Daney – he’d gained an impromptu nickname, as did most who traveled into her orbit – had the nerve to groan in disappointment when he came the first time.
“It just felt so good,” he groaned. Fiona giggled as he rooted, sated, in the bend of her neck. “I didn’t want it to end. How’d you make it so good?”
She shrugged. After a third orgasm, she was so limp and drained Daney fetched a cool wash cloth and stroked it over her forehead and cheeks to revive her. He wiped her gently between the legs.
She eventually talked him into another round by licking her name out on his balls.
“You were fuckin’ great.” She told him several hours of sex and a 30-minute nap later. She would have moved away, but he wrapped his arms and legs around her like bands.
“Where you goin’?”
“To pee.”
Also, to break contact before any bonding could occur, and to make it easier to suggest, from across the room and the soft inside of a thick terry bathrobe, that he carry his gorgeous ass to the hotel instead of staying with her for the night.
START HERE Fiona was sitting on the toilet thinking about which morning appointment she could use to get rid of him when Daney knocked and came in. She stared at him like he was nuts.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for my turn to use the can.” He sat naked on the edge of the tub and looked at her.
“I can’t pee with you watching me.”
“Why not?”
“Ion’ know! Can’t you wait outside?”
“Prude,” he pronounced, shaking his head as he left.
Fiona tried several times, subtly and not so subtly, to suggest that he leave, but he’d just laugh and hem her up with one of his Daney-licious, full-body kisses. Those kisses were amazing. Just wet enough. Just wild enough, and the way he rubbed her down front and back made her feel like her panties were filled with honey and bees. He even kissed her while she was on the toilet, which she thought was really nasty and totally loved.
It was miraculous really. Every time she saw him – no matter what they’d just done – she wanted to fuck. Her bed seemed to have a homing beacon; she only left it briefly to visit the bathroom. As the hours rolled by she never rejected his touch, didn’t turn or brush him away when he stroked a hand over her face and neck, no matter that he’d touched every part of her dozens of times over. She happily lay smushed under his heavy body as he rested inside her, his new favorite place in the world, he whispered.
After Fiona stopped trying to get Daney to leave, they talked and laughed like they’d known each other for years. They wrestled and tore up the bed, made it up, then tore it up again. Fiona never won these little bouts, usually ended up spread eagled with him hip deep inside her, or with her curvy bottom in the air while he lightly slapped then kissed then fucked her until her head hit the headboard.
Starving early that next afternoon, they peeked into the kitchen, found it empty and ran naked to grab fruit and drinks. He cooed over her baby’s pictures, and politely refrained from asking any questions about the father. Most notable, he ignored his cell phone when it rang. It rang a lot.
“Before I forget, again,” he gasped, lying spent after an orgasm so powerful he’d wondered if his heart might actually leave his chest. “What the hell does ‘hold ‘em up gym shoe’ mean?”
Fiona had been sprawled across his chest catching her breath, but now she rolled off and reached for the crystal ashtray on her nightstand.
“My sister used to say that to me when I was little and about to get into some shit.” She lit a partially smoked joint and inhaled. “She killed herself when I was twelve.” She wondered why she’d just told him something she had never spoken of to a stranger.
Until that moment they’d talked about some of everything with the exception of past lovers and the possibility their sexual extravaganza might last past the weekend. They didn’t speak of the future. Not even to make those slips you sometimes make after great sex: ‘We should go see so and so next week, or, Saturday we’re going to blah blah blah. You should come through.’
They simply enjoyed each other. They napped, laughed, took baths together. Dane even let Fiona pluck his eyebrows. She enjoyed fussing with lovers this way, and after years of professional modeling, he had grown to like pampering. He enjoyed it more than usual since she sat in his lap with her legs around his waist, her soft cushiony breasts pressed against his chest while she worked.
When Fiona finished his brows – there wasn’t much to do – she buffed his fingernails, examined his toenails and doctored a lonely pimple she found beneath his right shoulder.
