Messalina: Devourer of Men

by Zetta Brown

  He raises an eyebrow. “How would you know? You doing research on me or something?”

  “I’m just curious, that’s all.” I pick at a cushion lying between us. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve met before.”

  “That’s because we haven’t met before.”

  “You’re a real smart-ass, aren’t you?”

  “I call it having a sense of humor.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to get to know you because that six-word bio just doesn’t cut it.”

  He picks up his drink and grins at me over the brim of his glass as he slowly finishes the contents. “You found my bio, eh? You have been doing research.”

  “There are no straight answers with you, are there?” I laugh and he puts up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

  “OK, straight answers. What I said earlier is true and I’ve loved drawing since I was four. I got my degree in studio art from the University of Colorado in Boulder when I moved here but I was actually getting by doing design work but decided to go for it.”

  “So the art degree was just because you wanted it?”

  “It was a challenge.” He smiles.

  “See, I figured you’re not from around these parts. It took me a while to place your Texas twang.”

  He says nothing, but he’s grinning and his eyes sparkle. Beads of sweat form at the back of my neck. My seduction skills are so rusty it’s pathetic.

  “A-any siblings?” I could kill myself for stuttering, but smile to play it off.

  “Several, actually. I have an older brother in town. He’s the one who got me up here when I was nineteen. I put myself through college by working in a restaurant.”

  “Oh, really? Which one?”

  “DeGaulle’s.”

  I blink. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  DeGaulle’s is one of Denver’s best restaurants serving classic and nouveau French cuisine, and my good friend, Tony Lobos, has a large stake in it. It’s won international praise and recognition. A person needs to reserve a month in advance just to get on the waiting list. If it weren’t for Tony, I would never see the inside of the place.

  “Well, on that note,” I say and stand up, “time to eat.”

  “Good.” He rises to his feet and looks me in the eye. “I’m hungry.”

  Sitting at my small, round dining room table, the candle between us isn’t the only thing burning. My body sizzles being this close to him. There’s a force between us, like two magnets facing each other; it’s strong but keeps us apart.

  I suppose he’s being a Southern gentleman, because apart from our kiss at the door and holding hands on the couch, he hasn’t made any sudden moves or said anything crude. He doesn’t have to. I feel his eyes on me, caressing and touching me all over. Resuming our conversation, I ask, “Out of your siblings, where do you fit in?”

  “I’ve often asked myself the same question.” He laughs. “Chronologically, I fall in the middle.” He looks at me. “What about you? Any brothers and sisters?”

  I nod. “One of each. They’re older.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You seem a bit repressed, that’s all.” He shrugs.

  I put down my fork. “Repressed is an interesting choice of word. How do you come by it?”

  He leans back in his seat. The taper candles between us almost obscures my view of his face, but the candlelight enhances his features, softening their sharp edges. He places a forefinger to his lips, and scrutinizes me at his leisure.

  “I say ‘repressed’ because there’s something shy and innocent about you.”

  “Innocent?” I laugh then tell him of my Rocky Horror days and the fallout from it.

  “Well, for someone with visible physical appeal, you don’t seem too comfortable with yourself.” He straightens up in his seat and resumes eating. “If you were, you wouldn’t be such a cocktease.”

  He sees my stunned expression and nods the way when someone gets busted and caught on camera.

  “That’s why you go someplace where you can hide in the dark. You forget, Eva, I’ve seen you operate. I’ve seen the way you lure a man and leave him behind—almost like you left me.” He winks. “I couldn’t be sure until I saw you do it a few times but, yep, you’re a cocktease. Sitting in the theater with your skirt all tight and your sweater barely containing your . . . abundance.”

  Now, my skin feels clammy. I’ve been outed. Jared has exposed me in more ways than one, but I can’t let him think he’s rattled me.

  “Is that why you came over to me in the lobby?”

  “Nah, girl, I just saw through you.” He eats a few more bites before leaning back in his seat, crossing his legs, and casually turning the wineglass by its stem. “Now, I could sit here and feed you bullshit by saying I think you’re different, blah, blah, blah. But honey, we’re all different. Hell, even twins are different.”

  I frown, my appetite now gone.

  “Nevertheless,” he says, slowly drawing out each syllable.

  I look at him expectantly, wondering what smart comeback he has.

  “I could tell at the theater that the more we talked, your body was just a bonus. But then again, I knew it would be,” he says and sips his wine, “because, Eva, you are different.”

  I shake my head and his smug grin makes me smile despite myself. He’s a smooth-talking bastard, but a likeable one. OK, maybe I am a cocktease and my choice in men could definitely use a quality check. But now I’ve had both Ana and Jared tell me that my good-girl veneer is thinner than I thought. What am I trying to prove, anyway? That I’m repressed , as Jared so eloquently said?

  “Touché,” I say simply and resume eating. This sparks a chuckle out of him and I join in.

  The rest of dinner goes smoothly despite his discovering an empty bistro carton on the kitchen counter when he helps me clear the dishes.

