Sugar & Salt (16 page)

Caitrin dances across the stage as music plays, but the crowd doesn’t hear it. All sensory attention is focused through their eyes, except for the lucky few who have someone to grope under the table. She seduces the audience, removing her skirt and shirt until she wears only a pair of old fashioned, black, satin underwear with garters attached to her stockings. Her breasts are exposed to the bright lights, with only black, sequined pasties retaining the illusion of decorum.

She shimmies as the music reaches a crescendo, moving her shoulders back and forth with her arms extended as if inviting the crowd to join her. As she dances, assistants infiltrate the audience and pull people up on stage. The waitresses discreetly clear all the glasses and plates, and even some of the tables themselves.

Donovan returns to the stage and greets the dancers.

“You—” Caitrin points to Donovan. “—kiss me.”

The crowd loses control, screaming and stamping their feet.

Donovan raises one eyebrow, smiles, and grabs her. He puts his hands on her hips and Caitrin tips her head back, moaning as he licks her neck.

The music swells and changes from a saucy 1930s beat to modern tones, whipping the audience into a frenzy.

“Let’s dance!” she screams as the room plummets into darkness.

Tables are whisked away, along with any remaining chairs. Punk Ska music booms through the crowd, demanding movement from their bones.

Salt peers at Janice in the darkness. “You want to get out of here?”

“Yeah.”

Something a Little Salty

Salt’s large hands glide into place around her waist, and Janice falls back into his bare chest.

“I’ve missed you.” He kisses the side of her neck.

The touch of his hands burns against her hips. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”

He saunters back to the table and grabs his jacket, throwing it on over his bare chest.

She leads the way without needing to look back—she can sense him close behind like a crackle of electricity.

When they reach the velvet curtain, she turns and takes his hand. The dark hallway is empty.

After they pass the first tiny light, he pulls her into a kiss, bending down and bringing his warm lips to hers.

She breaks into a delicate laugh, offering no resistance as she steps back and brings her arms around his neck. Against the wall, she sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

He cups her breast as his tongue traces the line of her lips, and she moans as he lowers his other hand to her ass. He massages her body while his mouth works down the line of her neck.

“I’ve wanted to see you again.”

“Really?” He pulls back, and she rests her hands on his bare chest. For a moment, they stare at each other in the darkness, seeing all the things light can never reveal.

After a moment, she passes her thumb over his nipple and he catches his breath. She traces the lines of his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath. The lines of his suspenders bring her hands across his shoulders, around his back, and up his shoulder blades. With her arms wrapped around him, she pulls up to taste his skin—skin like taffy, sugar, and salt that mixes together in a delectable flavor. She pulls his flesh into her mouth, chewing and nipping, devouring the flavor of his lust.

He moves his hand under her thigh, forcing her leg up and around his waist. The hard frame of his body coils taut, ready to spring, and his erection throbs against the confines of his pants. He moans and lifts her leg higher, bending his knees to bring his cock against her center.

She gasps at his need—the physical embodiment of emotion always a surprise.

He pulls her dress up to her hips, caressing her smooth, silky legs. He thrusts up, forcing her against the wall. A flash of light sparks behind her eyes.
Are they open or closed?
He molests her body with his hands, seeking every slope and curve.

She aches with the joy of being wanted. The pressure against her clit sends a vibration along her skin, setting it on fire in striated lines reaching not toward some grounding electrical current, but directly for the frenzy of him.

He reaches further down, past the swell of her ass, bringing his fingers into contact with the silk-covered, pulsating point that becomes the center of her universe.

“Oh my god.” She shudders as her leg gives out, but he holds her steady against the wall.

He slides his fingers along the line of her thong, tracing the edges of her mound before finally slipping beneath and touching her flesh.

She cries out, and his hand stills. After a chuckled scolding, he begins again, and she bites down on her lip, shivering at the sensation of his hot breath on her neck.

