Darlene Read online

  DARLENE

  by

  Avyn Pearl

  © 2013 Avyn Pearl.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored on any system or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic or otherwise—except for brief passages in critical reviews or articles, without prior written permission of the author.

  Published in the United States of America by Avyn Pearl.

  Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction and is derived entirely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual places or events is purely coincidental.

  For my love.

  Chapter 1

  Paulo is so close I can feel his breath on my neck. As he talks, I soak in the smell of sandalwood in his aftershave and the warmth of his muscular body. His husky voice drips of Portugal—the coast, deep, delicious espresso, the delicate pastries of the padarias in the city. I close my eyes for a second, imagining his lips like petals falling down my skin, kissing the prickly bumps that rise.

  "Ah, bela," he whispers excitedly. "So nice."

  A smile crosses my lips, one of obvious mischief. "Uh huh." I look down intently. A breeze reaches me from the window across the room and a few strands of my hair tickle my lower lip. I push them aside with neatly manicured pearl pink fingers. "It's huge."

  "Yesss!"

  Paulo is just as excited as I am. An urge creeps up from deep inside of me. This is more than I could have hoped for. I lean in to Paulo a little more. "How much do you think this baby is worth?" I try to peek into the binocular microscope at the large, shiny diamond.

  "Millions, bela, millions. It's perfect."

  Finally, I lie back on the couch in my small but cozy studio apartment and grin.

  "Hell yes!" I say this aloud, but it's really a congratulatory word to me. This victory clearly established my mark and proves that I'm the best damned gem thief in the world. Paulo recognizes this fact at the same time because he immediately leans over to give me an awkward hug.

  "You do it!" I smile again at Paulo's broken English. "You do it, Darlene! We call Hezzy now?"

  "Yeah," I both reply and nod. "We have to process this baby—and get our money."

  The smile on Paulo's face soon fades. "You know, gorgeous, we been working together sis' months already. Time to break up, no?"

  Sadly, I know it's true. I'm too pretty for jail. One of the reasons I'm so good is because I don't keep partners long and I move around a lot. It keeps me out of trouble. "Yes, Paulo, I'm afraid you're right." I slide a pink slim cigarette out of its case and fire it up with a blinged out lighter. Yes, that's the type I am. I ask him, "Are you heading back to Portugal after this?"

  "Ah, no!" Paulo shakes his head. He pulls a cigarette of his own out of the pocket on his open silk shirt and leans closer to me to light it from my own embers. He takes a few puffs, then exhales, enveloping us in a plume of carcinogens before speaking again. "I'm going to Italy. I have lady there." A sparkle dances in his eyes.

  "Paulo! You've been holding out on me!" I laugh, as does my friend. He pats me on the knee, a sign of endearment, I know.

  "Yes, bela. You know, I think about settling down from this, start me some children."

  For a second, I'm affected by this remark, a picture of Paulo with a beautiful Italian girl, and their beautifully dark-haired offspring. My mother would have wanted the same for me. Except, of course, they'd be French Canadian, Haitian and Greek, and whatever DNA their father would share. But I'm not the housewife type. I've always been a free spirit. I tell myself I should call my mother tomorrow, though.

  "That's a good thing, Paulo. A very good thing."

  "And you?"

  "I don't know, Paulo. I miss San Diego. I think I'll go back there and see what I can get into."

  Paulo grins. He knows that I'd only go somewhere if I were already thinking about a job. And I am.

  "Clever, bela. The gem show is there next week. Long enough time?" Paulo's eyebrows come together with genuine concern over whether I'll be able to pull off the job so quickly.

  Of course, I'm no amateur. "Sure." I shrug. "Should we go?"

  "Yes, my sweet." Paulo stands to clutch his messenger bag. He slips the huge diamond inside just before closing the tiny buttons on his shirt. We'll walk the few blocks to a corner store and pick up a throw-away mobile phone to call our friend, Hezzy. And in about twenty-four hours, I'll be on a plane to sunny SoCal.

