Sensuality Page 7

  “What about your husband?” Donald blurted out, reddening at his own boldness, but compelled to ask. “Won’t he be visiting all the other ladies as well?”

  A look passed between Luisa and María, one that spoke volumes of which Donald wasn’t equipped to read.

  “We are from El Salvador, Mr. Altari. Wherever my husband may be, I am sure women are not one of his problems.”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, Donald thought, resting his head against the steering wheel. So much for making a good impression with this family.

  Christian’s first day of classes went well. The tutor blended seamlessly into the school’s routine, allowing the boy to try his own hand at the unfamiliar language when appropriate, stepping in when necessary.

  He made friends easily, which helped. Donald watched through his office window as Christian slid effortlessly into a recess pickup soccer game, passing and kicking and laughing in the universal language of competition.

  Maybe things were going to turn out well after all.

  It must have been coincidence that brought Donald to the Olympic oval that Saturday—the same time María just happened to be practicing with the other Championship hopefuls.

  Donald eased into the stands beside Luisa.

  “Hi!” he said. “I come bearing hot chocolate.”

  “You are a big one for chocolate, aren’t you?” Luisa asked, taking the steaming cup. Their fingers touched for one split second, long enough to send her black eyes flickering to meet his blue ones.

  “Guilty as charged,” Donald replied. “I’ve an incurable sweet tooth.”

  They stood side by side, watching María work through her routine. Triple axels were followed by sit spins, alternating with dizzying footwork.

  “So how did a girl from El Salvador decide she wants to become an ice skater?” Donald asked, resting his arms on the thick barrier wall separating spectators from the ice. “It doesn’t seem the most natural choice.”

  Luisa laughed. “There’s not much natural about María.” She nodded her head toward the giant screen centered over the rink. Black and silent now, it provided close-up coverage during hockey games and high-profile skating events. “I blame the television. Too much Wide World of Sports, and here we are.”

  “She must be incredibly determined.”

  “All of the women in my family are,” Luisa replied. She eyed Donald sideways. “We decide we want something; we don’t stop until we get it.”

  Donald smiled. “I’ll consider myself warned.”

  Friday afternoon, half past two. Donald had the Alvarez phone number written on a Post-it note on his desk. Maybe it would be alright to call Luisa, invite her to dinner.

  His office door flew open. His unflappable secretary, Shirley, with two dozen years’ experience, was in a panic.

  “Mr. Altari! You’ve got to come quick! There’s big trouble!”

  The hockey players did have brothers. Six of them, in fact. Six tall, chunky fifth-grade boys, nearly the size of men. They surrounded Christian in the boys’ bathroom and beat the living hell out of him.

  It was over by the time Donald arrived. Two teachers had wrestled the boys out into the hallway and had them sitting against the wall. They stood over the culprits—two puffing, red-faced, oversized banty hens.

  Christian lay on the bathroom floor. He looked very small, very red, and very still.

  This can’t be happening, Donald thought, as he knelt to feel for a pulse. At the same time he was barking orders—for the nurse, for an ambulance, for the police.

  His arm bent at a particularly ugly angle. Donald felt a slight pulse, faintly thudding in the boy’s thin wrist.

  “How could this happen?” Luisa raged. She glared at Donald. “You told me he’d be safe in your school!”

  Through the hospital window, they could see Christian sleeping. Doctors had set the multiple broken bones, stitched close the four-inch gash above his eye. No internal organs had been damaged, but the doctors still wanted to keep the boy for observation.

  “He took quite a beating,” the doctor said to Donald and Luisa. “Luckily, it didn’t go much longer or he wouldn’t be here now.”

  “I am going to find out what happened.”

  “He could have died!” Luisa’s reply shot back like a rocket through Donald’s head.

  “I know,” he said softly. Luisa fell into his arms sobbing. He held her tight, rocking back and forth. “I know,” he said, lips soft against her black hair. “I will make this better.”

