Her Body of Work

by Marie Donovan

  She looked at him through slumberous blue eyes. “Come here.”

  He was already only a step away from her. He lifted her boneless body and balanced her on the sandals’ tiny heels. “Turn around.”

  She rested her ass on the table. “I have something you need.”

  “I know you do, baby.” He dipped his fingers into her melting flesh, her vagina pulsing with orgasmic aftershocks.

  “Wait,” she panted, reaching under the band of her stocking. “This.” She pulled out a hidden condom.

  “You planned to fuck me here, didn’t you?” He swelled even longer, a drop of moisture beading on the end of his cock. “Did you want me to take you in the bathroom and push deep inside you?” He moved his finger faster, her juices trickling onto his hand.

  She nodded frantically, pushing her tight, hot body up and down his fingers.

  “Or did you want to dance to a dark corner of the floor and get my cock inside you in front of everyone?”

  Her knees weakened and he caught her around the waist.

  “Turn around and spread your legs. Put your palms on the table.”

  She widened her stance and sent a coy look over her shoulder. Her long, smooth back sparkled with tiny gold flecks in the intimate light, dipping in to her tiny waist and swelling into the luscious velvety halves of her bottom. Cuban women had nothing on Rey’s booty, he decided.

  “Are you arresting me, Officer Flores?” She widened her eyes in mock surprise.

  If only he could tell her how close to the truth she was. “You’re under arrest for speeding.”

  “Speeding?” She leaned forward from the waist and pressed her full breasts against the tabletop, gasping as her nipples rubbed the leather.

  “You made yourself come much too fast. As an officer of the law, I have an obligation to slow you down.”

  “I’m sorry, Officer. It’s been so long since a man came inside me.” She was really getting into their sexual role-play.

  “I’m going to have to frisk you, ma’am.” He moved behind her and palmed her breasts. She moaned and arched into him. “I got a report that you trapped a man between your tits and wouldn’t let him go.”

  “Is he filing a complaint?” She gasped as he pinched her swollen nipples, still slick from where she had licked herself.

  “His only complaint is that you haven’t done it again.” He released her breasts and skimmed past her rib cage to outside of her legs. He knelt and cupped her slender foot still encased in the sexy gold sandal. He slid his hands slowly up her leg, caressing her toned calf and firm thigh. He stopped at the band of skin above the stocking, his fingers teasing the warm, wet cleft between her legs. She tried to grind on him, but he moved his hands to her other leg and repeated the tantalizingly sensuous frisk.

  “Marco, I need you!”

  “There’s one place I haven’t checked yet.” He realized he still had the condom in his hand and ripped the packet open with his teeth. He smoothed it over his cock. The latex was still warm from her skin and it clung tightly to him. He almost climaxed as he pushed inside her, watching his shaft disappear between her plump buttocks and fill her pink sex. Gritting his teeth, he managed to say, “How long has it been?”

  “Forever.” She tossed her glorious hair over her shoulders and pressed her palms against the tabletop.

  “How long?” He pulled out of her.

  “Marco!”

  “That’s Officer Flores to you.” He nudged her opening with his tip. “Before we met, how long since a man’s cock had been inside you?”

  She wiggled backward, but he denied her. “Seven months,” she admitted.

  He immediately rewarded her with his shaft. “See? An easy question.”

  “How long for you?” She moaned as he stopped moving inside her tight warmth.

  “I’m the one asking the questions.” He leaned forward, his mouth only millimeters from her ear. “Have you ever let a man bend you over a table and fuck you?” He pulled out.

  “No!” she moaned.

  He pushed inside and withdrew, gritting his teeth as her tiny muscles threatened to squeeze him dry. “Did you ever kneel and press your tits together for another man’s cock?”

  “No!” She was half sobbing with frustration, her hips tilting against him. “Oh, God, Marco, I can’t stand it!”

  “I’ll let you get off with a warning.” He pounded inside her as sweat popped out on his brow and his balls pulled tight against his body. “This is for no one else, Rey. Just me.” His breath was ragged and fierce.

