Femme Noir (19 page)

“Listen. An owl!” She pretended not to notice that I was nearly on top of her. I moved back to my seat, resigned to letting it not be tonight.

“Isn’t that a bad omen?” I grunted, irritably draining my glass. Ice clogged my nose.

“No, just the opposite. Good fortune.” Max’s face was innocent and childlike as the lamp of her smile shone into my face. I was taken aback, not expecting any level of naïveté from this wily seductress. She smiled, staring into the gathering dark, listening raptly to the gentle coos. I concentrated on relaxing now that I wasn’t going to get any booty. Why had she called me here? Come quick, I’ve got to tell you no. Come now, I must tease you for hours and reject you. What had she wanted of me enough to give Sloane the message? Was it to bring me close and keep me at arm’s length? If there were games, I expected to be the only player and master of the situation.

“Why did you call me here?” I asked sleepily, sinking into exhaustion.

“Thought you might like a home-cooked meal,” she said. I burst into belly laughs, Max joining in.

“You look like a happy seal,” she said.

“I am.” I grinned.

“Care for some coffee?” She rose, streaming water, and walked to a nearby table where a pot and two glasses sat. “Ruby made it for me about an hour before you came. It takes a while to brew, then I drink it over ice.”

“You had Ruby—who’s Ruby—make it for you a while ago? And you weren’t waiting for me?” I teased, remaining in the tub. Through Max’s wet things, I could see it all: the continental shelf of her great, heart-shaped behind, the adorable almond bulge of belly, the triangle of pubic hair, the salmon areolas and even the pinpoints of hard nipple. I leaned back and spread my legs. My hand stroked my cunt, feeling a slick wetness not from the water. I stroked my pussy and swollen clit, wanting to come here in front of Max, in this hot tub, groaning into the inky throat of night.

I wanted her to watch. To begin to ache as I did and to be forced to see me cry out and come. Max’s skin would have a fiery fever flush as she crept closer to me. I pictured her approaching me, aroused and ready, straddling me, proudly riding me naked, her breasts swinging and bouncing. Max reaching to pinch and stroke my berry-brown nipples and me losing two long fingers into her ravenous red cunt; Max inhaling sharply with passion and relief for finally being fucked right and filled up all the way, just as she had always needed, I would be the
best,
as she moaned it into my ear. I would grab a breast with my free hand and tell her to ride, ride some more. Her hips and ass would churn a tidal wave in the hot tub. She would shriek and grind and utterly open herself to me. I would be buried up to my wrist in her coral cunt. I would savor that vision: my black fingers fucking this sweet white rose pussy. Then she would lean back and touch me…

“Ruby is my maid” was all Max would say. “Iced coffee with melted ice? Of course you could go fetch fresh.” She pretended not to notice my activity, if she could even see it in the dark, so I reluctantly stopped, deciding again that waiting just might be sweeter.

“That’s Vietnamese coffee,” I exclaimed, closing my legs with a little regret and settling my breath. “That’s like drinking a Jolt and a candy bar.”

She rolled her eyes and licked her wine-colored lips. “Yes, it is. I love it. I have a couple pots of this a day. On bad days, more.”

“Count me out. I need my sleep. That shit is industrial.”

“Okay, then. I’ll pass too.” She licked the spoon, put it back on the tray, and reentered the tub with a shiver.

I picked up her empty glass and noticed her lip prints. I placed my own mouth over her prints and tilted the glass to capture the ice. I sucked on her gin-scented cubes, fantasizing what she would like to do with this ice all over her slippery wet body. Between her hot skin, the hot water, and my hot mouth, the ice would be a powerful, sizzling shock. Max would arch and gasp. I would brand her with it. And with my teeth. I imagined running my ice-filled mouth up her inner leg to her steaming cunt. There, I would take her slick, engorged clit in my mouth and suck it and the ice simultaneously, melting both. She would surrender everything. Her spine would become liquid, her limbs vapor, and her cunt jelly. I would smear my face with it, drink it and never stop until her coming was absolutely spent. I needed her to come in my face. I
needed
to cause it, to be with it so close. I needed her to buck on my tongue and our flesh, mine textured and hers smooth, to make mind-blowing friction.

