Unlawful Desires

by Sassy Sinclair

Marcel wasn’t particularly forward with women. He usually waited for a chick to give him some sign of mutual interest. A smile, a coy glance. But he decided not to wait on that tonight.

  “I had to come over and compliment you on that amazing dress,” Marcel said, nearly bumping into her. “There are a ton of women here tonight, but you stand out like a beautiful red rose.”

  Where did that corny line come from? He normally had way better game than that.

  “I wonder how many times you’ve said that tonight.”

  Marcel grunted to himself. Attitude, attitude, attitude. Most of the professional black women he met, especially the lawyers, were so wounded, they couldn’t accept a simple compliment.

  “Not once,” Marcel replied. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never said that to anybody before. Scout’s honor.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Up close, she was even more striking. Pretty amber skin, shoulder-length hair, and pert red lips.

  A chick who gave him attitude out of the gate was usually an immediate turn off. But any woman this gorgeous had to come with a few kinks. He would just have to deal with them because one day soon he planned to be brushing his lips up and down her fabulously lanky legs.

  “I’m Marcel.” He extended his hand. “Marcel Dennard. And you are?”

  “Sharla.”

  She placed her small, soft hand in his.

  “No last name?”

  “I’m a bit on the private side,” she said. “It takes me a little while to get to know someone before giving up too much information.”

  Information ain’t what I want you to give up.

  Marcel had lots of experience with women like Sharla. Hard as a rock on the outside but soft and furry as a kitten on the inside. If he reached over and poked her right now, she would probably start purring.

  “I get it. A woman as fine as you are can’t be giving out her particulars to every dude who approaches her.”

  Sharla folded her arms across her ample breasts. He imagined what it would taste like to suck one of them.

  “Thanks for understanding,” she said.

  There was something unique about this woman. He couldn’t describe it, but he could certainly feel it. She wasn’t like most of the chicks he approached. He’d come across female lawyers and doctors—some more successful than he’d ever be—who reeked of desperation. Not Sharla. She wore her self-assurance like a long, fur coat. And he liked that.

  Marcel wanted Sharla in his bed. But instinct told him that if he was going to eventually have her, he would have to be as indifferent as she was.

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know how stunning you are,” Marcel said. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”

  He did a slow military turn and walked away.

  Chapter 7

  Sharla

  When Marcel Dennard strolled his fine ass away, Sharla couldn’t have been more stunned if he had slapped her across the face.

  She often made a sport of giving men a hard time. She construed their persistence as a measure of their level of interest. Never had any man given up on her so fast.

  Though Marcel had now disappeared into the crowd, the scent of his citrusy cologne lingered. If strength had a smell, this would be it.

  I’m such an idiot. The man had simply complimented her and she acted like a complete bitch, even refusing to give him her last name.

  He might’ve been the perfect guy to date just for fun. She was less certain about him playing the role of her new boy toy. Yes, she wanted to try out her plan on someone she was attracted to, but not someone who made her insides quiver. If Marcel had that effect on her fully clothed, what would she feel like once they’d gotten naked?

  Sharla glanced around the ballroom hoping to find someone who could help her stop thinking about Marcel Dennard. But in no time, she found herself searching for him. She finally saw him walking toward the exit.

  Was he leaving already? He probably has a wife at home.

  Disappointment lodged itself deep in her chest. This is crazy. The man hadn’t even been in her presence for five minutes.

  “What kind of nonsense did you say to that dude?” Nicholas handed her a glass of wine.

  “And what makes you think I said some nonsense?”

  “Because he was dying to get with you. But whatever you said made him turn tail and run. A lot of men can’t handle rejection. Did you do your I’m-a-strong-independent-black-woman-who-doesn’t-need-a-man spiel?”

  Sharla ignored Nicholas’ question, more focused on one of her own. “How do you know he was dying to get with me?”

  “Because I checked out his face and his body language while he was talking to you. He was smitten. Just like I was smitten when I first laid eyes on Reese. I know women don’t think that kind of thing happens to guys, but it does. So what did you do?”

  Sharla put her hands on her hips. “Nothing.”

  “I’m not buying that. You must’ve cut him down to size because he walked straight out of the room. He’s probably someplace licking his wounds.”

  “Yeah, right. We only spoke for a couple of minutes.”

  “And why was that?”

  “He came at me with the typical lines. Your dress is amazing. You’re beautiful as a red rose. Yada, yada, yada.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Some of you sistas are way too tough on us. It’s hard to approach a woman. We don’t always know the perfect thing to say. Your dress is amazing. You are beautiful. Why can’t you just take a compliment for what it is?”

  Sharla always had a hard time not being straight with Nicholas. “Because I’m scared,” she admitted.

  “Scared of what?”

  “Scared of opening myself up and getting hurt again. I’m trying something new. Sex without any emotional connection. Think like a man and act like one too.”

  “That won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because women aren’t built that way and you most definitely are not. God filled women with too much emotion.”

  “You’re being sexist.”

  “No, I’m being honest.”