  Easier said than done. Christian’s recovery was slow, but not nearly as slow as the investigation into the school beating. The half-dozen boys had come from five of the town’s most prominent families, with fathers in law enforcement, medicine, and the media. And, of course, on the school board.

  “What happened was unfortunate,” one of the fathers said at a meeting. “It shouldn’t have happened. But boys will be boys. Things got out of hand so fast they didn’t realize what was happening.”

  “Not even when they heard the bones break?” Donald looked from one father to the next. “Not when they saw the blood spurting out of Christian’s head?”

  They had the good grace to look ashamed.

  “We need to have a policy in place,” another father said. “To deal with these transient type of students. They’re not part of the community. They’re merely passing through. It’s not realistic to expect that to happen without problems.”

  “Baloney.” Donald snorted. “We’re a tourist community. We depend on people passing through here, for our livelihoods. Do you really want to put it out there, that it’s not a safe area to visit?”

  “The right kind of people know that it’s a safe area already.”

  “The right kind? Would that be the rich, white kind?” Donald shook his head. “That’s definitely the message we want to spread. Anglos only.”

  “Get over yourself. Just ’cause you’ve gone soft on the kid’s mother is no reason to turn on your own.”

  “That’s it!” Donald’s hand hit the table. “From what I’m hearing right now, it seems to me that you all are at least partially culpable in the beating of Christian Alvarez. If this is the kind of talk your kids hear at home, no wonder they don’t even hesitate before attempting to kill someone who looks a little different!”

  “Someone different who threatened their hockey program.”

  “If that hockey program was in danger, that was due to Glenn Rabideau—and me. Are you going to send your kids after us next?” Donald had difficulty speaking clearly, he was so angry. “I know you’re not going to bother Glenn, so I guess I need to watch my back.”

  A rumble of protest started, but Donald cut it off.

  “I am going to recommend that all six boys be suspended for the remainder of the academic year. Whether that recommendation is put into place or not is up to the discretion of the school board, as you well know. But I urge you to take it.” He eyed each father in turn, forcing them to meet his eyes. “A stiff academic penalty may mitigate the charges the boys are facing in court. Maybe.”

  “I can’t believe them,” Donald said. Luisa was leaning against him on the couch. “I’ve known them all my life, and never in a million years would I have expected this reaction out of them.”

  “They’re defending their children.” Her words were soft, almost conciliatory. “You never know what you’re capable of until you believe your child is in danger.”

  “I guess.” Donald shook his head. “But what about personal responsibility? What about doing what’s right?”

  Luisa turned toward Donald, sliding her arms up around his neck. “You are such an idealist. Do you know what we call such men in my country?”

  “No,” Donald whispered, lips inches from hers. “What?”

  “We call them dead men.”

  Her kiss was magical, warm and melting under his mouth. Her mouth tasted of strong coffee and stronger spices. Donald drowned in it, reeling in the taste of her, the s
cent of her, the silky tumbling ebony length of her hair curling round his hand.

  “Jesus, Luisa,” he whispered. “Should we be doing this? Are you okay with…” Words trailed away as he stared at her lush, full lips, the need to taste them again thudding loud inside his skull.

  “There will be sorrow enough tomorrow,” she replied, running her fingertips over Donald’s cheek. “Let us grab joy where we may.”

  And with that, she was on him. The buttons on his shirt parted at her touch, and she slid it off his shoulders. She pulled off her blouse, its silk fluttering to the ground without a sound, revealing perfect round, bulging breasts, barely contained in a black bra.

  He cupped one in his hand, marveling at the firm weight of it, the way the thumb-thick nub of a nipple stiffened against his palm.

  “Mmmm, Don…,” she moaned, encouraging further exploration by letting her bra strap slip further down her shoulder, revealing dark raisin-colored areolas capped with even darker nipples.

