We All Scream

by Nona Wesley

  She sighed and loped to the couch, allowing the weight of Wayne’s betrayal and the parlor’s financial difficulties to slow her pace. She knew her family didn’t blame her for the downturn in business—things were tough for everybody. The strip mall surrounding MMMarshall’s modest car hop-style building had lost two tenants in the last month, hence Diahann’s insistence to brainstorm with Dee over new marketing strategies. The Marshall family had occupied that spot for over fifty years, serving delighted patrons a variety of sundaes and shakes. She’d heard the saying that big deaths happened in threes, but no way in hell would MMMarshall’s complete the trifecta of failed shops in Hilltop Plaza.

  Now, however, she didn’t want to think about any of that. She just wanted to sulk on the couch with a glass of wine and the television remote. Yet, for all the abuse the handheld device endured by her thumbs, she couldn’t will a sexy Denzel Washington movie on command. Her DVD collection yielded no tempting prospects, either.

  “Damn.” She reached for a fashion magazine she hadn’t had time to read, when her stomach growled. The ice cream did little to sustain her, and the wine had hit her bloodstream, making her swoon. Much as she enjoyed the sensation, she knew she needed food. Anything but fish.

  Her sparse refrigerator served to remind her how close she teetered toward poverty, and she slammed the door shut. She then drummed the counter with her fingers in frustration, about to resign herself to an early bedtime when her gaze fell once again to the take-out menu.

  Thoughts of that handsome delivery man bubbled to the surface of her consciousness and she smiled, thinking of Dee’s flirtatious crack of dim sum c…she sighed. She couldn’t bring herself to think the word, but doing it presented less reluctance.

  There were coupons attached to the menu, the handsome Chinese man had said. Diahann spread open the tri-fold brochure and found what she wanted, then dialed the number from memory. 555-CHOP.

  She inhaled slowly as the phone chirped in her ear. A pint of sweet and sour chicken sounded good right about now, delivered by a sweet and sexy hunk with egg-nog skin and jet black hair.

  Chapter Two

  Sun Li pushed through the stiff, glass-paned door of his restaurant, tossing the tangle of keys and neon fobs on the closest table. They skidded across the almond wood top and might have dropped to the floor had Chet, the Rising Sun’s hired delivery person, not caught them. Chet lifted his foot—bandaged at the ankle—from the chair opposite his to allow Sun to sit.

  “Any problems with the car?” he asked, and crooked his head toward the glass-walled storefront to the adjoining parking strip, where Chet’s Honda had the corner slot.

  Sun shrugged, maintaining what he hoped was a blasé expression. “Seeing as I’m not used to driving a stick, I just rode the clutch all the way. It helped.”

  He delighted in Chet’s sudden mood shift, watching the younger man’s pale face redden. Just as quickly, though, the boy detected the joke and laughed. “You son of a bitch.”

  Sun nodded his thanks to his sister, Mimi, who set down two Cokes before retreating to answer the phone. “How’s the foot doing?” he asked Chet, half-listening to Mimi repeat an order in the phone. “You think you’re okay to get this next one coming in?”

  Chet winced and sucked air through his teeth. “I don’t know, man. Still hurts pretty bad.”

  “That’ll teach you to kick a candy machine when it doesn’t cooperate.” Sun smirked and turned in his seat, eyeing the bar across the street where Chet had his accident. “As if it would have acquiesced to your demands.”

  “Never did get my Twix,” Chet grumbled, and patted his empty shirt pocket for the cigarette pack Sun knew his friend wanted. Three weeks off tobacco, and Chet had become a mess, forgetting things and giving into a quick temper. Sun could only hope, in time, the symptoms of withdrawal would subside.

  “You know, I never had any trouble with the cigarette machine they used to have.” Chet pointed to the lighted marquee of the Double J Lounge.

  “No, no trouble at all,” Mimi chided, coming back to the table. “At worst, the cigs left women thinking that kissing you is like swallowing an ashtray, but at least the machines work.” Her dark, narrow eyes reflected her irritation, and Sun had to resist laughing. His sister harbored an unrequited crush on the handsome young man, who regarded her more as a sister than potential mate. As expected, Chet noticed nothing of Mimi’s passion and took the address slip from her with a muted thank you.

