MadameFrankie Read online

  “A very special friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “Remember I told you about Jazz?”

  “How could I forget? When you showed me his picture, I was struck silent by his masculine beauty.”

  “He’s here, in the city. He’s coming to see me tonight.”

  “That is good for you. I will be spending the night with Emmanuel anyway.”

  “Good. I’m sure you’re going to have a lovely time.”

  “And I am sure you are too.”

  Frankie wasn’t sure what was going to happen that night, but she prepared herself for all the possibilities. She was sure Jazz had gotten over the marriage thing. But she could tell by his phone call and his presence in the DR that he hadn’t gotten over her.

  But what would he think of Casa de Mita? What would he think of House of John? And what would he think about sharing and being shared?

  Oh yes. It had been one of Frankie’s fantasies for months. She loved Jazz as much as she loved Edgar. The idea of having them both at the same time was just too irresistible. She never forgot what Cedric had said. “Who’s to say love is not big enough to share with more than one?”

  She knew Edgar would be ready. He on more than one occasion alluded to his attraction to Jazz. But would Jazz be adventurous enough to try something different? Or would the idea completely repulse him?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jazz stood in the window of his hotel room and stared out over the Caribbean Sea. Moonlight reflected off its gentle ripples. He smiled. The thought of seeing Frankie again, her lovely face, her sparkling smile, hearing her raucous laughter, was as romantic as the view.

  He checked his watch. It was half past seven. The distance from his hotel to Casa de Mita in the Colonial Zone was a fifteen-minute stroll along El Malecón. He had jogged along the beautiful seaside boardwalk earlier in the day and took note of the many flower carts and vendors. He would stop by one of those carts on his way to see Frankie.

  He checked himself in the mirror and was pleased with his simple but classic look. Beige linen shorts, sandals and a simple short sleeve white shirt opened three buttons down. His jet-black hair was neatly tussled. The fine black hairs on his chest and his legs and the new thin black mustache contrasted his Creole gold complexion. He was glad he’d gotten that extra sun earlier during his jog. He didn’t want to appear a tourist. And he didn’t. He could easily blend in among the Latin locals.

  As he strolled along the picturesque El Malecón he inhaled the sea-scented breeze that softly billowed his hair and loose clothing. Music serenaded him from both sides of the boardwalk—from open-air seaside restaurants on his right and festive bars syncopated with laughter on his left.

  The beautiful silver-haired lady he had seen earlier in the day was still at her flower stand.

  “Buenas noches, Señora,” he said with a warm smile.

  “Buenas noches,” she answered with a smile equally as warm.

  As he looked over her beautiful array of flowers, he chatted with her in fluent Spanish. He was also fluent in French and German, formally learned in school, but much of it picked up while traveling the world with his parents.

  He explained to her he wanted something for a very special lady. The vendor’s ancient eyes lit up with glee, as she picked up a beautiful bouquet of long-stem red roses.

  “¡Perfecto!” Jazz exclaimed with grateful glee.

  With an artist’s touch, the vendor wrapped the flowers and presented them to him, telling him how fortunate his lady was to have such a handsome and thoughtful young man.

  “Muchas gracias,” he said, blushing as he paid her.

  “Es muy bienvenido, mi hijo,” she answered with a motherly hug.

  He headed back down the boardwalk smiling and humming along with music that filled the air.

  Heading in his direction was a man. He was smiling too, smiling at Jazz, staring in his eyes.

  “Hola,” Jazz said with a nod.

  “Hola,” the man replied, his smile widening as he passed.

  Never breaking his stride, Jazz glanced back. The man was glancing back as well. Jazz then faced forward and chuckled lightly. He was used to it.

  Casa de Mita was much as Jazz romanticized it to be. It sat storybook-like in the center of the block. Small lanterns lit the gilded entryway and indigenous vines snaked through trellises sentried on either side. Soft amber light poured through sheer lace curtains at French windows, creating magical etchings on the ground. It reminded him of home.

