Caramel Flava, Page 7

  “By the way,” Antonio mentioned when their bodies separated, “you never told me whether you’re free tonight.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Destiny asked.

  “I was thinking maybe we start with dinner at Virgil’s. It’s a barbecue restaurant in Times Square with the best hush puppies in New York. You like hush puppies?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Destiny replied.

  “Oh—she likes hush puppies! I think I’m in love,” Antonio said.

  Destiny believed she could actually hear her own heart skip a beat and tried to remain as cool and unresponsive to his words as was humanly possible. Somehow, though, she knew she failed. He’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to notice how his words affected her.

  He glanced at his watch. “Tonight then,” he said. “Eight o’clock. I’d like to be chivalrous tonight and pick you up at your door if you don’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’ll see you at eight.”

  He kissed her again then turned to leave. “It’s going to be difficult concentrating today,” he said as he left.

  “Ditto,” Destiny added.

  It was 10:30 A.M. and Destiny didn’t feel like going to work. She was going to do something she hadn’t done in a long time: lie in bed, watch the news, drink a cup of coffee and savor the moment. She called her assistant and told her she would be working from home, hung up the phone and ran upstairs to her bedroom. Destiny slept late into the afternoon dreaming of many more days like this one.

  Antonio and Destiny had been dating for six months now and things were almost too good to be true. They both enjoyed the same things and seldom had any conflict, yet Destiny often thought Antonio was hiding something. He seldom spoke of his family and she had never met any of his friends.

  One afternoon Destiny was on her way out of the office to a meeting when the telephone rang.

  “Tammy, could you grab that for me?” she asked her assistant.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Shannon’s office,” Tammy said. “Destiny, it’s Antonio.”

  Destiny ran back into her office. “Hi, baby,” she said.

  “Hi, love,” Antonio responded. “Did you know today is six months to the day that we met?”

  “Really,” Destiny responded. She couldn’t believe how romantic he was. She knew, but was surprised he had remembered. Most men didn’t remember six-month anniversaries.

  “So, my dear, to commemorate this momentous occasion, I am cooking dinner for you tonight at my place.”

  Destiny was elated; dinner at his place. She seldom spent time there. The most she had ever done was meet him in the lobby of his building. They spent all their time at her place. She hadn’t pressured Antonio and figured it was because his studio in Chelsea was less comfortable than her large two-bedroom apartment. “So, what are we having?” she asked.

  “Lobster tails, rice pilaf and steamed mixed vegetables. Does that meet with mi Destino’s approval?” Antonio asked.

  Destiny’s heart began to race. It had been fifteen years since she had heard those words—“mi Destino”—Spanish for my destiny. Only one man had ever called her that. He had been the love of her life and he was dead!

  Destiny left her office and caught a cab to Antonio’s apartment. She was happy to get a quiet driver. She didn’t feel up to idle chitchat. She needed to calm herself and to stop rehashing old memories.

  Destiny got to Antonio’s around 6:00 P.M. His place was decorated with lots of leather and glass and was larger than she expected. On the round glass dining table was a chilled bottle of champagne and a dish full of strawberries. As soon as Destiny walked in Antonio grabbed her and kissed her full on the lips. He engulfed her; tugging at her lower lip with his teeth and sticking his tongue so far down her throat she thought she might choke. His kisses were different than usual; or was it her uneasiness at being reminded of her past?

  “Mi Destino. come, have a seat.” Antonio removed Destiny’s coat and flung it across the recliner.

  Destiny was agitated. “Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked.

  “What?” Antonio responded; “Mi Destino? Because you are—you are my destiny.”

