Lady Tamayo Novels & Stories

A brilliant burst of light that blazes through the cathedral the train, the tunnels, the city. We descend through gold, recollections and affection. And land in the restaurant. Real restaurant. Morning light through the windows. The smell of fresh coffee and tostones. The big center table is whole. Isla rests within Elena’s embrace eyes still brown crown vanished. She is weeping. However she is present. Everyone is present. The red balloon string is in her hand. It’s connected to nothing. She gazes at me eyes opened wide. “Tío Marco " she murmurs, "I violated the rules.”

It was hard to pretend she didn't give a damn about the church boy if he was going to keep showing up at literally every turn she took. "Antonio, pour me a virgin mojito." she threw her order at the man behind the counter, began to unbutton the first three buttons of her leather blouse, and then yanked the ribbon off her hair. "What are you doing?" Tamara eyed her, brows knitted. "I might just know him," she announced before collecting the filled glass from Antonio, "Wish me luck." "This girl," she heard Tamara murmur as she began to sway towards him. He looked up at her even before she reached him told her the stares she felt were real. What a quiet creep.

Forever. “There’s something much more important, Norah.” She straightens up in her chair and I look around. We’re seated at the outer part of the bar, under a large umbrella and occupying a cute wooden round table. I don’t think we should be talking about all of this literally just beside the street. But the weather is nice today and we both want to enjoy it without worrying about nosy strangers. “Well, the chief revealed that Mark was actually poisoned with the belladonna extract you gave me that night. And Oliver’s fingerprints were found on the vile,” I explain.

“It is still wrong to talk about our employers. You, Perla, keep your mouth shut.” “But my gut feeling is really strong that Sir and Miss K are having an affair—” Perla’s mouth shut automatically when she saw Tamara walk into the kitchen. Tamara furrowed her brows when she noticed them freezing up as if they had just seen a ghost. “Is there dirt on my face?” She offered a small smile. “Nothing, Ma'am,” Melody shook her head. “What brings you here, Ma’am?” Manang Luz smiled faintly. “Do you need anything?”

Leon I watched Tamara swirl the wine in her glass, her fingers lightly tapping the stem like she needed the motion to stay in control. She hadn’t taken a single sip. Just held it, like the shape of the glass was the only thing anchoring her to the moment. She didn’t want to be here. Not really. Not in this rooftop lounge full of curated luxury and stiff jazz. Not with the skyline stretched out like a postcard we were supposed to admire together. No, she was somewhere else entirely. Still thinking about the call she didn’t get. The person she didn’t get to talk to.

we greeted. Alex stood from his chair to welcome us before offering a chair to sit on. “Join us, Amanda. I am glad you decided to come.” Yeah, because I thought Sebastian was going to be here. That liar! Why would he even invite me? What a messed-up game. Elena spoke to Ana for a few seconds before she disappeared into the kitchen. I watched the bag she was holding. “Broken glass,” Diego interrupted my thoughts. “Did someone get hurt?” I was a little preoccupied.

What was really in her mind when she decided to speak to this woman? “You would be surprised on how real they can get.” The reverence in Margarette’s voice pushed the girl to change the topic at hand “Anyway, what do you want to show me again?” Fortunately, that completely shifted the lady’s attention, “Oh, right. I almost forgot. Give me your hand.” Although doubtful, Ellaine offered her hand. The other held it gently as if holding something delicate and fragile. She traced every line and curve with her fingertips and breathed onto it as if she’s whispering some sort of enchantment.

she introduced herself, her voice smooth and commanding, "and this is Tamar." Damien shook her hand firmly, his own demeanor polite but tinged with curiosity. "Damien," he replied, his voice steady. "One of Zeke's lovers." Zeke wrapped an arm around Damien's waist in a show of pride, pulling him closer as he nodded toward Tamar. "Say hi, Tamar," Imelda prompted, and Tamar waved with a bright, "Hi there!" her eyes sparkling with interest.

Tayte was a Cornishman who had slipped over the Tamar into Devon, but was also of gypsy stock if his swarthy colouring and those blacklashed eyes tilting upwards at the outer corners were anything to go by. Whenever she looked at him, she tingled at the remembrance of the Carlos Saura movie based on Carmen and performed by a Spanish dance company. It was one of her favourite adjuncts to masturbation, a rich, sensual feast of a film, overflowing with passionate flamenco, smouldering fire, world-weary languor and desirable dancers of both sexes. She often watched it on the video in her bedroom while she used her dildo or fingered herself to climax. The leading male had a body to die for, gorge