  As he approached the entrance, a familiar female voice quizzically called out his name.

  “Jazz?”

  He turned.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Ella beamed, kissing Jazz on the cheek, but snuggled in the embrace of the handsome local man at her side. “Oh, by the way, this is Kunal.”

  “Hola, Kunal,” Jazz said, extending his hand.

  “Hola,” the handsome local responded, shaking Jazz’s hand suspiciously.

  “Oh my God!” El goggled at the flowers. “You and Frankie Templeton are back together again!”

  “Well actually—”

  “Somebody alert Perez Hilton! You know, when I booked the place I had no idea she had bought it. And now you? How wonderful, Jazz! When did you get here?”

  “A couple of days ago.”

  “Really? How did I miss you?”

  “I’m not actually staying here. I’m at the Hilton.”

  “You mean you’re not staying with Frankie?”

  “No. We’re just…we’re re-uniting tonight.”

  “Oh. Well that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Never mind. Well come on in. Don’t loiter out here like a hungry bugarrone.”

  “Actually, I was headed in when you called out to me.” The bugarrone remark didn’t sit well with him.

  “Well of course,” she said, allowing herself to be escorted in by Kunal. Jazz followed.

  Over their shoulders, he took in the sights. The lobby brimmed with hushed conversations and innuendo. There was a New Orleans-style parlor to the side. It was dotted with mostly American tourists at candlelit tables. They were sharing drinks and glances with handsome young men. Local young men. The glances, the whispers, the clinking of glasses spoke volumes.

  “So how long are you here for?” El pulled him from his thoughts.

  “It…depends,” he managed to say, suddenly feeling conspicuous holding a bouquet of flowers like a schoolboy on a prom date.

  “Well I’m sure we’ll run into each other before you leave. But in the meantime, nature calls,” she swooned, taking Kunal’s hand. “Ciao for now, sweetie.”

  And he watched as Ella led her bugarrone up the spiral staircase. It all made so much sense to him now. He was just a bit surprised to find no-nonsense Ella Caldwell in such a setting. But as he watched her disappear up the staircase with her handsome bugarrone, he had to realize she wasn’t all that no-nonsense. She was a woman with needs, like any other woman. He had to fight the urge to laugh out loud.

  “Are those for me?” Her voice turned him around instantly.

  “Of course they are,” he said, handing them to her and staring into her beautiful eyes with a whole new perspective. “You’ve gotten even more beautiful, Frankie.”

  “So have you. Love the mustache.”

  “Thanks.” He then glanced around again before turning back to her with a knowing smile. “Quite a place you have here.”

  “Thank you. You already made friends I see.”

  “That’s Ella Caldwell.”

  “You know her?”

  “We worked together on the Obama campaign.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. A very bright lady.”

  “What a small world.”

  “And what an interesting world you have here. Interesting to attract the likes of an Ella Caldwell.”

  “You’d be amazed at who
we attract. And then again, maybe not.”

  “Would it be presumptuous for me to call you Madame Frankie?”

  Frankie laughed. “A bit, although you wouldn’t be the first. Actually a madame is a female pimp, which I’m not. I don’t share in any of the money exchanged between my guests and their guests. But I’m not bothered by the naughty sobriquet.” She linked her arm through his and led him to the parlor bar. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  “Champagne?”

  “Why not?”

  “Héctor, dos gafas de champán por favor,” she sweetly informed the bartender.

  “Derecho próximo, Frankie.”

  She then handed her flowers to the young bar-back next to Héctor.

  “¿Marcel, sería un querido y tomaría éstos a mi piso, los pondría en un florero lleno del agua, por favor?”

  “En seguida, Frankie.”

  “Gracias, mi caramelo.”

  With a knowing smile, Marcel took the flowers to Frankie’s upstairs apartment. Héctor poured champagne into the flutes he’d set before his boss and her guest.