  Chet then handed the order to Sun with a pleading smile. Sun sighed. His business with Rising Sun Wok was in managing the place, not acting as a gofer. Of course, part of seeing the take-out establishment run smoothly meant making sure customers got their food.

  He snatched the ticket. “You’re on the clock,” he reminded Chet, “so if I have to do your job…”

  “I’ll make everything here is okay.” Chet smiled.

  “…Mimi is in charge. You do what she says.”

  He ignored Chet’s griping as he sipped his soda. Several minutes later, the cook brought forth a stapled brown bag, spotted with grease around the bottom and hot to the touch. Sun grabbed a prepared packet of sauces and utensils and checked the address again. After a double-take he consulted his sister in rapid Mandarin. Had she given him an old ticket?

  “Look closer,” she said, irritated, reaching once again for the phone.

  Ah, there it was—this customer lived a number off from their regular customer Mrs. Hong. Sun’s heart thudded in his chest, thinking back to the older woman’s lovely neighbor. She had graciously taken the menu from him, offering in return an arousing smile. Already he had trouble driving Chet’s car—to have dealt with that clutch while willing down an erection had been painful.

  Could this be her, calling for a late night delivery? Sun clutched the ticket and dashed away, grateful for the potential opportunity to see the beautiful, dark woman again. After all, part of managing a Chinese to-go joint involved complete customer satisfaction. Just to see her smile would definitely bring him some.

  Chapter Three

  Diahann modeled two satin robes in the full-length mirror in her bedroom before finally casting away any intentions to seduce, then slipped into a pair of loose red pajama pants and a gray college t-shirt. “Who am I kidding?” she muttered, padding back into the living room for her purse. Who the hell was she, actually considering greeting a delivery man in an open robe, with only a smile to separate them? At best, she’d scare the poor guy to death and he’d run, further driving that knife into her already wounded self-esteem. Even the prospect of his leaving after taking her “payment” for the food left little comfort.

  And a delivery boy, of all people. Diahann slumped onto her couch, glaring at the framed college degree on the wall by the entertainment center. She ran a business, and served on community boards. Her family name evoked respect and admiration in this town…she should be networking at elite socials and taking advantage of all those invitations from country club members and charity organizations. Somewhere, nestled in such a group, waited a man in her league. Slumming didn’t suit her.

  But, oh…high society couldn’t give her what she craved tonight. Not a steaming dish of batter-fried chicken, but two strong hands to knead her body into orgasm, and a thick cock pounding into her, driving her to the precipice of ecstasy and helping her to forget her problems for one night.

  “Shit!” Perhaps this experiment served to reveal her masochistic side, or it could be that her hormones got the best of her, but she had to know. Considering where living cautiously put her now, zigging where she’d normally zag might at least inspire her to lift herself from this professional and personal backslide, she decided.

  If he ran, fine. She’d never order from Rising Sun again. If he didn’t, even better. She’d still throw away the menu afterward.

  Dashing back into her room, she stripped bare and selected her red robe, belting it loosely around her waist so that the satin vee of the lapels met nearly at h
er navel. Her nipples puckered against the cool fabric, forming tiny bumps in the otherwise smooth material.

  She approached the foyer and waited, her limbs tense, wondering what the night might bring.

  * * * *

  He saw only the SUV as the Honda’s headlights sprayed the curb and driveway. She was alone.

  Sun took a deep breath, grabbed the bag, and barreled out of the car. With each quick step he tried to take a calming breath, but found his heart merely accelerated with his approach. This sudden onslaught of nerves baffled him—it wasn’t as though he were a virgin sent to be relieved of his innocence. He didn’t even know the woman beyond his desire to become better acquainted with her. At best, she’d become a regular customer he could admire during their brief exchanges of money and food, then take her image home to bed for some harmless fantasizing.