  “Only you, Marco.” She muffled a scream as he reached around her luscious thigh and strummed her pulsing clit.

  “Only you, Reina. Forever.” It was the first time he’d promised forever to a woman, but it was right and perfect.

  “Forever,” she echoed on a breathy sigh. Then neither said anything as he increased his pace.

  Her tight sheath contracted along his length. He circled her clit once more and pinched her nipples. She bucked against him and sobbed his name, her orgasm squeezing him until he came with a loud groan, pouring out his seed and his soul.

  “DIOS MÍO, YOU SMELL.” Chucho folded the switchblade and stuffed it in his pocket.

  Nico tossed the cut yellow nylon rope on the ground. “You don’t exactly smell like orange blossoms, either, hermano.”

  His younger brother brushed shredded lime peel off his pants. “We’re lucky those bouncers just tied us together and tossed us in the Dumpster.”

  “Sí, they must not work for the boss,” Nico said, not even wanting to mention his name aloud. “His man inside DEA was just found in the Everglades with an extra smile in his neck.”

  “Who was that guy anyway?”

  “A computer analyst with a bad habit.” Nico lifted his empty pinky finger to his nose and made a sniffing motion. “He tracked Flores to Chicago in exchange for what? His own death.”

  Chucho nodded, for once agreeing with him. “Maybe that blonde belongs to the short guy. He kept telling me to stay away from her.” Chucho grabbed his ribs where Tiny had kicked him several times.

  “So why was she shaking her booty with the brother?” Nico blinked, trying to see out of his rapidly swelling eye.

  “The short guy probably has a dick to match. Too bad she can’t get a load of mine.” Chucho’s boast would have been more impressive if he hadn’t had a pink tropical drink umbrella stuck to his shoulder.

  “Forget her. Let’s get out of this damn alley and find Flores’s brother.” Nico strode off, cursing as his boot heel skidded on a banana peel. “The club’s closing. I’ll watch the side exit and you go to the front.”

  Chucho sneered. “He’s probably been tucked in bed for hours with that blonde.” He made a grinding motion with his hips.

  “Get going!” Nico stared at the side exit, not really expecting to see anyone. The man had probably ducked out the back door as soon as he was spotted.

  Minutes passed. Even the musicians had left. Finally the club lights winked off. Nico gave up and went to find his brother.

  “Any luck?”

  Chucho shook his head. “No. So what do we do now?”

  Nico thought hard. “If they took a cab home, maybe we can trace them through the cab companies. That blonde will be hard to miss.”

  Chucho groaned. “You know how many cabs were around here? Especially if they caught one a few blocks over?”

  Nico slugged his brother in the shoulder. “If you wanna tell the boss we lost him in a salsa club, don’t expect to live too long. A man like that is a shark, and you and I are just the bloody chum.”

  16

  MARCO BOLTED UPRIGHT IN bed and snatched his pistol off the nightstand. His heart pounded and his mouth was as dry as if he’d been bobbing on the ocean again.

  “Marco, what is it?” Rey’s warm arm came around his waist. She’d fallen asleep in the cab, exhausted by anxiety and several cocktails on an empty stomach.

  “I’m all right.” He’
d fallen asleep after he’d tucked her in, leaving his pistol within easy reach. He shoved the gun under his pillow just before she turned on a small bedside lamp. The sheets were a twisted mess binding his legs together. “Just a bad dream.”

  He wasn’t surprised that he’d dreamed about the raft. Those nightmares always crept up from the dregs of his past when he was under enormous stress.

  Rey uncurled herself from the linens, her long hair glowing gold over her creamy breasts. She slipped off the bed and walked naked across the floor. He straightened, pleasantly distracted by the sway of her bottom.

  She returned from the bathroom with a water glass. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

  He was already feeling better seeing her stand in front of him.

  “I think we need to talk.” She shrugged into her pink silk robe and knotted the belt around her slender waist.

