a low growl through white clenched teeth. Diadra threw her head back as his hands massaged the supple breasts, holding the nipples between his fingers. Yuñior issued more commands in his native Colombian Spanish she didn’t understand, as he sat up and rolled her over to her back. He wasn’t gentle as he finished. He slammed his body into hers, emptying three weeks’ worth of pent up aggression, calling her name, and then collapsing on top of her. Yuñior sighed in alpha male satisfaction.
“I think this may complicate my relationship with Jesus even more,” he muttered, flopping onto his back. He pulled away from her to discard the waste and wash his hands. He swished the mouthwash on the bathroom counter in his mouth, rinsing away the taste of her nectar mixed with broccoli. When he rejoined Diadra in the bed, she snuggled close to him.
“How long will we have these moments together?”
“Sixteen months,” he said softly, kissing her on the forehead. “If you choose this weekend to be the end, I shall understand. Self-preservation is a necessity. However, if you desire to continue, we walk together with wide eyes knowing the timeline.”
“Ed, I’m stupid,” she said. “You told me you’d change my life, and thus far, I have a new job and money in the bank, plus my first emerald pieces. I won’t ask any questions because I have the feeling the less I know, the better. But I’m an idiot listening to my heart over my head. I want you, and I’ll take what I can get. Sixteen months it is.”
“Are you certain of this, Diadra?”
“Hell no,” she said, running her hand down the flat, muscle ripped stomach. “A full body covered in ink can mean anything. One large image covering the majority of your body means gang or cartel head. The stone was from Colombia. Knowing anything more can get us both killed.”
“Aren’t you clever?”
“Clever is my middle name,” Diadra said.
“Mine is Benicio,” he replied, looking down at her.
“Funny. Funny man,” she replied. “My middle name is Anne.”
Junior chuckled, thinking of the irony. Diadra wanted to know what was so amusing to make him laugh.
“Diadra Anne Parsons, D.A.P.,” he said. “I can see it now. ‘Where are you heading, Ed?’ To get me some dap.”
“Yeah, you’re just a boatload of laughs tonight,” she said, becoming solemn. “Tell me what you need from me, Ed.”
His breathing evened. The rise and fall of his chest were steady and strong hands cupped her butt cheek as he shifted his body to look at her face to face.
“Calm. You make me feel calm. Be my peace and the stillness in my head. Offer me comfort and solace when I come through your door. A simple thing which few know how to do,” he said softly.
“I know how. I shall take care of you,” Diadra said.
“In return, what do you need from me?”
“Honesty, if you can give me that.”
“I shall never lie to you, but don’t ask the hard questions if you’re not ready to handle the truth,” he said flatly.
“Truth is in the eye of the beholder,” Diadra added, resting her head on his shoulder.
Yuñior Delgado closed his eyes, welcoming sleep. Instead of the flashes of lists he made each night of things to handle in the work hours of the next day, thoughts of a barefoot Diadra standing in the doorway waiting as he rode up on his horse took him to a place of Zen. He didn’t want to think of Irena, her father or Enrique’s relationship to Tito Montoya. This was his time.
They would not take this from him.