  “Muchas gracias, Héctor.”

  “De nada, Frankie.”

  “I’m impressed. Your Spanish is pretty good.”

  “Only pretty good?”

  “Cheers,” Jazz said, picking up his glass and clicking hers.

  “Cheers.”

  They both took sips.

  “I missed you terribly, you know,” he said.

  “But not enough to call me sooner?”

  “That’s a two-way street.”

  “Only if I missed you as much as you missed me.”

  “Did you?”

  “Terribly.”

  They took their glasses and walked through the parlor to the patio. All eyes were on them. Along the way, guests greeted and thanked Frankie. Some quietly, enviously grumbled at what they’d been cheated out of—the owner’s prime catch.

  “So what do you think?” she asked as they stepped out into the light of a full moon.

  “Seeing you makes me want you even more.”

  “No, silly. My place.”

  “I think you’re a very enterprising woman.”

  “You’re not shocked?”

  “I’m a Creole from New Orleans with hippie stoner parents. Not much shocks me. Besides, what’s wrong with being paid for sexual favors? What’s wrong with a wonderful woman like you providing what so far seems to be a nice setting for that kind of exchange? What’s wrong with you putting all those smiles on all those faces?”

  “My, my. Haven’t we changed?”

  “I’ve expanded my horizons a bit. I’ve learned how to appreciate other horizons a bit better. You know I still love you.”

  “I love you too, Jazz. In fact, I never stopped loving you.”

  “Then why aren’t we together?”

  “We want different things.”

  “Wanted. I’ve learned a lot in these past few months, Frankie.”

  “Have you?”

  “I know you can’t always have everything you want.”

  “Actually you can, Jazz. All you have to do is stop wanting certain things.”

  “You’re right. If I can’t be married to you, then I don’t want to be married.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “Are you still seeing Edgar?”

  “He works for me.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “No. Open-minded.”

  “I see.”

  “I know a thing or two about your sexual appetite. I’m sure you haven’t spent these past months pleasuring yourself without some help.”

  “You’re right. Actually, I spent some time with my ex.”

  “Good for you. All work and no play—”

  Suddenly he grabbed her and kissed her, deeply, warmly, with a hunger he couldn’t control. And she was kissing him back, showing how much she needed it, how much she truly missed him.

  “I want you, Frankie,” he whispered desperately. “I want you now—”

  She put a finger to his lips and hushed him. He took the finger in his mouth and sucked it gently.

  She then took him by the hand and led him back inside.

  * * * * *

  Marcel knew his employer well. He had artfully arranged the flowers in Frankie’s favorite vase. The painted porcelain antique purchased at a market near Boca Chica Beach was placed in the center of her bedroom dresser. Small, lit candles floating in water-filled crystal goblets sat on either side. Their fragrance was softly intoxicating. Gentle bachata music poured from hidden speakers. And Frankie and Jazz were ready to make their own familiar music.

  Their heated kisses were familiar and constant as they entered Frankie’s apartment. Their lips didn’t part, their tongues did not untangle until they were in the bedroom. They undressed, hypnotized by their lust-filled, love-filled stares.

  Looking down at her bare breasts, he was amazed. Had he forgotten just how beautiful they were, how perfectly formed, how full and robust they were? He kissed them, then massaged them, then kissed her, then licked them. He didn’t know where to begin or to end. The feast was overwhelming.

  She hadn’t forgotten a thing. That dizzying, spicy scent of his still weakened her. The rock-hard pecs shivered her. The chiseled chest, adorned with soft midnight hairs, caused her to moan as she touched it, blew on it, kissed it and licked it.

  He then laid her down on the bed. Her eyes bulged at the sight of his ample rod staring down at her. She couldn’t resist. Her tongue and her lips locked hold of it and she sucked on it wildly.

  The feel of his finger toying nastily in and around her love canal caused her to deep throat him like a glutton. He moaned. She gagged. He twittered her spot. She winced with delirious delight.