She gave them both a pore cleansing mask. That was fun. She got real close but didn’t touch anything but his face to tease him. She liked the way his breath grew shallow and rapid, the way his lips parted and his lids lowered as arousal built. But he wasn’t a pushover.
“Thanks, baby,” he said, voice was only the tiniest bit breathless. “What can I do for you?”
Fiona pointed to her lips. She hadn’t told anyone, but she’d cut down on talking. She’d been raspy for the past few weeks, and now her voice was starting to go out all together. Pantomime had taken on a new dimension more than once during their love play.
Daney bussed her gently. Fiona frowned, pointed to her lips again and made an obscene movement with her tongue. He laughed but obliged her wordless request for a more substantive kiss. He nibbled her full lips and sighed when she nibbled his in return. He relaxed as they kissed, his movements slow and easy. When his tongue finally made its way between her lips, Fiona accepted it hungrily, massaging it until he groaned and reached for the box of condoms they’d almost depleted.
“I should be tired,” he whispered, rolling her onto her back and kissing his way down her body. “I should be really tired, but I feel as if –”
“We haven’t fucked in weeks?” she rasped, legs falling open as he licked her labia in one long firm sweep.
“Yeah,” he said, voice muffled by her flesh as he sucked and licked her with the tip of his tongue.
She liked that trick a lot. It was the perfect way to set her off fast after he’d built her up slow. And though she was having too much fun to even begin thinking seriously, it didn’t take much to realize the feelings he inspired were about more than bedroom tricks. Their attraction was too strong, too sudden.
She stared at him as he lay dozing, happy not to be bored out of her mind for the first time in nearly a year, but a little scared too. The frown faded as she snuggled down and he squeezed her close in his sleep. Daney was a sweetheart. A veritable list: attentive and funny, ambitious and sincere. And – she grinned tiredly – he could really fuck. Considering the caliber of handsome men who had come through her life, and occasionally her bed, Fiona found herself inordinately struck by his beauty.
It wasn’t that she was shallow exactly, though she was the first to admit her men tended to be tall, built and fine. She liked them to have pretty faces, but masculine everything else, which was probably why none of them lasted. They were like men in costume. Once the clothes were off they were like babies without diapers – extremely cute, but helpless, and just as messy.
No, Daney’s attraction for her wasn’t just about his height and broad shoulders. It wasn’t the tapered, swimmer’s waist or the long, hairy legs. It wasn’t his well cut mop of thick, luxuriously wavy black hair, nor those plump lips she could barely stop kissing. It wasn’t even his big, beautiful, olive-tinted dick, or what he could do with it.
It was that he sat quiescent while she learned his body. She held her breath once to see if she could detect any movement, but there was nothing. He was so calm and relaxed in her company, he breathed so lightly, she barely felt it as she ran her fingers over sharp cheekbones and the slight bump in the bridge of his nose.
It was that he didn’t hesitate to check her when he thought she was out of line. That he felt comfortable enough to tell her what to do. He’d whisper some
thing and look her straight in the eye as he said it, one side of his full mouth slightly raised as he waited to see if she’d comply. Half the time she did what he wanted immediately and didn’t mind a bit, which was weird because she didn’t believe in following others rules if there was another option.
It was that he used little pockets of time while shaving or bathing to handle business. She heard him talking to his brother and to his agent on speakerphone in the bath, approving or disproving their plans for him. Then he’d come out and test the smoothness of his cheeks against hers.
Daney radiated this down-to-earth-iness she wanted to snuggle up to. She felt comfortable enough to be herself, and Fiona was a siren. But there was no insecurity on his part, so this did not cause problems. They connected very quickly. As though her spirit knew right away he’d be a memory she’d keep.
Daney gave her so much pleasure – orgasms not withstanding – she stopped wanting him to leave and began to crave him. How the hell did this happen? She wondered, even as he kissed and teased and smiled her fingers into investigating his large, hot-skinned body, then sat back like a pasha and let her get on with it. He was good, Fiona thought, aware he’d bewitched her but unable to resist.
