Black Burlesque

by L. C. Castillo

  We arrive at Marley’s before Vincent, which is odd. Vincent is usually very punctual. The enticing aromas emanating from restaurant keep me from dwelling. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure. I settle into a booth across from Jordan. We haven’t had the opportunity to be alone in what feels like ages, so we enjoy a beer and he gives me the scoop on Benny.

  He and his mother are still not speaking, so things have been hard. But at the same time, with everything going on, it’s helped them both gain inspiration for their artistic projects. They’ve been collaborating together on a few pieces, and Jordan has this wonderful spark in his eyes when he tells me of their current idea.

  Vincent comes in a half hour late, which is very unusual. He scoots in next to me, looking completely distracted and preoccupied. Jordan and I had a nice carefree vibe going, and once Vincent sits down with us, there is a shift in the atmosphere.

  I see something catch Vincent’s eye, and I turn to look in the same direction. He’s looking at a man departing. It looks like Henry, the man I met earlier today, walking out near the back exit. But I can’t be certain. Vincent looks disturbed; it sets off tiny alarm bells in my chest.

  “Bad first day?”

  He offers me a tight smile, and I know he doesn’t want to talk in front of Jordan.

  Jordan does his best to lighten the mood but Vincent remains ominously quiet. He’s radiating tension. I’m about to ask him what the hell his problem is, but I’m distracted yet again. I watch as our waitress fumbles with our tray of food. She’s staring, with her mouth is wide open at Vincent. I glare at her, and she blushes. She leaves our food on the table, and scuttles away.

  I can only imagine how it will be for Vincent at work. He’ll be surrounded by temptation every day. All of those drooling college girls and colleagues will be all over him. I shake off the images that are ingraining themselves in my mind and focus on the food in front of me.

  The fried chicken is as amazing as I expected it to be. I eat with enthusiasm and try and fail to bring Vincent into the conversation.

  I give up.

  “For fucks sake, Vincent, what is it? You look pale,” I reach out to him when Jordan leaves the table for the bathroom. I touch the stubble on his cheek.

  “Nothing. Nothing. It’s nothing,” he smiles tightly. He grasps my hand and brings it to his lips, and for a moment, when he looks into my eyes, I see worry. Something has really unsettled him. I know not to press him again, at least not until we get home. But I can see the anxiety marring his lovely face.

  After dinner, we walk out to Vincent’s Triumph, which is parked just outside of the restaurant, and say our good-byes to Jordan. Vincent remains distracted, and Jordan shoots me a curious glance and mouths “call me”.

  I nod and wink at him and watch as he makes his way down the street. As weird as dinner was, I’m happy I was able to spend time with my friend.

  Vincent has parked his Triumph behind the Merc. Just as I am about to pull the keys out of my purse, Vincent stops me. His hand tightens around my wrist and he glances around, clearly panicked. I find myself mirroring his movements. He crumbles a piece of paper and pushes it into his pocket. His jaw clenches, his eyes get tight. Uh-oh, he’s angry. What is going on with him today? I am not getting a good feeling at all.

  “Shit!” Vincent growls. Something must really be wrong, he never curses. He pulls out his cell phone, as I watch in dumb silence. My chest constricts.

  “Come pick us up, now! I need Lurch to inspect my bike and the Merc.” He hangs up. I see him stoop down low, and inspect his bike cautiously. He doesn’t release his grasp on my wrist.

  “Vincent, what is it? What are you looking for?”

  He glares at me, and shakes his head.

  “That isn’t fair, something’s happened. Why am I being left in the dark?” I say in a weak and quivering voice. I sound like a whining child.

  He sighs, “It’s nothing. Someone left another note for me; that’s all. My bike, it might not be safe.”

  Another note? “What do you mean another note? Who has been leaving you notes?”

  His eyes flare, “Nothing. It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he snaps.

  Before he has a chance to see it coming, I reach out and grab the note from his pocket. I open it up, and am just barely able to make out the first few words.