  Destiny couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something strange about Antonio tonight. He popped the cork on the bottle of Dom Pérignon, poured each of them a glass and proposed a toast—“To momentous occasions,” he announced. After they each took a sip of the champagne, Antonio grabbed Destiny with such force she almost lost her footing. He kissed her, sucking the breath from her body with each kiss. He grabbed at her breasts, pushing her down on the couch. Usually Antonio was slow and gentle with her. This time, however, he ripped her silk blouse from her body along with her red lace bra as he proceeded to pinch both her nipples, sucking her breasts, feeding on them like a starving man, taking turns biting at each nipple as they began to grow more and more erect. Destiny was frightened by this sudden change in his personality. She was wearing a red thong, which he also ripped from her body, causing a searing pain to course through her as the cloth ripped into her pussy. Antonio wasted no time in bombarding her body with bites—to her breasts and to her belly before seeking out her clean-shaven mound. His tongue licked and sucked her pussy while his teeth nibbled at her clit. Destiny was frightened, yet there was an element that excited her.

  He finally spoke. “Esto es lo que usted quieres?” she heard him say. It sounded to Destiny like a question—or was it some sort of challenge? She couldn’t begin to know what he had said. Just when Destiny thought she would explode from a mixture of anticipation coated with fear, Antonio picked up the bottle of champagne. He took a long swig straight from the bottle, grabbed the back of Destiny’s head, pulling her hair, and pulled her lips close to his, releasing the champagne he had in his mouth into hers. Champagne dribbled out of the corners of her mouth. Before she could recover, Antonio had doused her body with half of the champagne in the bottle. He licked and sucked hungrily at the liquid that now soaked her. Antonio raised himself from atop Destiny just long enough to remove his clothing. His dick was rock hard and he was still holding the bottle of champagne in his hand.

  He kept asking, “Is this what you want, mi Destino? Is this what you want?” Before she could answer, Antonio plunged the champagne bottle deep into her pussy, causing her to gasp, and began fucking her with the bottle. Trickles of champagne streamed down her thighs, when he pulled the bottle out, it poured from her pussy onto the floor. He ended by jerking off and ejaculating a massive quantity of cum onto Destiny’s face before collapsing on her and falling asleep.

  Destiny was dumbfounded. His lovemaking was usually so tender. She thought maybe he had been drinking before she got there. But he didn’t seem to be drunk. She couldn’t sleep, so she just watched Antonio for a moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he reminded her of someone. She decided to get out of bed and make herself a cup of herbal tea. She was looking for the tea in Antonio’s kitchen cabinets, and in the corner of one of the cabinets was an envelope. She didn’t usually snoop, but there was so much she didn’t know about Antonio, and the evening had been so strange. She opened the envelope. And was stunned. There was a picture of what appeared to be a very happy couple and their son. The boy looked to be about eleven or twelve years old, the woman she did not recognize, but the man in the picture she knew all too well! It was Julio, the only man she had ever loved—that is, until now. As she tried to make sense of this situation, she heard footsteps behind her. It was Antonio.

  “I guess we can add invasion of privacy to your list of crimes,” Antonio said.

  “Antonio, I don’t understand,” Destiny muttered.

  “Don’t you? You’re a smart girl, mi Destino. Why don’t you put two and two together: Julio Vargas, the man in the picture, he was my father. You took him away from me and my mother when he needed us the most. You stole from us; robbed us of what was ours.”

  “But…but your name is Fernandez,” Destiny stammered. She was so overwhelmed,
she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I changed my name. Otherwise the plan wouldn’t have worked. I’ve been planning this for close to seven months now—ever since you killed my mother. The woman in the picture—my mother—she died of cirrhosis of the liver; drank herself to death after you stole her husband. I was going to ruin your career, your home, all the things that matter to you, and leave you sad and alone, so you could feel what my mother felt fifteen years ago.”

  “Antonio, what are you talking about? I didn’t even know your mother!” Destiny yelled.

  “That’s what makes it all the more sinful. Do you know my mother was never the same after my father left us? She couldn’t understand what she had done. Hell, I couldn’t understand what I had done. What would cause a man dying of cancer to leave the family who loved him and spend his last moments on earth with a twenty-three-year-old whore! I have to admit, though, after blowing out that pussy I can understand why Papa couldn’t resist. You really are the fuck of the century!”