“We should go.” His voice is husky.

She kisses him before he can move away, biting his lower lip. “Do you have your car?”

“Fuck!” He leans his forehead against hers and takes a few deep breaths. “No, because I’m here with them.”

“Will you leave with me?” She twists her hips, desperately hoping for him to begin again.

“I can’t take it if you run away from me again.” He groans and closes his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.”

The softness of the moment and the depth of want are more than either of them expected. What is desire but a precursor to love? What is the point of the hunt if not to ultimately catch and devour the prey? Sex—being the commodity it is—wins wars, traverses oceans, and drives good men to the brink of insanity, sometimes beyond. And what is love but a form of insanity?

Someone opens the curtain at the end of the hall, letting in the pounding music and flashing light. They disentangle themselves, the stolen exchange over.

Hand-in-hand, they drift through the exit. A smile plays on the corners of her lips, and her eyes dip in an unfamiliar, demure gesture. The bubbling swell of what could be called happiness threatens to overtake her, but a nagging shadow drapes itself across her hope like a devil, asking questions she’d rather ignore:
What does this mean? Can he accept me? Can this work?

He squeezes her hand, a small gesture of comfort.

She wonders if his mind twists in the same spiral, and if his judgment is too clouded to make a decision she can trust.

“Hey!” a woman calls out as they walk down the alley in search of a cab. She wears a tee-shirt and jeans, and smokes a cigarette with an old fashioned holder.

“Caitrin!” She drops Salt’s hand to go speak with her friend. She embraces the girl, catching her off guard. Usually, her emotional wall is as impenetrable outside The Sugar House as it is within, but tonight she’s all about breaking rules.

“Caitrin, this is Salt.”

“Thanks for coming out tonight. You guys were a lot of fun.”

“We had a great time.” He shakes Caitrin’s hand, gripping it firmly. “It really was a fun show.”

“Thanks, Donovan and I enjoy it. You had some nice moves out there yourself.” Caitrin takes a drag on her cigarette, looking at Salt, clearly admiring his still bare chest.

“Thanks.”

“Caitrin! Will you put that damn thing out and get back in here!” Donovan slams the door open, now dressed in jeans and a tight, long-sleeved shirt that shows how well built he is. He stops short upon seeing Janice. “Miss Necia, good evening.”

Salt snorts, and tries to hide a chuckle.

“Hello, Donovan, wonderful show tonight.”

Another chuckle.

Donovan raises an eyebrow at Caitrin.

The chuckle turns into a laugh.

Janice turns to Salt and crosses her arms over her chest. “Problem?”

“Just, what’s with all this
Miss Necia
shit?” He makes a face.

“Some people hold me with a certain amount of respect.” Her temper flares, boiling beneath her skin as the familiar fight looms between them.

“I know, I know.” He holds up his hands and backs away. “That’s not what I mean. I just... it’s insane, you know? Everyone bowing and such.”

A smile quirks on the side of Donovan’s lips. “Caitrin told me I have to.”

“Pussy,” Salt teases, and the two men break out into tides of laughter.

She fumes and clenches her teeth. This is her life, her work, and he’s fucking laughing! She narrows her eyes and glares until she looks at Caitrin, who is trying to hide a grin of her own.

“Oh, come on, I’m sure it’s all very strange to him.” Caitrin smiles at her boss.

“How so?” Janice turns on her, ready for a battle.

“Well, by the way he was holding your hand, I’d guess there’s something personal going on between you two. So for someone in your personal life who didn’t meet you through all this, it’s got to be kind of weird. I mean, can you imagine me dating some white collar accountant, and then trying to explain what I do for work? Or in my free time?” She gestures to Donovan with a dramatic eye roll.

“Yeah, take pity on me.” Salt pouts and bats his eyelashes.

“I think he is an accountant, actually.” She scrunches up her nose in distaste.

“I
may
possess an affinity for numbers,” he declares, sending Caitrin and Donovan into a fit of laughter.

