Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.
I was glad when she leaned away, just so I could breathe. But it was still hard because of her eyes. The way she looked at me as she undid my bow tie made me want to holla. I needed to help her, to move this along, but when I reached for the buttons on my shirt, she slapped my hands away. I grinned, but that was only to hold back my moan. My girl, I mean, my wife was letting me know that this was her show.
It was painful the way she undressed me, so slowly, as if she could wait and she wasn’t aware that I couldn’t. First my shirt, then she ripped the belt from my waist before she lowered my pants. When she knelt down before me, I was on my way to heaven, but she only helped me to step out of my pants.
Then she stood back up as she once again kissed me, her hands sliding down my briefs. I stepped back to step out of them, then looked down and laughed.
She laughed, too. The two of us, naked except for our shoes. She looked so much better than I did.
I kicked off my shoes, but told her, “Keep yours on.” And then I stood, just holding her hands. That’s all I wanted for the moment.
The way her fingers curled around mine made me almost lose my gangsta. The tears were coming to my eyes, but I held them. There was no way I would cry. It’s just that I never knew that this was what love could do.
Raising her hand, I kissed each of her fingers before I turned my lips back to hers. I was trying, really trying to make this last forever, but forever was about to come to an end.
Leading her to the bed, I laid her down. I still wanted to take this slowly; I knew she’d bought something special to wear tonight. But there just wasn’t any more patience in me. I connected with her with more than our lips, and I made love to my wife.
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the warmth of her beneath me, around me, throughout me, and there were all kinds of thoughts in my mind. But they were all broken up because with the way my body was set up, I couldn’t think. All I could do was breathe and hold on, breathe and hold on, breathe and . . . I couldn’t hold on anymore.
When I cried out, a moment later, Tiffanie did, too. It took a few minutes for that pounding in my heart to lighten up and then, I lifted my head and kissed her. That’s when I felt the moisture on her cheeks.
Dang! Had I gone so hard that I hurt my girl? “What’s wrong?” I whispered.
Beneath me, she shook her head.
Slowly, I rolled off of her, but kept my arms around her. “You’re crying.”
After a moment, she said, “I’m happy.”
I let out a long breath and then smiled. Leaning over, I gave her another kiss and pulled her into me. I couldn’t get my body close enough to hers. I wanted to be one again.
I’m happy.
I’d never made a woman cry, and I have to say, it felt kinda good to satisfy my wife in this way. Even as my breathing steadied, I kept my mind in this place, this time.
I’m happy.
For the rest of my life, this was how I wanted it to be. I wanted to fill Tiffanie’s days and nights with everything that she wanted. So that when she laid her head on her pillow every night, she’d cry from all the happiness that our life together gave her.
Then, while she cried, I’d smile, just like I was smiling now. Because I’d achieved the most important goal in my life.
Leaning over, I kissed her cheeks, over and over, until I’d kissed her tears away. Then I closed my eyes. And I’m sure that I slept with the smile of all smiles on my face.
25
Tiffanie
Flight attendants prepare for landing.”
Over the console between us, Damon took my hand, and my fingers curled naturally around his. I didn’t turn toward him, though; instead my eyes were on the sweeping skyline below.
If we hadn’t spent thirteen hours in the air, someone would have easily convinced me that we were flying into Chicago, or any other metropolitan city in the US. But then I saw the Dubai City Tower, stretching so high the top pierced the clouds.
“It’s beautiful, bae, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I breathed. Then I felt his lips on my neck. I leaned back so that I could receive him more and when I opened my eyes, I blinked over and over, making sure that my tears stayed behind my lids. But it felt like the water was about to overflow, so I closed my eyes because I just couldn’t cry.
Hadn’t I done that enough?
First last night, when I lay with my husband and all I heard were Trey’s words: When Damon brings you in here, remember this, remember me.
I’d done just that—remembered how I’d lain beneath him, if only for a moment. Remembered how I wanted him and how I thought he wanted me.
Trey was all I could think about as I’d lain with my husband on our wedding night. Trey was all I could think about because, without ever having been intimate with me, he could make me feel what my husband couldn’t.
Not even on our wedding night.
When I’d thought about that this morning, I’d cried, releasing my tears inside the shower where they mixed with the water. I didn’t want Damon to have any questions, but he hadn’t joined me. Our flight had been too early for an encore from last night, thank God.
But now I had to face today. I had to find a way to respond to my husband, because I couldn’t face a lifetime of never being satisfied. So I told myself that the only reason Damon couldn’t satisfy me last night was because of me—and what had been in my head. The next time would be better because Sonia was right. Sex had to be wonderful with your husband.
The jet’s tires skidded along the runway, and one of the flight attendants spoke over the loudspeaker. “Welcome to Dubai, where the local time is eight twenty a.m.”
I glanced at my watch and wondered if I should reset it. I usually didn’t when we took continental or Caribbean trips, but thinking about the eight-hour difference between Dubai and Washington made me slip the gold watch off my wrist and change the time.