  Time is running out, make a di

  He snatches it back from me and clutches my wrist again. His eyes are angry, narrow slits.

  “Lenore, don’t,” he reproaches.

  I’m completely taken aback. I don’t like this. Whatever this is. I know it’s serious. Is it something to do with his family business? Does it have to do with me? Something tells me that it does. Something dangerous is happening.

  “Why are you hiding things from me? Do you think this is a good start, Vincent?”

  He doesn’t get the chance to respond. Lurch and Dwayne pull up in their enormous black SUV. Where the hell were they? And how did they get here so fast? Some serious shit must be going down if they are constantly hovering close by. I suddenly feel like an oblivious idiot. What has been happening while I’ve been daydreaming the days away?

  Dwayne opens the door for me and Vincent ushers me inside and closes the door, a little too hard for my taste. He’s pissed. It doesn’t mean it’s at me, but I still feel like a child being castigated. And so I sit in the back seat and wait, sulking.

  I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I do see Vincent hand the note over to Lurch; he nods curtly after reading it, but his expression remains blank. Vincent takes it back and places it into his pocket once more.

  Vincent and Dwayne walk back to the SUV and I see Lurch thoroughly inspecting the bike.

  Vincent gets into the car with me, followed by Dwayne. He is radiating hostility. I’m getting angrier and angrier as the seconds tick by. But I don’t want to have this conversation in front of Dwayne.

  When we pull up outside of the House on the Hill, I get out of the car, not bothering to wait for Dwayne to open my door for me, and I storm into the house. I don’t bother waiting for Vincent either. I head straight into our bedroom. I sit, perched on the chaise, and wait what feels like an eternity.

  When he comes in, he appears much calmer, but is apprehensive. He closes the door behind him softly.

  I waste no time, “Tell me what the fuck is happening, or I’m leaving this fucking house, and I’m not coming back. You’re scaring me. Are you in danger? Am I? I have a right to fucking know?!” I’m shouting, I told myself I wasn’t going to shout. I need to work on controlling my anger.

  He glares at me momentarily, but then his eyes change, and he looks as though he’s in agony. My heart starts drumming loudly inside my chest. This is bad, something really bad.

  He let’s out an exaggerated long breath and runs his hands through his neat hair. He removes his glasses and tosses them in the nightstand. He sits on the bed...

  I wait...and wait...

  “It’s the,” he sighs again, “the shooter, from the club. He’s been leaving me messages.”

  My pulse spikes and I feel as if my veins are pumping cacti throughout my body and not blood. My skin is literally prickling with fear; it’s actually painful. I open my mouth and then close it, remembering how Vincent used to leave me notes.

  What a strange coincidence.

  “I don’t know what he wants, but he does want something. I don’t want to take any chances. Not where you’re concerned, so you need to promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” He looks up at me; a lost forlorn expression crosses his face.

  I’m confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you need to have your cell phone with you at all times, you need to have someone with you whenever you go somewhere. I don’t want you wandering around on your own, and I don’t want to have to guess where you are.” His voice takes on an edge, as if he’s trying to keep himself from shouting at me.

  “Vincent, what are these messages sa
ying? Why do I have to be careful? What is he asking for? I need to know? Is it something to do with me?”

  For some reason, James pops into my mind. Is he having someone follow me? Is he involved in this somehow? My hair stands on end.

  “No,” he snaps. “It’s me, this is my issue that needs to be resolved. Justpromise me.”

  I nod, though I’m still lost. He gets down off of the bed and surprises me by kneeling before me; he clutches me hard. His hands folding over my waist, his head stooped down low in my lap.

  What is this? Now I’m at a loss for words, he’s so distressed.

  “I promise, Vincent,” I say mostly to help brighten his despondent mood.

  He sighs with relief. I’m overtaken by sudden desire. It unexpectedly seizes me, blossoming from deep within my belly. I tug his hair and pull his head back so he’s looking into my eyes. He remains on his knees. Something in both of us shifts, the atmosphere is instantly charged.

