Zora issued a little yelp of surprise, then felt Deuce’s mouth on her neck, just as he pressed her back against the door holding her up with forearms under her thighs so she was a seated position, knees squared like she was sitting on a chair.
She began to speak then promptly lost her train of thought when Deuce bent his knees a little and shoved upward. He entered her with one smooth, deep thrust, and as Zora opened her mouth to give another exclamation, covered it with his own.
“Quiet,” he said, speaking against her lips. “We have to be quiet. I told you, she’s not sleeping.”
She nodded and he exhaled, grimacing a little as he began to move. Arms holding her up, the muscles hard against the back of her thighs, and his finger biting into her buttocks, Deuce didn’t seem to notice her weight. He was focused on kissing and licking her neck, her partly- exposed shoulder, and just behind the shell of her ear.
Losing patience with her only remaining garment, he gripped the fabric of her top between his teeth and tugged at the area just above her nipple.
“Take this off.”
Zora moved her arms from around his neck and reached for the hem of her top, pulling it over her head. Deuce was still thrusting without pause. When her breasts were free, he leaned in to nip and play with them.
Soon, he was quivering as well. And though Zora knew her shakes were from the pleasure of him piston-hard gliding in and out of her, she didn’t know if his were because he was losing steam from having held her up for so long.
“Deuce,” she tried. “Maybe …”
“Nah. I wanna make you come … come for me first.”
“I can’t just … make that happen …”
“Yes … you can,” he said between breaths. “Come for me.”
He was different with her sometimes. Now that they were back together, the way he made love to her was sometimes different.
It was hard to pinpoint before, but Zora knew now. When he took her like this, he was a man who had something to prove. Like he didn’t just want to make her feel good, or feel good himself, or even just get closer to her.
It was as though he wanted to own her. He was re-staking his claim, and this time wanted his mark to be indelible.
You won’t leave me, his body seemed to be saying. You’re mine for good this time.
That epiphany brought tears to her eyes, and Zora grabbed him by the shoulders. She was beginning to feel a little bruised from the friction of the door against her back, and her legs were trembling, her thighs aching with the tension of her approaching climax.
“Deuce …” she said.
“What?” He sounded frustrated now, hurried.
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Stop,” she said again, her voice thick.
He slowed, and then with what was obvious effort, was still, leaning into her, holding them steady and braced in position. His chest expanded and contracted. With each expansion it pressed against her almost raw nipples.
“What’s wrong?” His breath was still uneven.
Inside her, Zora felt the flickering, twitching pulse of his still-solid erection. Her body responded on instinct.
“Put me down,” she said.
Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered her to her feet, and slid free of her.
Zora’s clothes were scattered to the left and right. She felt exposed, standing there naked, with his mother not too far away, only a shut door, possibly two, separating them.
“What’s the matter?” he asked hoarsely. There was a thread of uncertainty there as well. Tiny, but there.
In the dim light, she could just about make out the worry on his face and in his eyes. “Did I hurt …?”
“No,” she said quickly. “You didn’t. I just …”
… realized how much and in how many ways I may have hurt you.
She fell to her knees before him, took him in her mouth. Deuce relaxed immediately, made a deep rasping noise.
She did it as an act of supplication. She was asking for forgiveness; giving and taking nothing but his satisfaction and eventual release in return.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“You expecting someone?”
At the sound of the doorbell, Deuce looked up at his mother, sitting across from him at the breakfast table. She had gotten up early, showered and dressed, saying she needed to get her bedroom aired out and cleaned, even if she couldn’t do it herself.
“Yes. Can you get it?” she asked, lifting her teacup and taking a sip.
“Who is it?” Deuce asked, speaking around the toast in his mouth, then looking down at himself.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of loose basketball shorts, and was barefoot.
“Could you just get it? Am I not allowed to have visitors anymore?”
Rolling his eyes, Deuce shoved away from the table, and stretched. He had barely gotten out of bed, and only came down because he heard his mother moving around. Some days, when she felt close to her normal, capable self, she tended to overdo it and wound up close to debilitated on the back porch, slumped in a chair and not wanting to admit she needed help to get back to up bed.
So, when he was home, he followed her around if she was on the move, not wanting to be too obvious about it. Zora was still sleeping and would fuss at him for not waking her up as well, but it felt important to have as much alone time with his mother as he could.
He pulled open the front door, yawning, expecting one of this mother’s sometimes-friends. But the person standing there was completely out of context.
“Regan,” he said.
“Yeah. Hi.” She got on her toes and hugged him briefly, her eyes not meeting his. “Where’s Sheryl?”
Brushing past him, she headed toward the rear of the house and the kitchen. Deuce paused and glanced outside before shutting the door.
Turning, and taking a moment to gather himself, he went in the same direction his ex-girlfriend had gone. At the threshold into the kitchen, he took two deep silent breaths, then entered.
