The Sweetest Thing

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  She laughed, a low snort that resounded with frustration. Rancor punctuated the words that spilled out of her mouth. “Harper is with Quentin! He came to take her home. I think he made that clear. I’m trying to figure out why you seem to be having a hard time comprehending that. Harper chose the better man.”

  Incensed, Dwayne suddenly snarled like a caged animal. “I don’t want Harper,” he screamed as he shot across the room to her side and grabbed her by the throat, his fingers tight around her neck. Rachel tensed, her eyes clenched shut, her breath stalled in her chest. She opened her eyes and met his harsh gaze. She wrapped both of her hands around his wrists.

  “Take your hands off of me,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  Dwayne hesitated only momentarily and then he released the grip he had on her, taking a step back. His hands shook uncontrollably.

  Rachel moved to her feet, standing tall in front of him. The two eyed each other angrily, years of turmoil and frustration wafting between them. She shook her head and then she pulled her arm back and slapped him, her palm striking the side of his face with every ounce of venom she had in her. The slam shook him to his core, his head snapping back from the infraction. He took a deep breath and then a second and then he slowly turned his head back to stare at her. Tears misted her eyes and his.

  “I have loved you my entire life, Dwayne Porter. There is absolutely nothing I would not have done for you and no matter what I did do or how hard I tried it was never enough for you. You never once gave me an ounce of respect. You never loved me back.”

  Dwayne shook his index finger in her face, his whole body quivering with rage. “Don’t tell me how I felt about you. Don’t you ever tell me what I did or didn’t feel for you!”

  “You never loved me!” Rachel shouted.

  “You loved Quentin!” he shouted back.

  “I didn’t love Quentin. I used Quentin to get back at you for the way you were treating me,” Rachel said, her tears overflowing. “And I’ve done everything I could since then to make you see that.”

  Dwayne closed his eyes and shook his head. At that very moment he no longer trusted anything he had ever believed about the two of them. He’d spent more time pushing Rachel out of his life than he’d ever spent trying to hold on to her. He blew a deep sigh. Quentin had been right. How could she have known when he had never once bared his soul for her to see?

  He moved past her, reaching for the cell phone that rested on the mahogany bureau. He dialed the pilot, inquiring about the status of his plane. They’d been cleared for departure, everything deemed safe and able. Disconnecting the call, he moved back into the bathroom and finished dressing.

  Staring into the mirror at his reflection, he was suddenly unhappy with the man who stared back at him. She’d said that Quentin was the better man and a large part of him believed her. He’d made choices and done things he wasn’t proud of. Things his best friend would never have considered. But he had loved Rachel. He still loved Rachel but he hadn’t thought twice about putting his hands on her. He suddenly realized that what they shared behind closed doors, the fetishes Rachel yearned for in their bed, was far different from the abuse he had thought to inflict on her just minutes earlier. He had deserved her slap even more than he’d deserved Quentin’s cold-cocking him.

  He dialed his cell phone a second time and called for the car. He took one last look in the mirror before moving back into the room.

  Rachel was still standing in the center of the room, tears still dripping from her eyes. She was beautiful and she glowed, everything about her seeming different. Despite the fragility of her appearance, he sensed an air of determination about her that hadn’t been there before. She seemed more confident and content. He eyed her intensely, taking note of every line and curve that he had come to know intimately over the years. Her breasts were fuller, her hips wider, and there was just the hint of a bump protruding beneath the shirt she wore. He suddenly saw what he should have seen earlier; what she hadn’t yet been able to voice to him.

  He took a deep breath, the air burning his lungs. He moved to her side, staring deep into her eyes. The look was questioning and accepting, saying more than words would ever have been able to. He pressed his large palm to her stomach, his fingers tapping at the hint of new life that existed beneath the skin.

  Rachel nodded. “We’re having a baby,” she whispered.

  Her tears dripped past her eyes and he leaned to kiss the wetness from her cheek. She let him, her own hand dropping against his, and Dwayne took that as a good sign.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning to whisper into her ear. He met her gaze as he swiped at the moisture that dampened her cheeks.

  There was a knock on the room door.

  “That’s your ride,” he said softly. “The driver will take you to the airport. My pilot will fly you home.”

  She looked confused. “What are you going to do?” Rachel questioned. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  He shook his head. “I need to take care of something.”

  “What?”

  He took a deep breath. “I need to go see my father.” Grabbing her hand he entwined his fingers between hers. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “You and I are going to talk and everything is going to be okay. I promise.”

  Still staring into his eyes Rachel believed him. Rachel needed to believe him.

  Dwayne kissed her one last time then pulled her along beside him, exiting the space. “Let’s go home.”

  Harper and Quentin weren’t concerned about getting home. They stayed another two days with Mama Pearl. The matriarch was completely enamored of the man, deeming him a keeper. The two had cooked together, walked the neighborhood, worked her garden, and he’d even beaten her in a couple of hands of poker. Her grandmother’s liking everything about Quentin was confirmation for Harper that she’d chosen well; that what she was feeling in her heart was right.

