Soul Siren Read Online Free Page A

pulled her into a clinch, she always suggested, “No, no, over here…It’s sexy over here.” Here on the black leather couch, where she could urge her man to sit down, and then fall backwards into his lap, pushing herself against his groin. A tug of the zipper, and her dress was a satin halo around her hips, her breasts practically spilling out of her bra cups. Fingers checked her erect dark nipples, pinching them, rubbing them urgently, and as Erica’s mouth opened in a gasp, she half rose to ease down her soaked panties, the hand of her lover slipping down from her midriff to her inner thigh.
    She opened her legs much wider than she needed to, hooking them behind his ankles as his fingers strummed her clitoris and felt the shining wet lips of her pussy. Craning her head back to kiss her man, the lift of her ribs like the spread of dove’s wings with the arch of her back, and there was the sweet flex of her thigh muscles as she opened her legs still wider, and his fingers disappeared into her vagina.
    Kissing him, tasting him, one eye open and staring ahead, her man always thinking it was a turn-on to see the two of them in the mirror. And behind the glass was Easy. I’ve caught the fingerprint smudges of that wide hand on the glass, evidence that he must have leaned against it, his hungry concentration so intense, his want so close to its object of desire but separated from her, his other fist kneading that huge cock she said he had, brown flesh reddening, veins like tree roots into the black bush of his pubic hair, his testicles contracting into a tight round ball of skin.
    And now the couple had progressed to the patch of carpeted floor in front of the couch. Erica’s mouth was open in a kind of plea as her face appeared to him upside down, eyes shut as her orgasm made an exquisite warning deep in her core, gathering strength, her fingers clawing into her date’s chest as she struggled to raise her knees higher, and her lover’s swollen penis sunk into her again and again, Erica’s breasts quivering with the momentum.
    “See me! See me! Ahhhh—ahhh—ahhh!” she chanted. Her date assumed she was speaking to him, taking it as a prompt to be even more aroused by her coming. “I see you, babe,” he groaned back. And with a final groan, the dam inside him would burst. Or a guy would pull out of her and shoot streams of his sticky warm sauce onto her breasts and stomach. Or one night, her man reared up out of her, calling for her to please take him into her mouth, and Erica gripped him in one confident motion and sucked him in, digging her fingers into the base of his cock, making it swell even more as he cried out with his release. Behind the glass, stifling a tortured whimper, Easy unravelled. I could never find Easy Carson attractive, but I think if I saw him that way, the great muscled tower of him naked like that and stroking himself in worship of Erica, I believe I would have found him at least briefly…noble. It sounds peculiar to use that word for it, but to me it’s right. Or maybe it’s because I thought for the longest time we could all be better because of Erica.
    I knew what she did in that club for him, or if you want to be harsh in your judgement,
to
him. I knew her little suggestive smiles when her date wasn’t looking, her eyes searching for contact behind the glass, how she actually enjoyed him watching her like this and how it reinforced her upper hand in their relationship. Because one night I didn’t pass on the message to Easy, and the spectator in the office behind the two-way mirror was me.
             
    T he loft space. I am back in the loft space often when I dream. It’s peculiar, but I don’t castigate myself over and over for the studio. No, it’s the loft that plays a loop in my head. Nights when I can see the framed posters of Blue Note album covers for Miles Davis and Thelonius Monk, when I have to involuntarily smile again at the black lacquer bust of Beethoven.