High Shine and Honey (A Muse Series Character Short)

Part 1

Sylvie crept out of the other side of her narrow bed, starting the day on a different pair of wood planks than she did normally, all in an effort to not awaken the man sprawled out asleep in the place where she usually lay.
He was just too beautiful--it should be a crime.  Limbs splayed out under her sheets, his Afro messy and slept in, snoring away to beat the band.  Even in this state he pulled at her with that combination of good boy and bad boy and charmer that you just couldn't turn away from, no matter what sort of rascal he was.  That was just Monroe for you.

She padded out to her tiny kitchen and started in on the tea, trying to catch that groove between quiet and clanking.  If she needed more sleep, she knew he did too, what with that nighttime schedule of his.  He could probably sleep it off for hours, she thought, and he might well should too. But she had to get to work, and he had to get himself gone before Mrs. Holpepper came by with the paper.  Ain't nothing like a naked man in your bed to get you tossed out on the streets.

He didn't move when she walked back into the bedroom, but he stretched some when she cleared her throat, and by the time she'd walked in front of him to pull open the drapes, he was sitting upright with his hand under her skirt and his fingers grasped right on her ass.

"Monroe!"

"Morning, cher. Ain't no sweeter wake-up than this right here." Next thing she knew, Sylvie's skirt was raised up over her bottom and Monroe was covering her haunches with soft and sleepy kisses.  And moaning, no less. Until she righted herself and pushed him away, that is.

"Oh no, lover man, we are all done with that activity for the day.  You get your fine self up out of there and dressed before Ms. H. come in and make me a vagrant."

Monroe was a man of opportunity, but also a great respecter of a woman's word.  That's what growing up with a mama and four older sisters taught you.  There was no greater crime than mistreating a lady, unless it was not listening to her in the first place. And having listened to Sylvie's words telling him to get up off his ass, and having also listened to her body when it arched backward to lean into his mouth just now, he knew exactly which way the wind was blowing.  So he raised himself up off the bed, put on his pants, then grabbed Sylvie by the waist, spun her around to face him, and kissed her deep in her mouth.  When her arms came up to cradle his neck, he knew he'd been right again.

Sylvie had to use a good portion of her self-control to pull away from Monroe and that mouth of his.  Her daddy had always told her never to trust a man with a salesman's smile, but she never could resist when it came to Monroe. Pearl-perfect teeth wrapped in beautifully full lips that carved themselves into a megawatt smile with fucking dimples, no less, dotting both sides of his face like a sexy set of punctuation marks.

You could say that was his trademark, his claim to fame, but if you said that you'd be forgetting about the talent humming through this man's entire body.  There wasn't a performer in the tri-state area that could touch him on stage, with his voice, his swagger, and the way he played.  It made her breathless to watch him, every last damned time.

As she headed back out to turn off the whistling teapot, she thought about how he looked on stage, perfectly put together and perfectly delicious from his feathered hat right on down to his high-shine shoes. How his feet danced in those shoes, all across the stage and back again, like he never went out of breath. Monroe le Chatelaine--every step as polished as fine leather, and never a single move out of place.

"You on again tonight?" she smiled to him as she passed him a steaming hot cup of tea.  Leaning back against her kitchen table, he rubbed at his chin, then the back of his head. He put his hands all around the cup and bent his head with his lips pursed, sucking up all that steam until no more came up out of  the cup.  Then he took a sip.

"Yeah, like usual.  We off tomorrow, though. The boys and I going out on the town."

Him and his boys.  Like the five Musketeers, those men.  Always working hard and talking shit together. Like last night, when she found him playing blackjack with them in the back room, cigarette in one hand and scotch on the rocks in the other.  It was always scotch on the rocks.  Two of them in a whole night--never any more than that.  What in hell was a nice boy like him  gonna do on the town with those rabble rousers?

Last night he'd stood up when she walked into the room, kissed her hand, said with honesty in his eyes how good it was to see her again.  He'd asked her to go dancing, just like he always did. She'd said no, she had to turn in early, just like she always said. Then his eyes were on her outside the club door--damn him--making her brain do what her belly wanted to do but wouldn't, and quick as a whistle she was out dancing.  She sat down opposite him in her wooden kitchen chair, sipped on her tea and thought about how he'd felt against her, and then later on top of her, then later than that with his tongue licking deep inside her...

"What got you so quiet over there, baby?" he asked, already knowing.  He could always tell when his lady started to quicken.

Sylvie set down her tea on the table, wearing a smile sweet as warm honey. "Just thinking 'bout you last night, how much you enjoyed drinking me up."

He took a sip and flashed her that full salesman's grin. "Cherie," he cooed, coming closer, "your flower got the sweetest nectar in all of Louisiana. You better know that's right."

With that, he dropped to his knees in front of her, hitched up her skirt, and fixed his eyes up on her face.  "Can I kiss you, beautiful lady?" Sylvie watched him come toward her again, purse his lips and blow hot steam onto her pussy. Then he kept coming, smiling ear to ear all the while until those dimples were once again hidden between her thighs.