I needed her grunts, sighs, and moans more than I ever needed any cigarette. There was a Max-shaped emptiness in my sex. I needed her to flood my face and claw my shoulders, but in the end, relax into it, pearly pink thighs falling wide, wider, wider still, to open and lift to it and take it all in at once and push it all out as she screamed, yes, Nora! Nora, Nora, Nora, fuck me; take me, Nora to the placid, sparkling black sky.

“What are you smiling about?” Max asked, dipping her head in the water, soaking her hair, which sodden, looked like russet curly satin snakes.

I shook my head, my cunt inflamed and throbbing. I desperately tried to think of a conversation topic. I never wanted to leave her, but I might have to or I would pass out from horniness. “I’m going to Reese and Lila’s for dinner tomorrow night.”

Three beats of surprised silence from Max. “Oh, really?” she asked coolly. “That should be interesting.”

I watched her, knowing femme language well. “How do you mean?”

“Just that. How did you meet to be invited to dinner? Who else is going? Is Sloane?” Max covered her petulance well.

“No, I’ll go by myself. We hooked up after the service at Queenie’s.”

“Oh…after the service. At Queenie’s. Did Sloane give you my message?” Max studied her toes.

“Yeah, I got it right away, but I had some stuff to take care of,” I said smoothly. Soothing femmes was a natural talent. “You’re not all mad at me, are you?” I sat next to her, curving her into an embrace. That surreal Amber nightmare never happened as far as I was concerned.

“No, certainly not. I wasn’t home most of the day after the funeral service. It’s good you came as late as you did.” Max sniffed, lifting her chin.

“Bullshit,” I said fondly, and with enormous discipline, moved back to my seat across from her. She was a skittish thoroughbred and I would earn her trust and let her set the pace. Then, before she knew it, she would be peacefully broken to my bridle and loving it. Just what I would do then, I never considered, as I was planning to accomplish this and be back in Los Angeles by the end of the week.

“You can let us both pretend that I’m not lying, if you would,” Max said candidly.

I laughed. I suddenly, unexpectedly, respected Max far more than a beauty and a conquest. “Ah, I could never do that, honey pot.”

She flicked water in my face. I splashed back. She shoved an armload of water on me, and I responded by taking a mouthful of water and spraying her with it. Indignant, she leaned back and kicked furiously, churning water all over me. To retaliate, I fell on her, stilling her kicks. I drew her out of the water and held her as high and as close as I could, pressing the length of my body into hers and pressing hers into my own with my arms that were wrapped around her in a tender stranglehold. We were dripping wet and breathing heavily. Her arms hung limply at her sides but I still clung, cradling her like a second skin. Max’s boxers and bra, see-through though they were, might as well have been chain mail. I was very conscious of my own nudity rubbing her clothes. We stared at each other for several moments. Finally, I bent my head to her neck, near her ear.

“Why don’t you let me make love to you?” I whispered hoarsely. “You’re using all these distractions, but we both want it. And we both need it so much.” I placed a feather-light kiss on her neck and suddenly her arms were tight around me. She was shaking. She was crying. Oh, my God, I’ve pushed her too far. I’ve ruined it!

“Max, Max, baby, come on, what is it, baby?” I rocked her gently. “I put too much pressure on you, didn’t I? I do that. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. Baby, I’m sorry.”

Max shook, weeping silently, not saying anything. I maneuvered us to sit and still held her, swaying and soothing. At last, she looked up with a sad but playful grin.

“No, no, it wasn’t you at all. It had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry you thought so.” Her smile widened. “It’s just…it’s just this Michelle thing. Just…I didn’t know her well…and that she was
murdered
just goes all through me. I feel scared myself as if more of us are in danger. Plus, I’ve been in shock about it for days now and I haven’t had a good cry in a while. It’s all so sudden and brutal and permanent. And then, when you took me in your arms, you were so tender and strong and I heard she was your ex and it all came at me at once and…” She shrugged, wiping her eyes and pulling her hair back. “Can you tell me about her? About yourself? About your experience in Tulsa? Let’s talk about something so I know you better.”

