Hot Chocolate

Overview

Treat yourself to a meltdown with the hot sweetness of deep, dark, chocolate desire. . .

These gloriously sensual short stories will tease you, thrill you, touch you, and turn up the heat like you never dreamed words could. So come on and take a taste. . .

Enter a world where reality, fantasy, and fiction cross paths with smoldering results for a woman with a healthy imagination--and healthy appetites. Feel free to watch as a teacher gets a ...

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Overview

Treat yourself to a meltdown with the hot sweetness of deep, dark, chocolate desire. . .

These gloriously sensual short stories will tease you, thrill you, touch you, and turn up the heat like you never dreamed words could. So come on and take a taste. . .

Enter a world where reality, fantasy, and fiction cross paths with smoldering results for a woman with a healthy imagination--and healthy appetites. Feel free to watch as a teacher gets a crash course in passion--all in one unforgettable night. . .as lovers race against time to carry out a sizzling tryst. . .as a restless brother rings in the New Year with the ultimate mind game while on an island paradise. And that's only the beginning. Satisfaction doesn't get any sweeter than this. . .

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780758214560
  • Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corporation
  • Publication date: 5/7/2013
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 304
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Read an Excerpt

HOT CHOCOLATE

SENSUAL SHORT STORIES


By Vastiana Belfon

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2004Brown Skin Books, Pentimento Ltd.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-1456-0


Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Brown Skin

Jade Williams


No full sensual pout, no flowing raven locks, no swelling, heaving, or even pert breasts. Legs certainly not statuesque, more on the stumpy side. I stared at myself in the mirror, turning from side to side, craning my neck over my shoulder hoping to spy a voluptuous ass. To no avail. It just sat there looking slightly dumpy, cellulite threatening. Not big, not Beyoncé, not J-Lo, not Kylie. Just unremarkable. Like most of the rest of me really. So let's all get this straight from the start. I'm a middle-aged, middle-of-the-road, not-quite-frumpy housewife. Relatively happily married—couldn't really be otherwise with such an average lifes tyle— with a husband who's kind, caring (if a little un imaginative) and two children who are, fortunately, old enough to spend much of their time away.

So you can see that I'm nothing special and by now you're probably gloating that you've got a lot more to offer the world than me. And you're probably right. So that's the reason I ask myself, "Why me?"

"Why don't you try it?" Sonya, my so-called best friend asked. "You're always on about sex, and this pays. It might just be worth it."

That's when the seeds were planted. They germinate as I tackle the piles of dishes, my rubber-gloved hands dangling listlessly in lukewarm, greasy water. They push their heads through the soil as I watch television with only half an eye. They seek the sun as I clean up the bathroom after three individuals who should know better. And, I'm almost ashamed to admit it, they burst into bloom as Dan and I make love. We're warm and cozy and relaxed after all these years together. Wrapped in a little bubble of domestic and sensual contentment. I love him. What can I say? So our love life might have had the excitement rubbed off the edges, but what can you expect when we seem to have lived through a century of sleepless nights— either feeding wailing babies or waiting for reluctant adolescents to return home. So these days, when we do get it on, it's likely to be slow, tender, still wondering at the affectionate passion that's survived all the domestic strife. So that's my life in a nutshell. Nothing too exciting, but not much to complain about either.

It makes you think, doesn't it? What kind of a woman does Sonya think I am? Although I might talk about sex all the time, that doesn't mean that I want to think about it, analyze it constantly. And that's what I've started doing since she came up with the idea. We had that conversation three weeks ago, and the subject has not been far from my mind ever since. They say that guys think about it around a million times a day, but I can tell you that I wouldn't recommend it. I don't know how they do it. It's exhausting! But maybe they think about it in a different way. I've found myself researching the subject, reading about it, watching videos, dissecting it, picking it apart. It should all come so naturally. For me, though, it doesn't seem to be working out that way. Maybe it's my age, but I find myself struggling.

It struck me that Sonya must think that I'm desperate to even suggest such a thing. What kind of vibes do I give off? I like to think of myself as a sensual, no, sexy, adult, open-minded woman, but even I would not have thought of this. I'd never have thought I was the type. After all, just look at my dull, suburban existence. Maybe I need to take a serious look at the image I present to the world.