We didn’t stand like everyone else on the plane when the jet came to a stop. There was no need, since we’d be the first ones off anyway.
Only a few minutes passed before the door opened and we exited. My first thought when I stepped onto the jet bridge was what would this humidity do to my hair? And the next one—even though I truly wanted to honor their culture—how was I going to survive in this heat wearing long sleeves and long dresses the whole time we were here?
But the moment we left the jet bridge, my focus was on the sights, or rather the people. In the bustle of the airport, I couldn’t discern the natives from the tourists. The nationalities: Asian, East Indian, and many who looked American, though they could just as easily have been European. And, of course, there were the women dressed in abayas and the men in long white robes and ghutras. I was fascinated by the internationalism of it all and we were still in the airport.
At the baggage area, Damon got a cart, then loaded the luggage and his golf clubs onto it before we went through Customs. We showed our passports and after a couple of questions about the purpose for our visit (the agent almost smiled when Damon told him we were on our honeymoon) and where we were staying (he definitely smiled when Damon told him the Burj Al Arab), we were waved through.
Right outside Customs, a man walked up as if he knew us. “Mr. King?” The tanned man, who wore a very long white kandura and a white ghutra, greeted us. “I’m Khalid and one of our drivers will be taking you to the hotel.”
He grabbed the luggage cart from Damon, then passed us over to another man (whom he didn’t introduce), who was wearing a similar robe, only much shorter. We were led to a white Rolls-Royce and once we settled inside, the man rolled the car from the curb.
As I peered through the window, Damon tapped me on my shoulder. “I am so looking forward to this. Our honeymoon.”
I gave him a smile . . . and a kiss . . . and I prayed.
&nb
sp; I almost pressed my nose against the window, wanting to see everything in the most expensive city in the Middle East. But the beauty of the scenery didn’t stop me from yawning.
“Tired, huh?” Damon glanced at his watch. “It’s almost one in the morning for us.”
“I know, but it still doesn’t make sense that I’m tired. All we did was fly.”
He chuckled. “It’s hard being an international traveler.”
I smiled and this time, I was the one to take his hand and squeeze it. All I wanted to do was enjoy this beautiful time, in this beautiful place, with this man and his beautiful heart.
Leaning over, I kissed my husband, then told him, “I love you so much.”
His dimples were carved deep in his cheek when he grinned. “I bet you I love you more.”
“If you do, I’m going to spend the rest of my days trying to beat you.”
“We’ll spend the days together.” He pulled me over and laid my head on his shoulder.
Even though he’d taken me away from the window, I could still see the sights that made this faraway place feel like another cosmopolitan city, especially with the traffic that crowded the streets. We traveled slow enough for me to take in the buildings and the shops with signs in Arabic, though just as many were in English. And the people. Even though it was morning, the streets were filled, just like at the airport, with a medley of nationalities.
It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before we rolled over a bridge and then came to a stop. The driver turned off the ignition but didn’t say a word as he got out and opened the door. Damon stepped out, then reached for my hand.
I had one leg out of the car, then stopped . . . and took in the massive skyscraper that was the symbol of Dubai. I’d seen pictures, of course, of this structure with the silhouette of a sail. But up close, the world’s most luxurious hotel was stunning. It didn’t even look like a building.
Gathering myself, I slid out of the car, then held Damon’s hand as we entered the Burj Al Arab. Like whenever I walked into the Willard, I tried not to appear too impressed by all of the grandeur, though it didn’t work. I probably looked like Dorothy right after she touched down in the Land of Oz, but what was I supposed to do? It was the fountains that filled the foyer and the six-hundred-foot-high atrium rising to the heavens that made me stop and stare.
We were whisked through the lobby, straight up to our suite, where we were met at the door by one of the hotel staff.
“Mr. and Mrs. King.” The young woman spoke English with a western accent and I wondered if she’d attended school somewhere in the United States or maybe in Great Britain. “Welcome to the Burj Al Arab. I’ll be checking you in.”
I nodded, and glanced at Damon with a smirk. Really? Private check-ins inside your suite? He gave me a little shrug and a what-else-did-you-expect-from-me look and then took the paperwork from the young lady.
As Damon handled that business, I gazed around. The first word that came to my mind was—vibrant. I was used to a more understated décor, but I guessed the people of Dubai believed in opulence through colors. From the heavy burgundy drapes that hung at the twentieth-floor windows to the green brocade sectional sofa with overstuffed pillows and the forty-two-inch flat panel television that hung on the wall inside a golden frame, it was clear that this hotel was all about overstated luxury.
When the young lady began to speak, I turned to face her. “We are here to make sure your stay is all that you want it to be. This is the living room with the lounge and your bar.” She pointed across the room. “Your bedroom and the master bath are upstairs.” Then she listed the amenities: from someone to unpack our bags (I declined that) to the twenty-one-inch Mac in the bedroom (I couldn’t wait to take a look at that.) “There is also a printer, copier, and scanner there. Our concierge is available twenty-four hours and your personal butler is as well.”