  Harper and Jasmine had met with their attorney to clearly define the expansion of their bridal business. Both women were excited by the prospect of opening a second location in Tennessee. Between jokes about franchising the whole operation and evolving across the entire Eastern Seaboard, Harper could very well imagine their having offices from Louisiana to New York.

  The third day they’d said their good-byes, Mama Pearl and Jasmine waving from the front porch. Before Quentin had pulled the rental car out of the driveway Harper was already missing them both. She settled back against the leather seats of the BMW 328i convertible fighting not to cry like a baby. Leaving had been harder than she’d imagined. As if he’d read her mind Quentin reached a hand out and caressed her thigh. He looked at her and smiled.

  “You only had coffee this morning,” he said. “Do you want to stop and get something to eat before we get on the road?”

  Harper nodded and pointed him toward West State Street and Louisiana State University. “Let’s stop at Louie’s Café,” she said. “It’s an institution here.”

  He nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me!”

  Minutes later the duo were dining on seafood omelets filled with shrimp, crawfish, and vegetables topped with an herb crème sauce. From his side of the table Quentin was studying her intently.

  “We can stay, Harper. If you really want, we can stay. I’d be willing to move here to Baton Rouge.”

  She met his stare. “Really?”

  “If it would make you happy.”

  She shook her head, tears rising to her eyes. “I appreciate that but the first day I arrived in Memphis, I got the sense that there was something there that I was supposed to find. Something my father wanted for me. I still have a lot to learn about who Everett ‘Pop’ Donovan was and I don’t think I can learn it anywhere but Memphis. For whatever reasons, he loved that city and I’m learning to love it too.”

  Quentin nodded. “I love you.”

  She smiled. “I love you, too.”

  Quentin had detailed their travel plans, deeming himself the consummate
tourist as he brandished his camera to take photo after photo. Harper couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, the man determined to Twitter and Instagram their entire trip. She posed with a copy of the diner’s menu and again, draped across the hood of the car, to kick off his photo journal.

  A few miles north of the city they crossed the Mississippi River and picked up River Road. The top was rolled down on the car and both savored the sun and heat and breeze that paved their way. They passed large stretches of sugarcane fields until they reached Nottoway Plantation and the largest remaining antebellum mansion in the South. Harper could have passed on the tour but Quentin had insisted, determined to provide them both with historical meanderings to take back to Memphis.

  Two hours later they were back in the car headed to the gallery of Alvin Batiste, whose art studio was tucked in the back of a brick framing shop. While the two men chatted about absolutely nothing, Harper chose two paintings to take back home. Between all the stops and starts, from the African American Museum, past the century-old cottages at Oak Alley Plantation to the period antiques at Houmas House, it took them the entire day to travel 112 miles. Harper marveled at Quentin’s being able to stretch a one-and-a-half-hour jaunt over a solid two days. When they reached the bed and breakfast in Vacherie both were exhausted, falling asleep in their clothes the minute they dropped down against the bed.

  The next morning they started the day with a complimentary breakfast of the Cajun French toast, pain perdu, at Oak Alley Plantation Restaurant. Sixty miles later Harper pulled into the French Quarter in front of the historic Hotel Monteleone at the foot of Front Street. By the time they had checked into their room, stripping out of their clothes to share a shower, Harper had laughed until every muscle in her body ached. They had talked about their pasts, their future, and a host of things so random that both imagined they could easily win anyone’s trivia program with the eclectic information they were experts in.

  Quentin couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun and he told her so. “I like road-tripping with you,” he said as he wrapped a large white towel around her naked body. He patted the moisture from her arms and back as she stepped against him, pressing her front against his.

  “Mmm,” he hummed softly. “That feels good.”

  “Road-trip benefits,” Harper responded as she lifted her mouth to his, kissing him hungrily. The kiss was deep and sent shivers down both their spines.

  “Definitely doing more road trips,” he said when they finally came up for air. “Benefits are nice!”

  Harper grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her into the bedroom to the king-size bed in the middle of the room. Quentin was still wet from the shower and he draped a towel across the bedspread before he sat down against the edge of the mattress, facing the mirrored closet doors.

  Harper sat on the bed behind him, crawling up against his back. Her tongue was hot against his neck, teasing the line of his ear as she whispered warm breath over his flesh. He watched her in the mirror as she kneaded the tension out of his shoulder muscles, allowing her fingers to trail slow, easy paths across his chest and back.

  He smiled at the reflection and she smiled back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her hardened nipples against his back. Quentin watched as his organ swelled full and hard between his legs, responding to her heated touch. Harper watched too, still staring at him in the mirror.

  “That’s hot,” she whispered as she flicked her tongue into his ear canal. His manhood jumped, throbbing for attention. Harper trailed a slow line from one ear to the other. “Stroke it,” she whispered, urging him to touch himself for her.

  Quentin wrapped a warm palm around the steel rod and slid it up and down. “Spread your legs,” she commanded. He opened himself up wider as they both watched him grow fuller and harder beneath his touch. She pulled him back against her and he shifted his pelvis forward, causing his manhood to protrude even more. Her breathing was heavier and she felt the sweet spot between her legs becoming heated and moist.