  Hell, no, he didn’t want to talk, but she deserved an explanation after he’d dragged her into his mess. “First let me tell you about how I came to the U.S. It’s all kind of tied in to what happened tonight.”

  “You did tell me that. You and your family left Cuba on a terrible little raft and floated to Florida. I can’t even imagine how it must have been.”

  “It was even worse than I told you.” He took a deep breath. “My father was a poet and an intellectual. Neither of those kinds of men is welcome in a totalitarian society.”

  He felt Rey’s intent stare but didn’t look at her. It was easier to get through his story if he didn’t see what had to be sympathy in her eyes. “My father disguised his political protests in poetry and gained popular support. Our last name, Flores, means ‘flowers.’ Average Cubans who never dared defy the government wore white flowers in their lapels.” He shrugged. “His writings also attracted attention from the wrong people.”

  Rey touched his arm. “What happened?” Her voice was low and sorrowful. She obviously knew what was coming next.

  “He was fired from the university as unsuitable for the formation of young Cuban minds.” Marco laughed bitterly. “That was a gross understatement. The administration was too stupid to realize that he’d taught the literature of dissent for years. Rousseau, Thoreau, Thomas Paine. Our mamá was so proud of him. She knew the dangers but never asked him to deny his belief in a free Cuba.”

  “Your mother sounds like an amazing woman. It must have broken her heart to see him go into danger.”

  “Papi read his poetry at a pro-democracy rally. Police spies arrested my father and took him to the political prison on the Isle of Youth. He died from pneumonia a couple months later. We never saw him again.”

  Rey bit her lower lip to stop its trembling. Marco pulled her into his arms. “Hey, don’t cry. I made my peace with it a long time ago.”

  “Are you sure?” She rubbed her warm hands along his back. He relaxed slightly into her touch, some anger dissipating.

  “Papi may have been a university professor, but he wasn’t naive. When he read that poem, he knew he’d wind up in prison or dead. After his arrest, crushed flowers were mysteriously strewn on the streets. His poem is still read at anti-Castro rallies all over Florida.”

  “So your mother escaped to Miami with you.”

  “Yeah, we were the lucky ones. The Coast Guard found us before we died of dehydration.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” She pressed her fist against her mouth. “But what can that possibly have to do with those men in the club?”

  Marco sighed. Now came the difficult part of his story. His eyes were gritty and burning, and he had to piss. “Let me go splash some water on my face. I promise I’ll tell you everything then.”

  Rey studied his tired face and nodded. “All right, but don’t plan on sneaking out on me. That bathroom doesn’t even have a window.”

  He gave her a weak grin and ran his fingers through his tangled curls. “I don’t have to leave you yet.”

  His response made her shiver inside at the thought of letting him go. He trudged into the bathroom and shut the door.

  She needed to keep busy while she waited. The bed linens were a mess, the sheets pulled loose and the goose-down duvet half on the floor. She tucked the sheets in and straightened the duvet.

  Marco’s pillow was sweaty and twisted from his bad dream. She picked it up for a good fluffing.

  “Rey, no!”

  Puzzled, she looked up and saw Marco sprinting naked from the bathroom, his feet skidding on one of her area rugs.

  “What?” She looked at the bed and saw the weapon. “Oh, my God!” She stumbled, pulling the sheet with her. The gun fell onto the floor and they both cringed.

  He snatched it up, checking it expertly.

  “At least it’s not loaded, right?” She pushed her hair away from her face. “That’s why it didn’t go off.”

  “It’s loaded.” He should have looked ridiculous standing there naked with a gun, but the grim expression on his face drove away her incipient fit of hysterical giggles. “The reason it didn’t go off is the safety was on.”

  “A loaded gun? You brought a loaded gun into my home? Into my bed?” She clutched the robe against her, a chill penetrating into her bones that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

  He quirked an ironic smile. “A gun’s no good if it’s unloaded, Reina. What am I supposed to do, throw it at someone?”

  “Why do you even need a gun, Marco?” She froze. “This is because of those men at the club, isn’t it? What do they want with you?”

