Pearls of Asia: A Love Story (22 page)

Sheyla’s lower lip began to quiver. Mac put his arm around her. She buried her face into his shoulder and cried softly. He held her tight, and when she stopped, he took her by the chin and kissed her.

“Enough of that,” she said, drying her tears. Sheyla picked up her wine glass and managed to find her smile. “Grab your glass, Mac Fleet. I want to make a toast. But I should warn you. It’s a little crude.”

“I think we could use something crude right about now.”

She held her glass up to his. “Here’s to morning sex!”

They laughed and clinked their glasses. Sheyla began to sip, then paused. “And just so you know, I prefer my eggs…like my men…sunny side up.”

When the check arrived a few minutes later, there was a handwritten note across the front – “My pleasure to have you both as my guests…come again soon, Hubert” – and the total was a bunch of zeros.

Mac folded the bill and shoved it deep into the pocket of his pants. “My kind of place.”

“SHEYLA, YOU TOLD SEVERAL
people tonight I’m a cop,” said Mac while driving back to her apartment. “Be careful who you say that to. I could lose my job over this.”

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s just that I’m so proud to be with you. You make me feel so safe and secure. Being with you is like being surrounded by a warm fluffy blanket. Please don’t be upset with me. I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”

How could he be upset? He enjoyed the evening much more that he thought he would, and he discovered a real chemistry between them. Yet Mac was as confused as he was excited. Did he want to see her again? Should he see her again? Sheyla was gorgeous and fun, but how far could he really go with her?

Sheyla slid down low into the passenger seat and rested her feet on top of the dashboard. Her dress slipped upwards, making her body looked like one ultra-long leg. The passing streetlights reflected off her spiked heels. Mac drove with his left hand on the steering wheel, while the fingers on his right hand began stroking the silky smooth skin on her thighs. He wasn’t thinking about his job, and for the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about Denise.

Mac parked in front of Sheyla’s building to walk her to her door. He put his jacket around her shoulders to protect her from the evening chill, then his arm around her waist. Sheyla paused in front of the entrance. “I want you to come upstairs with me,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Sheyla, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I promise I’ll behave myself. You’re just so easy to talk to, Mac. I feel like I can tell you anything.”

The right thing to do, Mac knew, was to go home and call Mayes to see if anything had happened at Michelle Osher’s funeral. There was still a major case that needed to be solved. Yet the moment got the best of him. “Alright Sheyla, but just for a few minutes.”

Upstairs in her apartment, Sheyla dimmed the lights and tuned her stereo to “In Your Wildest Dreams” by Tina Turner. She poured two glasses of champagne before joining him on her couch. Like a feline chaperone, her black cat stared at them from across the room. “I’m curious, Mr. Fleet. What does Mac stand for?”

“It’s short for Mackey. You’re probably too young to remember, but my mom looks like Stevie Nicks, the lead singer for Fleetwood Mac. They were also her favorite band growing up, so she thought it would be cute to name me after them. No one calls me Mackey except my mom.”

“And now me,” announced Sheyla. “What does your father call you?”

“He doesn’t,” replied Mac, looking down at the floor, “and that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

“Well Mackey, you’re an amazing guy. Thank you so much for listening to me. You don’t know how much I appreciate you being here with me right now. I needed this.”

“You’re a smart girl, Sheyla, and you’re a better person than you think you are. You just need to figure out what you want from life, and then go after it.”

“Oh really now?” she purred while removing a comb from her hair, releasing a torrent of brown locks that cascaded beyond her shoulders. “What if I already know what I want?”

Sheyla placed her hand on his shirt. Then she undid one button, then two, until she had undone them all. “Sheyla, you said you’d behave,” whispered Mac, who didn’t even try to put up a fight. She began kissing his neck. “Sheyla, I can’t…”

Ignoring his pleas, Sheyla climbed on top of Mac’s lap and straddled her legs over his. Her excited tongue took a gentile tour of his lips, and she French kissed him for the very first time. Sheyla pressed herself hard against his crotch, grinding her hips like a naughty schoolgirl. She nipped at his earlobes, licked his ears, and ravished him with her perfume. Sheyla then slid off the couch, onto the floor, and got on her knees in front of him. She ran her slender fingers across the soft hair on his chest, and then pinched, kissed, and sucked at his nipples. Her eyes closed and her mouth engaged, her hands approached his lap. She tugged hard at his black leather belt, and released the gold-plated buckle. The next sound Mac heard was the low quiet shrill of an opening zipper.

Mac’s brain told him he shouldn’t let her continue, that this wasn’t a good idea. He needed to get up and leave, to get the hell out of there. But his body had a better idea. He lifted his hips, ever so slightly, allowing Sheyla to seize his pants and boxers and pull them down to the floor.

