Free Never Too Real by Carmen Rita

had an interesting background. And like Magda, Paloma was the oldest of several daughters in a big Latin family. Dios, she just had to have her, naked and soft.
    “ Palomita, you okay?” It was almost midnight, nearly five hours after Paloma sat down. They’d blasted through the evening without a moment’s silence, but the lack of a full meal plus too much drink had snuck up on the smaller of the two and was starting to take a toll. Paloma had slipped a bit as she tried to climb back onto the bar stool after a bathroom break.
    “Oh, shoot. It’s so late . . .”
    Magda flicked her wrist for the check and mouthed La cuenta to the barkeep.
    “Wow, it is late.” Magda added a big tip and signed her tab quickly.
    “ Ay, thank you soooo much,” Paloma slurred as she watched the bartender pick up his payment from Magda. “Sooooo much for everything.”
    “What floor are you on? I’ll take you up. You’re a little tipsy there . . .” Magda held on to Paloma’s elbow, supporting her as she dropped from the bar stool.
    “Really? Oh, you don’t have to . . .” Paloma rustled in her purse for her keycard. Her brush-off was less than halfhearted.
    Inside the elevator, Paloma went from giggles to a buzzy, happy quiet. Magda savored the anticipation hanging over them like a crystal chandelier. She was still holding Paloma’s arm and Paloma was allowing it, leaning on it. The doors opened and jounced.
    “I think I’m this way.” Paloma pointed. The ladies ambled in silence down the hall. It looked a bit like a ceremony of some sort, down an aisle of transformation or, in Paloma’s case, indoctrination. As she inserted the key at her door, Magda stood just behind, her suit jacket grazing the back of the red dress. Magda breathed in the scent of Paloma’s hair, ran her left hand up her arm, placing her free hand on her waist. They both breathed in deeply. The key wasn’t working.
    “Here. Let me.” As Magda reached for the key from behind— click —the door’s green light offered them both not only entry, but permission.
    The women moved into the room together, slowly. As she closed the door, Magda slid around to the front of Paloma, looked down in the fluorescent light of the foyer, and cupped her heart-shaped face in her hands.
    “ Tan bella, ” Magda whispered, then bent down to take Paloma’s mouth to hers. Years of pent-up, end-of-marriage pressure were set free in Paloma, and her gut-hungry response surprised Magda, setting her appetite alight. Within minutes they were naked and tangled on the white sheets of the bed, clothes thrown aside, having done their job for the day. Paloma let Magda take her. She was thrilled to be ravaged, maybe even more so by a woman. They explored each other for hours, dozing off for a few minutes before the other prompted more with a touch or a nibble.
    Just before sunrise, a groggy Magda made her way naked to the bathroom, looking first for her phone. The night-light in the foyer made odd shapes on her lean, muscled belly. Funny, she didn’t remember plugging in her phone, but there it was. Not remembering nights happened more often than Magda liked to admit. As she popped her head out of the bathroom to see her sleeping companion, Paloma’s curved, naked back like an hourglass on its side, Magda noted, well, this one had to be good.
    Shit. Back to her cell. She had a conference call in two hours. She ran the tap cold and threw the water on her face and ran wet hands through her hair. She’d take a shower back at her own hotel room.
    Grabbing her clothes and dressing, Magda didn’t want to wake Paloma up. She was lovely, and it had been a blast, but really, it was time for business.

Chapter 7
    “N iños —don’t run so fast! You’ll trip on the rugs!” Luz’s kids had barely made it through the front door, whipping off their little shoes and throwing them into the entryway bin, before they ran like little drunks down the hall, screaming with pleasure as they