When the meal was over and the chef and his assistants had departed as silently as they had come, she served absinthe, smuggled in from Ecuador, and they smoked a joint of pure Colombian grass the colour of cinnamon. It warmed and mellowed them, stirring the libido again. They stared dreamily across the table at each other. Not a word had passed between them for more than two hours.
Finally she left the table and went back to the massage room. DeLaroza lit a cigar, leaned back in his chair, fully content, awaiting whatever surprises she would offer next.
His thoughts began to wander. To Hotchins. To the campaign.
To Burns.
The thought of Burns chilled him and he closed his eyes, summoning his mantra to purge the devils from his mind.
Gowmanah
thinking about her, lying before him among the pillows
Gowmanah
stroking herself, turning herself on, performing for him...
Gowmanah
visualizing her undressing, revealing her immaculate body...
Gowmanah
and it was simple. Once again, Eros commanded his mind.
He heard her clap her hands and, turning, saw her silhouetted against a dozen or more candles, her body oiled and glowing. He obeyed her command and went to her. Feather fingers stripped him, eased him down among the pillows on the floor, spread warm oil over his body, massaging him from head to foot, subtly caressing his genitals, stroking him, her tongue teasing him to fullness. She knelt over him, resting on her knees, her spiderweb plume brushing against him, her moisture preparing him. He began to throb and she shifted, rolling to her side beside him and reaching to the small table beside her, picked up a mirror, and placed it on her stomach.
She had prepared four long rows of cocaine on the mirror, carefully chopped and arranged in narrow files, each one about five inches long. Beside the rows were a short piece of glass straw perhaps four inches long and a spoon of pure Andean gold brought from Cuzco, the capital of the Inca empire, in southern Peru, its handle delicately hand- carved in a sculpture of Virgo, the Inca goddess of coca, the minutely detailed headdress containing the tiny bowl of the spoon itself
He turned and lay between her legs, her tuft against his chest, took the straw and; holding one nostril shut, moved the straw up one row of coke, inhaling sharply. He snorted deeply through the other nostril. The coke hit him in a rush. His groin surged. The tartness of the drug burned his throat. He slid the mirror towards her, slipped down, buried his head between her legs.
She lay the mirror beside her, turned slightly, snorted the second row, let it sizzle through her body, felt it charge up deep into her sinuses. She lay back down, shuddering as the cocaine surged through her senses, touching every organ with life.
DeLaroza rose up on his elbows, retrieved the mirror, and, using the straw as a pusher, filled the spoon with the powder. She bent her legs slightly at the knees. Venus rose towards him, lips apart and moist, inviting him, enticing him. He held the spoon between her legs, lowered it until it almost touched her. Her ringlets rose towards his hand and parted and he lowered the spoon, touched her vivid heart-shaped opening, tapped his finger against the side of the spoon, watched the minute crystals sprinkle as he moved the spoon along her waiting lips.
Her eyes were closed. She began to shudder.
He moved the mirror, slid up between her legs, rose up above her, overpowered by her lust. She was his erotic master, orchestrating his orgasm. He felt godlike. He was Priapus, son of Dionysius and Aphrodite, who fornicated for eternity without losing his erection, and he roared with desire as he surged against her.
The cocaine felt like ice, first numbing her membranes, then suddenly setting them afire. She cried out, feeling him against her, rising up to meet him, her senses screaming for satisfaction.
‘Ohhh.. . my God!’
Sharky lay on the cot smoking a Schimmelpenninck, staring up at the smoke hanging near the ceiling like strands of cotton candy, his thoughts jumping to Domino, envisioning her. He dropped the cigar on the floor and put the earphones back on, heard her peculiar breathing pattern starting again.
Seven in, hold seven, seven out.
And he joined her, closing his eyes, letting his own fantasies take control.
He was lying among the pillows in the massage room. She was standing over him, her long legs dominating him.
Thick black swansdown inviting him as she stared down...
Stared down between her breasts, smiling...
He reached up, touching the soft skin behind her knees, stroked it, then pressed lightly.
She lowered towards him, an agonizing vision in slow motion.
Seven in, hold seven, seven out.
She stretched out over him, not quite touching him. Her nipples brushed his, her lips hovered over his, her thick tuft teased his shaft. Their lips brushed together, tongues searching, touching, melding into one.
He kissed her neck, her throat, the bulge of her breasts, her nipples, and felt her settle against him, moving against him, like a wave washing over him.
He could wait no longer. He reached down, lifted her by the hips, and together they stared down between their bodies, moving, touching, and moving apart until neither of them could stand the agony any longer and as he poised her over him and they both looked down at what was waiting and he reached between them, brushed his band across her silken mound, she moaned, Ohhh.. . my God!’ as he rose up and felt her against him. Open and waiting, she sucked him inside..
DeLaroza rose high above he and then plunged down, the power, grasping, taking, and she felt him inside her, only her eyes were closed and now her fantasy took over and it was not DeLaroza entering her, it was Sharky, for now she no longer wanted the lust of power, she wanted to get and to give, to join him, not be his for the taking. She felt his hard, muscular stomach, his lean chest, his neck, taut and straining, his arms with their pinion fingers stroking, gentling, hardening her, and his mouth against hers, lightly at first, then crushing against hers.
Her breathing pattern shortened.
Five in, five hold, five out.
She counted faster as her breathing quickened. He was breathing with her, thrusting with her.
Two, two, two.
Two, two, two.
two,two. ..two,two.two,.two...
One, one.
One
One!
‘Ahhh!’
She cried out again and again. Her body stiffened. Volcanoes sputtered, rumbled, spat fire, and erupted inside her. Hot lava engulfed her, warmed her, flooded through her head, her throat, her chest, her stomach. Her vagina burst and words tumbled from her lips that made no sense, a disconnected alien vocabulary surging from her throat.
DeLaroza popped the amyl nitrite tube and passed it back and forth between them, felt her instant response, the renewed assault on her senses. She was an errant star, lost in space, as it hit again and again and again. The mountain below his testicles swelled and slammed between his legs and he too convulsed and erupted...
in his post on the roof Sharky heard them, felt the same urgent rush, the same mountain between his legs, the same volcanoes blowing apart, the same fervid explosion in his groin and, crying out, he came.