As far as I remember, Sonya and I had just been chatting about the usual things: school exams, the new boutique that has opened down the road, and of course, men. I'm not sure what triggered the memory, but Sonya suddenly stopped midsentence, clapped her hand to her forehead, and fished in her handbag for a piece of newsprint raggedly torn out of a paper. She smoothed out the folds and handed it to me like a teacher presenting a certificate for good behavior in class.

"Girl, I been carrying this around with me for days. As soon as I saw it, I thought of you."

I didn't know whether to be flattered or offended as I struggled to make out the small print without my reading glasses. I don't know what kind of expression there was on my face, but Sonya laughed loud.

"Don't look so scared. It's made for you." And that's when she added those words: You're always talking about sex, and this pays.

Now, one thing I'd like to make clear is that I'm not "always talking about sex". I am not obsessed. I'm not sex-starved. I'm quite content with my married two-point-one times a month, thank you. It's just that if someone else brings up the subject, I'm not going to be one of those women who purses her lips and diverts the conversation to arranging the flowers for last Sunday's church service. That would just be plain rude. So, if my twice-divorced, longtime best friend feels the need to talk about her pathetic lack of a sex life, then it's only kind to try to accommodate her by sharing my thoughts on the subject. And if I tell a few tales about my own adventurous past (before Dan, of course), then it's just to make her feel better about her own celibate status. It's a kindness I'm doing, and then she has the nerve to say that I'm always talking about sex.

I think she expected me to be grateful or something because she kept staring at me with that "well ..." kind of look on her face. I guess I was supposed to congratulate her for this unique opportunity that was being presented to me, but, well ... always talking about sex, indeed!

I'm not even feeling oversensitive about it, but when she said those words, it was like every single sexual episode I'd told her about flashed before my eyes in glorious technicolor—not that my sex life is black-and-white or even gray these days; that's not what I'm saying. But, oh, there were some sweet, sweet guys in there, as well as some low-down dirty bastards. And I couldn't even tell you which ones were the most exciting. Look at me now: tailored pants and high-necked blouses for the neighborly coffee mornings, the obligatory velour tracksuits for lounging, hats and pearls for church on Sunday. Who would believe it of me, and what would they say if they knew?

No one would imagine, for example, that there was a Sean in my past. Now, thinking about it, maybe that's what made Sonya think I'd be up for it: what I'd told her about Sean.

We met, or rather glimpsed each other, on my first day at college in North London. He was a mature student, late thirties, I thought at first, but just as ill at ease, nervous, and unsure of himself as the rest of us. I guess that's one reason why I noticed him in the first place. That and the fact that, unlike every other guy in the place, he'd turned up in a suit and tie, so there was a huge empty circle developing around him as we all avoided his personal space, sniggering behind our hands as we went past. I was just as guilty as the others, secure in the little cabal of likeminded and similarly dressed students that was forming around me, eager to become part of whatever herd we could find. Except Sean.

I did look twice at him, though, and I suspect everyone else did, too, each with the same thought: how brave of this old white guy to put himself in this unenviable position. There he was, slightly nerdy-looking in his suit, surrounded by all these ultra-hip, super-confident, smoother-than-smooth black guys in the latest FUBU gear and designer sneakers ordered from the Internet, snaky wires dangling from their ears connected to the most expensive MP3 player on the market. Of course, we all knew that, underneath the bling, we were all equally scared and insecure, but none of us would admit it, especially in front of a white guy. So, like everyone else, I
(Continues...)


Excerpted from HOT CHOCOLATE by Vastiana Belfon. Copyright © 2004 by Brown Skin Books, Pentimento Ltd.. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Brown Skin by Jade Williams....................     1     

The Learning Game by Sheree Mack....................     33     

Address Book by Wanda Games....................     53     

Be Prepared by Michaela Greenidge....................     69     

New Year by Zamo Mkhwanazi....................     107     

Snatched by Clare Ewell....................     121     

Scent of Vanilla by Kwame Pitts....................     147     

Office Politics by Lani Douglas....................     165     

Roots Thing Dirty: You Make My Body Slink and My Tail Fall Rounded and Crooked into the Shape of a Heart by S.P. Brown.........     191     

Shadow's Discretion by Sonya Michele....................     215     

Hourglass by Kiyra B. Holt....................     239     

Hotel Room by Saran Thornton....................     267     


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