  “Hey, time was tight.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He puts an arm around my waist and kisses the top of my head. His lips brush my temple making me shiver as I feel the contrast of his soft lips, the firmness of his jaw, and the way his cologne mixes with the warmth of his body. All of this in combination with the wine makes me grip the countertop for balance.

  “Go take a seat,” I say with a smile and he leaves while I load the dishwasher. Then I open the bottle of Italian Asti set aside for desert and pour two tall, fluted glasses of the sparkling wine.

  “I should apologize, Jared.” I explain as I join him in the den. “If I really wanted to be rid of you the day we met, I would’ve been blunt.” Like I was with Jerk-Off Man, I wanted to add.

  “Glad to hear it.” He takes the bottle from me and places it on the coffee table.

  I dim the lights and turn up the saxophone jazz. Then we step onto the balcony to see the city lights. The sky glows orange and pink behind silhouetted mountains and the night comes in like a band of dark blue melting from above with only a few bright pinpoints for stars. Leaning against the railing, I want Jared’s hands on me, his long fingers satisfying my fetish for them as they find their way into my center once again.

  Instead, I sense his gaze on me, sliding down my exposed spine and lingering on my bottom before continuing down my thighs to the back of my knees. I’m riveted to the spot, pretending to look at the skyline. He finally comes close behind me.

  “Cappuccino,” he says as
his cool fingers glide up the back of my neck and into my hair.

  “Hmm?”

  “The color of your skin. Definitely, cappuccino.” His breath is warm against my ear. “I wonder if it tastes as good.”

  His kiss smolders on my collarbone and I wouldn’t be surprised if a burn develops there. He traps me by wrapping his arms completely around my middle and I get to experience just how hard his body is for the first time.

  “You’re trembling,” he whispers, pulling away. “Why?”

  I stay focused on the view. “It’s hard to let my guard down.”

  “Do you have to guard yourself?”

  I shrug. “Once you start, it’s hard to stop.”

  He laughs and I wonder if the man has a sensitive bone in his body. I turn to face him and encounter those eyes. For a moment, it’s as if we stare into each other’s core. He doesn’t move and the warmth of his skin and the sweetness of the wine on his breath is turning me on.

  “Let me guess.” He smirks. “You have to keep in control to save from getting hurt?”

  “So what if I do?” I reply, perhaps too defensively. “No one can handle me the way I can.”

  “Mmm, I don’t know, Evadne. Seems to me as if your control is ready to snap.” He traces my jaw with his finger. “What is it, girl? I hear that black women have a reputation for being lovers who take no shit.” His eyelids narrow. “Or is it all myth?”

  Excitement rushes through me, warming and moistening my flesh, melting the cobwebs away. I’m enjoying this sparring match, but all I say is, “Myths survive on a kernel of truth.”

  He grins. “Is that a challenge? I like a challenge.”

  My gaze carves into his and I put my hands on my hips. As I do, it forces him to back up, but only a few inches. “You try me. Are you man enough to handle this?” I indicate my body with a flourish of a hand.

  He reaches out with his glass and lets the cool, wet rim trace along my exposed collarbone, making me tremble.

  “Girl,” he sighs, shaking his head, “don’t you know that when you ice your passion, you just make it hotter when it’s thawed?”

  We stand, for what seems like hours, waiting for the first sign of weakness in the other. He tips his glass, letting a trickle of wine spill onto my shoulder.

  “Oops.” He smiles and bends forward to lick the wine away, trailing his tongue up the side of my neck. When his lips connect with mine they are wet and sweet and I let his kiss engulf me.

  Taking me by the waist, he navigates us back inside with the grace of a ballroom dancer as we maintain our kiss. Soon I’m on my Victorian fainting couch in a position many Victorian women probably never had the luxury to experience as Jared’s voyage of discovery takes him down between my thighs, his hair caressing me like silk.

  As he pushes up my dress, I figure he’ll just give me a cursory nibble and move on like other men, but he sighs with contentment, a crusader reaching his pilgrimage. Without hesitation, he places my legs over his shoulders and spreads my intimate lips so he can lick each inner fold. One moment he’s soft, the next he’s rough, and the contrast is exquisite. When he manipulates my little power switch with his expert tongue and she stands at attention. He blows on her gently and I’m dropped into an abyss of sensation making me release a trickle of my pleasure.

  “Mmm,” he moans. “Skin like cappuccino but tastes like mocha.”

  A squeal escapes my lips. Jesus Christ, I got me a connoisseur.

  Jared seizes my hips in a vise-like grip while his mouth makes a seal to suction the hot liqueur seeping from me and I explode. My hands grip his head between my thighs while my pelvis thrusts against his face. Considering our first encounter, he is running true to form and is about to make me come again.

  Tears come to my eyes in spite of my trying not to get carried away. This is a sweet release, and he’s right. My iced passion is melting and it’s hot, wet. He drinks from me and I gladly satisfy his thirst. When he finally rises, his expression is like one who has overindulged in a bacchanalian feast.

