by Louisa Trent
“Okay,” he said, getting it together; on the Southside, fear was not something a man ever showed. “I'm glad to hear the gangs are cool with the music teacher. That's the good news. The bad news is, the dealers are obviously not cool with her in that house.”
“What do you want the RP's to do?”
“Keep your noses clean, first of all, and keep up the good work. Run the grounds at the Monroe mansion at night, like usual. Maybe I can find an excuse to stay close to the music teacher...”
“Excuse? Turn on the Latino charisma, man, and she'll ask you to move your boots under her bed.”
“It's not like that, Enrico.”
“So, maybe you ain't fucking her yet-you can still hang with her, can still get it goin’ .”
“I've got no designs on the pretty teacher. But until I can shake her loose from that house, she's my responsibility.”
Tomas flashed the young man a smile, and changed the subject. “How's your old man liking his new job over at the site?”
“He likes it fine. My mama, though, now she thinks you walk on water.”
Tomas laughed. “And I could too, if I did the walking on the river; it's that polluted.” Refusing to give into discouragement, he said, “That will all change soon enough.” He paused, then, “How'd you like to get with your father? Have a real job. Make some real money.”
“Someday, maybe. Right now, I wanna stay tight with the boys. They depend on me to keep them together. And outta trouble.”
“You're doing a fine job on that score. The R.P's haven't had a single gang related bust in six months.”
Enrico blushed. “What can I say? I do what I can.”
Tomas grabbed the R.P.'s leader around the shoulders in a blood hug, then clapped his back. “You're a good man, Enrico.”
“ Te veo mas tarde, guey.”
“Ay Te Watcho. See you at the center. Si?”
Night was falling fast, and at ‘Rico's nod, Tomas slipped back into the comforting twilit shadows.
After just telling ‘Rico he had no intention of getting’ it goin’ with the pretty gringa teacher, he knew he couldn't stay away. It wasn't only a question of her safety, or the fact that her back porch was littered with glass; it was the way she'd looked at him that was drawing him back to her. There'd been such need in her eyes. Earlier, her mixed signals had puzzled him, but there was nothing mixed about her raw and naked look after that window had shattered. How could he refuse that look?
He couldn't refuse, not and still call himself a man. It didn't matter shit that he was a substitute, a fill-in for a dead man; the lady was hurtin’ and he had to be there for her.
Tomas didn't bother to knock on the rusted screen door.
Stepping over the shards of glass that littered the porch, he entered the kitchen. When he didn't find her there, he headed for the back of the dark house, searching each room he passed for Sera.
Even without lights, he could tell the condition of those rooms he passed was poor to dangerous. Loose wires hung out of walls in rooms where there were still walls standing. There were holes the size of craters in the floors. Forget about the ceilings. In most rooms, he could see straight up through the joists to the attic above.
It looked like the kitchen was the only room that still had power. The house had never been updated, which meant somewhere down in the dirt cellar was a fuse box. If he could find a fuse that fit, he could rig it up so she'd at least have electricity in some of the other rooms too. He was surprised she even had running water. Cold water, to be sure. No way, ese, did the old hot water boiler still work. What had he gotten himself into here?
He should have himself committed for ever thinking he could turn this old hulk of a house around-
Tomas sighed. The fuses would get fixed first, and that was as in tomorrow. Sera wasn't staying in a dark house another night. Just eight o'clock, and except for a small flickering light coming from the end of the hall, it was already pitch black in the house.
Following the light, Tomas came to an open door.
The bathroom. Sera, wearing only a white bra and white panties, stood in front of the sink; the flickering light he'd followed was a candle perched on the closed toilet seat.
Pretty Sera by candlelight. There wasn't nothing more romantic than that.
Slouched against the doorjamb, his eyelids gone heavy, Tomas watched her
move a wrung-out washcloth down the long column of her pale throat. She shivered a little, telling him, that as he had suspected, the heater was busted and the water in the sink was cold.