  “Querida, they want me dead.”

  17

  “DEAD?” THE BLOOD DRAINED from Rey’s face, leaving her naturally pale skin a sickly greenish color. “Those men want to kill you?”

  Marco realized he was still naked and brandishing his gun. Careful not to spook her, he tucked the pistol into the nightstand’s top drawer and put on his robe. “Reina.” He sat on the bed and tugged her next to him. She flinched away.

  He tried again, taking her cold hand in his. He searched carefully for the right words. If he couldn’t get her to understand, she would never trust him again. Without her trust, they had nothing. And without her he was nothing, he realized with a shock. “I left Miami on the run almost three weeks ago.”

  “It’s about drugs, isn’t it?” She shot to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at him.

  “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Oh, Marco, how could you? You swore to me you weren’t involved in drugs.” Tears spilled down her anguished face. She turned her back to him and hunched over.

  “Listen to me, Rey.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him.

  “No!” She struggled in his arms. “Get out! Get your things and leave before I call the cops!”

  He released her, not wanting to hurt her. “No need to call the cops. I am a cop.”

  “A cop?” The perfect bow of her upper lip twisted into a sneer. “Why would a cop model in the nude? Won’t that get you into trouble at the station house?”

  “Reina, please.” This was turning into his worst nightmare, and all of his own doing. “I’m not in local law enforcement. I’m a sworn agent of the United States Drug Enforcement Agency.”

  She laughed. “A fed. I think I saw this episode before on Miami Vice reruns. Where are your white sports coat and sockless loafers?”

  “I had to wear expensive Italian suits with hand-tooled leather shoes. The short guys wore cowboy boots with four-inch heels.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Let’s say all of this is true. What are you doing in Chicago modeling nude for me?”

  “Having the time of my life.”

  “Marco, I’m serious,” she chided.

  “I am, too.” He tried to gather her in his arms, but she neatly sidestepped him. He heaved a sigh and continued. “I volunteered to infiltrate a Cuban-based drug smuggling operation because I was native-born, knew the island and had the right accent. After a year of undercover work, we had enough evidence to go to trial. If I can’t
testify next week, the charges will be reduced or dismissed.”

  “Can’t you show me a badge or something to prove who you are?”

  He was already shaking his head. “I left all of my IDs in Miami. I couldn’t risk calling attention to myself in the metal detectors at airport security with a DEA badge.”

  “But you smuggled a gun through?”

  “I bought it here from a gun dealer who wasn’t picky about ID or registration.”

  “Don’t you know it’s illegal to own a handgun in Chicago?”

  He laughed. “Getting caught with a pistol is the least of my concerns. The only reason I came to Chicago was to get my brother Francisco to safety, somewhere where it would be harder to find him. I came prepared to convince, bribe or kidnap him to get out of town, but the only way he left was when I promised to take his place with you.”

  “And your mother is on her honeymoon.” She thought for a minute. “About your father and sailing over on a raft. That wasn’t just a story, was it?” Her eyes were pleading with him.

  He clenched his hands. “God, no. It’s the reason I took the assignment. Look, come sit here next to me.”

  She hesitated, fussing with the lapels of her robe. “I don’t know, Marco. This sounds very far-fetched.”

  “We only met a few weeks ago, but you know me, Reina.”

  She stopped fiddling with the knot at her waist and stared at him. Did she know him? His hawklike hazel eyes watched her guardedly. He’d never shown any intent to harm her. In fact, he even roughed up Stefan a bit for her. But did that make him a thug or a cop?

  “Oh, all right.” She plopped down beside him on the bed. “Start from the beginning.”

  “I didn’t tell you everything about our raft trip. My mother paid a man called El Lobo, the wolf, to take us to Miami on his raft. Once we were at sea, he made advances to my mother.” He swallowed hard. “That man sliced Francisco’s leg bloody and threatened to throw him to the sharks if Mamá didn’t do what he wanted. I tried to fight him, but he punched me in the face and knocked me cold for a few minutes.”