  Chapter 2

  In case you're slow, my name is Darlene. It's Darlene Roxelle Laurent, to be precise, but most people know me as Darlene Finch or Darlene Nordeman. Or by some of the other names I use. I was born in Victoria, British Columbia and raised all over. My half Greek, half Haitian mother is a professor of women's studies at the University of Chicago. My Canadian-born father is a prominent cardiologist in Chicagoland. I have a sister, Claudine, who's married to a lawyer. I went to the best schools, as did Claudine, who's a family therapist, by the way. Perhaps because our home was so happy growing up, Claudine feels like she needs to figure out why everyone else is so damn weird. I'm serious—we had a great life.

  I'm twenty-nine. And no, I'm not panicking about hitting thirty. I'm living my best life. I have a bachelor’s degree in economics from NYU and a master’s degree in international marketing from Yale. What? I needed something to do. My family thinks I work for a marketing firm based out of New York City, and that I travel all over (I needed something to explain all the postcards from all over the world, didn't I?) and I pull off this great, whopper of a sham with the help of my friend Priscilla Grulay. I affectionately call her Nelly, since her middle name is Janelle. Besides, if I'm ever caught talking to her by phone, no one would know who she is.

  I'm a gem thief. And I'm good at it.

  I sit at this nondescript corner café, like I have just about every Friday afternoon since I've been in Houston with Paulo. It took me three days to meet Peter, who's an environmental lawyer. I've fucked so many lawyers, I've lost count. Clearly Claudine and I have this in common—she used to hang around the University of Chicago Law School, flipping that long ass hair until she found one for the long term. And as I watch Peter approaching, joggling slightly as he jaywalks across the street, I feel a slight slipperiness between my thighs. It's a warm but breezy day, and the silk-blend shirtdress I'm wearing ripples slightly with the breeze. A pair of thongs is all I wear underneath. Luckily I'm blessed with great breasts. Okay, let me be honest: I bought great breasts.

  "Hey, beautiful," Peter says, kissing me on the cheek. "I missed you last week."

  "I know." I was working, but I don't tell him. Peter thinks I'm a barista. I think that's hilarious. "Let's go."

  "Oooh," Peter smiles. "You're feisty today." He slips his arm in mine in that chivalrous way he has about him, escorting me down the street. A couple of women gawk as we walk by their table. I agree that I'm hot, but it's probably because they notice what I'm feeling: my nipples are as hard as rocks already thinking about the next frame in this beautiful movie. "Same place?" Peter reaches for my face, delicately skimming a finger across my chin.

  "Definitely. I like that place."

  We walk a few blocks and arrive at our spot. It's a cute boutique hotel we happened upon when the Westin was full on account of some stupid insurance conference. We love the beds, the rooms are spacious and the food is delicious. I sit in one of the oversized chairs in the lobby pretending to read a copy of Glamour as Peter gets a room for us. As he moves toward the elevator, I follow. I'm pulsing between my thighs, anticipating what's to come. Peter's been away on business so I haven't had sex in over a week and I feel like I could die. I can tell Peter's anxious too, his footsteps are quicker today. Peter's married, of course. He's told me plenty about
his kids, mostly because I ask, but very little about his wife, probably because I don't ask. I just know he's bored and feels unloved.

  He can barely swing the door shut before we reach for one another. We hold our embrace longer than usual. His slightly wet kisses start at my collarbone and move up toward my ear. He breathes in my scent. "Ummmmm," he murmurs, "you're wearing the Gucci I bought you."

  "Yes," I whisper, gently tugging at his leather belt. "Peter …"

  "Yes, I know," he responds. And he does know.

  Peter's hands glide up my thighs, playfully pulling the rim of my thong just before he slips my dress over my head. "You're stunning." I smile, knowing he's turned on by the little things. He buries his head between my breasts, now full from anticipation, then gently draws a nipple into his mouth. Instinctively, my back arches, giving him full access. He cradles me in his arms, hungrily twirling my nipple in his mouth as we're wrapped up in one another for a moment.

  Peter gently lays me across the bed as he unbuttons his shirt. "Do you want to make love or do you want to fuck, Darlene?"

  I smirk. It's funny to see Peter, who is ordinarily so straight-laced, turn dominant in the bedroom. I try not to think about the fact that I have to tell him that I'm leaving tonight, but it does cross my mind. "Do you have to go back to work?" I ask, serious now.

