I stared up at him blankly. What was he asking me?
“You’re gonna totally let go with me; I’m gonna totally let go with you. Good manners ain’t got no place in this bed. Two people who love each other ain’t got shit to hide.” He returned my stare.
Total silence. Then the DVD clicked and started ejecting with a mechanical whine. I shook my head. Did he say love?
He squeezed my hands. “I just said I love you, Miss Jewel. Whatcha gotta say about it?”
Whatever well-bred restraint I had broke free. I ripped my hands from under his, dragged his head down to mine, and kissed him like my life depended on it. Hell, maybe it did. I rolled over until I was on top and kissed him until I ran out of breath. Long, deep, and sloppy. Finally, I lifted my head and looked down at him. He looked dazed.
“Christ Almighty, I love you, too, Roman. It’s really soon, I mean quick, but ...” I shook my head. Damn, I guess I’ve gone and fallen in love with the boy. “I’ll be damned if I don’t love you, boy.” I leaned down and kissed his neck, his chest, and was working my way down to those silk boxers.
He grabbed me and lifted me forward. He held me so that my breasts hung right over his mouth. When he took one in his mouth and started to suck, I not only moaned, but I wailed as well. I tried to dodge away, because I knew I wasn’t going to hold out long, but he held me suspended in the air like a rag doll. When he switched to the other breast, a thousand points of light simultaneously burst inside me. I flung my head back, shrieked for all it was worth, and went right over the edge.
He laid me down on the bed and rolled back on top of me. “Aw, babe.” He sounded tender.
I was still all aquiver, but I opened my eyes and smiled lazily. “You did tell me to let go.” Like I said, I was really ready.
He grinned that proud I’ve-satisfied-my-woman smile. “You took me literally. I love it—I love you.”
He leaned down to kiss me, and I yawned. “Sorry, I’m all done in.”
He rotated his hips against mine, and my knees came up automatically. “All done in, huh?” He kept that light circular pressure going.
I groaned again. “Maybe not.”
He shifted back and slid a hand down into my shorts. “No drawers? All them drawers ya always buying and ya don’t wear ’em?” His index finger was searching, searching ... um, he found it and he was killing me softly.
“I just don’t”—I gasped as he changed the rotation of that long, thick finger—“wear them to bed.”
“So tell me something, Miss Jewel.” His other hand slid back up to my breast.
“Um.” My hips were doing the twist. He was a talker. I’d heard about these guys but never been with one who wanted to chat while conducting sensual warfare.
“Do you prefer li’l swing bys or deep circles?” There was a wicked glint in those amber eyes.
“What?” What the hell was he talking about?
He stripped my shorts off and inched my legs apart. He placed his finger back where it had been and started a truly devastating staccato cadence. Back, forth, back, forth, really quickly. “Li’l swing bys, Miss Jewel.”
“Oh, my.” Sorry, it was the best I could do. My mind was melting along with the rest of me.
Then he switched to a pressurized rotation. “Deep circles.” He paused for a second. “So, which is it?”
“Both,” I ground out. I was going to have to retaliate for this out and out assault of my poor sex-starved body. Later.
“Let’s try something else.” Before I could ask what he meant, he bent his head to me while at the same time inserting a finger inside. The minute his mouth touched down, it was all over for me.
“Roman!” I screamed, and went down for the count again. This time, instead of drifting back down, I was in an agitated high. Enough of playtime, I wanted him, inside, now. As soon as I had enough breath, I yelled at him, “Okay, let’s hit it.”
He looked up in surprise. “Huh?”
Working on adrenaline and over a year of deprivation, I literally flipped him onto his back and stripped the shorts off of him. Reaching over to the nightstand, I pulled out a condom and quickly got it on him. Wasting no more time, I climbed aboard, took him inside, and commenced to rocking.
“Jesus, Jewel,” he ground out, trying to catch a hold of me and slow me down.
I wasn’t having it. I scratched his chest, nibbled at his lips, tickled his inner thigh, anything I could think of. Soon he was moaning along with me and bucked his hips up with each one of my downstrokes.
He wrapped his arms around me, and we tumbled around so we could take turns being on top.
“Do you feel it, baby?” he asked me during a stretch when he was on top and making me crazy with impossibly slow and easy movements.
I felt every blessed inch. “I feel it.”
“So tell me something.”
I moaned. “Oh God, Roman, not now.”
He stretched out full length over me, still buried deep. “Short, quick thrusts or long, deep strokes?” He went on to demonstrate both.
“I’m going to kill you, boy.” I rolled back on top and swiveled my hips around, clenching down a little.
“Ooooh, Jewellen Rose. At least I’ll go with a smile.” He grabbed my hips and moved them the way he wanted. Good thing I agreed.
