Page 127 of The Deadly Candies

She giggled. And attacked him for a more demanding kiss. He had unlocked her heart and soul, bound her to him forever. She would never forget that moment and didn’t want it to end. She drank the sweetness of his kiss, tender and light like a Christmas promise or a birthday wish. But fueled with much passion, her knees went weak. Soon she succumbed to the forceful domination of his lips and responded with her own.

He chuckled, low and warm, as she was the one who refused to let the kiss end. Carmelo reached behind his neck to bring her arms down. Kathy pulled him toward the bed. His lips left hers only to plead his case. She attacked him with more kisses and tried to remove his coat from him.He knew why she was so hurried; it wasn’t just their love. It was the threat that at any moment someone or something could retake their joy.

“Wait, Kathy, wait, I have more planned. And I want?—.”

“Later… now, right now, I need you now,” she said and again tried to push his coat off his shoulders. “I’ve missed it all. You were hurt, and I wasn’t there. You had a birthday and I wasn’t here. I’m tired of missing you, Melo. I’m tired of waiting to be here—with you. Don’t you want me?”

Carmelo smiled. She was right. Time was never their friend. What they needed, they needed, and they needed each other. He stopped her busy hands and took them into his.

“Ti amo, cara,” he said. “You want this?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Volentieri!” he said

He stared into her eyes for a moment, seeing the pain and suffering there vanquished by his offer to release them both from the sexual tension they’d felt since their first night in the attic.

It filled him with so much regret and remorse. He released her hands to run his around her waist and up her back to her zipper. Kathy exhaled as the tight fit to her midriff eased. She had turned for him and let him draw the zipper down her spine, nice and slow. She cast a look over her shoulder at him. He smiled as he pulled her dress down to leave her in her slip.

Kathy was no longer timid; she wanted him to notice her, to see the man before her desire her, not just to immortalize her. There were times when Carmelo’s love felt like worship. She didn’t need that. She needed reality now more than ever. She’d faced a lot of it in the segregated town of Butts.

Kathy desired and longed for the deep connection her parents shared, where their souls were intertwined in a bond that nothing and no one could ever break. So, she reached behind her and released the hooks to her brassiere. The cups dropped and the straps fell down her arms as she let the garment fall, revealing her breasts to him.

Carmelo gazed at her body, holding his breath as the slip dropped and pooled around her ankles, covering her feet. The reality of her beauty surpassed even his most vivid fantasies. Her skin was flawless, smooth as if bronzed by the sun, without a single blemish to mar its perfection. Her dark, full nipples stood taut, more exquisite than his imagination had dared to conjure during their absence. A delicate waist tapered into heart-shaped hips, the curve of them accentuated by the teasing drape of her bloomers—hiding her sex, yet hinting at the alluring V beneath. Her thighs, shapely and strong, flowed into legs so perfectly sculpted they seemed carved by divine hands. She was a vision, a goddess made flesh.

Kathy watched as Carmelo shrugged off his suit jacket, the fabric sliding from his broad shoulders with effortless grace. His fingers moved deftly down the row of buttons on his shirt, each one releasing to reveal more of him—tawny skin stretched over lean muscle, the body of a fighter, honed and hardened in the ring. At twenty, he was in his prime, his beauty almost unfair: sharp jaw shadowed with stubble, dark curls slightly tousled from the evening’s tension, eyes that burned with a quiet intensity.

She fought the instinct to cover herself, but the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world, left her breathless, immobile.

Then his shirt fell open, and her heart fell apart.

His torso was a map of old battles-thin scars from fists and hammer used for discipline, the mottled bruises of recent fights, the knotted ridge of a poorly healed rib. She knew he boxed, knew the violence of the sport, but some of these marks… they weren’t from the ring. The realization struck like a fist to her chest, and her throat tightened. Tears blurred her vision, not just from pity, but from the terrible, beautiful truth of what they risked just to exist in the same moment.

Yet when he stepped closer, his hands—calloused, capable—reached for her with a tenderness that defied every scar, threat, and means put upon him to abandon their love. And in that forbidden space between them, there was no color, no hate, no past nor future. Only this: his chest brushing up against her breast, his hand sliding down to cup her left buttock, his erection hard against her bloomers, his lips soft but firm as they captured hers, and the warmth melting down from her heart to warm her in womanly places she dared admit existed.

This was their moment. They were together. At last.

38

The Honeymoon, Harlem 1949

Amidst the whirlwind of sexual pressure and pleasure, she lost all sense of direction—until the soft crush of rose petals beneath her bare back brought her into the moment. Carmelo eased her bloomers down, his fingers trailing fire along her thighs.

Then his touch went between her thighs. He found her. The gentle massage he gave sent currents of pleasure rippling like waves from her aching core up through her tummy. She gasped when his touch became lighter and playfully teasing. How did he know she’d like this so much?

Kathy, lips parted in a silent “O”. No book—dryly clinical or wildly exaggerated—could have prepared her for the entry. His finger slipped inside, a sharp breech, his nail scraped her tender walls, unfamiliar intrusion that made her vaginal muscles tense, the walls of her pussy sweat. At the same time, his mouth was on hers, lips there, covering, tongue delving and sweeping around to distract her from the discomfort and the awkwardness of his probing finger. He was as eager and erratic as a summer storm. His tongue explored before tracing the shell of her ear, then trailing down her neck in slow, worshipful kisses.

She kept her eyes shut tight, afraid that opening them would break the spell—or worse, reveal her nervous discomfort. Her body was a mystery, even to herself, and every nerve hummed between painful uncertainty and aching need. But his hand was patient, two fingers now inside of her, stretching her mercilessly, his breath warm against her skin, as if he had all the time in the world to learn what worked for her.

When Carmelo’s mouth found her nipple, his teeth grazed the sensitive bud as he teased it into his mouth. He moved over her, his fingers withdrew, his erection pressed between the lips of her vagina, moved in a way that created friction, sending heat and shaking waves of delight that made her rotate her ass. Her thighs trembled as pleasure built, hot and slippery, while he alternated between sucking one nipple and the other, murmuring about how she felt, how much he wanted her, how he loved her.

Kathy smiled.

And then it happened.

He entered her with a force that nothing before had prepared her for—his member half-way into her vagina from a single hard thrust. The sudden pain surged through her, making her cry out and clutch his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Kathy," he said, freezing in place.

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