  Peter pauses, an expression of curiosity on his face. I've never asked him for anything other than a lunch before. "Not really, why?"

  "I want both. I want more of you today."

  He gives me a look, and I can tell my request gives him satisfaction. His shirt and pants now laying in a sloppy heap on the floor, Peter kneels between my thighs. I close my eyes, waiting for him to slide my wet panties down for his surprise. My last Brazilian was in the shape of a heart. Before you start thinking it, I'm not sentimental at all. But I am quite fond of Peter. It was the least I could do, because I know I'm going to break his heart.

  "Oh, Darlene!" Peter smiles as he looks up at me.

  "Well, you asked for more hair." I giggle. "I decided to give you just a little bit."

  "I love it," he whispers, just before his mouth swallows my glistening lips. Normally, Peter isn't this rushed, but I don't care. I want him just as much.

  "Mmmm," I groan when his tongue flicks across my wet spot. "I love that, baby. Don't stop."

  And of course, he doesn't. Peter gently laps his tongue up and down until I'm soaked even more. I feel my own wetness saturating the sheets. Assertively, he pushes my legs apart, sucking me softly. "Yes, Peter," I encourage him, my voice getting louder, my tone more harsh. Like a rhythm, my hips begin to grind against his eager mouth and he moves with me. I pinch my nipples as I groan, knowing that surely, the occupants of the next room can hear me. I know because I heard them turn their television set down. Fucking perverts.

  "Oh, baby … More!" I'm even louder now.

  Peter grabs my hips in a futile attempt to regain some control and keep up with my pumping. I'm so close. He knows, because just then, he teases me with one, long stroke with the tip of his tongue from the crack of my ass to the tip of my throbbing clit, and quickly flicks his tongue back and forth.

  "Yessss!" I scream as I start to come, feeling his tongue all over me, licking, sucking … sliding in and out. He nibbles me until my body is limp, overwhelmed by both his mouth and his desire for me.

  "I want seconds," Peter says immediately.

  My eyes are closed, but I smile. "Me first."

  "Gladly," Peter replies, his voice husky as he rolls over on the bed.

  I play with his balls, gently rolling them in my hands before I kiss them. His hands wrap around my head, caressing my scalp. I lick the tip of his penis, tasting the salty beginning, the first course of my lunch. He tastes so good. Peter pushes my head down, so I take his lead, swallowing most of his shaft in my mouth. I move up and down, slowly at first, still caressing his bulging sacs. I let my hands move all over his body, rubbing his nipples, scraping my nails against his rib cage.

  "Oh, Darlene …" Peter's voice trails off as he breathes harder.

  I hum lightly as my mouth moves faster. In surprise, Peter grabs my legs to straddle him, and I obey. Soon, his face is buried between my wet thighs again, our momentum more frenzied. He tightens his cheeks, and I know he's about to blow. I welcome it. As I feel my own orgasm starting again, Peter lets go and the warmth of his ejaculation fills my mouth. I gladly lap it up, sucking him until his erection goes limp and I gently collapse beside him.

  "That was a wonderful first round," I tell him, now snuggled up to him and licking his ear. Seconds later, I'm covering my own as the fire alarm blares in the hotel.

  "Oh, damn!" Peter hops off the bed, red-faced. "A fire alarm? Can you believe this shit?"

  It's a rhetorical question, I know. He's flustered and I'm disappointed. I slip my damp thongs on and hastily pull my shirt dress over my head. I fluff my hair and grab my hobo as Peter tousles his own mane with one arm while pulling his sport coat on with the other. We step into the hallway and file down the nearest stairwell with the other hotel guests, keeping quiet until we're outside. Fire trucks have arrived, the scene is chaotic and I overhear one of the housekeeping staff saying something about a kitchen fire. Great, I think.

  I look at Peter. "Well?" I shrug.

  Peter runs his fingers through his hair. "So much for our long afternoon, huh? I suppose I could go file some motions or something." He laughs nervously, looking about the street. It's crowded and he doesn't want to be seen.

  "Peter …," I start, but he grabs my wrist to pull me closer to him.

  "Next time, baby?"

  "That's the thing, Peter." He clutches my arm tighter, looking confused. "I'm leaving tonight. I won't be back." And that's that.

