Lust

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  I swallowed, trying to get air, trying to keep the words he wanted to hear inside of me.

  The door began to close, separating us.

  No!

  “Say it,” he ordered again as he began to disappear from my view.

  “I want you!” I exclaimed, in full panic. “I want you!”

  With his foot he stopped the door from closing completely, then jumped into the hall, where I stood heaving for what felt like my final breath.

  “I want you,” I said again, grabbing him and pulling him to me.

  He laughed as he lifted me into his arms and I pressed my face into his neck. As he carried me, I kissed him. On every spot I could find. But even that wasn’t enough; I ached for so much more.

  At the door, I handed him the key. He jiggled the lock with one hand and held me in his opposite arm. My eyes roamed to the gold plate on the door—Bridal Suite.

  I tore my glance away and pressed my face into the curve of his neck. He kicked the door open, then kicked it closed as if he was a madman. I waited for him to carry me across the massive suite into the bedroom. But just four steps into the living room, he stopped and gently laid me onto the soft carpet.

  On the floor?

  I looked up and into his eyes—dark, seductive.

  It didn’t matter where he took me, just as long as he did.

  “Tell me again,” he said as he brought his body above me and his lips close to mine. “What do you want?”

  Wrapping my arms around him, I whispered, “You. I want you.”

  He laughed and rewarded me, by pulling my top and then my bra over my head. My breasts tumbled into his hands and together, we moaned as he did that pressing and that squeezing thing again.

  After an eternity of making love to me that way, he shimmied my pants over my hips and away from my body.

  His eyes never left mine and once I was completely naked, he stood and stared down at me. His eyes were filled with all the lust that was inside me and I wondered what he was waiting for. Through his pants, I could see that he was as ready as I was.

  I reached up for him, but he backed away.

  I frowned, wondering if he planned to make love to me with his clothes on. He reached for my hand and pulled me up. Again, he lifted me into his arms, and as he swung me around, my legs hit the vase, and the roses that Damon bought for me spilled across the floor.

  But there was nothing I could do about it. Because right now, I had to focus on breathing alone. Anticipation had me shaking and unsteady. When Trey laid me on the bed, then parted my legs wide, an unspoken promise of something wonderful to come, I gasped.

  He lowered himself over me once again and my breath quickened even more. He whispered in my ear, “Tomorrow night when Damon brings you in here, remember this, remember me.”

  Every bit of desire drained from me when Trey said Damon’s name.

  I blinked.

  He pushed himself up and away, then strutted toward the bedroom door. The trembles I felt were different now.

  He glanced over his shoulder and with a smirk, said, “I told Damon that his woman was fine.” His eyes swept over my nakedness again. “See you tomorrow . . . at your wedding.” Then he laughed, a depraved sound that bounced from wall to wall to wall.

  Seconds later, the front door to the suite opened and then closed.

  For at least a minute, I stayed on that bed, still spread-eagle, still waiting, still anticipating. I didn’t move until my cell phone sang and my eyes roved to the clock. It was midnight.

  Sam Smith sang, “Won’t you stay with me . . . ’Cause you’re all I need . . .”

  I moved, but not toward the phone. I curled into a ball and the first tear fell.

  Won’t you stay with me . . .

  ’Cause you’re all I need . . .

  I cried until my phone stopped singing.

  And in the silence that followed, I began to think and I began to sob.

  I thought and I sobbed because I had become my mother.

  18

  Damon

  This is Tiffanie. I can’t believe that I’m missing you . . .”

  I clicked off the call without leaving a message and started to hit Tiff’s picture again, but then I paused. There was only one reason why she wouldn’t have answered—my baby was asleep. I wasn’t gonna even call it beauty rest, because she didn’t have to do anything to be beautiful.

  But the rest part? She needed that. Because after the way she’d been teasing me these past few days, I planned to keep her in bed for a week. When I finished with my baby, it would take her a month to walk straight.

  I laughed out loud as I turned onto Sixteenth Street. “Yeah, rest up, woman,” I said out loud.

  But right away, my chuckles kinda died down. I really wanted to speak to her. Just to say good night on this, our last night before we’d be united forever. But I needed to chill because number one, she was asleep and no doubt, dreaming about me, and number two, I was about to enter into a lifetime of good nights with my wife.

  My wife.

  I repeated that thought in my head.

  My wife. My wife? My wife!

  As much as I couldn’t wait, I couldn’t believe it either. I was still Damon King, hardcore in every way, whether I had to handle my business in the streets or in the suites. I was cool until I was crossed, and more times than I cared to remember, I’d left a bloody mark behind, complete with the yellow tape.

  But Tiff had taken my hardened heart, held it, melted it, and now she owned it. It was not only her innocence that had gotten to me but her vulnerability. She needed me to take care of her and that made me want her even more. The good thing was that she was one of the good girls and wanted only the best for me. I could trust her; I loved that about her. After life on the streets, trust was what I needed most.

  That’s why I knew—she was my first and she’d be my last love.