  “Stay on your knees, put your hands behind your back,” I growl at him, my voice deathly low.

  He doesn’t hesitate. I stand before him, still clutching his hair in my hands. I let go, and slowly, with adept fingers, I begin to remove his tie. I set it onto the chaise. I slide my hands under his jacket, and remove it. Slowly. Savoring the feel of his sculpted shoulders beneath my hands. He’s so exquisitely built, so strong. His jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare. I can see his growing arousal pressing against his slacks.

  As I begin to unbutton his shirt, I say in a soft and husky voice, “Now it’s your turn to promise me something, Vincent.”

  When I reach the last button, I rake my fingernails from his pubic bone, up to his chest. He closes his eyes, and a soft moan escapes him.

  “You need to promise me that you will not hide anything from me, you need to promise to always tell me the truth.” My voice sounds reprimanding, harsh, and sultry all at once.

  His eyes remain closed, his face, pained. I slide his shirt off and rake my nails lightly across his chest. My fingers circle each nipple, and I feel them pucker beneath my touch.

  I grab the tie from the bed and tell him to bring his hands forward. He does what I ask and remains perfectly still, on his knees. He steeples his hands in front of him, he offers me his wrists and I bind them together with his tie. He doesn’t try to fight me. He is ever so compliant. I do my best to try to knot it tightly.

  No escaping this time.

  “But before you promise me, I think you deserve a little spanking. Don’t you?” I whisper, stooping down low to growl in his ear. His breath changes, as does mine. I watch him for a moment as he writhes and struggles to control himself. I get up and circle behind him. Gripping his shoulders from behind; I force his upper body forward onto the chaise. He’s still, his chest resting where I was just sitting. He turns his head to one side, eyes closed, jaw tense. Arms outstretched above his head.

  I remove his belt and set it to one side. I run my hands up and down his zipper, his erection forcing the front of his pants up to an extreme angle. That can’t be comfortable. I undo the front of his pants and slide the zipper down. I hook my thumbs into the front of his briefs and slide both his pants and his underwear down to his knees. His erection bounces upwards once it’s free.

  Yum...

  I grab hold of his belt and loop it around his ankles as best I can. I step back and admire him, all trussed up, at my mercy. It is very gratifying to see.

  I caress his muscular back and lean down over him, leaving a trail of soft kisses from shoulder to shoulder, and down his spine. His back is tense, causing his muscles to flex. It is a divine sight. I softly make my way down his back and caress each cheek with my right hand. I watch him shudder softly.

  “Is it nice to keep things from me, Vincent?” I say, tracing underneath his left butt cheek.

  “No,” he grumbles. I run my finger between his cheeks, gently teasing him. I then begin tracing the underside of his right cheek.

  “Is it nice to lie to me, Vincent?” My voice takes on a sharp edge, and he stiffens in anticipation. I am so turned on; it’s hard to keep my voice steady.

  “No,” he says a bit louder, aggression seeping into his voice.

  “No. I don’t think so either.” I take him by surprise; I get down on my knees and run my hands up the front of his thighs and my left hand circles around his impressive erection. I press my chest against his back and begin stroking him, his erection growing and pulsing in the palm of my hand. After a moment, he relaxes and starts gyrating his hips, pushing his erection into my hand. I continue to stroke him and feel him build.

  “What should I do with you then, Vincent?” I whisper against his ear.

  He groans quietly. I stroke him a few more times before I release him and shuffle to his left side. I slide my left hand back around his hungry erection. I give him a good hard smack on his left cheek with the palm of my right hand. I see a trace of my palm reddening his rear end. It fans the flames of my desire to see his lips part, and his nostrils flare.

  He likes this. Mmm…

  He moans loudly and begins pumping his hips into my hand, his dick growing harder still. I stroke his backside and then spank him, harder, one, two, three times consecutively. He picks up the pace, and I feel his cock start to throb in my hand. I run my finger down his crack softly.