  The sight was so foreign, so exotic, so real, that it sent a jolt directly to his cock. He stared, transfixed for a moment, and then lowered his head to suckle at the tempting treat, flicking his tongue over and around the sensitive spot.

  Luisa replied with a string of words he didn’t understand, and some physical actions he did. Gentle pressure directed his head from one breast to the other, then down the soft plane of her belly until he reached her waistband.

  She looked down at him and smiled. “I’m not sure if American men do this the same…”

  He tugged her zipper down. “Let’s find out.” Her jeans and black panties fell easily down her slender hips.

  Experience had led Donald to expect a thicket of curls, heady and rich with musk. Instead, he got a smooth, shaved mound, topped with a trimmed thatch of close-cropped black hairs, shaped into a narrow band.

  Just below, dusky pink lips held the first drops of arousal, glistening and tempting.

  The first touch of Donald’s tongue had Luisa writhing, moaning louder with each lick. With growing confidence, he got bolder, plowing his tongue along well-oiled folds, stopping to slurp from her molten core every few minutes.

  Long, caramel-colored legs folded round his head, pillowing his ears between surprisingly strong thighs.

  He pointed his tongue, like a miniature cock, thrusting deeper and deeper inside her. His nose rubbing against her clit made Luisa shudder.

  “¡Madre de Dios!” she gasped, squeezing his head tight as she climaxed. Donald held on, staying in place and licking until her passion passed.

  Then she fell back on the couch, letting her legs fall limp. The sudden return of oxygen was almost as welcome as the sight of her blissful smile.

  He was so hard that his cock was slapping against his stomach, something that hadn’t happened since he was a teenager.

  “Can I?” he asked, panting with need. Drops of sweat were plummeting from his forehead, puddling just above her belly button.

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  It was like coming home—tight and wet and challenging. A tad lethargic a moment before, Luisa came alive once Donald was in her. Each of his strokes was met by an answering thrust of her hips, powerful and welcoming.

  One arm wrapped round his torso, pulling them together. He could feel her nails on his back, skittering.

  “God, Luisa, I can’t…if you…not long…” he panted.

  She smiled, and flexed some internal muscles. Suddenly his cock was being squeezed, tugged, and twisted all at the same time.

  “Garrrrh!” he groaned, losing his heat deep inside her. They collapsed together, a tangle of sweaty arms and legs and silly, teenage grins.

  Then they heard tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Don grabbed his clothes and booked for the bathroom, while Luisa hurriedly put herself together.

  In burst María, rattling off an excited round of chatter to Luisa. Even through the bathroom door, Donald could hear her gasp of shock.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, buttoning his shirt as he walked back into the living room.

  María did a triple take, swallowing before holding out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Altari.”

  Luisa shook her head and batted down María’s hand. “Not now, you dingbat! Donald, there’s been a horrible accident. Glenn Rabideau’s car exploded!”

  “My God! Is he hurt?” Donald looked around for his jacket.

  “Not badly. But his grandson Mikey was with him, and they say the boy has some burns—”

  “I’ve got to get to the hospital. I’m sorry to leave like this, Luisa, but he’s one of my teachers and—”

  “I’m going with you.” Luisa tucked her purse under her arm. “They’re never going to believe I didn’t have anything to do with this, unless people see us together.” She chuckled, an old and bitter sound. “I guess you are my alibi.”

  Rocketing down the twisting back roads to the hospital, Donald had to wonder. What had he become? Luisa’s lover—or her alibi?

  Leap of Faith

  Gracie C. McKeever

  Sonja Delgado felt Homeboy watching her from the moment she’d entered the store, surreptitiously following her from a distance as she wove in and out of aisles, browsing the rack of sports and athletic wear.

  If he hadn’t been surrounded by his small posse, stage-whispering fresh remarks like “tight body” and “¡Mami caliente!” under immature, Similac breaths, she might have thought his interest in her strictly of the watching-the-minorities-for-The-Man variety.