I sighed, relieved. No one here was as she first appeared. Sports was so much cleaner. “It’s getting late…”

“I know. Stay just a little longer?”

“Can we go in? I’m growing scales.”

“Sure, come on. Will you take me up on that coffee now?”

“Still no. But I’ll borrow a robe or a towel or something.”

“Of course you will. Come on.” She led the way into a mudroom. “Want a shower?”

“With you?” I grinned.

“No.” She batted her eyes. “But I’ll let you use my shower if you like and you can let your imagination run wild.”

“You’re heartless.”

“Not at all, just smart.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, I’ll have a rinse.”

“Okay. You take the master’s shower through there,” Max pointed, “and I’ll take the guest. Towels and soap are found in the usual places.” She disappeared.

I walked cautiously through the dimly lit home, weaving my way through rooms and furniture in the direction Max had indicated. At last, I was in the sanctum sanctorum—Max’s bedroom. I was
in
the very room I had spied on from the outside. I stepped back from the doorway into the hallway darkness. What if some other slobbering horndog butch was outside spying on Max now? I hit the light off and proceeded in shadow to the bathroom. Without light I couldn’t notice anything about the room, which was just as well, for the temptation to snoop was overpowering. The desire underneath that was to just slide in between the forbidden sheets and settle in. Shower and rejection be damned. Just to lie with Max. To share the night with her. To hear her breathe. To watch her sleep. I stubbed my toe on a chair and cursed juicily, thanking the chair for bumping me out of my asinine longings. This had never happened before. I had never wanted to watch someone sleep, for Christ’s sake. Usually, by the time sleep was at hand, I was so exhausted from sex that I was the first to sink into slumber. Let my bevy of homegirls watch me sleep if they wanted. I snorted. Watch Max sleep? Nigga, what are you thinking?

I cracked the bathroom door and felt for the light switch. The bathroom was lavish. All marble with ornate gold fixtures. There was a large whirlpool tub and an enormous glass and marble shower for two with six ominously large showerheads. One on each wall and two above. There was a mini-refrigerator in one corner. There were candles on every surface. Max even had a chaise lounge. There were more floor-to-ceiling glass windows, but instead of the street, they opened on to a private garden. Massive ferns hung in front of the transoms at the top perimeter of the room.

“This is
obscene.
” I shook my head, then smiled. “I would expect nothing less. This is a girl who loves her bath time.” I warily approached the shower and studied the knobs. “I don’t think I can operate that thing, but what the hell, I’ll try it.” I dropped my towel, startling myself by seeing dozens of my body multiplied in the wall of mirrors. The mirrored door was ajar at exactly the right angle to reproduce my image a hundredfold. I moved to correct it, but stopped, instead posing for a few minutes. I did a couple of raunchy dance moves, a couple of hot basketball court maneuvers, admired my tight butt, and then hiked my leg up, balancing my foot on a counter edge and spread my labia to get a good look at my pussy. Alice Walker wrote that a black cunt looked like a wet rose and I had never found a more apt description. A beautiful wet red rose, tens of them, all reflected back to me. What a sight!

I was suddenly self-conscious, dropped my leg, closed the door, and navigated the shower. The hot spray from all directions was invigorating. The gold clock on the wall said it was almost ten.

“What a hell of a day,” I moaned, sudsing myself. Once I finished, I put on a robe I found on the back of the door. Was it Max’s? I smelled it. I couldn’t tell. Or was it some lover’s who left it here? Or worse, was it some “guest lover” bathrobe Max kept for visitors? The style revealed nothing. It was plain, comfortable, and unisex.

Even though it was cool in the house, the wet air caused my skin to grow a sheet of damp.

“Oh, well, I’m in the robe now, that’s what matters,” I said as I belted it.

I found Max curled up in a cashmere robe on the sofa with her feet tucked underneath her. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she looked squeaky-clean.

“You have anything to eat?” I asked, patting my belly.

Max stretched languidly. “Sure, come on.” She turned on one of the lights on the bank of switches on the kitchen wall. Low-level recessed lighting gently warmed the dark. “What would you like?”