“Does this mean I can call you Janice?” Donovan asks, earning himself a backhand to the chest from Caitrin.

“No.” Janice crosses her arms.

“Can I call you Miss Necia?” Salt wraps his arms around her waist and rests his head on her shoulder.

“I... I guess.” The blush she’d been fighting rises to the surface.

“All right, come on, big man.” Caitrin pushes Donovan toward the door. “Time for us to clean up and get out of here. It’s my night off and I wanna go see a movie!”

“At one in the morning?” Salt looks up, surprised.

Caitrin shrugs. “I don’t get a lot of time off.”

“She’s a slave driver, huh?”

“Well, I’m the one with the whip, so I can’t complain.” Caitrin winks and disappears inside.

Alone in the dark alley, Janice leans back against Salt’s warmth and closes her eyes. They breathe together, their bodies swaying in the night’s promise.

“Are you really okay with this?” she whispers, daring her luck.

“No, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I’m not going to stop doing what I do. I believe in it, and whatever you may think, I’m good at it.”

“I know.”

“You could get in a lot of trouble just for knowing me.”

“I know.”

“Then why?” She turns around and searches his green eyes for the familiar signs of lust overriding conscience, but finds none.

“That girl you helped.” He pauses and takes a breath. “That girl needed help, and had nowhere to go. I’m trying to help that girl, too. How can I fault you for offering people a place to do what they’re going to do anyway? At least you keep them safe and healthy.”

“It’s still illegal. I’m a criminal and I’ve done things—”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“Accidentally, or on purpose?”

He smiles at the reference. “Either.”

“No.”

“Are you involved in any kind of relationship?”

“No.”

“Are you still seeing clients?”

“No.”

“Have you ever bought or sold a human being?”

“Yes.” She looks away. “But not the way you think.”

“Tell me.”

“There was one girl. I bought her. I guess technically I’m a human trafficker, but I paid to get her out. I would have paid more. I would have given them everything I had to get all of them out, but I couldn’t. I could only help her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

“I may have done some good things, but I’m still basically a pimp, and I make a lot of money off my business. There’s no way to twist that around to make it noble or beautiful. But it’s what I’m good at. I’ve always been good at it, and I’m trying to....” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“One more question.” He cups her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “Just one.”

“What?”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

Acknowledgements

Sugar & Salt
, for being such a short piece, had an army of help. Thank you to all my pre-readers who kept me honest and pushed me for more: Jaime Lamson, Kriss Morton, Chantal Fournier, Candace Brazier, Sara Evans, Serenity Hallgren, Chelsea Henderson, and Leanne Herrera.

I also want to thank the brilliant and talented Lenore Skomal, without whom S&S would have been deleted, and my hard drive burned to ashes. You are a gift.

The Evolved Publishing Team has been amazing. Melissa Sawatsky, Mallory Rock and Lane Diamond gave their own passion and talent to bring this project to life. Thank you for everything.

And my husband—my delicious, sexy, kind, passionate, smart, supportive husband—you are my rock, my inspiration¸ my comfort, and more than anything, My Love.

Finally, to Eros, Venus, Inanna, Rati, Hathor, Astarte, and the rest of the Gods and Goddesses who gave us sex, I thank you. Our bodies are gifts, our ability to bring pleasure our worship, and our love your tribute.

About the Author

Award-winning author of multi-cultural and transgressive literature, Pavarti K Tyler is an artist, wife, mother and number cruncher. She graduated Smith College in 1999 with a degree in Theatre. After graduation, she moved to New York, where she worked as a Dramaturge, Assistant Director and Production Manager on productions both on and off Broadway. Later, Pavarti went to work in the finance industry several international law firms. She now lives with her husband, two daughters and one very large, very terrible dog. She keeps busy working with fabulous authors as the Director of Marketing at Novel Publicity and penning her next genre bending novel.