  At the red light right at Rock Creek Park, I picked up my phone again and clicked on the picture in the text that she’d sent me just a couple of hours ago.

  “Damn, bae,” I whispered. With the tips of my fingers, I made the photo a little bigger so that I could get a good look at that see-through number she wore. It wasn’t until a car blared its horn behind me that I tossed my phone onto the seat. I needed to put that thing down, or I was gonna have an accident.

  But for real, though, that girl was the truth and I couldn’t imagine my blessing coming in a better package. We would be Team King forever. Just the two of us, no one else wanted, no one else needed—except for our dozens of children, of course.

  That thought made me laugh out loud, but at the same time, I looked up to the heavens and thanked God for this. Because there was a point where I’d been sure Tiffanie and I would never get together. A point where I never could’ve seen where we were today . . .

  September 7, 2010

  I’D ONLY BEEN back in DC and legit for five years, yet here I was making a seven-figure investment. That old five-story building on U Street would house the conglomerate I was building: my event-planning business, my real estate investment companies, the art gallery I’d just purchased, and the college prep center that Tiffanie had started for my business, right when she graduated from Howard.

  As I shook hands with the banker and then escorted him to the door, I thought about how much I’d changed, how much I’d grown, and I had to wonder, for at least the thousandth time, if any of this would have happened without Tiffanie.

  When I returned to my desk, I folded my hands behind my head, and reflected on the discussions Tiffanie and I had that led me to this place. It had only been two years and she’d already had such an impact as my strategic planner of operations. Now that she was a Howard graduate, she’d be working for me full-time, trying to find businesses that would expand my brand. With her at that helm, I couldn’t i
magine where the two of us would go—professionally.

  But personally—I had given up that ghost. I’d moved on, though I hadn’t made any progress. There were lots of different females in my life, but I couldn’t get into any of them, because each made me feel like I was settling. It was because of the comparisons I’d made to Tiffanie. None were as beautiful, as smart, or as ambitious—unless you counted the great efforts they’d made to spend my money and try to get me to attach their names to mine.

  That thought made me sigh. I was twenty-nine and ready to become that one-woman man I always said I’d never be. I’d made it this far without baby mamas, but I wanted children. I wanted a woman, I wanted a wife, I wanted Tiffanie.

  My ringing cell phone took me away from that dark hole that I was about to enter. I didn’t recognize the 202 number, but that wasn’t unusual these days; my growing reputation as one of DC’s top event planners had all kinds of people reaching out to me.

  “Damon?” the female voice asked after I said hello. “This is Sonia.”

  It took me another moment to put together the name and the voice. “Oh, hey, Sonia.” I’d met Tiffanie’s best friend a couple of times and, about a month ago, I’d taken the two of them out to eat. It was a spontaneous lunch, though if I were being honest, it was a bit of a ruse. When Sonia had dropped by to see if Tiffanie could have lunch, I’d finagled an invitation under the guise that a man had to eat, too. The truth was, I thought it might be a good idea to get to know Sonia. I was thinking that maybe she could give me some tips on how I just might get to Tiffanie, though I’d left that lunch with no more hope than I had going in.

  “Hey,” Sonia said. “Listen, I tried to call Tiffanie and I didn’t get an answer. Is she there? At work?”

  Even though she couldn’t see me, I shook my head. “Nah.”

  “Crap!” she said before I could say anything else.

  I continued, “She told me yesterday that she wouldn’t be in today, but I didn’t ask her why.” I paused. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Espero que no.”

  Her words made me frown. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry. I said that I hope nothing’s wrong. It’s just that today’s Tiffanie’s birthday, and I’m worried . . .” Now she paused. “Never mind. I’m sure she’ll call me back . . . later.”

  She said good-bye and hung up before I could ask any questions. I was still holding my phone as I tossed Sonia’s words over in my mind. Tiffanie’s birthday? She hadn’t mentioned that, but lots of people took off from work for their birthday. So why would that make Sonia worry?

  I scrolled to Tiffanie’s name in my BlackBerry and clicked on her number. After a couple of rings and no answer, I hung up and called back. Again, no answer. I wouldn’t have thought much about it, especially now that I knew it was her birthday. But it was Sonia’s words—I’m worried—that made me grab my keys and wallet from my desk.

  “I’m gonna make a quick run,” I said to my assistant. “Hit me on my cell if you need me.”

  Before Hillary was able to nod, I was out the door, in the parking lot and heading over to the new apartment that I’d talked Tiffanie into renting just a few months ago. Gentrification was happening all over DC, but it had hit this area of Southeast like a powerful locomotive. The area that had been known for its high crime and gay clubs was the center of the new ball park and shops that catered to the young Capitol Hill crowd. It was the perfect spot for Tiffanie, though that wasn’t on my mind as I pulled into a spot across the street from her building.

  Inside, I slipped past the concierge, blending in with residents, then took the elevator to the twelfth floor. I knocked on her door with authority, as if I were supposed to be there and after just a couple of seconds, she opened it.

  “Damon?”