  Sonja had a time wondering exactly which was more alarming: that a barely twenty-something was eyeballing the mother of both a twenty-and a nineteen-year-old, or that he thought the Latina in the elegant designer outfit was in the store to shoplift.

  The young brothah was fine. She may have been a mother and a widow, but she wasn’t dead or blind. However, he was off limits. End of story.

  Her pussy had other ideas—inner muscles clenching, labia applauding beneath her thong as if in approval when the infant stalker broke away from his boys to approach her.

  It had been a long time since she’d played the game. Too long. The last time when she’d been single and unattached and was at the same age as this young brothah. Eighteen? Nineteen?

  Damn, by twenty she’d been married with one toddler and another baby on the way.

  Sonja missed her papi, missed the cozy nights they’d spend together talking, or watching one of her sappy chick flicks on cable, or just sitting serenely in the same room—her reading a trade magazine, him doing the New York Times crossword puzzle after a long day of taking care of business at the interior design firm they co-owned.

  She missed the quiet moments, the arguments, the romantic weekend getaways, seeing his face every day at work. She never tired of him the way her girlfriends thought she should have since they worked and lived together.

  She especially missed his hard cock.

  Carlos had been the epitome of the hot Latin lover. He liked to fuck often, had the staying power to back up his incredible libido, and knew how to use his big bicho with maximum effectiveness.

  He’d died too young. Much too young.

  Hence, Sonja’s trip to the sporting goods store.

  She wanted to stay healthy and in shape, was already watching what she ate, had stepped up her aerobic activity, and now was planning to add weight training to her workouts.

  She’d tried months and months before his death to convince her husband to do the same, but hadn’t been able to get past the machismo attitude about his burritos. Pastelillos and pernil being good enough for his mother and father, he didn’t see why he had to settle for tofu or fish.

  Half of their arguments had been about his bad eating habits. She tried to convince him to take better care of himself. If not for himself, then at least for her and the kids.

  Sonja had to own up to at least half the blame since she loved to throw down in the kitchen, liked her fried dishes as much as the next boricua,
so she found it hard to deny her hardworking man his treats.

  She angrily gulped down the tears she felt climbing from her chest. The man still had the ability to upset and piss her off almost two years after his death.

  Ay, Dios, she couldn’t believe it had been that long. The funeral seemed liked yesterday.

  Then sometimes it felt a lifetime ago.

  “You look like you need some help.”

  You have no idea. “Sure your boys can spare you?” Sonja instantly pasted on a saucy smile, surprised at her flippancy, surprised when Homeboy had the decency to blush.

  In this day and age, especially from a young b-boy, his reaction was refreshing.

  “Actually, you can help me. I’m interested in buying a pair of ankle weights and handball gloves.” Her eyes drifted down for a brief second, long enough to take in the fact that he was harboring a nice package.

  “Sure, come this way.” He led her to the aisle where the weights were located, and she stayed far enough behind him to get a good view of his tight, round brothah’s ass. Carlos had had one, too, had gotten it from his African-American father.

  She was glad Homeboy wasn’t sporting the no-belt, too-baggy-jeans look. She couldn’t stand it on her son and his friends, and definitely wouldn’t stand for it in her man.

  My man? Jumping the gun a little aren’t you, chica?

  Sonja stopped herself from salivating over his ass right before he turned and pointed to a lower shelf that held a selection of ankle weights that she might be interested in.

  She glanced at the name tag pinned to his navy polo shirt—Kaj Reynolds—and wondered what his muscled chest would feel like beneath her hands, or how his hard cock tasted.

  Down chica! Down!

  But it didn’t matter how much she reminded herself that he was close to her son’s age and forbidden fruit. The fact was, he wasn’t her son, and she wanted him.

  For the next five minutes, Mr. Reynolds held her enthralled as he extolled the benefits of the adjustable ten-pound weights as opposed to the nonadjustable, heavier variety. For the handball gloves, he told her a pair of all-around weightlifting gloves would suit her purpose.