  Destiny could feel his rage and pain. It was as if he was twelve years old all over again. She knew she had to make Antonio understand. She’d loved Julio and now she loved his son, and that made her protective of Julio’s memory, even under these circumstances. Antonio might not listen to her, but he would listen to his father.

  “Antonio, I have something for you. I’ve carried it close to me all these years thinking it was what I needed. I now know I was just holding on to it until the inevitable happened.”

  Destiny picked up her pocketbook. From her wallet she retrieved a folded piece of paper and handed it to Antonio. Antonio snatched the piece of paper out of Destiny’s hand.

  “What the fuck is this!” he yelled, yet he began reading.

  Mi Destino,

  By the time you read this I will be gone. Do not grieve for me, my angel. You have given me immeasurable joy in my final days. If I had not known I hadn’t long to live would I ever have grabbed for the spontaneity I so craved in life? Would I have reached for you? Your love breathed new life into me, while the love of my beautiful wife and son has sustained me, and I pray that my final selfish act will not hurt them too deeply, for I have greatly loved them both. My wish is that all those I have loved most of all will inhale of life and not get lost in their grief. I hope my son will one day know the passion and love I have known. Although I am only thirty-eight years old, I feel as though I have lived a lifetime…

  Love, Julio

  Antonio dropped to the floor and sobbed, deep racking sobs that rocked his soul. Destiny embraced him, kissing his hands, his face all the while saying over and over again, “I’m so very, very sorry. Antonio, can you ever forgive me?”

  Antonio looked into her eyes and in that instant Destiny knew—she knew that she had been forgiven. All she wanted to do now was to make it up to Antonio.

  “I really do love you, you know. No matter how hard I tried to hate you, I couldn’t help but fall in love with you in spite of myself,” Antonio said.

  “I love you, too, baby.” Destiny answered. They didn’t talk anymore that night. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. Destiny kissed Antonio from head to toe, wiping away years of pain. She thought of father and son; both were with her tonight. Destiny lay on top of Antonio and wrapped around him great walls of passion, protection, and—yes—love. As each stroke brought Antonio closer to releasing torrents of pain, he whispered the words Destiny knew all too well—mi Destino.

  “Y tu eres mío,” she replied. And you are mine.

  Shameless

  Descarada

  Nikki Sinclair

  I don’t care where we go,” Melissa said, hooking her bra before a mirror. “As long as I can show off my pussy.”

  This might have disturbed him a month ago. But a month ago she stood on the bed in their Baltimore hotel room and asked, bending over, “Have you ever seen an asshole like that?”

  No, he hadn’t.

  But then he hadn’t actually seen anyone’s asshole or thought much about it until he met this short young woman with smooth round arms and pretty breasts and a good-size but not too large behind and…Well, there wasn’t a part he hadn’t seen. She was a nudist is what she was. She was also an epicurean and music lover and wine lover and sex lover, and she was wild with excitement this morning as they packed suitcases because she had never been to Mexico and she was, of course, a travel lover.

  “Will you teach me Spanish?” she asked, pulling on thong underwear. She put her arms around his neck. “I mean, real Spanish. I already know the bad words.”

  That was true.

  Right away she wanted all the bedroom words. “How do you say it in Spanish?” she asked, sticking her pussy in his face. He had been lying on his back. She was on top, facing his feet, stroking his cock. They had known each other a week.

  “It’s—” His voice caught as she stuck it in her mouth. “Sesenta y nueve. I think.”

  She sucked loudly. Then paused. “Don’t you know? I thought you were Mexican.”

  “I am.”

  “Sesenta y nueve,” she said. “Sixty-nine. I’ll remember.”

  He knew she would.

  This morning, wearing only her thong, with their suitcases half-packed, she stared into Oscar’s eyes. “Teach me,” she whispered. A tall, brown, handsome man, Oscar pulled her hands away. She wanted it most when it was most impractical.

