the house to entice him. The heels were six-inch glass platform with thick red patent straps across the toes, and when Erica spread her feet into them she felt herself transform.
The curls were gone and the roots of her hair had frizzed out on the dance floor. Since she couldn’t comb the hair, she gave it a fluff and wild tug until she looked like a red-headed lioness. Clicking her heels against the wood floors she moved into the living room. The table lamp against the window was turned up just enough to keep the mood. Warren entered from the bathroom drying his hands on a paper towel. His pants were unbuttoned and his arms looked like two strapped guns against his white tank. They had stopped for a six-pack on 125th Street, and she could smell the fragrance of his anticipation as he handed her an uncapped bottle.
“Nice shoes.”
Warren moved to the futon and sat gap-legged like he was preparing for a show. The moon was high. Al Jarreau sang low. Seduction like this could take them all night.
“Take your jeans off.” His voice entered her like a sex pill. But Erica lingered near the brick wall sipping her beer, smiling.
“Excuse me?” she teased. Thirsty chill bumps sprouted along her forearms as the straps of her cami slipped to her elbows. Patience was one of Warren’s strong suits, and he gulped down his beer while waiting for her to serve up his request.
Swaying her hips to Jarreau’s “Ain’t No Sunshine,” Erica could feel warmth bubbling between her legs. Resting her shoulders against the brick wall she let the music move her. With her eyes closed, her hands glided over her breasts and then drifted down to the V of her thighs. The snap of her jeans cracked open as she pulled her ribs in tight while pushing the zipper down. Red lace panties peaked through the open slit of her pants. Warren’s bottle clanked against the table as she used both hands to peeled back her jeans and push the material down to her knees. He watched her as if in a trance. With her jeans around her ankles, she moved her ass slowly to give him the view an ass man like Warren longed for. She sensuously made figure eights in the air.
“Damn baby,” escaped his lips and Erica felt egged on. The beer had revved her past tipsy but she managed to get the jeans off and platforms back on. Erica was a traditional “good girl,” so she knew that Warren enjoyed it when she completely let go and went all the way to the other side.
“Bring that sweet ass here,” he commanded, and again the timber in his voice went through her. Slower than the music Erica dragged her heels across the floor, careful not to wobble away what she hoped was a sexy picture. Then Warren was reaching for her, and she was in his lap. His tongue spread and traveled, causing Erica to drizzle like a neglected scoop of ice cream, and Warren, master of her body, didn’t waste a single drop.
Chapter Nine
Jammed
T he sticky sweetness of their fluids permeated the air. The cotton bed sheets were stretched to exhaustion. Styrofoam containers with soggy sprigs of parsley and salty fries littered the floor. Warren had propped three pillows behind his head and was reading a news clip on his laptop. Erica rested at his elbow flipping through a copy of Travel & Leisure magazine. College basketball served as their backdrop. Saturday’s sun had come and gone.
“I think this stock is going to perform,” he turned his computer screen toward her.
Erica nodded with as much interest as she could muster before rolling onto her belly. “What should we do tonight?”
“I wanted to head down to Smalls so that I could shed. Haven’t played much this week.”
“Good, I need some air.” Finding a clip on the side table she pinned her wild hair. Warren closed his laptop, hung his long legs over the side of the bed and then made his way to the bathroom. The room was lilac with a full frosted glass window facing the tub and looking out over the alley. Once he had the shower
The curls were gone and the roots of her hair had frizzed out on the dance floor. Since she couldn’t comb the hair, she gave it a fluff and wild tug until she looked like a red-headed lioness. Clicking her heels against the wood floors she moved into the living room. The table lamp against the window was turned up just enough to keep the mood. Warren entered from the bathroom drying his hands on a paper towel. His pants were unbuttoned and his arms looked like two strapped guns against his white tank. They had stopped for a six-pack on 125th Street, and she could smell the fragrance of his anticipation as he handed her an uncapped bottle.
“Nice shoes.”
Warren moved to the futon and sat gap-legged like he was preparing for a show. The moon was high. Al Jarreau sang low. Seduction like this could take them all night.
“Take your jeans off.” His voice entered her like a sex pill. But Erica lingered near the brick wall sipping her beer, smiling.
“Excuse me?” she teased. Thirsty chill bumps sprouted along her forearms as the straps of her cami slipped to her elbows. Patience was one of Warren’s strong suits, and he gulped down his beer while waiting for her to serve up his request.
Swaying her hips to Jarreau’s “Ain’t No Sunshine,” Erica could feel warmth bubbling between her legs. Resting her shoulders against the brick wall she let the music move her. With her eyes closed, her hands glided over her breasts and then drifted down to the V of her thighs. The snap of her jeans cracked open as she pulled her ribs in tight while pushing the zipper down. Red lace panties peaked through the open slit of her pants. Warren’s bottle clanked against the table as she used both hands to peeled back her jeans and push the material down to her knees. He watched her as if in a trance. With her jeans around her ankles, she moved her ass slowly to give him the view an ass man like Warren longed for. She sensuously made figure eights in the air.
“Damn baby,” escaped his lips and Erica felt egged on. The beer had revved her past tipsy but she managed to get the jeans off and platforms back on. Erica was a traditional “good girl,” so she knew that Warren enjoyed it when she completely let go and went all the way to the other side.
“Bring that sweet ass here,” he commanded, and again the timber in his voice went through her. Slower than the music Erica dragged her heels across the floor, careful not to wobble away what she hoped was a sexy picture. Then Warren was reaching for her, and she was in his lap. His tongue spread and traveled, causing Erica to drizzle like a neglected scoop of ice cream, and Warren, master of her body, didn’t waste a single drop.
Chapter Nine
Jammed
T he sticky sweetness of their fluids permeated the air. The cotton bed sheets were stretched to exhaustion. Styrofoam containers with soggy sprigs of parsley and salty fries littered the floor. Warren had propped three pillows behind his head and was reading a news clip on his laptop. Erica rested at his elbow flipping through a copy of Travel & Leisure magazine. College basketball served as their backdrop. Saturday’s sun had come and gone.
“I think this stock is going to perform,” he turned his computer screen toward her.
Erica nodded with as much interest as she could muster before rolling onto her belly. “What should we do tonight?”
“I wanted to head down to Smalls so that I could shed. Haven’t played much this week.”
“Good, I need some air.” Finding a clip on the side table she pinned her wild hair. Warren closed his laptop, hung his long legs over the side of the bed and then made his way to the bathroom. The room was lilac with a full frosted glass window facing the tub and looking out over the alley. Once he had the shower
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