Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3

  He wanted to kiss her, to slip his tongue into her mouth, to hold her and maybe there would be tears, his. Instead, he pulled out of her and turned his back to her as he pulled the rumpled altar cloth from the nearby table. Without looking at it or her, he wiped himself before pulling his pants back up and making the necessary adjustments to his clothing.

  “See,” he said, tossing the thick white cloth back onto the table, “una puta.” He’d stopped himself from pulling her dress down, from covering her. He wanted her to feel the shame, to feel exposed, to feel what he’d been feeling long before he stumbled upon her in this room. He couldn’t look at her.

  She said nothing, but he thought he heard a whimper.

  “Fix yourself up. We have to bury my brother.”

  He didn’t look back at her when he reached for the door of the sacristy.

  “I’m glad that you never had kids with Luis. Now, I can truly be rid of you. There is nothing else.”

  “Julio,” she called to him. His hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t turn around. “I really loved Luis. I’ve been missing him for a long time,” she said, her words soft, trembling.

  His hand tightened on the knob. He turned to look at her. She was still a little tousled, though her hair and skirt had fallen back into place, more or less. She leaned against the wall, hugging herself. Tears made her face shiny and her nose a little red. The smell of what they had done filled the small room. He looked away, ashamed.

  “He loved you, too.” He looked at her as he spoke, wanting her to understand the truth of his words. The tears ran down her face now, and she was nodding her head up and down. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he remembered how she felt, her breasts against his chest, her thighs cupping his. Shaking his head, he gripped the doorknob harder and closed his eyes, squeezing the lids tightly. When he opened them again, she still stood there, face wet and hands gripping her upper arms. They stood like that for a while, not saying anything. He sighed.

  “Come on.” He held his hand out to her, palm up. “You’ll need water for that face and new lipstick.”

  She looked at his hand suspiciously, but the tears seemed to slow a little.

  “Luis would want you to look your best with this crowd.” He lifted his hand and extended it farther toward her.

  He waited, and when she didn’t move, he said, “Come on, Mígda. It’s okay. You can do this…. We can do this.”

  She looked at him, measuring his words, the look in his eyes. But she didn’t move, the fear of further censure evident in her eyes. He waited, trying to look … not sorry, because he wasn’t sorry that he’d taken what she’d readily given. He wanted to show that he was at least penitent because he’d shown so little grace in accepting it.

  “Lo siento, Mígda. Estoy aqui para ti.” His words were spoken softly as he lifted his hand to her again and smiled, his damp eyes seeking her watery ones. She watched, assessing him, her arms dropping to her sides. “Venga, Mígda,” he coaxed, his voice a gentle whisper, his outstretched hand beckoning. Then slowly, almost bashfully, she made her way across the room to slip her small, cold hand into his much larger one.

  Trapped

  Pat Tucker

  The cabdriver took off before I could close the car door completely. It was raining buckets—no, make that barrels. A flash of lightning bolted through the dark sky. I barely made it inside the hotel. I was drenched and tired. I wanted a hot shower and a warm bed. Inside the hotel lobby, I heard music, loud chatter, and laughter floating in the air, but I wasn’t in a festive mood. I tugged at my roller suitcase and made my way to the front desk.

  “Oooh, are you okay? May I help you?” the friendly clerk asked.

  “I’m not. I’m tired, soaking wet, and ready for a good night’s rest.” I chuckled.

  “Well, let’s hurry and get you checked in,” she said. “Is the reservation under your name?”

  “Yes. Ulysses Washington,” I said.

  Her acrylic nails clicked and clacked as she typed on the keyboard.

  “Umm, spell your name, please,” the clerk said. She seemed confused.

  “U-l-y-s-s-e-s Washington. Do I need to spell Washington?” I asked, trying to mask my building frustration.

  With her eyes glued to the screen and her fingers dancing on the keyboard, she frowned. “No, it’s just I don’t have a reservation for you. But it could be our system. With this storm, our power has been going out and I’m not sure what’s happening with the backup generator.” She tucked her red hair behind her ear as she studied the monitor.

  I sighed long and hard. My teeth were already chattering because I was still wet and cold.

  “Ohmygod!!! Is that him? Hurry, get the camera! Get the camera!” a woman screamed.

  I whipped my head around to see two women howling with laughter and falling all over themselves digging into their bags. When I caught a good sight of them, I was embarrassed. One was dressed in a pair of stockings held up by a garter belt with a matching lace bodice. The other wore a sheer bodysuit with knitted flowers strategically covering her nipples and her crotch.

  “Oh, my effin …” one screamed. “Flex!!! I’m your number one fan! I can’t believe it’s you, right here in the flesh!” she cried.

  When my eyes focused in on this Flex, I could’ve sworn my coochie twitched. He was a statuesque mass of chocolate muscles perfectly distributed over a six-foot-three-inch frame, and he looked delicious. If only I wasn’t so tired, I may have been willing to be his number two fan.

  “Um, Mister! Mister!” the other woman yelled at another man who was walking by. He was wearing a pair of leather chaps and a jock strap with a fishnet wife beater.