Regan was just pulling away from a hug with his mother, and the two women sat down.
“Deuce, you want to get Regan some coffee?” his mother asked.
“That’d be great. I could definitely use a cup. I took an early train because I have work tonight and need to leave before noon.”
Wearing white jeans, an orange bandeau top, and a pin-straight blowout—no doubt from the Dominican salon she claimed was the only place in the tri-state area that knew how to handle her hair—Regan looked her model-best. Even her makeup was flawless at ten a.m. on a Saturday morning.
Dropping a pod in the Keurig, he waited for her coffee to brew, then added the creamer and sweetener just the way she liked it. Setting the mug in front of her, he glanced between her and his mother.
“This is a surprise,” he said dryly.
“I texted you.”
“Yeah but you didn’t mention you were coming over.”
“Because I wasn’t sure I could make it.”
“And you didn’t mention she was coming either,” Deuce said looking at his mother.
“I didn’t know whether she’d make it,” she said with a shrug.
“But we sat here, and you didn’t even tell me that you made the invitation. You think that’s something I might’ve wanted to know?”
“If this is a bad …”
“Regan, no disrespect, but this ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”
“Excuse you!” his mother said. “That’s not how you talk to my guest. And I didn’t know I needed to check with you before I invited a friend …”
“A friend? Are you serious right now?”
“Regan and I have always gotten along, so …”
“So you thought it might be nice to invite her over on the weekend that Zee’s staying with me.”
“Zora’s here?” Regan said.
Deuce glanced at her. She looked genuinely surprised. Then she looked at his mother, something like betrayal in her eye
s.
“Yeah. She is,” he said. “Jacked-up, right? But that’s something you don’t know about my mother. She likes to arrange little dramas every once in a while. Except she doesn’t always tell people what their role will be.”
“Christopher. You had better …”
“Better what? Not disrespect you in your own house? How ‘bout you disrespecting me? Disrespecting Zora!”
“Regan …” his mother began. “Maybe …”
“I’ll just call an Uber, or a cab …”
“No need,” Deuce said. “Me and Zora ‘bout to go get something to eat. You two enjoy your visit.”
Upstairs, Zora was still in bed, but as soon as he opened the bedroom door, turned over onto her back.
“Nothing like a little family squabble to usher in the new day,” she said stretching. “What were you and your mom going at it about this time?”
“Get dressed,” Deuce said, looking around for a shirt. “We’re going to get some breakfast.”
Zora sat up, and the shirt of his she was wearing gaped to one side, exposing a shoulder. Her eyes were wide.
“Why? What ha …?”
“Could you for once in your life not ask me ‘why’ and just do what I asked you to do?”
Zora’s mouth literally fell open and then she shut it again, her lips pursing tightly for a moment.
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
Closing his eyes, Deuce laced his fingers atop his head and exhaled.
“Zee, could you please … could you please get dressed so we can go?”
“Yes. But first, tell me where we’re going, and why you’re in this crappy mood so early in the …”
“Regan’s downstairs.”
He opened his eyes just in time to see Zora fold her arms.
“Wh …”
“My mother invited her. To visit.”
Sighing, Zora shook her head and gave him a resigned smile. “I guess she’s made her preference clear.”
“And I’ve made mine. Get dressed. We’re going to brunch.”
Scooting to the edge of the bed, Zora reached for her weekend bag and pulled out some underwear and a bra.
“I’m showering first,” she said. “I’m not getting dressed to go anywhere without a shower first.”
Deuce followed her into the bathroom and into the shower behind her. But they didn’t speak, or even touch unless by accident.
Afterward, they toweled dry, still saying nothing. Zora pulled on her jeans and reached for a top, then gathered her scattered clothing from around the room, stuffing them haphazardly into her bag.
“What’re you doing?” Deuce asked her.
“I want you to take me to my parents’ house,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because I’m obviously not welcome here. I didn’t even know your mother had met Regan. You never told me that.”
“Why would I tell you that?”
“Because it means … it means …”
“It means what?” he pressed. “You think it means me and Regan were serious? I knew her less than a year. We were exclusive for three and a half months.”
“So what? You and I were exclusive after knowing each other three and a half weeks.”
“Hmm,” he said almost mockingly. “Somehow I wouldn’t compare the two situations and honestly I think it’s kinda fucked up that you would.”
“You know what I me…”
“No. I don’t. But y’know what, Zora? You want to leave, I’ll take you. I’ll take you back home to daddy where it’s safe, and familiar and comfortable.” Deuce reached blindly for a shirt in his dresser and shrugged it over his head.
Zora was still sitting on the bed when he reached for a pair of jeans.
“What you waitin’ for?” he snapped. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
“Deuce, it doesn’t have to be all … Why do you have to always …”
“Overreact? Take shit like this so serious? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re ready to fight for every damn cause in the world except for us! When it comes to me, you run. Every. Damn. Time.