  Quentin closed his eyes, allowing himself to give in to the sensation sweeping through his pelvis. Harper was still staring into the mirror, teasing and taunting him as she licked and kissed his neck. He opened his eyes and the two made deep, unbroken eye contact in the mirror. Quentin gasped, his mouth open as he panted softly. He tossed his head back against his shoulders and Harper suddenly dropped her hand against his, stalling his strokes. His erection was painfully hard and he was anxious for release.

  Sensing his discomfort Harper slid her body off the bed, moving between his open legs. They sat watching each other in the mirror as she backed herself against him. Quentin gripped her hips and guided her down as she slid slowly against him, engulfing the length of him as his groin kissed hers.

  Harper paused as her body accepted the fullness of him, her muscles throbbing around his hardness. She was on fire with lust, the feel of him incredible and she clenched and tightened her muscles around his.

  Staring into the mirror Quentin watched as she slowly raised herself up and down, building up an easy rhythm that increased with speed. In no time at all Harper was pleasuring herself wildly on his hardness, skin slapping skin, both of them grunting and panting and moaning.

  Harper cried out, “Oh, yes . . . harder . . . harder!”

  Quentin moaned with her. “That’s it, baby. That sweet, tight kitty feels so good.”

  Harper continued to ride him hard, thrusting herself up and down against him as she felt her orgasm approaching. “Make me come!” she groaned as she clenched and tightened her muscles, triggering a wealth of sensation to sweep through Quentin’s body.

  He pushed her torso forward, lifting his hips as he slammed himself up against her. As they met each other stroke for stroke she suddenly felt him explode inside of her, blasting deep into her core. Heat rushed through her center, triggering her orgasm at the same time and her body shuddered in ecstasy.

  Spent, Quentin dropped his torso back against the bed and Harper lay back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her trunk as she lifted her legs and settled the bottoms of her feet against his thighs. Her legs were sprawled open and he slid his fingers between her thighs, lightly massaging the delicate folds.

  Harper purred. “That feels good,” she said as she tilted her head to watch him touch her. He turned his head as well so that he could watch her in the mirror watching him, her hips pushing ever so slightly against his hand. Wrapping an arm around her waist he rolled her slightly so that he could reach the pillows at the head of the bed, pulling them beneath his neck and back to lift his torso ever so slightly. His hands fell back to her crotch as he stroked her, the pads of his fingers dancing against her swollen clit. Both continued to watch their play in the mirror, something sexy and seductive about the voyeuristic activity.

  Her breathing was coming harder, each inhalation and exhalation in sync with his strokes. Harper arched her back, her whole body feeling as if it were on fire. Quentin wrapped one arm around her to still her thrashing, holding her tightly against him. His other hand continued to dance between her legs until she quaked, every muscle and nerve ending in her body erupting with a vengeance. She slammed her legs closed around his hand and he reveled in the heated pulse that had captured his fingers.

  Quentin held her until her breathing eased and she drifted into a light sleep. He rolled her onto her side, his own body curving around her. He kissed the curve of her shoulder, nuzzled his face into her hair, and drifted off to sleep with her.

  21

  It was raining outside. Harper looked out the hotel window and had no motivation to venture out into the French Quarter. If she had her way she and Quentin would stay in bed until the sun returned. He was still sleeping soundly, his naked body tangled in the bedclothes. His bare backside was teasing and she was half tempted to pull out her iPad to capture the memory. She felt herself smiling brightly.

  She was feeling immensely blessed. Staring out to the cloud-filled s
ky she wondered if her father had ever envisioned her being as happy as she was in that moment. She thought about the man she was discovering through other people’s eyes. The man Quentin emulated; friends and family said Quentin was a living reminder of the patriarch who’d raised him. As much as she was discovering her love for Quentin she fathomed that she would have liked her father. She would have liked him a lot. Just thinking about how different things might have been made her teary. She sniffled back her tears.

  Quentin suddenly stirred, reaching his arm across in search of her. He lifted his torso ever so slightly, searching her out. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

  She nodded, pulling the white sheet that covered her nakedness tighter around her body. “I’m fine, baby.”

  Quentin yawned and stretched his own body outward. He tossed his legs off the side of the bed, moved onto his feet, and headed into the bathroom. Harper heard the flush of the commode and then water running. Minutes later he eased back into the room.

  Making his way to Harper’s side, he leaned in and kissed her, brushing a warm palm across her cheek. His face was damp and she could smell the minty aroma of the mouthwash that rested on the bathroom counter.

  Quentin tossed a glance out the window she sat in. “You flashing the neighbors?”

  Harper laughed. “I don’t think anyone is looking at me,” she said.

  He laughed with her. “Are you sure about that? If I were down there and saw a half-naked woman in the window I’d look.”

  Harper lifted her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. Quentin reached for the desk chair and pulled it to her side. He lifted his legs next to hers, propping his feet against the wall.

  “Why do you look so sad?” he questioned. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “I was just thinking about my father.”

  Quentin blew a deep sigh. “Good things I hope.”