  “We’ll be late,” he said. “I’ll teach you all the Spanish you want in Mazatlán. If there’s time for anything besides…” He looked at her a bit sadly. In their short time together they already had a history of going places and not seeing too much of anything. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Among other things he had seen her asshole.

  Oscar worried about taking Melissa to meet his father and brother but reminded himself she always behaved very well outside bedrooms. Attractive and intelligent, happy, enthusiastic and a little childish, this little blonde would impress his father. She would impress him for no other reason than she was an American. For a father who sent his boy to American schools, who encouraged Oscar to learn English from the earliest age, and delighted in Oscar’s American business and American connections, it would be all too good to be true.

  “But, Papá,” Oscar reminded him on the phone. “We have only dated two months.” This to the old man’s enthusiastic inquiries about marriage.

  “You’re too cautious,” Papá warned. “It’s like business. Make a decision.”

  “Let’s see if you like her first.”

  “I love her. Get married here.”

  “That won’t happen,” Oscar said.

  “You’ll make more money.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “It’s the same with your brother. He won’t marry either. Or make money.”

  “I make money.”

  “Not enough. Get married.” That was Papá.

  At the airport the lobbies were crowded with people in shorts and loud shirts. “Tell me about Carnaval again,” Melissa asked. As they sat she snuggled next to him. Looking down he saw her pretty cleavage. He’d made her wear a bra.

  “It’s like Mardi Gras,” Oscar said. “Pretty much everyone in Mazatlán throws a big party, just before Lent. Sin before repentence, that sort of thing. Crazy costumes, Mexican food, seafood, shrimp and music. It’s mostly Latin, you aren’t going to see a lot of Americans. Or many rules.”

  “I’m liking Carnaval already.”

  “You would. I thought we’d go down to the Avenida del Mar, where the real action takes place. Just stay close to me.”

  “Why?”

  “This is a local festival. That blond hair might get you in a little trouble.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Just stay close.”

  They slept on the plane. Sere mountains and naked valleys rolled beneath as the jet crossed into Mexico. The day was bright, blue, hot, Mexican. Oscar was dozing and woke when Melissa excused herself. After she wiggled he
r ass past him he closed his eyes once more.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the flight attendant said a moment later. She touched Oscar’s shoulder. “Excuse me, but your wife needs your help.”

  “Wife?” he mumbled groggily.

  “Yes. She’s asking for you. She’s in the bathroom and she wants you to bring her purse.”

  “My wife needs…Oh, yes.” Oscar grasped the situation. “So she asked for me, did she?” he said to the flight attendant. His legs were stiff. “I ought to send you.”

  “What?” the flight attendant asked.

  “Nothing.”

  At the bathroom door he knocked, lightly. He heard Melissa’s muffled reply. Oscar called her and she opened the door an inch. “Get in here,” she said. Her pants were off. Oscar glanced as the flight attendants, who were in plain sight preparing serving carts. In an instant he pushed his way in.

  “What the hell is this?” Oscar asked. Was she nuts? She stood on the seat.

  “Lock the door,” she commanded. There was no room, Oscar could barely move.

  “I won’t. Melissa, put your pants on.”

  “C’mon,” she said, breathing fast. “Let’s join the mile-high club.” Her pussy was in his face.

  “You’re going too far. We’re in Mexico now!”

  “Come on. It’ll be over in a second.”

  “You’re crazy,” he said. But he wasn’t going to leave, not with a bottomless girl for all to see, and he couldn’t turn around, not in that cramped space, not with her pussy in his face. With difficulty he reached behind and locked the door.

  She was hot. Her intoxicating odor filled his nostrils. She rubbed it in his face, her hands were in his hair and she rubbed her pussy up and down in his face, the gray-blond patch soft and coarse as she rubbed and rubbed. His cheeks, his nose were wet. “Do me!” she gasped. “Do me!” Oscar’s head bumped the door. She had him trapped, she was rubbing her pussy in his face in a tiny bathroom at 30,000 feet with three flight attendants two feet away and there was nothing he could do. Well, he thought, he could do something. He could finish her. And fast.