  For a moment, I paused, just to take in this woman. She always looked good to me in her tailored dresses and suits. But now, wearing nothing more than a pair of navy sweat pants rolled to her knees and a white T-shirt, she’d never looked better to me.

  “Damon?”

  It wasn’t until she repeated my name that I realized I had to say something. “I wanted to come by and say happy birthday.” That was the first thing that came to my mind. I didn’t want to tell her that Sonia had called me. I didn’t want to tell her that Sonia was worried and then I got worried.

  She tilted her head.

  I repeated, “I found out that today was your birthday and—” I stepped by her, even though she hadn’t quite invited me inside—“I wanted to come by and say I hope you’re having a good one.”

  Even though I had walked all the way into her living room, she stood at the door, her arms still folded, making me feel like I was intruding. I had to talk myself into standing there in place until she realized I was gonna stay for a moment and finally closed the door.

  With a slight shake of her head, she said, “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

  “I told you,” I said as she walked by me. “It’s your birthday.”

  She lowered herself onto the sofa. “I thought something was going on with work.”

  “Nope, all’s good there.” I continued to stand, thinking that I’d already stepped inside without an invitation.

  She picked up the remote and took the TV off mute, bringing the CNN anchor’s voice into her living room. When she kept her eyes on the TV and said nothing else to me, I repeated, “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  I was trying to hold my grin in place, but the way she looked, the way she sounded—

  “Tiffanie, what’s wrong?”

  She still didn’t look at me when she shook her head.

  Now I didn’t care if she invited me to sit down or not. I sat next to her. “It seems like something’s wrong.”

  She didn’t respond and I didn’t know what to do next. I was used to seeing Tiffanie strong, confident, decisive. I’d never seen her like this. Never fragile, never broken. It was reflex that made me put my hand over the one that was in her lap. She didn’t move away and I squeezed her hand a little. “I wish you would talk to me.”

  When the tear pooled at the corner of her eye, then trickled down her cheek, I knew this was serious.

  “Please, I wanna help.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t help me. No one can.”

  I scooted closer, really just so that I could hear her better. “I can’t help you with what?” I let a few seconds go by and when she didn’t say anything, I added, “Remember when we met? I told you that I would fix it and I did, right?”

  For the first time, she turned to me. I smiled but couldn’t pull a smile from her.

  “There’s nothing that you can do with this, Damon. You can’t fix everything.”

  “How do you know?”

  Her eyes were back on the television when she said, “Because this is something that I have to work through by myself.”

  “What is it? And why do you have to do this on your birthday?”

  She gave me a shrug.

  “Okay,” I said after a few moments. “I know what we can do. I’ll take you to lunch . . . for your birthday. That may help.”

  She faced me once again, when she said, “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

  Even though she’d spoken those words with a leave-me-alone attitude, I said, “Nope, ” and grinned, trying with everything inside of me to lighten this up.

  But a heavy darkness hovered over her. And now her eyes were filled with tears that threatened to gush right out of her. “I don’t want to go out, Damon. I don’t want to celebrate. I don’t have anything to celebrate. Because what’s bigger than my birthday is that today is the day my mother died!”

  “Oh!” I said, wishing that I hadn’t pushed her to this but then thinking it was best. She probably needed to talk about it.

 
“I’m really sorry, Tiffanie. I didn’t know. And now, I get it. I wouldn’t want to celebrate either, I guess. But I have a feeling that your mom would want you to celebrate. It’s not like she wanted to die on your birthday.”

  She gave me a long stare before she laughed, and that startled me. Because she laughed so hard that it took her a while to be able to talk. “Oh, yes, she did. She wanted to die today. ­Because my mother, in all of the love she was supposed to have for me, she chose my birthday to die.” She paused. “She committed suicide. On. My. Birthday.”

  I was sure that there had never been a time when my mouth was open wider than now.

  Tiffanie continued, “She made sure that I would never be able to celebrate my birthday.”

  Now I’d always been quick, having to think while I stared down guys holding guns and while running from bullets that flew over my head. But nothing had prepared me for this.

  The only response I could come up with was, “Maybe it wasn’t that she didn’t want you to celebrate your birthday, Tiffanie. Maybe it was her way of making sure you always remembered her. She was hurting and she didn’t want you to forget her.”

  It seemed like I’d said the right thing because after a couple of moments, Tiffanie wrapped her arms around my neck. I closed my eyes and held her as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed . . .

  * * *

  EVEN NOW, AS I remembered, water kinda filled up my eyes. Tiffanie been so broken for all of those years, since she’d discovered that when she was only two, her mother had taken a boatload of pills: sleeping pills mixed with aspirin, then she held Tiffanie in her arms as she left this world. It was a neighbor who’d heard Tiffanie wailing and called the police.

  For the rest of that birthday, I held Tiffanie as she explained how she couldn’t get into a relationship because down to her soul, she believed the obsession that her mother had with her father was a mental illness.

  “No one would commit suicide over love unless they were mentally ill” was what she told me.