  “Well,” Sharla vowed with feigned bravado, “this is my new dating attitude and I’m determined to make it work.”

  “Feed that bull to somebody else. I know you. You want and need a soul mate in your life. But that kind of connection doesn’t come easy. You have to push past your fear and open yourself up. If you don’t, the right guy will slip straight through your fingers.”

  Sharla inhaled and took a sip of wine. Maybe he just had.

  Chapter 8

  Marcel

  Frustration and fatigue dogged Marcel as he walked through his front door. He’d spent eighty-five dollars on the ticket to the dance and another forty-five on valet parking. And he had absolutely nothing to show for it.

  He hadn’t even stayed long enough for a drink. A couple of women openly flirted with him and he could’ve collected their phone numbers, but those chicks paled in comparison to Sharla. Hers was the only number he really wanted.

  After hanging up his suit, Marcel threw on a pair of sweats and poured himself a glass of wine. Settling into his recliner, he turned on ESPN and muted the TV.

  The house was so quiet now that Camille was gone. He could’ve used one of her blowjobs right about now. Better yet, he wished he could’ve brought Ms. Sharla home with him tonight. He imagined himself undressing her and running his hands up and down her muscular legs.

  Marcel regretted not pushing a little harder with Sharla. He’d intended to shake her up when he cut their conversation short and walked away. Chicks like that are used to calling the shots and rarely face rejection from men.

  He was confident that he would cross her path again. The black legal community in L.A. wasn’t all that big. He could probably f
ind out her last name and where she worked in two or three phone calls. That had been his plan when he walked away and left her hanging.

  Marcel hopped up and retrieved his laptop from his briefcase. He Googled Black Women Lawyers Association and pulled up the organization’s website. He carefully perused each page. He didn’t know if Sharla was a lawyer or not, but odds were in his favor that she was. He estimated that more than three-quarters of the women at the dance were attorneys.

  Studying the list of the association’s officers, he hoped to run across Sharla’s name. No luck. Then he clicked on the Photos page, which contained dozens of pictures from the association’s various events. Marcel carefully examined the faces in each of the pictures. Sharla wasn’t there. He was encouraged when he ran across a photograph from last year’s dance. But again, no luck. Just as he was about to shut down his laptop, he picked out Sharla in a photograph with four other women at the BWL Annual Retreat.

  There she was dressed in shorts and a cropped T-shirt that provided just a peek at her navel.

  Wow! Those damn legs!

  There was no caption with the photograph, so he still didn’t know her last name. But this was a start. The picture confirmed that she was indeed a lawyer. Once he found out her last name, he could look her up on the California State Bar website, which listed all California lawyers and their current place of employment.

  On Monday, he would ask one of the black female associates at his office if they knew a lawyer named Sharla. Of course, he’d have to come up with an innocuous reason for asking. The black female attorney network was close-knit. Someone was bound to know her.

  Marcel grinned. He couldn’t wait to come face to face with the beautiful Sharla again. And the next time he approached her, he was going to push past her attitude and take charge.

  A buzz from his cell phone interrupted his daydreaming. He picked it up from the end table next to his chair. He grunted when he saw that it was a text from Camille. Against his better judgment, he opened it.

  THINKING ABOUT YOU.

  WERE YOU THINKING ABOUT ME?

  Nope.

  The phone buzzed again and a photograph of Camille appeared. She was naked, on her hands and knees, in the middle of his bed with her ass pointed at the camera. He’d taken the picture at her suggestion. It didn’t spark an ounce of arousal.

  Marcel set the phone back on the end table and stretched out in his recliner. Closing his eyes, he imagined Sharla posing doggy style.

  As a vision of those fantastic legs of hers came into view, he slipped his hand into his sweats and began massaging himself. He imagined Sharla on all fours right there on the floor of his den. He slithered up behind her and started licking the back of her thighs. He dipped his tongue in and out of her pink well, which tasted as sweet as honey. The more he licked, the louder she moaned and the more turned on he became.

  Circling his hand up and down his shaft, Marcel accelerated his speed. He tried to slow down so he could extend the fantasy, but in seconds, he was spraying his cum all over Sharla’s firm ass.

  In reality, however, he’d just exploded into his own hand.

  Once his breathing returned to normal, he had a big smile splashed across his face. If the real thing felt half as good as that, he didn’t care how much work it took to get with Ms. Sharla.

  It would be more than worth it.

  Chapter 9

  Sharla

  Sharla normally spent the lunch hour eating yogurt and a banana at her desk while pouring over briefs. But today, Reese had convinced her to meet for lunch at Kendall’s Brasserie in downtown Los Angeles. Sharla had a weak spot for the restaurant’s deviled eggs carbonara.

  Knowing Sharla was on a tight schedule, Reese had already ordered. The deviled egg appetizers were waiting when Sharla found her bestie at a booth west of the doorway.

  “Thanks for taking a break, Miss Workaholic,” Reese said as Sharla sat down across from her.

  Reese practiced employment litigation with a mid-size boutique law firm in Century City. They tried to meet for lunch whenever Reese had a court appearance downtown. Kendall’s was directly across the street from the Los Angeles Superior Court.