He made her laugh, and he had yet to show even a hint of impatience. Not even when she mumbled through a rather half-baked explanation of why she wasn’t working. She knew he didn’t buy her story about being on vacation. It was true enough, but he knew there was something more. Something she hadn’t even acknowledged to herself until she sat in stillness beside him: For the first time in her life Fiona had no ambition: she didn’t know what she wanted to do next.
Sure she could continue to do movies. She could even make some more music, but she felt ambivalent about all of her choices. She didn’t care enough to do much of anything, yet she worried. She worried about her family – there were many people whose livelihoods depended on her – and she worried about her baby, when she let herself. Flora was a mental minefield she avoided damn near on pain of death. Her child was safe and well cared for with her mother, and for now that was enough.
Now there was Daney and the spectacular feelings he aroused to add to her distraction. Even more perfect, he’d yet to try and take their relationship beyond the physical. He was content to enjoy their endless cuddling and fucking and playing as though it was his due.
He instigated most of it. He’d squeeze her around the waist and rub his hard chest against her softness, or toss her gently about and pretend to growl while holding her down during their love play. He’d tickle her until she was practically peeing, then say something outrageous and nip her with his teeth. Ever ready to play her part, Fiona would whimper fearfully or widen already large brown eyes helplessly.
Their role playing was a fabulous prelude to the hard, sensation-rich loving that came afterwards. Maybe it came from all the modeling, the patience, the ability to act a part, to unleash dormant sexuality so easily. Or perhaps it was those sisters he mentioned? Then again, maybe he was just lonely like her, happy to keep time with someone new and fun.
He told her he’d come up poor, but indirectly, not saying, ‘Oh, we didn’t have shit growing up.’ He just mentioned he was discovered when he valeted his agent Paul’s car in New York. He was working as a valet to save money to go to college, and he had two other jobs on the side. He spoke fondly of his mother, who still lived in a brownstone he bought for her with one of his first really big paychecks, and of his baby brother Buck who he’d given a job as his assistant.
“He’s come a long way. He’s signed up for some kind of online business management class, if you can believe that. Says he’s gonna help the team find me more high-paying gigs.”
“That’s the kind of family you wanna have.”
He nodded, stretching with quiet, lazy grace. “I’ve been lucky.”
Time slipped away from them. They ignored their cell phones so completely Netty and the others were forced to act as intermediaries between them and rabid callers. After a while Daney put a stop to that. He left a message on his phone that said leave voicemail, call Buck or go to hell until such-and-such a date, then ordered Fiona to do the same.
Neither was compelled to dress, though Daney fashioned a temporary bikini of sorts from the thick scads of lather her olive oil soap produced.
“I’ve got to get some of this stuff,” he muttered, smoothing silky white suds over her back. He squeezed her ass meaningfully, then laughed when she flexed and playfully twitched her well-slicked flesh out of his hands.
Fiona showered once alone, right after the first time he fell asleep. She’d done a quick touch-up cut on her pubes and shaved her underarms of their tiny stubble. He woke and knocked on the shower door.
She rinsed quickly and came out to find him holding a bath sheet open. He gave her one of the best rub downs she ever had, massaging lotion into every inch of her skin except her face. When she stopped him, he went to her vanity.
“La Mer?” he asked, reading a label.
She nodded, and reached for it, but he shook his head and held it out of her reach. That had been a rare treat, watching him tongue in cheek as he gently rubbed moisturizer into her face. She put just a bit more on her mouth with his cream-covered finger then kissed it into his lips.
That time had been slow. The urgency was gone. Or, it hadn’t returned yet. Their movements were languid and easy. They stretched over each others’ bodies like their skins were mildly electrified, and every jolt sent pleasure shooting right where it counted.
When the climax came it unfurled between them rather than popping and fizzing like their earlier sparks. But it was sweet. Fiona pressed her ear to his chest and listened to the muffled thump of his heart. It was special.
Chapter two
“Daney still here?”
“Daney is still here,” Sugar confirmed.