  Most definitely, every time she would call Rising Sun, Chet could go on break.

  When she opened her door to welcome him inside, he took one look at her waving robe and the smooth, dark skin teased underneath the satin. So much for harmless. The sight of Miss Diahann Marshall now caused him such delicious pain that couldn’t wait for bedtime to relieve himself. Sun felt lucky to be able to make it back to the car.

  Immediately he moved the bag in front to hide the straining erection about to tent his pants. The heat of sweet and sour chicken and steamed rice served only to augment his desires. He offered a slight smile and hoped Diahann sensed nothing amiss.

  “If you could wait here in the foyer, I’ll get my wallet,” she told him. White teeth, straight and shining, flashed from a movie star smile and she turned slowly away. Of course, Sun couldn’t help but track the movement of her well-rounded backside as she strode purposefully, almost seductively to the far counter. As though on cue, a short breeze—or maybe her hand—lifted the back of her robe to reveal miles of gorgeous, tight legs and just the hint of bare bottom.

  Naked? She wore nothing under there? It seemed possible, but Sun knew from past girlfriends of the diminishing styles of lingerie. A woman could stitch together eye patches and dental floss and call it a bra, but at the moment naked appeared much more intriguing.

  She returned slowly, walking straight and tall, a folded bill pinched between her fingers. “Can you change a fifty? I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I had a smaller bill.”

  “I think so.” Seeing nowhere to place the bag, he offered her a hapless grin and she reached forward for the food. Flowing sleeves slid back to reveal her arms, but what intrigued Sun more was the brief flash of a curvy breast. He swore he could see a hint of dark nipple revealed as the robe shifted, and his mouth watered. He swallowed quickly, thinking how quickly he could vault her backward onto the distant living room sofa and peel away the fabric so he could take the pebbled flesh between his teeth.

  He felt a tug and realized he still had hold of the bag. “Sorry,” he said, feeling flush. He glanced at the receipt pinned to the bag and quietly did the math in his head. “I have enough.”

  “Good.” She smiled, and moved back toward the kitchen counter. “I hope I’m your last stop, at least, in case you run out of change.”

  Sun moved closer, head down and focused on the bills in his money clip. “That’s fine, the bank’s not far if I need—”

  He looked up to see one lapel of the robe had been pushed away to reveal a full breast, its owner looking right at him as though nothing was amiss. Definitely intentional, he realized, as the air in Diahann Marshall’s duplex felt cool enough for anyone to sense exposed skin.

  He couldn’t help but stare at her brown skin, and take in the flawless teardrop shape, tipped with a tempting chocolate kiss. To what stroke of good karma did he owe this attempt at seduction? Given the nice SUV out front and the elegantly appointed home, it seemed to Sun that a man should work to get Diahann Marshall’s attention. Why him, and why now?

  The sweat from his palm dampened the bills he handed over to her. Her gaze remained fixed on him, expectant. What could he do? Sure, his first instinct to draw her closer for a taste loomed large in his mind, but what if she suddenly turned on him? Pretty or no, he knew nothing about this woman—she could have a knife close at hand, used to filet unsuspecting, horny delivery boys so she could steal their cash.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the cash. Sun detected a note of hurt in her voice, as though his slack-jawed hesitation had confirmed something she didn’t want to accept. By not acting on his initial lust, he had rejected her—in her eyes, it appeared. He thought at first he should be miffed for being used as some kind of ego boost, but then…how else would he get to see her lovely bare body?

  “No, thank you,” he said, raising his voice. The confusion in her expression gave away to surprise when he leaned forward to kiss her. Just a quick peck on the lips, he decided. Enough to enjoy the moment and then dash away if needed. Maybe she’d yell after him, but he figured common sense would prevail and she’d realized she started this whole thing.

  When he pulled away and saw the desire smoldering in her eyes, he wondered if he’d be around to help finish it.

  * * * *

  Diahann’s heart pounded, so hard she thought it might crack her ribcage. When she pulled back her robe to receive his dumbfounded reaction, she felt immediately foolish and wished for a way to turn back time. His kiss both shocked and eased her. He liked what he saw enough to risk such a move, and she welcomed more of it.