“Oh my…” she admired, gazing at his powerful manhood. Sheyla took a hold of his thick erectile and swept her fingers along his formidable shaft. She then threw her luxurious mane onto Mac’s lap. Properly seduced, she then lowered her head to orally please him.

“No Sheyla, no,” Mac murmured. “Please…stop…don’t.”

Sheyla alternated between darting her tongue to tease every inch of his phallus, and using her throat to take him all in. She used the polished fingernails of her free hand to lightly tickle and play with his privates. Mac’s moans became louder and lustier with each passing moment. Then, as he neared the moment of truth, his back stiffened, his breathing shortened, and his legs began to quake. He was in complete and utter delerium.

“Oh my God…oh my God…” His ass flinched and tightened. He felt himself losing control. Sensing that waves of orgasmic sensation were about to sweep over him, Sheyla pulled her head away. “Oh….My…God!” cried Mac, ejaculating high into the air.

Sheyla sat up, beaming, watching him gasp for air. “Well Mackey, I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.”

Mac couldn’t speak. Every cell in his body was tingling with intense pleasure. It wasn’t the first blowjob he had ever had, but it was far and away the best. “That was incredible,” he panted. “Where did you ever learn how to do that?”

Sheyla crossed her arms and placed them on top of Mac’s knees. “Who better to understand what a man enjoys than someone who used to be a man herself?”

“But wait a second,” he protested, brushing Sheyla’s hair away from her eyes. “You told me earlier to never refer to you as a man, yet you just did.”

“I’m talking about sex, Mackey. I’m equipped like you, but that doesn’t make me a man. It’s like kissing. I know what feels good because of what feels good to me. Hey, I’m not ashamed to admit it. I like receiving oral sex just as much as you do. Now sit back and relax. I’ll be right back.”

Sheyla rose and sashayed to the bathroom, returning with a warm wet towel to clean him off. Her deft dabs and gentle sweeps felt good against his skin, and her cat-ate-the-canary smile said she was happy to please him.

Mac offered a confession while putting his clothes back on. “Sheyla, this has been the most amazing evening. I’d really like to see you again. I’m just not sure I can anytime soon.”

Sheyla slipped her arms through the straps of her dress and let it fall down to her waist, exposing her perfectly shaped 36-C’s, “Tell you what, Mackey. Whenever you’re unsure how you should feel about me, I want you to think of these.”

Mac stood in awe, staring at Sheyla’s breasts as though they were the Eighth and Ninth Wonders of the World. At that moment, they were.

“I gotta get out of here.”

MAC FELT RELAXED AND
exhilarated. He couldn’t stop smiling. He lay in his bed and replayed over and over again the events of the evening. As he was recalled the look in Sheyla’s eyes as she used her fork to stuff a piece of dessert into his mouth, the hair on the back of his neck stood up so straight he’d need a lawnmower to cut it.

Sheyla was left-handed.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

Wednesday, September 17, 2008 - 7:00 am

“In the above photo, Paul Osher is seen accepting condolences from California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger at the funeral of his wife, famed anchorwoman Michelle Osher. Standing next to the Governor is Damian Puti, President of Asia SF International, a software consulting firm based in San Francisco.”

Newsweek

M
AC DOZED OFF IN
the shower. He rolled into bed around midnight, but spent most of the night staring at his ceiling fan. This wasn’t the first time Mac had been to this movie. As a kid growing up, he spent hours watching those same fan blades spin round and round, night after sleepless night, wondering why his father wouldn’t be coming home.

With a tiled wall as a pillow and a hail of water as a blanket, Mac managed to squeeze in a ten-minute snooze in his darkened aquatic man cave. It was a welcomed timeout from the all-night footrace between Nadia, Sheyla, and Paul Osher. When he woke up, Mac realized his next race was getting his butt into the office. He had to talk to Mayes.

“WHAT DID I MISS?”
asked Mac, marching into work and riding the hyper-caffeinated buzz of a triple-shot espresso. It was going to be a long day.

“You mean other than a four hour crawl home?” ripped Mayes, doing a poor job of masking his bumper-to-bumper frustration. “After you called me from Damian Puti’s place, I started looking for a skinny Asian dude wearing an expensive black suit. There were only about a million guys walking around matching that description. A photographer buddy finally pointed him out. Puti must know somebody high up, though. Over two thousand people showed up for the funeral, a lot of them red-carpet types. Yet there was Mr. Damian Puti, sitting in the second row of the church behind Paul Osher. He was quite the social butterfly, too. Networking, exchanging business cards, even sharing a conversation with Governor Bench Press. By the way, how’s your mom?”