“Damn. What is it, day three? I can’t believe this. He has a fucking key,” Netty announced, knowing no one knew of this latest development. “I heard him go out early this morning, and he came in without ringing the bell.”
“Word?” Sugar made a sound like disgust with the flat of her tongue. “I hope this house ain’t gon’ get crowded.”
“Shut up,” Fiona told them both, sweeping into the room in a cloud of sheer lavender silk. “Daney don’t bother nobody. And don’t think I don’t see you hos askin’ him to open jars, and, can you reach that for me? And all this other feminine wiles type shit. You just as attracted to him as me.” She laughed seductively. “More, ‘cause you don’t get to fuck him.”
“For a model with a billboard on Michi Ave he don’t seem to work too often,” Netty said.
Sugar laughed. “Daney too fine to work. He probably got a sugah mama for every day of the week! Besides, didn’t you hear him say he takin’ a break like Fiona?”
“Daney,” Fiona said, pausing in that well-timed way she had, “is perfect. He’s like a movie star stranded in my bedroom.”
“You the only movie star stranded in that bedroom. What he workin’ with?” Netty asked.
Sugar clicked her tongue again. “Nosy!”
Fiona laughed. She washed her hands and began to rinse oranges. “You think I’d be keeping him around if he was wack? People just automatically think white dudes have small dicks. I’ve met more small black dicks than I have white ones. It’s that kind of stereotypical bull shit that has helped keep niggas in bondage for centuries!”
“Okay, Sojourner Truth, but you’ve fucked more black dicks than you have white ones,” Netty reminded her. “Can’t fool me. That’s just a numbers game. And must you drop the n-bomb while issuing your half-cocked proclamations? There is a Black man in the White House.”
“Thanks,” she told her best friend in an extra dry champagne voice. “I’d forgotten.”
Daney’s dick was, in point of fact, absolutely perfect. Perfectly shaped and sized, Fiona wasn’t about to discuss it with another woman. “Do you guys think coochie is a silly
word?”
“Why, is that what Daney said, and why you’re trying out new pouts?” Netty asked, recognizing her friends’ tricks.
“Yes. He did say that. Said he didn’t know why I found pussy so offensive since cunt’s the really bad word. And I’m up for a European vamp role, Ms. Bitch. I need Daney around to play off of. He’s French Algerian. His grandparents own a small vineyard. He says next time I’m in New York I have to stop by this bar he’s part owner of and try the wine.”
“You don’t drink wine,” Netty said.
“How serendipitous,” said Sugar. She’d got herself one of those new-word-each-day calendars like in the movie Alfie and was now a vocabulary monster. “You always get the great dick.”
Netty looked at her like she was crazy. “She’s a fuckin’ movie star. Whatchu’ think she’s gon’ get? A waiter from Denny’s?”
“Okay, kids. Okay. Yes, Daney is beautiful. Yes, he’s got this wonderful pale olive skin, huge green eyes and jet black wavy hair. Yes, he’s tall, lanky and elegant. His hands are big, his lips full. He’s eminently fuckable,” she whispered, hand caressing her own throat. “But he’s also smart, and he’s sweet. He took me out to breakfast yesterday to a pancake house. We had apple crepes and corned beef hash. He insisted on paying then had no cash. The bill was $20, and he paid with credit.”
Netty whistled, remembering that black card. “Corned beef hash, huh? Don’t let Cleo hear that.”
“Daney thinks I don’t eat enough.” Fiona glared.
Netty snorted. “You gon’ let Daney get you in trouble. What’s this?” She picked up one of the thick, folding note cards she’d had made with a big curvy F on the front.
“Send that to Mechante. She wrote me recently, and I haven’t had anything interesting to write about until Daney.” Fiona wiggled her eyebrows, letting Netty know the letter was a scorcher.
“Who’s Mechante?” Sugar asked.
“She’s a model/actress, and one of our oldest friends,” Netty answered. “She grew up in the same neighborhood with me, Cleo and Feef.”
Fiona Love Page 2