Tastes Like Chocolate: A Red Hot Valentine Story

by Graylin Rane

  Tastes Like Chocolate:

  A Red Hot Valentine Story

  By

  Graylin Rane

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  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Red Hot Valentine: Tastes Like Chocolate

  Copyright 2014 by Graylin Rane

  ISBN: 978-0-9899610-2-8

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Graylin Rane at Smashwords

  Chapter One

  “Don’t worry about my ex. Her relationship is with that statue.”

  My ex-fiancé’s voice trailed off as he and his latest mark left my store. Taking a deep breath, the twinge of pain at his betrayal nipped at my heart. Less than before; now it bubbled, surrounded by relief.

  At least my Adonis statue didn’t sleep with all but one of my friends.

  Angie cursed behind me. “Vivi, I can still shoot him for you. Just because you used years of sculpting education and experience to etch the most perfect body ever, doesn’t mean your pudgy ex has to take it personally.” She laughed while pacing with anger.

  I checked myself in the mirror. I’d pulled my shoulder-length brown hair back in a sloppy ponytail and slipped my size fourteen body into baggy jeans and a smock. The streaks of chocolate on my clothes made me look dirty. I didn’t care, much.

  I’d long grown used to the strange looks. I’m large in the Midwest. In South Florida, I’m a whale in need of a good strip mall doctor visit. Moving here after my thirtieth birthday meant I’d decided who I was, liked her, and wasn’t going to change to fit the surroundings. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have days where I envied the women on the beach. The ones whose boobs and ass didn’t care how powerful gravity was; they always pointed to the sky!

  “I did make him perfect.” I’d gotten an A in penises during anatomy class.

  “Everywhere.” Angie licked her lips while looking at his crotch. “For him, I’d give a blowjob a week.”

  Her husband was limited to four a year: his birthday, New Year’s Eve, their anniversary, and one random day of his choice.

  She stroked the statue’s perfect ass. “I would even leave George for a Greek god.”

  I doubted it. Angie and George met in high school. We got stuck in the most boring history class ever. The three of us sat in the back trying to stay awake. It was the 90’s. Life was different. We wore gobs of eye shadow, hair spray that could protect you from head injury, and music that made white people think they could dance, me included.

  Adonis was the god of life, death, and rebirth. I needed a do over. So I made him.

  At thirty-four years old, I was single again. My fiancé, Rick, slept with the entire wedding party in a week and then kept coming around to rub his latest conquest in my face.

  At the second to last fitting for my dress, one of my bridesmaids, still drunk from the night before, blurted out my fiancé hated the pictures of my dress she’d shown him. I wished I’d had lasers for eyes; they would’ve bounced off the mirrors, striking her dead where she wobbled.

  The silence in the room shattered when the dress fitter, a friend of mine, yelled, “You fucking bitch!” while throwing sewing needles at her.

  The rest of the day became a blur. I called him. He didn’t deny it. Angie took care of the rest. She even intercepted wedding gifts, sending them back without my knowledge. My great aunt told me when hers arrived with “Groom screwed the bridesmaids. Thank you for your generosity” written across it in red pen.

  That was a month ago. A week before the life-sized chocolate block showed up. This client wanted one thing. “Please sculpt a man. He needs to be well endowed with chiseled abs and a nice ass.”

  That was it. The block was delivered frozen and I had to sculpt it that way to keep him from melting all over the front of the store. I’d had a refrigerated area in the back installed years ago. Must’ve eaten a good two to three pounds of shavings; my bonus for the work.

  Angie’s breathing filled the room. She stood in front of him licking her lips.

  “Okay, you have to go before you bite it off.”

  “You have to taste it. One lick. So you can say you did it. You can fix it later.” Her words lingered behind her as she left.

  The gallery door jingled open and voices drifted back to me. Focusing on the work, I couldn’t pull my eyes off the body in front of me. I’d given him short hair with a slight swoosh to the front. Clipped brows framed his large eyes. I needed to work on his cheeks. No man had angled cheekbones; they only existed in romance novels.

  The one on my nightstand had sex scenes I didn’t think were humanly possible. My imagination got away with me. Running my hands over his face, I could almost feel warmth under there. A quick intake a breath told me I wasn’t alone.

  “I’ve seen that look before.” Angie’s voice carried a tinge of laughter.

  “Okay, I’m tempted. Who wouldn’t be?” The hair stood up on the back of my neck, like I’d been caught masturbating by my mother. The harsh defensiveness audible in my tone, softening I asked her, “Who was at the door?”

  “Someone delivering another note.” She handed me an envelope.

  There was gold dust inside with a card.

  “Sprinkle this on your sculpture, make sure to cover every body part. Then, the magic will begin,” I read aloud. “It doesn’t say when it will be picked up.”

  “Or if you’ll be paid. Remember, if a sculpture is left in your shop for more than a week unclaimed, it becomes the property of Viviana’s Sculpture and Home Décor.” She stated the store policy beautifully stenciled on the front windows.