  “Jared,” I whisper and touch his face. He blinks and snaps out of his reverie. His eyes focus on me as he kisses the Betty Boop tattoo located above my left hipbone. He climbs between my legs, which reflexively encircle his waist. We’re still dressed, but his cock is tenting his pants and is hard and swollen against me. I close my eyes, remembering how I saw it in the theater. Lacing my fingers behind his neck, I smile. “I was getting worried about you down there.”

  His kiss forces me deep into the cushions. I taste myself on his lips and strain to get more, leaving us both gasping for air. A high-pitched beep goes off. He raises his head and takes a look at the phone he’s taken from his pocket.

  “Fuck.” He looks at me and strokes my cheek. “Eva, I gotta go. My plane.”

  My loins literally ache for him. I tighten my legs around his waist. His body trembles and he tries to calm his urge by pressing into me. Big mistake. Gasping, we shudder at the electric charge it provokes between us. He shakes his head rapidly, sucking air through his teeth.

  “Sugar, please,” he says, voice straining. “If I stay, I risk having an accident. I’m about to do myself an injury as it is.” He makes a pointed glance to his crotch and I can see his distress.

  “Here, allow me.” In seconds I have him on his feet with his pants down and my hand cupping his crotch. He looks down at me in surprise. Looking him straight in the eyes, I lick my lips. I’m going to enjoy this. He’s going to enjoy it. He swallows again, his breath expelling hard and fast from flared nostrils.

  “Evadne,” he groans, like a soul in torment as my lips make contact.

  I hold his cock with both hands. He is rock hard. I won’t be able to deep-throat him. That would take practice, lots and lots of practice. He plunges his fingers into the depths of my hair as I give his cock a gentle tug and trace the network of throbbing veins with my tongue.

  Down, down, down the shaft I go and into the short curly hairs that tickle my nose at the base. I bury my face there, inhaling his spicy scent. The tip of his cock pushes between the plush pillows of my breasts, which I cup with my hands and squeeze, trapping his cock inside as I nuzzle.

  Jared upgrades his caress to pawing. I continue licking his base before pulling my head back slightly.

  “Don’t leave me this way,” I moan, close enough for my breath to feel cool against the moist skin of his erection. His cock twitches. I position myself and slowly enclose my lips around the head of it, relishing the girth as my mouth takes him in as far as it can. Again, he sucks his breath through his teeth and groans.

  Tongue swirling, jaw pumping, I make sounds of contentment. He is my feast. I’m in heaven, and from the sounds he’s making, I’m sure he feels closer too.

  “Eva-ah-ahh—yes! God— damn , work your mouth, just like that.”

  I continue for as long as my jaw allows and his cock has grown to maximum capacity. He holds my head in place and thrusts forward, but I keep focused so as not to gag. Instead, I wrap my hands around his firm thighs urging for more. I want it all.

  “Jesus, your mouth feels so good. So wet . . . so fucking wet.”

  He falls silent, gaining force. I look up and see his eyes are closed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his face contorted. I’ve seen that look before at The DeLuxe. He’s going to come.

  He can’t see my Cheshire grin as I continue. With his cock thoroughly lubricated, I move away as a pearly tear drops from its eye.

  “Aw,” I coo, rubbing his cock against my cheek. “Don’t
cry. You’re breaking my heart. Eva’s gonna make it better.”

  “Evadne,” he growls. “You’re killing me. Let me come. Please, I’ve got to.”

  “Not yet, you don’t.” I squeeze the base of his cock, making him grit his teeth. “You still have that plane to catch?”

  He can’t articulate a response.

  Putting my forefinger in my mouth to get it wet, I prepare to make him come so hard that if I don’t blow his mind, I’m wasting my time.

  “I can’t hear you, Jared. Do you still have to catch that flight?”

  In an amazing show of self-control, he exhales slowly through clenched teeth. “Sugar, I have to.” He shudders again. “Eva, darlin’, please. Let me—”

  With only seconds to spare, I take a swig of Asti from my glass. I release his cock and slowly slip my moistened forefinger through the slightly relaxed ring of his ass before enveloping his penis with a mouthful of liquid effervescence.

  Never in all my life have I heard sounds from a man like the ones coming out of Jared as he explodes inside my mouth. It’s part groan, part cry, part curse, but all orgasm. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s in pain. Maybe he is.

  Eyes closed, I concentrate on keeping my finger up his ass and my mouth around his cock drinking my cocktail and purring like the contented black pussy I am.

  “Aw, fuck !”

  Another spurt shoots to the back of my throat. Some of it dribbles past my lips and trickles down his shaft, but I’m quick to go after it. I want to swallow all of his excitement. I want everything he can give and more before I’ll let him go. Finally, I take my mouth away.

  “Gonna leave me, lover?” I push my finger even deeper inside his clenched ass, making him thrust.

  His labored breathing sounds as if he just ran a marathon and I fear his legs may buckle. And although his cock is spent, I see enough life left in him that I’m smiling with expectation. He sighs, caressing my head, his thumbs glide down my cheekbones.