Personal butler?
Damon thanked her and I nodded as if I were used to all of this extravagance. I didn’t exhale until she left us alone.
“Oh, my God.” I pressed my hand over my mouth like I was twelve years old again. “This place . . .” I dashed up the stairs to the bedroom so that I could see the rest of our suite.
Yup, there was a computer all set up inside the purple room. While the purple was a really deep, deep purple, at least the bedroom was monochromatic. From the draping that hung across the top of our bed to the plush carpet—all purple. Even the desk that held the computer blended into the room.
I walked to the wall that was nothing but three floor-to-ceiling window panels, just like the ones in the living room below, and I sighed, taking in the panoramic view of the Persian Gulf.
Damon came up behind me and when he wrapped me in his arms, I sank into his embrace. “That water out there? That gulf isn’t deep enough or wide enough to hold the love that I have for you.”
This man. His love. How could I not love him?
“You see what I got here for you, baby?”
What more was he going to say? What more could he do? I turned around with a wide smile until . . .
“Six dozen roses,” he said, pointing to the vase on the table in front of the small sofa in our bedroom.
Just like the roses he’d left for me in the Bridal Suite.
Flash:
Spread-eagle.
Naked.
“Your favorites,” he added.
Waiting.
Wanting.
I swallowed the big lump of guilt in my throat.
“What? Are you tired of getting flowers?” He laughed a little. “Sorry, you can’t get tired of getting something that I love giving you.”
In my mind—that flash—again.
“What’s wrong?” There was a frown on his face and in his tone.
I shook my head.
“You’re acting like you saw a ghost or something.”
“No, it’s not that.” Finally, some semblance of my voice squeaked out. “It’s just that they’re so beautiful.”
“Oh . . . kay,” he said. He moved toward me and I tried to hold my breath to stop my shaking. He took my hand. “Maybe you’ll like this better.”
He led me into the bathroom and as soon as I stepped over the threshold, I stopped, and this time it wasn’t because of the lavishness around me. I didn’t really notice the mosaic on the walls or the orange marble around the Jacuzzi tub that was sized for at least four or the storm shower with six showerheads. No, this time, my eyes stayed on the edge of the tub and the basket . . . just another reminder of that night.
All I could do was turn around, leaving Damon standing alone, trying to figure this out. It took him a few moments to follow me, but not enough moments. I’d needed more time because I had some explaining to do.
Sitting next to me on the bed, we were both silent until he asked, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
How was I supposed to explain this? How was I supposed to make him understand that I might never want to see roses again? I tried, but my effort was not enough; there was nothing I could do to stop the slow trek of tears down my cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” His voice had concern and confusion, but I could hear his hurt, and that hurt me.
There was nothing I could do but lie. “I guess . . . it’s just . . . all of this,” I whispered. “I want to love you back that same way.”
With his fingertips, he lifted my chin. I had no choice; I had to look at him. “You don’t have to do anything more than just be you.”
When he held me, I didn’t think it was possible to love him more than yesterday. But I did. When he laid me back on the bed and ripped my clothes from me, tossing everything to the floor, I welcomed him, I wanted him.
And I prayed that this time would be it.
26
Tiffanie
I stared at t
he purple wall, the same way I’d been doing for what felt like a day’s worth of hours. But a quick glance at my watch showed that only four hours had passed since we’d landed, which meant that it had only been two hours since we’d been in this bed.
But those two hours? Torturous. Because. Nothing. Happened.
Why couldn’t my husband satisfy me?
The chirp on my phone made me frown. Damon had added the international plan for our trip, but that was only to stay in touch with my grandparents. And even they’d told me that they would only call or text in case of an emergency.
Picking up my iPhone, the text message was right there on the screen.
Thinking about me yet?
At first, those words confused me. Then those words shocked me. My eyes widened and I glanced over my shoulder, staying still for a moment. After watching Damon’s chest rise and fall a few times in the steady rhythm of his sleep, I scooted out of bed, moving as few muscles as possible. I stepped over the jeans and the blouse that I’d worn on the plane and, without a stitch of clothing on, I tiptoed down to the living room.
Once down there, I breathed. I read the text again.
Thinking about me yet?
There was no name, no signature. But I didn’t need either to know who’d sent this message. How had he gotten my number? But then right away I answered my own question. He was Damon’s boy.
I read the text and paced and my heart sped up. Read the text and paced and my heart sped up more. And in between, I tried to breathe.
“Tiff?”
Now, my heart stopped.
“What’s going on?” Damon was as naked as I was, but I hardly noticed. “I heard your phone go off.”
I stood frozen, my eyes wide, my mouth stuck. I’m sure looking stupid. Then stupid words came out of me. “Ummm . . . ummm . . . it’s nothing,” I said, trying to figure out how I would delete the text in the two seconds it would take Damon to reach me.
“Who texted you?”
I wanted to cry all over again. “Sonia,” I said in a confident tone that could only come from the most proficient of liars.
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