  It would take up half my cold room. I noticed a few places he needed touching up as I inspected his calves. Grabbing my shapers, I started to accentuate his musculature. This man was going to be a dream. I thought of every body builder I’d photographed as I gave him the form it took him or her years to perfect. Lost in my work, I barely acknowledged Angie as she headed home to her husband and kids.

  Adonis was beautiful; everything my ex wasn’t, physically. I knew every curve. At night, alone, he was the fantasy keeping me company. I lived on the second floor. Upstairs, after my nightly shower, I swear I could smell hot chocolate. It fed the dreams where Adonis comes to life, pledges his undying love to me, and then makes love to me for hours.

  I’d completed my three stages of relationship grief—cake, alcohol, and depression. The chocolate god before me was the first thing I sculpted when I returned to work, a six foot two milk chocolate dream. At five foot four, I had to keep a step stool nearby to work on his shoulders and head.

  A few hours were left before I closed when I went to work on his head. The bell over the door would alert me should anyone show up. Rare to have customers this late in January, most of my work being ordered for Christmas. T
he past six weeks proved very profitable. I wouldn’t need to sell anything else until the next holiday season.

  On the stool, leaning over his face, I started perfecting his hair. I used a sewing needle for the finest lines. Uneven hair in places made it look more realistic. I’d seen too many bad weaves on the beach. Perfect rows of hair didn’t exist in nature.

  “Okay, Adonis, you’re perfect. Now, I’m going to bed. If you want to make your creator very happy, feel free to come to life and join me.” I laughed as I sprinkled his entire body with the gold dust.

  It wouldn’t fit into all areas of his crotch, so I rubbed it on my fingers and gently tapped it between his balls, over his penis, and all of the shaded places. It was more erotic for me than it should’ve been. Embarrassed at how turned on I was, I pulled the cover over him.

  The front of the store was silent. Faces of mothers and daughters I’d known looked at me from cherubs and small ornaments. I loved doing that work. Every family member should have a small sculpture ornament. It was my most popular item, and the reason I didn’t have to worry about money this year. Online sales hit the millions worldwide. I started taking orders in June and closed them by Halloween to guarantee holiday delivery. January’s slow sales weren’t a worry for me. Which was good; I wasn’t sure I could deal with large crowds yet.

  The street was quiet as I lowered the gate, locking up for the night. Mrs. Gonzalez across the way waved, blowing kisses. She’d taken me into her family when I’d moved a thousand miles from my own. She tried to teach me how to cook Cuban food. I didn’t think I could do worse than I did with Middle American fare. I was wrong. She politely banned me from the kitchen. The next day, she stopped by and ordered three Mother and Child statues for her sisters still in Cuba. I used colored clay to make sure no paint would ever flake off. Angie’s sister owns a ceramic shop and fired them for her.

  We’d been close ever since. She introduced me to Cuban coffee. Two cups of that and I could work for twelve hours. I was addicted, happily. The solid wooden stairs creaked a little I as went up to bed. The shower heated up the chocolate streaks on my arms and hands. It felt like bathing in a cocoa mist.

  I was white, winter freaking white. The kind of white skin that gets sunburned sitting next to a window. Everything looked good. No new bruises from bumping into things, which happens often. Hopping into my satin pajamas, I turned on the evening news to see if I’d missed anything.

  My cell phone, always on mute, buzzed around on the bedside table. Angie.

  “This better be good, I’m thinking of going running on the beach so I can look as tiny as the meteorologist.”

  “Shut up. Those women don’t get cake. Pity them, don’t fear them.” She laughed.

  I wondered if other places had entire news teams hotter than lingerie models. “What’s up?”

  She got quiet for a few moments. “George wants you to come over for Valentine’s Day.”

  “So I can be the odd woman out? No thanks.”

  “He has a friend.”

  Oh shit. “No, Angie. Not going to happen. Uh uh. No how.” I sputtered. How could she even call with this request and not eviscerate him for the suggestion?

  “Vivi, don’t lose your shit. He means well. You know he thinks of you as his baby sister. He wouldn’t set you up with anyone he didn’t approve of.”

  “Making sure he can kick their ass if they screw up?”

  “Well, yeah. He is small enough for George to take him. Kids, quiet. I’m talking to Aunt Vivi.”

  I heard the kids in the background, all four of them younger than six, with the twins’ third birthday coming up soon. In unison, they cried, “Hello, Aunt Vivi!”

  I loved those kids. There were days after the breakup when I took them to the beach. Sitting in the waves with toddlers and one five-year-old going on forty, digging holes, made me feel better.

  “Angie, I’m not sure I’m ready to meet anyone right now.”

  “Vivi, at some point you need to get out there again. Our kids need to grow up together.”

  No pressure, Angie. “Don’t push.” I didn’t push back much. This time, I needed to. Reminding me I was five years behind on kid production didn’t help anything, even if she meant well.

  “Okay, I’ll explain it to George.”

  I hung up the phone feeling worse. Making art, I excelled at. Men, as I’d repeatedly proven, weren’t in my skill set. Mindless reality television took me away while I yelled back at the idiocy on screen. Rolling over to turn off the lights, the clock said it was midnight. In eight hours, I’d be back downstairs with my Adonis.