She'd already shampooed. To get her wet hair out of the way while she bathed, she'd piled the thick golden-brown mass atop her head and pinned it there with sticks that were decorated. Geisha sticks, he guessed. A few tendrils had escaped, though, and the ends tickled her fine ass. Lucky hair.
Tomas liked that Sera's hair had a mind of its own, liked that it was wild and unruly, liked the weighty look of it, the length of it, liked the old-fashioned quality of hair that must never have been cut. Not many women these days had long, natural-looking hair, he mused. He wanted to undo those exotic painted sticks and set her hair free, watch it ripple down the naked length of her pale back-
He wouldn't be releasing her hair. He wouldn't be touching her at all. Filthy as he was, covered in plaster, reeking of sweat, his skin bloodied, his dirty hands weren't going anywhere near her.
But that didn't mean he couldn't look.
Her arms were slender and elegantly graceful; her legs were long, the thighs sleek; her tits, he already knew, were dainty-small.
Trailing his sights down Sera's spine to the flare of her hips, Tomas checked out the full-cheeked sexiness of her ass.
In the white cotton briefs, the demarcation between her buttocks was a shadowed gorge, a deep and narrow passage a man would want to explore.
Sera had just lost her husband, a man she had loved, and she was hurtin'. That's why she came on to him the way that she did after the window had shattered. For her own safety, he had to make sure, that in her need, she didn't go around issuing that same invitation to other guys. Picking up strange men was damn dangerous. He wasn't the only bad-ass living on the Southside; they're were many more just like him, some of them worse.
Tomas knew he could take care of Sera sexually. He wanted to take care of her sexually. He knew he could satisfy her. At least with him, she'd be safe. So, yeah, he could take some of her hurtin’ away, but she had to know what she was getting into before they started anything. He had to make her understand what kind of man he was.
“Unhook the bra so I can see your tits,” he said, purposefully crude. Because, hey, crude was what he was. Better she learn that up front.
“Tomas!” she gasped, slanting a startled look over at him up.
He read the fear in her green eyes.
What woman wouldn't be fearful?
It was obvious he'd been spying on her, indulging in a little voyeurism at her expense. The question was...would she indulge him some more? Or was she just too nice for that sort of thing?
“Unless-did I read you all wrong, Sera? Unless, that wasn't an invitation you were issuing me on the porch an hour or so ago? You gotta let me know, because Sera, honey, regardless of what you might have heard, I don't do rape. If that's your nice woman's sex fantasy, you'll have to find yourself another hombre to act it out. If this ain't consensual, it stops here.”
“It's consensual, Tomas,” she said softly. “I'm merely surprised. I-I didn't think you'd bother with me. I-I didn't think I was your usual type of woman.”
“Hell, no, you're not my usual type of woman!”
Her grammar was too good, for one thing. No woman he'd ever been with talked like her, looked like her, acted like her.
“Let's not talk, Sera,” he said, not liking the reminder of the differences between them. “We get in trouble when we try to make the other understand where we're coming from. So, I'm just gonna tell you what I want you to do, and Sera
, honey, I expect you to do it, no questions asked, no arguments.”
All big-eyed and solemn, she nodded. Her arms went behind her back, her fingers undoing the bra fastener.
She'd had one bitch of a day. He could make it better for her, wipe all the bad stuff away. He could do it, as long as they didn't talk, explain their motives, make some sense out of something that made no sense at all. He already knew they didn't belong together, that there was no way to make this right. Words weren't gonna change that. She was too good for him. End of story.
Taking a step toward the candle, Tomas blew out the flame. The room was cast into total darkness.
He wouldn't be touching Sera tonight. He wouldn't be seeing her either. Those were rights that didn't belong to him.
In his imagination, though, that was different. In his mind's eye, he saw her wiggle her shoulders. Pictured those ugly white straps falling down her slender arms. Envisioned her breasts. Man, her nipples! He knew they'd be a fucking work of art.