“And I’m done chasin’ you. You been knowin’ my mother’s messy. And now we know that cancer ain’t slowed her down not one damn bit. So, if that’s too much for you, then yeah, maybe you should just bounce.”
“Deuce …”
“When we get married, when we need to figure out where to live, how to live …Whether our kids are Christian or Muslim … whether they fast on Ramadan, or go to Sunday School …” He shook his head and looked at the ceiling. “If you want to run from this? Then you ain’t ready for shit like that. And maybe you never will be.”
She was looking down at her lap now, lips pursed.
“So, yeah. Lemme take you home. Because I swear, I will ride for you ‘til the wheels come off, Zee. But when it comes to me … that just ain’t how you roll.”
“What’re you saying?” Her voice trembled a little as she spoke.
“I’m sayin’ that if you leave now …” He shrugged. “Then just go. Just go. I can’t …”
He swallowed back the lump in his throat and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper.
“My mother’s dying. And I’m out here tryin’ to live up to something bigger than myself, build for myself … for you, for us … something that’s even half-assed comparable to what my father built for me. And you wanna run? Now? When I need you the most? Zee,” His voice broke. “I can’t … I can’t be in the foxhole fightin’ a war with someone who won’t fight right along with me. Who won’t fight for me.”
Zora stood and came toward him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry …”
He weakened. The way he always did with her.
“Zee, you have to be … You need be sure. Because I’m not doin’ this again. I just …
“I know.” She held him tighter. “And I’m sorry. I’m not running. I’m here. And I’m fighting along with you. I’m fighting for you. I swear.”
Deuce thought for a moment. Exhaling, he pried her arms from around him, shaking his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if I believe you anymore. And I don’t have it in me right now to figure it out. I don’t.”
~~~
“Good morning.”
Regan and Sheryl looked up as Zora entered the kitchen. Neither spoke for a moment, until finally Regan managed a smile and a ‘hello’ in a thin, feeble voice.
“Good morning.” Sheryl looked her over. And Zora thought she looked a little sheepish as well.
Deuce was standing just behind her. She could feel his solid presence, and it helped her maintain her reserve while having to witness Deuce’s mother and his ex-girlfriend enjoying a morning tête-à-tête.
“Ma, call me if you need anything while we’re out.”
Zora felt his hand take hold of hers, and she offered Sheryl and Regan one last smile before turning to leave with Deuce.
In the car, he said nothing. He drove with both hands on the steering wheel, which he seldom did when she was next to him. Reaching for his right hand, she took it, held it in her lap.
“Is that how you really feel?”
“About what?”
“Me. About me running away.”
“Yeah,” he said, without hesitation. “That’s how I really feel.”
She wanted to argue the point but, how could she? He was right. She had run from him. Over and over again, from the very beginning of their relationship. But not for the reasons he believed. Not because of a lack of love.
“Deuce,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I want to …”
He dragged his hand away and turned to look at her, his expression one of exhaustion.
“I can’t right now, Zee. Lemme just … take you to your parents’ house. Like you wanted.”
/> “But I don’t want that. I was just …”
“You don’t get it,” he said, glancing over at her. “It’s what I want, too. For right now, it’s what I want.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“I think we can come to terms.”
Deuce tried not to look excited, when Jamal Turner uttered those seven words, and instead channeled Chris Scaife Sr., and gave a cool nod.
“But you understand that even with your role as an equity partner, SE would want to maintain a controlling interest in Gollum.”
Deuce was prepared for this.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t agree to that.”
Jamal looked surprised for one flash of a second then smiled a little. “You’re putting some money on the table, true enough. But we have the real resources at SE—the relationships, the know-how, the talent—to help get a new label out the gate strong.”
“You have some old-school expertise, that’s true,” Deuce acknowledged. “But the game is changing. And the people you rely on … some of ‘em are what? Thirty-five? Forty?”
At that, Jamal laughed. “And that sounds old to you?” He shook his head. “I guess it would for a twenty-three-year-old pipsqueak.”
He was trying to rattle his cage, get Deuce to display an immature temperament. And then he would use it against him, say something like, see, young ‘un, you ain’t ready. A little ego-bruisin’ comes with the territory.
But Deuce wasn’t about to fall for that. He had been paying attention, studying Jamal Turner in meetings. And, he had the benefit of a nearly lifelong crash course with his father. These were men who tested your mettle. Sometimes daily. Putting their people through the wringer just to see how much pressure they could take.
They didn’t subscribe to the millennial mindset of everybody-gets-a-prize. There were always clear winners and losers, and men like Jamal Turner were constantly checking to make sure they knew which one you were.
“If I didn’t think there was something to learn from the folks you have here, I would’ve gone out and tried to do this from scratch,” Deuce said. “But at the end of the day, I know and understand the target demographic and a lot of the folks you have here … They just don’t.”
Rhyme & Reason Page 32