  Chapter Two

  The alarm sounded muffled. Why was it ringing in the forest? I pulled another arrow from my quiver. Pulling it tight, I aimed, hitting the target in the center. The crowd roared. Even the Prince smiled at me. He was tall, blond, built, and looking at me, short, slightly clumsy, me. The King sneered at him. Just as he was going to tell his father where to stick convention and ask for my hand, the ringing started, again.

  Dammit. I rolled over reaching for the alarm. I didn’t want to move so much that I lost the dream. Swinging for the snooze bar, I missed landing on the floor.

  “Well, not the best way to wake up.” I ran a mental check of my body. Nothing seemed to be hurt. I’d say my ego was, but after years of intense, fully engrossed dreams, I’d given up on morning embarrassment.

  Making the bed started my day. In the bathroom mirror, my hair looked post-electrocuted. My leave-in conditioning mist calmed down the frizz so I could get the brush through it. The faint smell of chocolate hung in the air.

  I made coffee and eggs. Each day was the same in the morning. Even after Rick and I became engaged, the routine didn’t change. He didn’t like sleeping above the statues downstairs, so we’d stayed at his place.

  That made me laugh. It might’ve been the perfect bodies made him feel self-conscious. Something Angie brought up often. I saw an arrogant man with enough confidence for a football team. She said he was trying to cover up insecurities. One evening class in psychology and she became an expert.

  Downstairs, the world was awake. Mrs. Gonzalez stood outside her café chatting with the customers at the outdoor tables. She waved as I opened up my gate.

  “Morning, Viviana!” She shouted across the small street.

  “Good Morning, Mrs. Gonzalez. Breakfast business brisk today?”

  “Yes, my dear. Full of life, love, and family.” She said the same thing every day.

  I heard a familiar voice from down the road. No, not today, I didn’t want to see him two days in a row. I went back inside, put on my apron, and opened the refrigerated section door.

  Adonis stood tall and proud in front of me. “Why can’t you come to life and kick that asshole back to Minnesota? Just once, I’d like a man to defend my honor.”

  Gold light emanated from the statue. Like each spot of dust on his body held a focused beam of light. The smell of hot chocolate filled the air, making my full stomach growl in response.

  I backed up. Checking the front door, I saw my ex peek but keep moving. Thank the gods.

  The light filled the room. I held my forearm in front of my eyes, trying to see while not getting blinded. A moaning sound bounced off the metal walls. I wasn’t alone in the room any longer. I should be afraid. My brain yelled run, Vivi, run. Standing there, my heart thudded in my chest. Thumping against my ribcage. Reaching behind me, I grabbed a carving knife as the light began to fade.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Catholic upbringings never fade, no matter how hard you try.

  “No, you named me Adonis.”

  The statue spoke. Whoa, with a velvety voice.

  “Uh…” I tingled in all sorts of wonderful places.

  “You are Viviana?” His eyes were a honey gold color.

  I nodded. My creation was speaking to me. His body was smooth, caramel-colored with light black pubic hair. Oh! I looked up quickly.

  “You’re proud of your
work?”

  His smile told me he was.

  “Yes, of course I am.” Well, that was harsh. “Sorry, I mean. You’re chocolate. Not real.”

  He reached out to me. “You sprinkled the gold dust on me, correct?”

  A bell went off in my head. I cringed until the ringing faded. “Yes. You are from my Aunt?” I had an Aunt my mother referred to as “the crazy one.” She was a practicing Wiccan. I tended to believe what worked. Aunt Lily had spells that worked.

  “No, I’m from you.”

  My fantasies screeched to a halt. “From me?”

  “You wished me into being. Now, whose ass do you want me to kick?” His grin told me he’d heard more than that.

  “How much did you hear?” The embarrassed heat crept up my neck, covering my face and ears.

  He walked over, leaning in to kiss me. His arms slid around my waist in one quick motion. I put my hands up to push him away and felt hot, smooth, skin with a palpable heartbeat. What the hell? At this point, who was I to argue with fate? I kissed him back. Slow, deep kisses led to him licking my lips.

  He tasted like chocolate! I swayed as he pulled me into his body. The penis I’d sculpted so carefully stood rigid between us. His hands rested on my waist, thumbs circling. I ran my hands over his shoulders, up as far as I could reach. His hair was soft, and slightly curly. That was my thought when I carved it but it’s difficult to do. At that moment, I couldn’t remember if I’d done it at all.

  His mouth trailed down my cheek, leaving light kisses as he made his way to my neck to that one spot just behind my ears that made me whimper, pulsing with want for him. My breath grew rapid as he drew closer, licking under my chin, slowly moving to the side. The desire pulled a moan from my lips; if this was a dream, leave me here, forever.

  He found the spot. My hand moved to the back of his head, pushing him harder into my neck. Soft circles with his tongue set off twinges of desire between my legs. I wanted to pull him down on top of me, but resisted. Whoever, whatever, this man was, he knew what he was doing.