Finally he shut up for a second so I could concentrate on the business at hand or wherever. My hair was plastered to my head, and sweat was streaming down his brow. I could tell I was about to go off again. I whispered to him, “Go with me this time.”
That did it. He managed a kind of jackhammer hip flurry before we both peaked.
It was long, long moments before we could move. I was sprawled across him in reckless abandon, listening to his breathing.
“Good choice of movie, honey,” I whispered, and listened to his laugh rumbling up through his chest.
“Yeah, but I didn’t get to use any of my props.”
I lifted my head and looked at him. “What props?”
He grinned. “I planned to rewind the movie and rewatch it. I was going to seduce you into acting out some the better scenes with a few variations.”
“Variations?” I slid off of him and sat up.
“Yeah, I brought some whipped cream, some honey, and some jelly beans up here.”
Now, I was fully sated, mind you. It was only my curiosity that was aroused, really. “Jelly beans?” Where had the boy picked this stuff up? He was only four years older than me.
His grin was wickedness incarnate. “You gotta lotta catching up to do, Miss Jewel. Might as well start tonight.” He picked me up and held me while he stripped the comforter off the bed. Then he laid me out, hit the PLAY button on the remote, and reached down for his bag of tricks.
“Oh yeah?” My breath quickened just looking at his fingers wrapped around the can of whipped cream.
“Oh yeah, and, uh, Miss Jewel?” He started shaking it.
“Hmm?” He sure was one for conversation.
“I don’t think you’re going to make early service at church tomorrow.” He popped the top and took aim.
14
Clearing the Air
Roman—Sunday, August 8, 4:00 p.m.
I should have said, “No thank you, baby—you handle that.” But when asked by Jewellen if I wanted to come to a lunch with Patrick, I was thinking with my testosterone and not my gray matter. So what came out of my mouth was, “Oh, I’ll be there. You just tell me when and where.”
So now I was stuck. Sitting in an Italian spot with Jewellen by my side and Patrick walking in. I was a really uncomfortable spectator to a tragic scene that should’ve played out years ago.
Patrick Waters was, by my first impression, an overgroomed pretty boy badly in need of having my size 12 shoe placed squarely in his hind parts. He strolled in fifteen minutes late, wearing a pink polo shirt, khaki pants, loafers, and a smirk that I was looking for an excuse to wipe off. He was light-skinned, under six feet, and wore a watch on
his arm that cost more than my first car.
He walked straight to Jewel, sparing me a half-assed glance, and kissed her on the lips. My girl’s lips. To her credit, she dodged him and he hit mostly cheek. “Jewellen Rose, you’re as lovely as ever.” Georgia drawl. “Mother sends her love. She always thought highly of you.” Mama’s boy. “You brought backup?” He finally acknowledged my presence.
“I brought a witness.” She smiled at me. “Roman Montgomery, Patrick Waters.”
He extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I stood up and shook his hand. “What’s up?” Tightened my grip just a touch before releasing and sitting back down. Casually, I threw an arm across the back of Jewel’s chair. Watched his eyes take in the whole scene, the body language and the vibe. He raised a brow; I nodded slightly. He heard me, mouth tightening a little as he sat down across the table from us.
“So, Jewel, I guess you’re comfortable saying what it is we have to say to each other in front of your friend here.”
Uh, uh, uh. Boy was starting off on the wrong foot. Jewellen’s slight smile disappeared, and her head tilted to the side. Uh-oh.
“Patrick, I don’t have anything to say. You are the one who wanted to talk. So, yeah, you can say it in front of my man.”
He exchanged a look with me. I remained expressionless. Brother was on his own.
“O-kay ... let me start with an apology.”
She smiled without humor. “Only two years late but, sure, what are you apologizing for?”
He shifted in his seat. “Treating you so poorly.”
“And?” she prompted.
“And lying to you,” he acknowledged.
“And?”
“Leaving the way I did?”
She pounced. “So you’re not even sure what you’re apologizing for?”
I held my face in check and winced inwardly. Girly was clearly not in the slack-cutting business.
Patrick looked down at the table. “Jewel, I know I made a lot of mistakes with you. I deserve your wrath. I’m sitting here in front of you and your new man. Can you just let me say my piece?”
She looked at me, and I shrugged. “Go for it,” she said.
“I loved you, Jewel. I wanted to marry you.”
“Uh-huh,” she drawled.
“I was just so overwhelmed by what I was feeling for you that—”
She cut him off. “Let me see if I understand. You gave me an engagement ring and went back to your ex-girlfriend four weeks later. Now, nearly two years later, the best you can come up with is the old I-was-scared-so-I-sabotaged-it routine? Seriously?”
“Saying my piece, Jewel?”
