A Little Less Conversation
An interracial erotic story by
NONA WESLEY
Published by DLP Books
Also by Nona Wesley
Drawn to You
We All Scream
Better Than Chocolate
Get Lucky!
This is an explicit and erotic story
intended for the enjoyment
of adult readers. Please keep
out of the hands of children.
www.DLPBooks.com
A Little Less Conversation copyright 2011 by Nona Wesley
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.DLPBooks.com
Virginia Beach, VA
Cover art by Kathryn Lively
Images from iStockphoto
DLP Edition – May, 2011
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Chapter One
With one final rake of her fingers through her teased short mane, Viola Howard smiled at the result in the ladies’ room full-length mirror. She executed a quick yet graceful twirl to check for any anomalies—a run in her stockings, an unexplained stain on her vivid red dress—and sighed with relief on seeing nothing out of the ordinary. If Viola, Vi to just about everybody in the office, hated anything more than company parties, she had to list costume parties in its own stratosphere. That the GenSung Corporation imposed mandatory attendance to this charity gala irritated Vi to no end. She’d much rather spend the time at home with a good book, comfortable in her satin pajamas and reading a hot romance instead of trying to keep balance on these ridiculous heels.
As she prepared to leave a flash of something—makeup amiss, in the form of a spot of lipstick on a top tooth—caught in her peripheral vision and she moved closer to the mirror to correct the problem. “Yo, Miss Candace,” she called out after inspecting all of her pearly whites.
“Yo yourself,” came an echoed reply from the closed stall behind Vi.
“You going to show your sorry self any time soon? No way in hell am I going out there alone.”
“Just a minute, darling.” Candy’s voice took on a breathy, girlish tone as the door flew open to reveal Vi’s best friend. Candy emerged from the shadows with her bare shoulders high and squared back, and her ample breasts made to look even larger thanks to the snug waist of the white dress—a near replica of Marilyn Monroe’s famous flying hem number from The Seven Year Itch.
The blonde wig and thick, false eyelashes Candy wore added to the glamorous persona her friend embraced. “I was just looking for someplace to put my diamonds,” she quipped, her voice pitched too high. Vi winced; it ruined the whole effect.
“And where, might I ask, did they end up?” Vi noticed no rings on Candy’s fingers.
Candy’s voice returned to normal. “Tell you what, if I end up on top of a subway grate tonight…”
Vi held up a hand in a silent call to cease getting into TMI territory. “Doubtful in a hotel ballroom, so I’ll just take your word for it.” A wave of nerves washed over her skin and her own bare arms prickled from the sudden cold. “So, how do I look?”
“Like a damn fine Dorothy Dandridge,” Candy said. “You look great, just need…” Candy turned back to the bank of sinks where Vi had left her long-stemmed rose. “Here you go.” She handed it to Vi. “Carmen Jones never looked better.”
“Certainly not as recognizable,” Vi muttered. “At least you know who I’m supposed to be.” In keeping with the gala’s “Hooray for Hollywood” theme, Vi chose to dress as her favorite actress. Candy, having watched Dorothy’s best known films with Vi during many a girls’ night in, helped with the look the fated star made famous in Carmen Jones. The ruffled hem of the red dress bounced with every step, while the black lace sash around Vi’s waist complemented the peasant look.
“Vi, relax.” Candy followed her out the door, more confident walking in heels than Vi in hers. “I saw dozens of people dressed as old-timey movie stars tonight. They’ll pick up on it.”
“How much you want to bet that everybody thinks I’m Halle Berry tonight?”
Candy shrugged. “If you were Halle Berry, you should have come dressed as Catwoman, but I’ll say five bucks a head.”
“You’re on.” The two friends shook on it and strode through the lobby to the hotel’s main ballroom. “You’re lucky it’s not a cash bar tonight,” Vi offered as a parting shot as thumping disco music shattered the peace and hummed through their bodies.