  “Are you sorry, Vincent?”

  “Ah! Yes, fuhugh, yes, Lenore.”

  “Does this feel good, Vincent?” I hit him, once on each cheek. I love to watch the way his hips move, hungry for friction. His back muscles ripple with each delicious movement.

  “Yes. Yes, baby,” his voice a whisper.

  I release his penis and gently stroke his sack and the back of his thighs.

  “Do you deserve to be spanked?” I moan against his ear.

  “Yes,” he hisses out at me.

  I grip his erection yet again and after a few more strokes and one more resounding spank, he comes deliciously into my hand.

  I watch him with satisfaction as his breathing slows, and his body begins to unwind. He was so stressed out, and pent up at dinner. Right now, he looks sated, relaxed. Like he’s ready for bed. I remove the belt from his ankles, and to my utter astonishment he’s already rubbing his wrists; his hands free. How the fuck does he do that? He really is Houdini.

  “Sit up,” I whisper. He gets up slowly and sits on the chaise with heavy, hooded eyes. He’s so sexy.

  I kneel before him and remove his shoes; I slide off his socks, pants and briefs. His eyelids are drooping low, and he has a lazy, shy smile on his lips. I look up at him, as innocent as can be and bring up my left hand and lick the remnants of his orgasm off my fingers. His eyes open wide, and the corner of his mouth perks up.

  It is so satisfying to see how drastically his mood has shifted, and it’s all because of me. I like him so much more when he isn’t stressed, and anxious. That’s more my territory anyway.

  I crawl into his lap and he presses me against his chest.

  “I love you, Lenore,” he says in his unintentionally seductive voice.

  I’m spent, and exhaustion crashes down on us both.

  He carries me to the bed and lies down next to me. My back to his front, he scoops me in and pulls me close, nuzzling his face against the back of my neck.

  “Sleep,” he whispers. And I close my eyes and immediately begin to dream.

  Chapter 26

  Vincent has been more at ease since Wednesday night, but I can still sense something is wrong. Something he is adamant about not discussing with me. What could the shooter be threatening him with or warning him about, I wonder. The thought of something happening to Vincent makes me want to curl up and scream. I hope that with Dwayne and Lurch watching over him, he will be safe.

  Thanksgiving has come and gone. He left bright and early this morning, promising to see my last performance this evening. I’m feeling nervous and excited about it. I’ll miss the girls, I’m glad I agreed to sub for Cat. Burlesqu
e has been more than I expected it to be, I didn’t think I’d enjoy it as much as I have.

  An idea pops into my mind and I scramble across the room and begin rifling through his closet. I go in search of the blazer he was wearing that night at dinner. That night he was so tense and stressed about the mysterious note.

  A few moments later, bingo! Found it. I stick my hand into the pocket, and produce the crumpled piece of paper. If it was so important, why did he leave it in his pocket?

  Time is running out, make a decision. I meant what I said.

  It is not an empty threat. I assure you.

  What the hell does that mean? It sends my heart spiraling out of my chest. Who is making threats and why? And why won’t he discuss it with me? Is this the real reason Lurch and Dwayne have become permanent shadows in our lives? This must all be tied to that same case. I just wish I knew more about it. What hold could they possibly have on Vincent? What do they want from him?

  A light bulb goes off in my mind; perhaps they discovered his inheritance. They could be blackmailing him. Perhaps they want money. I think for a moment about finding the key to his filing cabinet and raiding his work papers, but I decide against it. I’m sure he has things under control…right?

  I have nervous butterflies in my stomach all day. I miss the old days, which weren’t so long ago, when I would wake up and my sole purpose was to sew and take Bucky for walks. I get anxiety each time I think about Vincent. I find myself worrying about him throughout my day. I decide to text him before Dwayne drives me to The Speak Easy.

  *I haven’t heard from you. I hope your day is going well.

  Truthfully, I am worrying over here.

  I hope you’re still coming tonight.