Soul Siren Read Online Free

Carson doesn’t have an MBA or even a lot of common sense, but he does have cunning, and his explanation gave me one of the best displays of it. “Because, Erica, if I go around town with you on my arm, bragging how we do it, how much fucking credit they gonna give you, huh? That gonna make you look good? Or me? They’ll think I front every pussy who comes along and smiles my way, and they’ll think you get to open your mouth on stage after sucking my cock out back.”
    “Can you
please
rein in the gutter mouth?” I asked from the back seat.
    I could never stand him talking like this. The fact that he did was a reminder of his emotional immaturity, how he had never learned to talk like an adult male who discarded the crude vocabulary back at the playground.
    Easy grumbled that “Hey, Erica asked”—as if he couldn’t have put it a nicer way—then made a poor joke about how Canadian black girls were so uptight. We were the only ones he knew. Neither of us was in the mood to challenge this assertion.
    I never asked Erica why she was briefly with him because the reason was obvious. She used him. They used each other. Erica claimed that she had genuine sexual curiosity about him in the beginning, and that he was almost sweet in how passive he was.
    She says they stopped by the nightclub one evening, and under the flashing red and blue lights, surreal with no music on and an empty dance floor, she undressed him until he stood before her completely naked.
    Tree trunk legs, a chest like a menacing storm cloud, wide and dark.
He towers over me,
she thought. She went to embrace him, and his massively thick arms completely enveloped her, his dark brown cock hot against her short belly and so long that its red bulb brushed the under curve of her left breast. When she lay down and opened her legs for him the very first time on the blanket of their coats, the size of him simultaneously scared her and thrilled her. She gasped as more and more of him pushed into her vagina, but she couldn’t take him all the way in. She says that making love to Easy was like swimming underneath docks, her shoulders gated by the thick posts of his arms, lying in the shadow of that chest, and he rammed like a bull inside her until a hot stream of his spunk poured into her like a flood. She says she came the first time they slept together, but she never did again.
    “You hurt me when we try,” she told him.
    Easy had dropped his eyes to the floor. Erica didn’t go into how he had no concept of foreplay, of seduction, that after a few kisses and a couple of hugs, he was ready for his jackhammer performance. She claimed he was simply too long and thick for her, which may well have been true, and though he lost out on sex, it was an explanation that consoled his childish ego.
    They didn’t sleep with each other anymore, but it didn’t put an end to their sexual involvement. They needed each other for business. By now, there was a buzz in the clubs about Erica, and she had a use for her manager. Carson also knew he had a good thing, too good to get ruined by spats and atmosphere. I suspect what happened between them was Erica’s idea, and it was this: Easy had installed a two-way mirror that looked out on the dance floor. “Check this out!” he’d giggle, a kid with a new toy, showing how no one could see into the side office unless he switched a specific set of lights on the glass. Several of us warned him it would be pointless to have it if he didn’t shut up about it.
    Erica knew about the glass. And it was perfect for her to give Easy a very different kind of performance. She would give him an informal message earlier in the day, “Video night tonight,” or ask me to pass it on to him with a word or a phone call, thinking they were both cute. He’d know to be in the club ahead of her that evening.
    She brought casual lovers there after hours, never anyone serious. She put something on the stereo system, and as her man of the evening