Trini Carnival Wine

Carnival Monday morning, Port of Spain. The streets throbbed with soca, bodies everywhere in feathers and beads.

Then Devon saw her.

Alicia moved like water, her thick body catching every beat. Her costume was barely there—just enough sequins to be legal. That ass in those beaded shorts had him forgetting his camera entirely.

She caught him staring. Wined over. "Yuh just gonna watch, or yuh gonna play mas?"

She pulled him into the band, her body against his, teaching him to wine.

"Feel di rhythm," she breathed into his ear. "Move with me."

Her ass pressed against him, rolling, grinding. He was hard in seconds. She felt it and laughed.

"Ohhh, the English boy have something nice fi Trini gyal."

"You have no idea."

"Then show me after di road."

"After" came at sunset. Her apartment overlooking the Savannah, soca still thumping from the streets below.

She pushed him onto the bed, that thick body climbing over him. Her skin was dusted with glitter, tasting of salt and rum.

"I been waiting all day fi dis," she murmured.

"Worth the wait?"

She freed him from his shorts and her eyes went wide. "Lawd. Very worth it."

Alicia rode him like she was still on the road—rhythmic, unstoppable, that thick body bouncing to a beat only she could hear. Her breasts swayed, her moans mixed with the distant music.

"Yes, papa! Give it to mi! Harder!"

She came with the sunset, screaming in a mix of English and something more primal.

Round two was against the window, Port of Spain glittering below. Round three in the shower. Round four as the sun rose on Carnival Tuesday.

"Stay for di whole Carnival," she gasped. "Stay forever."

"I might never leave."

She grinned and pulled him back down. "Good answer."

Outside, the music was starting again. Inside, they were making their own rhythm.

Trinidad had captured another heart. Or rather, Alicia had.