  “Nicholas told me about your conversation,” Reese said as Sharla reached for a deviled egg. “I hope he talked some sense into you since I couldn’t.”

  “Nope. I’m still proceeding with my plan.”

  Reese huffed. “I have no idea what I’m going to do with you. With all those men giving you a double take in that red dress, you should’ve walked out of that dance with at least a dozen phone numbers.”

  “A lot of those guys were broke-down lawyer groupies trying to find a woman to help them split the bills.”

  “So exactly where do you plan to find this guy to have casual sex with?”

  “I don’t know. He’ll show up.”

  “I saw that hunk of chocolate cake who approached you. He was fine as hell. I can’t believe you gave him the cold shoulder.”

  “Frankly, he was too fine. Men that good-looking are too much work.”

  “I don’t believe you. Nicholas said you were swooning over him even before he walked up to you.”

  “Your hubby must’ve had too many drinks. Nobody was swooning and certainly not me.”

  Skepticism glazed Reese’s face. “So what you’re saying is, if you had another chance to connect with him, you’d pass?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, just checking. Now turn around and look over your shoulder.”

  “What?”

  “Just look over your shoulder.”

  Sharla turned to her right and nearly choked on her deviled egg. Marcel Handsome-As-Hell Dennard was standing at the maître d’s stand.

  She whipped her head back around and shakily took a sip of water.

  “Wow,” Reese teased. “You’re actually trembling. I’ve never seen any man impact you this way before. It’s obvious there’s something there.”

  “No, there isn’t. And stop staring at him. Hopefully, they’ll seat him on the other side of the restaurant.”

  “No such luck. He’s headed right this way.”

  Sharla wrung her hands underneath the table as her panties grew damp.

  “Why’re you so nervous, Miss No Emotion?”

  Hell if I know.

  The hostess led Marcel past their table and Sharla prayed he would be seated with his back facing them. The second he glided into the booth, he looked in her direction and their eyes connected. Once again a lustful jolt of electricity shot through her. She quickly averted her eyes, trying to pretend that she hadn’t noticed him.

  Marcel jumped to his feet.

  “He’s coming over here!” Reese gushed with the enthusiasm of a sixteen-year-old about to get an invite to the prom.

  Sharla watched him stride toward them, confidence flowing off of him like a Superman cape. She wasn’t just wet, she was drenched.

  “So we meet again, Sharla.” Marcel’s voice was deep and playful. “It must be fate.”

  When Sharla failed to respond, Reese took over. “Yes, it is. Are you eating alone? Would you like to join us?”

  Sharla nudged Reese with her foot underneath the table.

  “I wish I could, but I’m waiting for a client,” Marcel said. “I have a court appearance after lunch and we need to discuss a few things. How about a rain check?” He pulled a business card from his breast pocket. “I’d love it if you’d give me a call sometime. Or if you’d like to give me your number, I’d be more than glad to call you.”

  Marcel placed his card on the table in front of Sharla.

  “Thanks,” was all she could manage to muster.

  “And I didn’t get your last name at the dance.”

  “Ratliff,” Reese volunteered before Sharla could figure out a way to avoid answering his ques
tion. “Sharla Ratliff.”

  “I hope to hear from you, Ms. Ratliff.” His sexy baritone gave her a queasy feeling. His crotch was at eye level and she could tell he had a huge package. She wished he wouldn’t stand so close.

  “You will,” Reese said. “You’ll definitely be hearing from her.”

  As Marcel walked back to his table, Sharla glared across the table at Reese. “You set this up! I can’t believe you did that!”

  “No, I didn’t. I swear.” Reese raised her right hand, palm out. “I don’t even know him. Girl, this is fate.”

  “Fate my ass. And why’d you tell him I’d call him?”

  “Because you are going to call him. If I was going to have casual sex, I certainly wouldn’t mind experimenting with that big hunk of chocolate.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t set this up?”

  “I swear I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  Sharla eyed her friend, still uncertain whether to believe her.

  “They say the Lord works in mysterious ways,” Reese said with a gleam in her eyes. “If this isn’t a sign that the guy might be worth checking out, I don’t know what is.”

  Chapter 10

  Marcel

  Marcel couldn’t believe his luck. Running into Sharla Ratliff like that had to be an omen. A damn good one.

  Watching her stalk out of the restaurant on those incredible legs of hers got him revved up all over again. His fantasy of getting with her was actually going to come true. Now that he knew her last name, he would look her up online and find out where she worked. Based on the sharp, navy blue suit she was wearing, Sharla was probably with a top-notch law firm. Marcel loved smart women but didn’t date many. The bobbleheads were way too easy to attract. He needed the challenge of someone like Sharla Ratliff.

  He’d give her 48 hours to call him. If she didn’t, he would call her. She was trying to play hard to get, but Marcel didn’t buy it. At the dance, she was all attitude. Just now, she came off as genuinely shy.

  That realization forced his lips into a corny smile. The quiet ones often turned out to be super freaks.