  Yet, though she didn’t need to explain anything to him, her sense of common decency compelled her to speak. “Don’t think this is something I do all the time.”

  The young man smiled, his lips quirked up higher at one side. “I’m flattered, really, and I’m happy you didn’t send out for pizza.”

  She had to laugh at that, then quickly turned serious, watching him study her. His eyes, interestingly enough, fixed on hers rather than her free breast.

  “You have a beautiful smile,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s not the only thing.” And before she could return the volley he lowered into her for another kiss. This one proved more exploratory as his tongue traced the seam of her closed lips, then gently eased them apart to grant him access. Soon his body crushed against hers—the robe slipped over her shoulders and down her back, catching in between them so that part of it brushed her legs. His lips moved over hers in a slow, delicious rhythm that matching her deep breathing.

  Hands cupped her bare bottom, and her pussy clenched in response. She raised her arms to encircle him and touched her fingers to his shoulder blades, his spine, then lower to his backside as though searching for soft spots. She found none—the man felt hard and ready for her, she discovered that much as the bulge between his legs throbbed against her thigh.

  She whimpered when his mouth broke free of hers, then sighed as he nipped at her neck, then her shoulder. Light kisses trailed across her collarbone to her breast. His warm breath caused goose flesh to erupt and her body tingled. Had Wayne ever taken the time to worship her body? She couldn’t remember—Wayne seemed to prefer the kamikaze method of lovemaking, go straight for the kill. It may work in business, but not the bedroom.

  Bedroom. She turned to look behind her at the open door, where her bed was visible. They remained standing near her galley kitchen, the young Chinese man now tracing her areola with his tongue. She hadn’t planned much beyond flashing some skin…where would they end up?

  She didn’t even know his name, but wondered if it mattered. The idea was not to marry the guy, just fuck him. She closed her eyes, taking in the aroma of greasy chicken and soy sauce mixed with a decidedly male scent.

  Yes, one fuck to go, hold the duck sauce. You see this, Wayne? You don’t deserve this.

  When she opened her eyes to see him about to capture her nipple, she stilled him with a hand curled over his cheek. Something did matter.

  “Are you married?” she asked.

  He shook his head and held up both hands to verify.
No ring.

  “Engaged? Dating?”

  Again, the same answer.

  “Gay?”

  He laughed, and she nodded. She’d have to congratulate herself for her incredible conversion skills otherwise.

  No ring, no commitments, no problem.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  * * * *

  Sun let her lead him into the dim of the adjoining bedroom, and tried to ignore the tinny voice of his conscience pounding in his ears. In dire situations, it took on a near perfect imitation of his octogenarian grandmother, whose conservative views might have made even the staunchest fundamentalist preacher wince.

  What are you doing? You barely know this woman, and a customer! Acting like a delivery boy in a bad porno, shaming your family. Granted, Sun doubted his grandmother might make the comparison, so perhaps it was all him this time. He didn’t know Diahann Marshall beyond her fondness for satin sheets and sweet and sour chicken, but damned if he’d turn down a chance at twining around such a gorgeous woman—if just for a short while. Building and managing Rising Sun to a successful business took most of this time, mainly to the detriment of his social life. Potential long-term relationships attempted in the last several months never made it past the second or third date—seemed once a woman realized she couldn’t be first priority until Rising Sun turned a profit, she stopped answering the phone.

  However long it took for Sun to finally relax, he didn’t know. But he wanted this—Diahann—badly right now. She needed the release as well, or else she’d have paid for the food and saw him on his merry, lonely way.

  “What’s your name?”

  He snapped to attention. Where had be been all this time? While lost in reverie, Diahann had pulled the sheets back and now stretched atop them, propped up on her elbows and watching him expectantly. Not without, he noticed, a hint of apprehension darkening her lovely features. So somewhere in the recesses of her mind a voice of doubt shouted into the wind as well. Sun wondered what accent her conscience took on in these times.