Free Dark Passions by Jeff Gelb Page B

her: many of the men weren’t socially adept, none looking for one-night stands. Esme invited half her yoga class, some of the girls at her hair salon, some from her art class, but the sisters had lived in LA only three months. Yolanda, a nurse, met sick kids and worried parents, and Carmen did research at the Getty Research Institute, cloistered in a cubicle. Neither could offer Esme much help finding women.
    Carmen slithered into her dress. It clung like pale water to her skin. “Come, my fellow porch lamps. We have some moth hunting”—she chortled—“I mean, man hunting to do.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Michael’s hand trembled on Carmen’s lower back, rustling the fabric of her silk blouse as she opened her front door. She turned to him, her eyes wide, smile mischievous.
    â€œAre you okay with this?” She leaned into him, put her arms around him, and let him kiss her. He was awkward, pushing his tongue in, swallowing her. “No, Michael, like this.” She took his face in her hands, put her lips softly to his. Her tongue was gentle, playful, sensual on his lips, parting them. When his tongue darted at hers, she pulled away. “Let me ... just relax.”
    The man was shaking. It was their first date. “I guess you can tell I haven’t done this much.” His shrug was sharp. His every move rigid.
    Carmen, laughing playfully, turned to open her door. “We need a lot more wine.”
    They had been out for dinner, where Michael nervously dominated the conversation with grueling details of his work for Julian’s software company. Carmen half listened, half observed. He was just a bit overweight; no exercise, she guessed. He was handsome in a boyish way. Someone dressed him, because he wore nice clothes but didn’t inhabit them. He told her he lived with his sister and brother-in-law since he spent most of his time at work. He’d been alone since moving to LA. Carmen considered him “ripe.”
    It took an entire bottle of wine to relax him. Carmen turned off the lamp, lit some candles, then excused herself to use the bathroom. She returned in a red satin robe and nothing else, then draped herself over him on the couch.
    â€œKiss me now, Michael.” Carmen stared into his eyes, her lips but a few inches from his. She arched her back. The robe slipped slightly from her shoulders. His eyes went from the curve of her breasts to her lips, then closed. She felt his hard-on beneath her.
    His kisses began less awkwardly, and soon he forgot himself. Michael breathed in Carmen’s spicy scent, felt her long fingers move along his shirt buttons, plucking them open.
    â€œYes, that’s better. Let me show you what I need and make you a very happy man... .” A low purring sound rose from deep in her throat as she peeled off his shirt. He was pale and doughy but not flabby. Her fingertips went to his small nipples and began to knead them gently. She stopped kissing him on the mouth, moving to his neck, then to his chest, where her tongue took the place of her fingertips. Michael gasped sharply, giggled.
    â€œTickles!”
    â€œShush. Let me show you ...” She worked her hands to his belt, undid it, then his zipper. She felt the waistband of his briefs, and his cock pulsed under her palm.
    Carmen pushed him back onto the couch. She knew her men, never choosing cunning, macho types who would not be led. Michael let her pull off his slacks, his briefs. She stood and let the robe fall to the floor as he lay back.
    â€œYou’re beautiful, Carmen.” He grinned, taking her hand.
    â€œYes, here.” She placed her hand with his on her taut belly. “Do you know how a woman likes to be touched?”
    Michael blinked, nodding weakly. Carmen went onto her knees, taking his hand to one breast, then took his other hand to her mouth and began sucking on a finger. His hand was rough on her breast. She stopped him, took both his hands, showed