  "What do you mean, Darlene?"

  "Peter, I'm sorry," I say, freeing myself from his grip. "It was lovely. I warned you I don't stay in one place for long. I'm sorry."

  "But Darlene," he pleads.

  I know he doesn't know what to say. Hell, I barely do. I'd really, really grown to like him. "I'm sorry, Peter." I turn and walk away, I have to. I don't want to look into his eyes anymore—the eyes that give away his hopes, his wishes for a future somehow, someday … with me. And I don't have the measure of cruelty it takes to watch his sorrow play out on a street corner.

  Chapter 3

  "Are you sleeping well? Are you eating enough? You were so thin the last time I saw you, Dar."

  My mother's on the phone, firing off question after question like a Gallup researcher. She's doing what mothers do best, I suppose. I pull the cell phone down on my cheek a bit so that I can sigh without her hearing. "I'm fine, ma," I respond. "I'm sleeping and eating just fine."

  "How's work? When are you coming home?"

  "Work is good. I'm in San Diego." I decide to give her a nugget of truth. I do that every once in a while. "I'll be home for Thanksgiving." That's true, too. I planned on going home for the upcoming holiday.

  "San Diego! You know your cousin Millie moved there last year."

  Damn. Of course I didn't know. "Oh, yeah?" My reply is dry. "I don't know if I'll have much time for socializing while I'm here. I'm buried with work—plus, I won't be here that long." I have absolutely no intention of looking up Millie, my spinster second cousin once removed, whose last name I can't remember, a fact that I'm not about to share with my mother.

  She's still talking. "Your sister …"

  My flight was delayed, I'm hungry as hell, and I want to get to that pool right outside my hotel suite and sip a martini. "Ma, ma …," I interrupt her. Luckily, she was drawing a breath. "I gotta go. I need to prepare for a meeting in the morning."

  "Okay, Dar. I'll tell everyone you said hello. Love you."

  "Love you too, ma." This, of course, is always true.

  My makeup is a mess, but I'm not concerned. I slip into a two piece, throw on a pair of terry cotton shorts and head down to the pool. It's quiet, which I like. A few peopl
e are milling about. Most of the tourists are probably out visiting the zoo or some other attraction. I take a comfortable seat under a cabana just as a waiter waltzes my way.

  "Madam," he acknowledges me with a smile while handing me a menu. "My name is Adam. We have happy hour in about twenty minutes, starting at three. All the drinks on this side are just $6. Would you like to take a few minutes to look at the menu?"

  I study him for a few seconds, looking up at his smooth milk chocolate skin and big brown eyes. Adam is clean cut and I can immediately tell he works out. Right now, though, I'm too tired to flirt, so I stick to business.

  "Thank you Adam, but I don't think so. I'll take a lemontini and water—with lemon." He smiles at me and I shrug. "I like lemon. Oh … and I think I'll take the warm pretzels with cheese dip and the hummus plate."

  "Excellent. I'll have that out for you momentarily."

  He strides off and I can't help but take a peek at his the way those form fitting white slacks snuggle his cheeks. I open my novel to the random page where I've tucked the building plans for the Pricewater Convention Center. I study it quickly for now. I have four days to figure this out. Before I know it, Adam's back with my water and martini.

  "Here you are," he says, smiling. Your food will be up in just a moment. I'm sorry, I didn't get your room number."

  "Sure," I say while leaning back on the chaise, pretending to adjust myself. Truth is, I'm just giving him a better view of my cleavage. "It's eight-ten."

  "Oh, you have an ocean view in the suite section. Nice."

  "I think so." I laugh. Again, I watch Adam's tight backside as he walks away, presumably to get my food.

  Since it's pretty hot out and the pool is both sparkling and inviting, I decide to dip in. I slip my shorts off, revealing my cheeky bottom tied with big gold rings at the hips to match my stringy top. I've been swimming since I was six, so without hesitation, I dive into the six-foot deep side of the pool and make a lap to the end. After a buoy up, I lean my head back into the water and open my face up to the glow of the sun. It feels absolutely wonderful. There are times when I feel guilty for this life. Not because I steal, but because I always have everything I want. Who wouldn't want this kind of life?