  What kind of party are these people going to?

  “Please, can you take a picture of us with Flex?” She all but shoved the camera toward the man, grabbed her friend by the arm, and snuggled up next to Flex with a massive grin across her face.

  I turned back to the clerk. “You find me yet? And what’s going on here tonight?”

  She finally looked up. The expression on her face was as baffling as it had been from the moment she started typing. “Oh, we’re hosting an adult entertainers’ convention. Did you not see it when you booked the reservation? We were required to post it.”

  “Ah, no, ma’am, I did not,” I said, flustered.

  She stopped typing. “Well, is that going to be a problem for you? Most years they book the entire property, but this year they had quite a few cancellations so we have vacancies. But things can get pretty wild,” she said, with one eyebrow raised.

  I swallowed hard, glanced back at the group posing for pictures, then said, “Ma’am, I don’t care what’s going on here. I really am just tired, wet, and ready to relax.” I added, “Inside my room.”

  Nodding her head, she returned her focus to the computer screen. “Yeah, I don’t understand. I have nothing booked under your name. You know what, why don’t you go to the restroom at the end of the hall and change into some dry clothes. This might take a few minutes. So you go get comfortable, let me search for you, and that way, by the time you get back, everything should be worked out.”

  What choice did I have? I wanted desperately to be in my room, but it didn’t make any sense for me to stand there soaking wet while she searched, so I turned to leave.

  The minute I pushed open the door to the ladies’ room, I heard the moaning sounds. There was no confusion about what I was hearing.

  “Oh, yes, yes, right there,” a woman cried.

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. Really? At a hotel, and you two couldn’t take it upstairs?

  Just as I was about to turn around and walk back out, another woman wearing a sequined tank top for a minidress strolled in and walked into a stall. There was no way she didn’t hear what was going on, so it was obvious she didn’t care.

  I eased into the second stall and started to change clothes.

  “Good for you?” the man asked.

  Sounds of skin s
lapping, heavy breathing, and more moaning filled the room. But it was obvious they weren’t concerned with the toilets flushing, doors opening, and water running into the sink.

  “Right there! Right there!”

  “Tell me where,” he groaned.

  I grabbed the first items of clothing I could find, and rushed to change. Listening to two people have passionate sex worked like an instant aphrodisiac and I didn’t want to be in that kind of mood.

  I walked out of the bathroom and turned left instead of right, where double doors to a grand ballroom were wide open. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t help but gawk.

  Men, men, and more men!

  And these were not your ordinary men either; these were the kind wet dreams are made of—sexy hunks! They sported ripped midsections, six- to eight-packs, with pecs large enough to catch any eye. These men were various hues of chocolate—milk, dark, or whatever was your pleasure. And their assets were on full display because they moved around wearing silk pajama bottoms, boxers, or anything else that showed off the results of routine hours spent at the gym.

  “C’mon in,” someone said.

  I jumped and realized what a fool I must’ve looked like standing there, clearly out of place, staring like a kid in the candy store.

  “Excuse me, sweetie, you coming in?” The female voice from behind startled me even more. I threw a hand over my chest to calm my heart. She was nearly naked!

  “Oh, um, no. I’m sorry. I was looking for the lobby. I must’ve taken a wrong turn,” I said. I kept my eyes up; she wasn’t the least bit shy.

  “Oh, yes, opposite direction,” she said and pointed back the other way. “If you change your mind, the party goes on ’til two,” she sang.

  I grabbed my suitcase and pulled it in the right direction.

  Back at the desk, the clerk Tiffany looked as confused as she had before I left.

  “Please tell me you found my reservation,” I said as I approached.

  “No, nothing. You sure you’re booked at this hotel, and for tonight?”

  “I’m positive.” I placed my purse on top of the suitcase and started digging through to get my wallet. “I have a copy of my reservation right here.”

  “Okay, good.”

  I found the paper and gave it to the clerk.

  She looked at it, then said, “I see the problem right here. Ma’am, your reservation is at our property on South Fairfax Avenue.” She smiled.

  I looked around, confused. “What do you mean? I told the cabdriver to bring me to 2347 Fairfax,” I said in a huff.

  “Yes, and that’s where you are. But your reservation is at 2437 South Fairfax.” She extended the paper toward me. “See, it’s right here.” She pointed at the address. I felt warm with embarrassment washing over me.

  I closed my eyes. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

  “Oh, okay, so what do I need to do?” I asked. I opened my eyes and looked at her, hoping for mercy.

  “Well, with the way it’s coming down out there, I don’t recommend you trying to go to the other property, and we do have vacancies, but I want you to be comfortable. Our guests can be boisterous,” she warned.

  “You know what, after what I’ve witnessed in the bathroom and down the hall, if that’s the worst you’ve got, I think I’ll be okay. I just need a place to lay my head,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what. Since it’s our sister property, come down at checkout and I’ll see if I can credit the old room to your account.”

  “Bless you!” I leaned on the counter as she typed and found a room for me.

  “Okay, you’ll be on the twelfth floor. Will you need one key or two?”

  “One should be fine,” I said.

