Honey Flava

“No, only because I said it to you. My father told me never to talk about past romances in the presence of a beautiful woman.”

“Your father is a very smart man.” Previous fantasies of having an affair returned to Lang’s thoughts, launching soft butterflies in her chest. “Would you like to sit down?”

He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. You work near here?”

“I’m here on business. My family owns an import company, and I’m the road warrior. I’m staying at the hotel across the street for tonight and driving home tomorrow.” She didn’t know what made her blurt out where she was lodging. She took a sip from her drink to cover her returning blush. “What about you?”

“Actually, I’m here on business, too. And I’m staying at the same hotel as you. So that makes us like neighbors…”

As the evening wore on, he kept Lang’s drinks refreshed. Before long, their conversation turned flirtatious and laced with sexual innuendos. She noticed when he pressed his leg against hers, but she didn’t pull away. He paid attention to her like no other man ever had. She felt attractive, relaxed, and was having fun for the first time in a long while. The time passed too quickly.

They were just finishing drink number four when he glanced at his watch. “Wow, it’s almost nine o’clock. There’s a movie I want to catch on HBO before turning in.”

Lang felt a pang of disappointment. She had been expecting him to suggest an extended night together. She thought about proposing it, but her Buddhist upbringing wouldn’t let her be so brazen. “Maybe we can do this again sometime. I really had fun talking to you. Are you here for the weekend?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m off to Pittsburgh tomorrow.” He paused before adding, “Hey, why don’t you come watch the movie with me? I have some really smooth Scotch in my room, and I would love your company for a while longer. If the movie sucks, we’ll just talk some more. What do you say?”

That was what she had been hoping for, but now the idea frightened her. She’d never been with any man except her husband. She knew she should just go to her room and let the vibrator douse her fire, but the thought of the stranger possibly making love to her ignited a fuse that had lain dormant inside her for years. “Just a movie?” she asked, hoping to sound innocent.

“I’m only asking for company,” he whispered. “Hotel rooms are lonely and boring.”

As if another woman had taken control of her body, she said, “What’s your room number?”

Lang’s hands shook as she maneuvered her car from the restaurant parking lot to the hotel across the street. As she took a quick shower, she made up her mind: family and Asian values be damned; she was going to fuck the dark stranger with the expensive clothes—the stranger who’d once loved a Vietnamese girl. I’m a grown woman, she thought. A woman with desires denied for far too long.

Not bothering with bra or panties, she pulled on a ribbed, white tank top and slipped into a pair of black silk pants that were loose yet clingy enough to compliment her figure. Trying to hurry, she opted for a pair of heeled, toeless clogs that made her taller and were easy to slip off. She dried and brushed her hair, sparingly applied makeup, and spritzed on a light mist of perfume. Her heart pounded as she walked to his room.

His door was ajar. She stepped inside, shutting it behind her. “How’s the movie?”

He stood immediately. His jeans and muscle shirt made him look sporty—and somehow so touchable. His hair was damp, and his smile did its magic.

“Pretty dull, really,” he said. “Maybe it’ll get better.” The gleam in his eyes said more than words ever could. “Here, have a seat while I get you a drink.” He led her to the small sofa, then went to pour her a Scotch on the rocks.

Lang had watched the entire movie just last week. “I’ve seen this before. It doesn’t get any better, trust me. Let’s see what else is on.”

She scanned through CNN, BBC, and MTV. When a scene of two people making love filled the screen, she stopped. The woman was Asian, maybe Chinese. The man was black and handsome. She had heard about the dimensions of black men, but always thought it was nothing but rumors. His penis was at least twice the size of her husband’s; she was momentarily mesmerized. She could almost imagine the black man was fucking her and not the girl in the movie, although she seriously doubted his massive cock could penetrate her.

The stranger returned to where she sat and handed her the Scotch. “Here you go, sexy lady.” He glanced at the TV screen. “Whoa…what are you watching?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Embarrassed, she switched the channel.

He watched her for a second, then picked up the remote and turned off the TV, leaving nothing but the soft glow of lamplight. In the silence he slipped off his clothes. She watched as his cock grew from semi-erect to a lethal weapon.

“You know we’re going to have sex, don’t you?”

She wondered how she could not know. Now was definitely the time to leave if she was going to, but she didn’t want to. Not at all. “You forgot to ask me.” She blushed profusely as she set her drink aside.

“You want it as much as I want you.”

His erection twitched as if beckoning her, a bead of moisture appearing at the head. She did want it as much as he did, probably more, but she said nothing. She hoped he wouldn’t cum too quickly.

“You have beautiful lips,” he said, his voice husky.

He pulled her upright, held her waist, and kissed her with shameless passion. He slid his hands to her breasts and held them firm; his thumbs stroked her nipples sensuously. Her wetness awakened as she swelled with desire. Her nipples tightened and strained against her tank top. He backed away just long enough to strip

her shirt over her head and toss it aside. Pulling her close, he cupped her small, tight ass in his hands and pressed his throbbing erection against her bare stomach.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to stand close in front of him. He teased her left breast with his hand as he filled his mouth with her right. He sucked hungrily, swirling his tongue expertly across her swollen nipple and areola, teasing with just the right pressure until Lang thought she would explode with torturous pleasure. Something about the way he held and touched her made her breasts feel full, ample. He made her feel wondrously sexy, and any self-consciousness about her small breasts faded into nonexistence.