Tomas understood the true meaning of torture when he heard the bra's metal clasp hit the floor.
“Christ,” he whispered, “you're beautiful.”
“Beautiful? You can't see me,” she argued.
Always so logical! Always so argumentative. Which is why he'd ordered her to silence, an order she'd naturally ignored.
“You are beautiful, Sera. Very beautiful. Your breasts are round and high, the color of cream. And the tips-” He swallowed. “What shade are your nipples, beautiful Sera? Tell me.”
He listened, smiling when her heard the lift and fall of her shrug. “Why, I suppose they're pink. And there's no reason to charm me. I've already agreed to this. I agree to everything.”
Charm her? He was only speaking the truth. Sera was beautiful! Her husband had to have told her so-
Filing his confusion away, Tomas said, “So—your nipples are pink. Are they rose pink or carnation pink? You're good with words, describe them to me.”
“Tomas!” she cried.
He ignored her prissiness. “They're a rose at dusk, aren't they? Lovely and sweet.”
He wished he could see them, touch them, kiss them...suckle them. But this wasn't about his wishes; this was about her need.
“Now don't go all shy and cover ‘em up,” he chuckled, anticipating her move.
In the small room, the heavy air stirred. Sera was shaking her head in exasperation, a habit of hers.
“How did you know I was about to do that?” she asked.
Her tone contained irritation. He liked the way Sera looked when she was pissed. He liked that flash of anger that came into her eyes, every once in a while. Made her seem human, more approachable. It was tough having a hard-on for an angel.
“A man knows,” he said simply. “Now, take down your hair.”
The perfumed scent filled the air as soon as she did.
“Pick up the washcloth again,” he said, imagining the way her dainty tits shifted as she reached for the sink.
He'd had blue balls since they met. He'd been aching since the window broke, in pain since her soft ass had cradled his cock. He was getting to the desperate point. How much more could he take?
Agony. He was in fucking agony.
This hurt. Not touching her hurt. He wanted to fill his hands with her, wanted to get inside her. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. Sera wasn't any ordinary good-times woman and this wasn't about them having an ordinary good-times fuck. This was about showing her that he was not the kind of man she ever should have encouraged. This was about teaching her a hard lesson about a hard man. This was about keeping her safe from men just like him.
“Do what you were doing before I interrupted,” he told her, the command coming out a hoarse croak, his vocal cords mimicking the tightness in his balls.
She shook her head again, he could tell. He could also tell that she wanted this, that she wanted to do this, that she was excited by his demand.
The cloth made a splash in the water-filled sink.
“Do they ache?” he asked, leaning his skull back against the doorjamb, imagining that cloth sliding over the firm slope of a breast.
“Do what ache?”
How could she be so fucking innocent?
“Your nipples!” he rasped. “Do they hurt?”
“Yes,” she answered, uncompromising in her honesty.
Good! He was hurting; he wanted her to hurt too.
“Do it again, only rub harder,” he said, his voice just as uncompromising.
Sera had been married to a good man, a missionary man; she didn't know nothin’ about a hard man's kind of fucking. For her own good, she was about to get a taste.
“I said harder, Sera. Rub the cloth back and forth over the points until they burn.”
When a surprised “Oh” crossed the space that separated them, his throat arched and worked.
“Again,” he ordered. “Do it again. Keep doing it ‘til I tell you to stop.”
“Ohdear-ohdear,” he heard her gasp.
“Drop the wash cloth and pinch your nipples,” he said thickly.
The cloth splashed as the cloth fell back into the water-filled sink. Sera breathed in little pants as she did what he told her to do.
His knees went weak. “Harder! Use your nails.”
When she hit the wall, when she was moaning, too far gone in her need to refuse him, he said, “Drop your panties.”
The underwear made a fluttery sound as it fell to the tile floor.
His voice was terse, low...tortured. “Get your knee up on the tub, facing me.”
