Dead End by Stella Cameron Page B

between steps to kick off the fuck-me heels she favored. If she knew he was watching her, she’d probably keep the shoes on because she liked what they did for her legs.
    At her dressing table, she took a brush, and hung her head upside down while she worked on her black hair till it was straight and gleaming. When she threw it back, her face was flushed. She unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, then untied a wraparound skirt that would make a better belt. Music burst from the CD player she kept on the dressing table, and she hummed and wiggled to the beat.
    Her black bra fastened between her breasts. She unhooked the clip and let the thing hang from her shoulders while she kept on dancing. She played with her nipples, watched her tweaking fingers with her tongue between her teeth.
    Chauncey pressed a hand over his zipper. His dick pressed back.
    She stripped without missing a beat. That’s when she fluttered the fingers of one hand at him and he realized she’d known he was watching. A show for him? How sweet. Too bad she’d used her naked body to punish him for so long, and too bad he hadn’t figured out a way to make her pay for the torture without jeopardizing the nice little fortune she represented.
    He moved around the door and leaned on the jamb. He didn’t wave. From what he could tell, not a soul but himself and Precious knew that her mother didn’t live on social security and the droppings from whatever she did at St. Cecil’s. She liked fooling people. Oribel Scully was no fool herself. She’d inherited, and made the right moves to turn what she got into major money. He got regular updates on how much she was worth. It was all going to Precious, and the two women made sure Chauncey didn’t forget it. Let them enjoy the power. Once Oribel was gone, Precious—who didn’t believe in divorce—would add her windfall to the nice heap he’d built. And she wouldn’t have her devil mother to tell her how to handle her husband.
    “You’re lookin’ lovely, you,” he told Precious. Why not try some sweet talk first. It had been a long time since he’d offered her much more than silence—which she seemed to enjoy well enough.
    Precious put one hand flat on her belly and rolled her hips.
    “Oh, baby”—he spoke low, the way that made most women feel like warm taffy—“I do believe you’re a natural belly dancer. Let’s us get you some of those scarves and pants what you can see through. Some strings of coins to jingle. I’ll help with the lessons, me. Hell, I’ll give you the lessons. I don’t forget how much you like my hip action.”
    She kept on dancing. Mrs. Depew didn’t need any bra. “I wouldn’t want you coverin’ up those boobs—not even with somethin’ I could see through.” The nipples turned up. Nothing moved much since the operation, but he did love the way those things felt. “With what they cost—although I always told you that you didn’t need a thing extra to turn me on—but for what we paid, you gotta make sure they’re appreciated.”
    “Oh, sugar,” she said. “They’re appreciated.”
    She lived to rile him. Chauncey pulled his T-shirt over his head and made sure his hair still looked good.
    “Why did you take that off,” Precious said, and stood still with her hands on her hips.
    “Too hot,” he told her, and winked. “In more ways than one.”
    “At your age you look better with the shirt on,” she said, staring pointedly at his stomach.
    She never missed a chance to remind him about the sixteen years that separated them.
    “That so?” he said. “Maybe the same goes for you, but you parade around in front of me like that every chance you get. And we both know why you do it, don’t we?”
    “Do we?” she said.
    He wouldn’t make her day by pleading even one more time for her to stop punishing him for what she considered his sins. If he wanted to, he could force himself on her, but he was too smart for her, he knew that was what she wanted—one