No Love for the Wicked

by Tiana Laveen

  They sighed in unison, sounds of primitive need, animalistic desires. His muscle touched her walls, with no space left for anything but his thrusting cock. Oh God how she needed it just how he dished it out. She pressed her thighs around him as he sped his pace, his weight a heavy burden she was elated to have. His stride intensified and every time she touched his face, ran her hands through his hair, or held him tighter, he moaned as if she alone set his world on fire. When he drew close enough, she slid her tongue into his mouth. He yanked away from her and grabbed the reins. His teeth grazed her neck and she shuddered with pleasure.

  “I had to have you all to myself,” he ground out.

  “Shit, baby. Ya killin’ me, Angelo! I love how your big dick feels deep inside me! Don’t stop!”

  “I’m not takin’ my dick outta you, sweetheart, until I fill your pretty little snatch with my hot load. I’m gonna fuck the shit outta ya all night, baby, and get me some of this good stuff in the mornin’, too. I’ll never be done with you. You’re in big trouble. You’ll have to beg me to stop. To let up on you.”

  “Take my pussy, baby! Tear me apart!”

  He rose onto his palms, then rammed her hard, over and over, teaching her a nasty lesson as he made her wish his command.

  His forehead wrinkled and his eyes pressed closed as he delivered blow after tortuous blow. ‘How Much I Feel,’ by Ambrosia was playing right then on the radio.

  “Ahhhh, shit! Sweet thing, play with your pussy while I fuck you, baby. I wanna watch.” He grabbed her hand and placed it between their bumping bodies. She glided her finger all along her engorged clit, sliding it up and down and all around. He observed her masturbation with such intensity, turned the hell on, his desire excited her, too.

  The sheets bunched round them, and his hip muscles clenched and released. So sexy. The way he felt inside of her was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Their souls were crying out to one another and her eyes welled with tears of pure ecstasy. Limbs across limbs, holding onto one another… longing looks of mutual seduction. They’d been falling in love from the first night he’d walked through her door.

  “It’s so good to be inside you…” He bent down and kissed her breast, right above where her heart beat. She shuddered, catching his drift, the double meaning of his words. They were so in tune.

  Their bodies had to be made for each other. As he stretched her open, balls slapping against her pussy in a feverish pitch, the pain and pleasure merged, and she came again. They both cried out as their slick forms struggled to hold on to one another. He caught her hand, removing it from her zone, intertwined their fingers, and raised her arm above her head. Falling down on her, the immensity of his body, the firmness of his muscles pressed her down as he dominated her. He sucked and nibbled on her neck while pumping in fast, short thrusts. And then, they looked into each other’s souls…

  Caressing each other’s faces…

  She looked into those eyes and saw not only his history, but her future. His eyes widened, lips parted… He clenched, a vein in the center of his forehead creasing, and out poured a throaty rumble and the resonance of a virile voice giving way to his deepest desires, with only an instant left until he’d fall apart. He held onto her, jerking hard within her, going so deep inside she knew she’d feel its presence well into the morning, long after they’d gone their separate ways. He fucked her hard and made love to her softly, all in that same moment, then flooded her oasis with his molten gratitude. She held onto him as he yelled sexy obscenities, trembled violently against her, shaking like she’d never seen.

  “Andrea…. Andrea!” he repeated her name over and over again as his arm and leg muscles tightened, then spasmed. His body was no longer under his control, his climax far too strong. She held him tight, rubbing his brawny back as he nestled his head in the crevice of her neck and jaw. His muscles continued to spasm amidst weary, lethargic groans. Never in her life, had she witnessed someone giving in to the final stage of love. The acceptance that it was real. He surrendered. Willingly. That’s what he’d done…

  The man who made the girls cry was now lying in her valley, craving his next gasp of air. Needing it. Vulnerability was in the soft flow of his hair, the tightening of his jaw, the deep swallow as he held her tight. His breathing was harsh and his lovemaking unabashed. He throbbed inside of her, rough hands gripping her hips as his heart beat faster than his shadows could chase. They could no longer keep up with him. He gave permission for the release of his demons, and she planned to capture them, and bury them fast. The purge had commenced. She’d banish them with the touch of the truth, and the promise of love.

  Maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. It’s not about slayin’ any dragons, or fighting his distresses. It’s about finding out WHY, and being there for him when he answers that question for himself. He has to do it on his own. If I do it for him, it won’t be the same. It won’t hold water. So much about himself he keeps hidden. I saw more than many, of this I’m sure, but I still have to be careful. Only fools rush in. I have to find out how to get inside him the right way, because he told me I could come in. I was invited, one of the lucky few. I have to pace myself. Angelo is the type of man to hand me a key to his secrets, then change the damn locks as soon as I arrive…

  She now understood that he was the puppet master pulling his own strings. He was the tsar of terrors, and he’d made the intentional mistake of falling for an Empath. He’d known what she was when he’d met her, and vice versa. They’d abhorred the idea of one another, but loved the soul within…

  She stroked his hair, never wanting to let him go. He was at peace, at least, for one night…

  CHAPTER TEN

  Let Your Hair Down

  Rule 10: Have Clear Intentions.

  Angelo tilted his head back as the coiffeur slid the sharp razor over the bulge of his Adam’s apple. Smooth and easy… carefully. The barbershop had more patrons than usual that day. Men going in and out, wanting to freshen up their look in time for the pending weekend. The barber applied another dose of heavily scented shaving cream and continued the shaving ritual. Clutching the arms of the brown and taupe barber chair with jeweled fingers, baptized in a haze of cigar and cigarette smoke, he enjoyed listening to The Doors’ ‘Riding the Storm,’ which drifted inside from a car rolling slowly on by. He tapped his foot to the tune, one of his favorite songs.

  “Mr. Ferrari, would you like your sideburns trimmed today?”

  “Yeah, Ace. Take care of that for me.” He sat up straight as the man gathered his materials, including a gleaming pair of shears and a fresh razor. His mind wandered. Things had gotten heavy. Something he’d avoided, he now coveted. He’d made his move, taking Andrea off the market like the prize that she was – and he’d made no attempts to offer rationalizations or lame excuses for his desires. He now claimed her as his very own. Since the night he’d brought her to his home, they’d been in steady communication and inseparable.

  They equally understood that things had forever changed, and there was no way to reverse what had occurred, to go back to square one, no matter what. He’d had his share of ladies. Plenteous women of all different backgrounds, appearances, likes and dislikes, beliefs and socio-economic status, but never, and he meant never, had he been with a woman that made him feel like Andrea had.

  She was fun and free, freaky, delicate and strong, and there was a wisdom about her, as well as a certain innocence, too. He liked that. She was the optimistic sort, but not a nitwit. When he considered her dual nature, it made his heart thump, his lips curl, and his dick incredibly hard. He was internal chaos. She was external balance. When they’d made love, he’d thought his damn head was going to explode. He was ruined now. That night he’d cum so hard, his leg, arm, and stomach muscles had locked and his body was taken over. But it went beyond the physical. It was as if something inside him that had been dormant for years had awakened, recognized her from a time long gone, a time he’d forgotten, and was overjoyed to feel her once again
. They’d made love all through that first night, over and over again, well into the morning. Explicit details of their rendezvous flooded his memory bank.

  He’d put her in all sorts of sexual positions, Her flexibility was astounding. And they’d shared a joint before one more romp on the bedroom floor that morning before her departure. That gorgeous, hairy slit of hers was worse than cocaine. The sweet, dripping wet pussy between her thighs had made a fool of him, and he didn’t give a shit. He craved it. The look of it. The touch of it. The smell of it. The fit and the fuck of it. He was in overdrive when it came to her – non-stop screwing had been inevitable, and he only stopped because the woman had begged him to. She had to visit her aunt and drop off something, so she had to go. He didn’t know much about Andrea’s family with the exception of the fact her parents had died in an automobile accident when she’d been a baby, and her Uncle had taken her home with him to raise with his wife and other children. Since then, her uncle and aunt had divorced, but she was still quite close to her aunt and saw her like a mother. As with him, Andrea felt it important to keep her word, especially to family, and she’d promised her aunt a visit. He couldn’t argue with that.