  She swiped the key card through a machine on her desk, then pulled a paper sleeve and wrote my room number on it. She leaned in as if to whisper. “Because you’ve had such a difficult time, I upgraded you to our junior suite at no extra cost. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She smiled.

  “Thank you so much!” I took the key and turned toward the bank of elevators. I pressed the button to go up and stood waiting for an empty car to come down.

  The sound of the elevator’s ding was music to my ears. The doors opened, I stepped inside, and quickly pressed number 12. I released a huge sigh as the doors began to close. But just as the doors were about to shut, a massive hand slid between them.

  “Hold it!” a deep baritone demanded more than asked.

  I quickly reached for, and pressed, the button to stop the doors from closing. As the massive steel doors quietly parted, the vision that appeared between them made my legs go weak.

  Our eyes met, he smiled, and I just about melted.

  Up close, he was a pretty boy, chiseled and even more muscular, if that was possible. His square jawline tightened when he smiled, and his features were exotically beautiful.

  “Hi.” He grinned. “Thanks for holding it.” He floated into the elevator with me and suddenly my horrible day took a turn for the better.

  But my tongue chose this moment to turn to rubber.

  “Uhh, ah, yes. Hi.” I shook my head as if that could make me any less silly.

  I remembered him being the man the two women were swooning over during the impromptu photo shoot earlier in the lobby.

  “Can you press number twenty-seven for me?” he asked.

  Yes, and would you like my panties with that?

  With shaky fingers, I reached over and pressed the button to the floor he’d requested.

  He even smelled good. He was tall, and stacked in all the right places. Being so close to him made my mind race with endless naughty thoughts of the things I would do with him, how many times I’d do them, and how much I’d enjoy it.

  The doors closed, and we stood inches apart with our eyes focused upward. I leaned against the elevator wall and waited for it to start moving. It did, then suddenly it jerked hard, and screeched to a stop.

  “What the …” I frowned.

  “These damn elevators,” he said.

  I turned to him. “Should I press the help button?”

  His forehead creased, and his pretty brows came together. “Yeah, maybe you should.”

  But just as I was about to, the lights went out. Instinctively, I jumped and landed into the stranger’s strong arms.

  “I’m so sorry!” I jerked away from him. “I’m so sorry. I don’t like elevators and this is—oh, God! I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be fine.”

  I could smell his breath. It was fresh, laced with a hint of mint. But what I remember most was how smooth and taut his soft muscled skin felt. I wanted an excuse to touch him again but didn’t have one.

  Thirty minutes passed and we were still stuck in the elevator. Our cell phones couldn’t get a signal so we used them for lights.

  “I’m gonna sit down. I’m tired,” I said.

  I stooped down and took a seat on the floor. Soon, he eased down next to me.

  “I’m Flex,” he said.

  “Flex? I’m Ulysses,” I said.

  “Wow, what a sexy name,” Flex said.

  “Sexy?” I chuckled. He had no way of knowing just how wild the butterflies in my belly had gone.

  “Yes, and the name is quite fitting.” He could recite the alphabet and I bet it would sound great.

  Being trapped for two hours in the elevator with Flex wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. He was sitting with his back against the wall, his legs extended forward, and I lay with my head across his lap. We were becoming fast friends.

  “I can’t believe you don’t like sex.” He laughed.

  We’d been talking about everything under the sun, and had somehow landed on his work as a porn star.

  “As sexy as you are, you just not gettin’ it right,” he insisted.

  “How could you go wrong?” I asked. “I mean, it’s putting something in a hole, taking it out, and putting it back in again,” I joked.


  That made him laugh.

  “Oh, my dear, my dear,” he said.

  A few minutes later, I was sucking his tongue like my life depended on its taste for survival.

  We kissed with such passion my blood was boiling and I was ready.

  The battery on my cell phone, which had been providing what little light we had, was starting to die. Flex used one hand to pull me up and he kissed me like the couple on the cover of a raunchy romance novel.

  When I pulled back to catch my breath, my nipples were hard and I was wet. He took my hand and eased it down to the bulge in his lap.

  “Oh, wow! Is that you?”

  “No, that’s you; that’s what sexy does,” he said.

  We kissed again.

  By hour four, I was naked, spread-eagle on my back, and watching as Flex struggled to squeeze into an extra-large condom.

  “Hurry,” I begged like I was in heat.

  He finally got it on, but when he used his massive hands to lift me up by the waist, I thought he was trying to enter me. Instead, he licked the palm of his hand, then used that hand to rub from my clit to my crack so hard and forcefully, I thought I’d combust.

  No one had ever done anything like that to me, and it felt so damn good.

  I moaned and squirmed, then bit down on my bottom lip to avoid screaming too loud.

  Flex guided me back to the floor, then adjusted his body between my thighs and proceeded to suck me until my eyes began to water. The more I squirmed and wriggled from the pleasure, the harder he sucked.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus! Oh, yes!”

  Flex was packing more than eight inches. And I felt every single inch as he entered me. He hovered over my body as he moved his hips in sync with my rhythm. I glanced down to see his thick, glistening dick drilling its target with experienced precision.