Read Online Carla by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online Page A

and let Charles light it for her. “I wish we could do it more often.”
    â€œWe can,” he said. “Whenever Ronald goes out-of-town.”
    â€œThat’s not exactly what I meant. I—”
    â€œI know,” he said quickly. “I know precisely what you meant, Carla. Let’s not discuss it, shall we?” And he smiled, ending the conversation.
    In the car driving back to his apartment they were silent. Perhaps he wouldn’t discuss it yet, but at least she had managed to show him what she wanted. Now she would have to make him more dependent on her and at the same time show him that his freedom wouldn’t end with marriage.
    It would be difficult, she decided, to reduce a man like Charles to a state of sexual dependence. He had possessed so many women that it would be no easy matter to make him crave for her and no one else.
    But it might be fun trying …
    He woke up like a man coming out of an opium trance. The house was dark, much darker than when he had come in, and he cursed himself silently for falling asleep. How long had he slept? The girl had said she would be home any minute, but she didn’t seem to be home.
    Dimly he realized there was music playing, a slow and sensuous Spanish melody. He glanced around the room, trying to locate himself. Someone—the girl, he guessed—had drawn all the shades and turned off the lights.
    The volume of the music increased. Suddenly the girl entered the room, but she was no longer wearing the uniform. The shapeless white cotton no longer hid her body from his eyes.
    She was wearing nothing at all.
    His eyes fastened on her breasts, fuller and more perfect than he had believed possible. The two bright red nipples seemed to glow in the dark. His eyes travelled downward past the flat stomach and rounded boyish hips, embracing the dark triangle and sleek thighs. He caught his breath and tried to get to his feet.
    â€œDon’t move,” she said.
    That was all she said.
    Slowly her body began to weave in time to the music, picking up speed as the tempo of the Spanish dance increased. She moved closer to him, her whole body an orgy in rhythm, and he caught a sensual whiff of sandalwood perfume as one liquid-brown arm passed close to his face.
    She stretched backwards, arms akimbo, proffering her hips to him in an offering of love, her proud breasts pointing at the ceiling. She twisted constantly like a woman in the throes of passion, her body keeping perfect time with the music.
    His breathing became faster and harder. He felt himself caught up in the savage beauty of the dance, unable to take one iota of his attention from the fantastic spectacle before him. It was new and old, pure in its beauty and outrageous in its wanton lust. It was Heaven and Hell all enwrapped in a whirling brown body and an evil, passionate dance.
    She moved closer and closer to him, never missing a beat in the music. One hand darted out and played with the buttons on his shirt and he was powerless to resist her or to aid her. He could only watch fascinated, fascinated as a bird is fascinated by the mad dance of a snake.
    The music came faster and faster until the speed of her movements became unbelievable. She raised him to his feet, pressing her body to his and kissing him on the face and lips. Her tongue darted into his mouth and set him on fire while her slender hands slipped under his shirt and her nails raked his flesh. He felt her soft firm breasts pressing against his bare chest and her hips grinding into his.
    Then she was pulling at his clothes, hurrying, and he was helping her, finally able to move once again. Her mouth found his again and she kissed him, rubbing against him all the while, making sharp little cries from deep in the back of her throat. With an agonized groan she fell back to the floor and pulled him down on top of her.
    The record of the Spanish dance played over and over and over …
    Much later she said: “Come