  So he’d begrudgingly driven her home, and it had been obvious to him, by her tight expression and silence, that she had some concerns in her heart. She’d needed some reassurance, now that reality had set in. Was she only his latest conquest? She didn’t say those words, but he knew that look. He knew women. He understood them on a personal level and that likely was what made him irresistible to the opposite sex. He couldn’t say he blamed her for her reservations. It was no secret he’d had many lovers, and he’d rarely committed to any of them.

  He’d had to remind her he was a straight shooter, and she was now his main squeeze and they’d get together again soon. All of that new notch on his belt shit was in the past. To honor his promise, he’d surprised her the next day by swinging by her job and taking her out for lunch. The day after that, he’d had donuts and coffee delivered to her and her friends. She’d called him excitedly to thank him. The day after that, he’d stopped in, kissed her, and left her with a big gold box of decadent chocolates for her to enjoy.

  He smiled to himself as he sat in that chair thinking about his lover, how he couldn’t stop showering her with gifts and affection, and feeling a bit silly about it, too. He hadn’t felt that way about a chick in years. He was fucking smitten… This was no fling for him. This was hardcore. The real deal.

  “Mr. Ferrari, as usual, you look like a million bucks.” The barber was now finished. His goatee, sideburns, and hair were perfectly trimmed.

  “Thanks, Ace.” The man dusted him off, and he slapped a ten-dollar bill in the guy’s palm, telling him to keep the change. The burgundy cape was removed from around his neck, and he got to his feet. Wearing his dark jeans and cowboy boots, he made his way over to the full length mirror in the establishment, double checking that his silk cream shirt with the black swirl design wasn’t chock full of wrinkles from the poncho. I’m all right. It’s all right. He looked at his hands. The rings on his fingers gleamed, especially the bright silver crucifix with the diamonds he’d chosen to wear that day. Al Stewart’s ‘Year of the Cat’ was now playing in the shop, the sound coming from a little radio.

  He gave a slight wave goodbye as he stepped out onto 53rd Street. As he was making his way to his car, he noticed a floral shop. I bet my baby would like some flowers. She digs plants and shit. He stepped inside, the door chiming, and found two women standing at the cash register yapping. They drew suddenly quiet, then began to talk in whispers. He could only make out the words: ‘Boots’, ‘cute,’ and ‘big knob in pants.’ He smirked at their choice of words.

  “Hi. Looking for something special?’ one of them piped up, chewing hard on a wad of gum. He pointed to a display of red, pink, and white roses.

  “These are nice. I’ll take these.”

  “The white roses?” one of the women came from behind the counter, a pair of floral sheers in her hand.

  “Yeah. And the red. The pink. Those yellow flowers in the back, too. Whatever they are.”

  The woman began to pull a stem or two from each color, constructing a bouquet.

  “No, no, baby.” He waved his hand about. “I want all of them. Every single rose, tulip, daffodil in here you’ve got.” The woman’s mouth dropped, and she burst out laughing.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t I look like I’m serious? Now, hurry up.” He glanced down at his watch. The woman disappeared in a back area then returned with tons of ribbon and cellophane wrap. “Send ’em to this address…” He rattled off Andrea’s home address. “And write, ‘To a special lady in Harlem.” The other lady joined her, and they made quick work of arranging all the flowers of the corner display just so, bushel after colorful, fragrant bushel, then wrapped the lot with shiny pretty ribbons.

  “What else do ya want the card to say, sir? With all of these flowers, you gotta say more!” one of the ladies suggested, both clearly overwhelmed and flabbergasted.

  “Hmmm,” He paused, putting his hand on his hip. “I got it. I’ll tell ya what to do. Fuhget about that special lady shit.

  Put: To my Black Magic Woman:

  Oh, how the card tables have turned.