The bathtub was an antique: cast iron, claw-foot. Once her knee was propped up on the high side, her pussy would be wide open. Dark room or not, a nice woman like Sera would still feel exposed.
A small shuffling sound, as a shapely leg was raised.
His hands fisted at his sides. A sharp knife came out of nowhere and twisted in his gut.
So this was what being noble felt like. He had to say he didn't much care for it. “You know what I want.”
“I-I'm sorry. I d-d-don't know,” she stammered.
He frowned. Did she take him for a fool?
“Please tell me what you want me to do,” she pleaded.
“I want you to-”
Shit! He'd never been in this kind of situation before. Never had to explain, never had to say anything. Always before, the women understood.
Sera didn't understand.
He searched for the right words, then started all over again. “I want you to pleasure yourself. Take it nice and slow. One finger to start, two to finish up.”
“Inside my vagina?” she asked.
Tomas felt himself go hot. “Yeah. That.”
He had her figured for using the correct terminology. Still, he had to say, he was shocked by the V-word. Why was it that pussy sounded a lot more user friendly?
When he could hear the wet sounds her honey made as her fingers moved in and out, his cock jumped.
“Work your clit,” he demanded.
“Mmm,” she murmured after a while.
A while that was too long by his estimation, telling him Sera didn't go solo any too often.
Her breath caught, was released, caught again; Sera was about two strokes away from the final curtain, but he sensed she was holding back, resisting the standing ‘O'.
He liked pussy. He liked watching a woman's face when she came. Right as it was happening, there was this incredible radiance that came over a woman's features. Sometimes, when body met mind, it was almost metaphysical.
Metaphysical. That was a word he had to look up in Webster's. He did that a lot when he was reading. He could tell by listening to her that Sera read a lot too.
Sera was so beautiful. She'd be even more beautiful when she came. It was a real sacrifice not seeing her face when it happened.
But this was for her, not for him, he reminded himself, as he said those fateful words, “Come, Sera.”
“I...I...don't... think I can.”
Sometimes, orgasm was metaphysical; other times, it all came down to mechanics.
Some women could get off on clit stimulation alone; others needed that little extra something, like help from a battery-operated devise. Looked to him like Sera fell into the latter category. Where was a vibrator when a guy needed one?
Tomas left his position by the door, walked to the closed toilet lid and grabbed the white candle from its holder, tested the wax.
Cool to the touch. It looked like it had started out at a foot, but it had burned down some. It was nice and firm, though. Thick too.
Not as thick as his cock, but hey, life wasn't perfect. Since it couldn't be him, the candle would have to do.
“Here,” he said, matter-of-factly.
He held the candle out to her, making sure their fingers didn't touch in transit.
“Use it like a dildo. And Sera, don't hold back. I better damn well know when it happens.”
She cried out in the darkness, a pained kind of cry.
He tensed. “What's wrong?”
“N-nothing. “I just never-uh-used a candle in quite this way before.”
Chuckling to himself, he relaxed again.
Sera's pussy sounded like warm honey as the candle slid up inside. She was so wet-
“Oh, Tomas,” she gasped, as she got down to it. “Oh, Tomas-Oh, Tomas,” she screamed.
He pressed both thumbs into his eye sockets. “That's right, baby. Let it roll over you, let it sweep you away. It's what you need-”
He could hear her spasm, could feel her writhe and shake and finally go taut. Sweat drained down his face, between his shoulder blades. “I'm here, baby. I'm here. Don't fight it.”
When she convulsed, he lost it too, shattering right along with her. He hadn't done that since he was sixteen.
Humiliated by his loss of control, disturbed by what it meant, feeling like he'd been sucker punched, he stared wildly into the darkness, seeking a hint of her, a sign of her, any fucking indication of her, in the pitch-black room.
He couldn't. All was quiet on her side of the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She spoke low; second thoughts had crept into her voice. “Yes.”