  He then tasted his finger coated with the juice of her essence. The taste made him sigh. It almost made him cry.

  He went back for more, played in her pussy, wetted that finger and sucked off the taste of the woman he loved.

  But that wasn’t enough for him. It wasn’t enough for her. With her still sucking him crazy, he maneuvered himself on the bed and turned himself around and on top of her. He was face-fucking her now and he was licking and eating and tongue-massaging her vaginal lips and vaginal walls and titillating her clit. They sixty-nine’d wildly, too near explosion.

  But they desperately held back. It had been months since he’d been inside her. It had been months since the feel of his dick jazz-danced inside her.

  He laid her on her back. He hovered over her. He kissed every part of her body. Her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach and navel, her sweet mound, her beautiful feet.

  He then eased up on her, his swollen rod sliding up against her, from her ankles to her navel.

  Staring in her eyes, he kissed her. She reached into her bed table drawer and pulled out a condom. She unwrapped it, then rolled it down his throbbing penis.

  He eased down her, kissed her neck and slipped inside her with a blissful sigh. She grabbed hold of his muscled ass and slowly thrust him deeper inside her. He rocked her slowly and sensually at first, in and out. She played with the fine hairs around his asshole. He massaged her breasts as he slow-danced inside her. He kissed her neck as he danced. He feasted on one ear, then the other without missing a stroke.

  And then their blood ran hot. He was pumping her harder and she was yelling, “Yes! Yes!” He was fucking her into a sweat. She tossed her hair from side to side as she held on to his bucking ass for dear life, as she fingered his asshole, played inside its pucker, beyond the ring of fine ass hair.

  And now he was howling. Fucking and howling. Bucking and sweating. And she was shimmying and damp with her juices.

  Suddenly they came, hollering and squealing. And as suddenly, they collapsed in each other’s arms. They were spent and fulfilled beyond their wildest expectations.

  They had both missed this. They were both determined not to miss it anymore.

 
And yet, there was still the matter of Edgar.

  “What about Edgar?” Frankie asked, snuggled in his arms.

  “Are you still gonna see him?”

  “You said you were open-minded.”

  “Even an opened mind has its limits, Frankie. I mean, I don’t know if I can handle you laying up with another man.”

  She turned to him in his arms and scooted up to him, looked him in the eyes, on an equal level.

  “I love you, Jazz,” she stated simply. “And I love Edgar.”

  “And I love you.”

  “And he loves me. Would I give you up for him? No. Would I give him up for you? No.”

  “Wow,” was all he could say as he got up from the bed, slipped the condom off and tossed it in the wastebasket next to the bed. He walked to the curtained window and peeked out at the bright full moon, his naked back to her, his hunky ass to her.

  She stared at what Edgar had called Jazz’s “masculine beauty”. She got up from the bed and joined him at the window. She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his sturdy shoulder, caressed his flaccid penis.

  “What happened to the Creole from New Orleans with the hippie stoner parents?” she chuckled lightly.

  “Not funny, Frankie.”

  She turned him around to her. “You know there is a solution to all of this.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “We can all be together.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The three of us. You, me and Edgar.”

  “You mean a ménage a trois?”

  “Why not?”

  There was nothing else for him to say. He walked back over to the bed and dressed in silence. He then went to her and stared once again into her eyes. He kissed her.

  “Goodbye, Frankie,” he said. And left.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning Ella Caldwell came down the staircase rejuvenated by her wonderful night with Kunal. She was looking forward to seeing him later on in the afternoon.

  She was stunning and sexy in her white halter-top and white Daisy Dukes and she knew it. She knew she looked as good as she felt as she crossed the lobby to the outdoor patio.

  Breakfast was being served under the shade of swaying palm trees. She spotted Frankie alone at a corner table, having coffee and reading a magazine through dark sunglasses. She couldn’t resist.