  I put a spell on you… because you’re mine…

  Love,

  The King of Diamonds…”

  Aunt Bev slid on her red leather jacket with the fingernail-polish-painted zipper. She’d taken pride in that item of clothing and the special touch she’d added to it so the zipper would be the same color as the jacket. Andrea had her hair in freshly greased braids adorned with wooden beads, her scalp itching something terrible. She reached up to cure the itch.

  “Nuh uh!” Aunt Bev chastised as she grabbed her teal purse and slung the strap over her arm. “You’re going to mess up my hard work.”

  “It itches. I can’t go on like this. Do you have some of that sheen spray? I think it was in a black can with orange and green on the front of it.”

  “Oh, that. I’m all out of Afro sheen, baby. Need to pick some more up. Carmen might have some. She usually buys extra. Look now, I’m serious, ’Drea. Leave your head alone.”

  Andrea sighed. Aunt Bev still treated her like a child at times. Her aunt knew her all too well, too. Seemed she could read her thoughts before she made her next move. The first chance she got, she was going to scratch to her heart’s content. They both knew that to be a fact.

  “Feels like a bunch of ants marching across my scalp.” She gave her head a soft pat.

  “You’ve gotten tender-headed in your old age. This wasn’t my idea, anyway. You was just over here the other day, giving me a loan, which I so appreciate.” The older woman’s dark red cheeks plumped as she blew out the candle on her kitchen table. “And I said I could pay you back some of it if you come over in a week. I’d do your hair like you’d been asking.”

  “Yes, it was a good exchange, but I don’t ever remember my hair itching like this before, Aunt Bev!” She patted her head once again with her palm, this time, a bit harder.

  “I just finished it five minutes ago, and now you wanna scratch up your scalp and undo everything. I greased you; you should be good soon. Just give it a minute.”

  Andrea put her hand on her hip to keep from tearing her scalp to shreds. She sniffed the air, realizing it was the Blue Magic hair grease that was the source of the smell filling the air, blending with the scent of the blown-out candle. She had to admit, itchy scalp and all, as she caught her reflection in the gold framed mirror on the wall, she did look damn good. Aunt Bev was a well-known braider.

  People came all the way from Harlem and the Bronx to get their hair braided by her. She was a Harlem fixture before she’d moved to Brooklyn, known as ‘Magic Fingers’ in the community, always doing people’s intricate plaits and braided styles like a true professional.

  Soon, they made their way out of the apartment and into the cab.
It was tradition for them to go to the market together. The market, as they called it, was actually a row of apartment buildings and houses where various residents in the Bay Ridge area of Brooklyn sold clothing, pre-cooked meals made with love, herbs they’d grown in their windows and the local gardens, sweet oils, and home-made jewelry. Everyone knew each other, so there were no worries, and it was a way for people to make a little extra money and socialize a bit, too.

  It was like a garage sale that went on for an entire block, but put together by some of your best friends in the whole, wide world. It was pleasurable and fun, occurring a few times a year, and oftentimes, they’d offered free refreshments along the way.

  “You have the bags?” Aunt Bev asked as she got situated in the backseat of the cab, her plastic bangle bracelets banging a tune.

  “Mmm hmmm, right here.” Andrea pulled a few large plastic carriers from her purse, ones they’d use to hold their purchases. “Why couldn’t LeAnn make it this time?” LeAnn was Aunt Bev’s eldest daughter, her cousin, and would often go with them.

  “She’s about to pop! Almost due.” Andrea nodded in understanding as she sat up front with the driver. “Said her ankles were swollen so bad, her legs are like tree trunks. I told her she’d better watch out for Woody Woodpecker then.”

  Andrea burst out laughing and crossed her arms as she watched the people mingling in the middle of the street. The driver honked at them to move out the way.

  “She’ll be okay. Any day now,” Andrea assured.

  “So, we took bets. I think she’s gonna finally give me a grandson.” She looked in the rear-view mirror and noted her Aunt smiling big and bold as she pleased. “Erika, Charlotte, Dontae, Travis and Lewis ain’t had nothin’ but girls lately. Now, I love my granddaughters, don’t get me wrong, but it’s time for some more blue blankets and blue clothes in this family. What you think?”