My brows went up. I had to give the brother a little credit. Here he was, wrong as hell, and he still wanted to be strong about it. Not the smartest move but he had brass ones. Jewel gave the go-head-on motion with her hands.
“When I realized I had made a mistake, I tried to come back. I tried to make it right, but you weren’t even answering the front door. The next time I came by, you had moved out and no one would tell me where you’d gone. I figured you didn’t care enough to put it back together, so I gave you up. But now ...”
My head popped up. Say what now?
Jewel said, “I’m sorry, what about now?”
“I’m ready for you. I still love you.”
Before I could even flinch, Jewel put a hand on my arm. “I got this, babe.” She fixed a stare on Patrick that I never wanted to see pointed at me. “Okay, Patrick. I met with you because I wanted to see if you were sincerely sorry for the raggedy shit you did, if we could just agree to let bygones be bygones and move on. Thanks for the memories and all that. Anything else is non-negotiable.”
“I am sincere. I’m sincerely sorry, but I’m also sincere about wanting another chance.”
Okay, the boy had big brass ones. I, for one, had heard enough. “Jewel, may I?” She nodded and I leaned forward. “Um, lookie here, friend. You had a shot, and you blew it. You want another shot? Stand in line. It forms behind me. Good luck moving up. We’re out.” I stood up and held my hand to Miss Jewel. She took it and stood with me.
Patrick said, “Jewel? Is this what you want? You want to just leave it like this?”
She didn’t even pause in her stride. “You heard Roman—get in line.”
I squeezed her hand ... my girl.
15
Less than Twenty-Four Hours Away
Renee—Friday, August 13, 7:00 p.m.
Friday the thirteenth, wouldn’t you know. Trust and believe, this marriage felt doomed from the get-go. First off, Oliver Salisbury was just about the whitest white boy I had ever seen. And Stace? Oh, she liked to act like she was on the vanilla side of the black scale, but deep down, I believed she was more ghetto fabulous than the rest of us. On the surface, she was the first one to talk about reverse discrimination, the Rainbow Coalition, and equality for all. But peel back a layer and there beat the heart of a little Black Panther in the making.
Just wait until one of his friends slipped up and called her something slap-worthy. Or started a sentence with, “Black people always ...” Oh yeah, just wait for that. I guess I sound prejudiced, huh? No, no, not at all. I got along with white folk well enough. I really did. I just thought a black man should be with a black woman and vice versa and that was that, period. I mean, come on. We came in all different shapes, sizes, and shades. If you want a white girl, why can’t you just find the lightest sister with light eyes out there? You want something exotic? How about a sister from the Caribbean? Or Brooklyn? Same goes for the women—they could find what they wanted right here within the race.
But as if all of this wasn’t enough, here it was, the night before the wedding and it was raining. Supposed to rain all weekend long. Now, I didn’t go for that voodoo stuff, but this was a bad omen. Even I understood the omen of torrential rain on your wedding day. Hardly seemed like God’s way of smiling on you, now, did it?
On top of all that, Oliver had only one friend close enough to be in the wedding, so Stace had to come up with the groomsmen for him. So here we were: me; Greggy; Jewel; Rome; Roni Mae; Aaron; Tammy; Stace’s brother Kenneth; Keisha; Arthur, a real cute little white friend of Oliver’s; Stace’s little sister Marie; and of all people, Patrick ... as in Jewel’s ex, that Patrick. Of all the people in the world, that was who Stacie picked to be the extra groomsman. She said she couldn’t think of anyone else on such short notice. Shit was gonna get funky up in here, you mark my words.
This was the rehearsal dinner from hell. The bride and groom argued all through the rehearsal, the minister had a nasty head cold, Aaron and Roni Mae weren’t speaking to each other for some reason, and Roman was about to commence to swinging on Patrick. Keisha had already blamed Arthur’s ancestors for keeping hers in bondage. Kenneth, recently divorced after a whopping eighteen months of marriage, was hardly pleased to be here, reminded of all things matrimonial. Stace’s dad still wasn’t speaking to her for marrying a “milktoast with no ends” (translated to “white boy with no money”), and her mom had been nervously hustling us through dinner so we’d be gone before Pops got in from league bowling night.
“So, we don’t have to stay long, right?” Gregory asked me for the fourth time in as many minutes. Why men always get so nervous at weddings? Looking like disciples at the Last Supper and shit.
“Till the bitter end, baby.” I grinned at him. “Besides, things are just getting interesting, don’t you think?”
Gregory glanced around the room. “Remind me, baby—we’re eloping.”
Hold up! Eloping? As in marriage? My eyebrows shot straight up. “Did I miss a proposal?” My expression said “Gotcha!” and I waited for his answer—eagerly awaited. Marrying Greggy fell right into my scheme. Here was one discussion I was ready to have.
He was saved from replying, because at that moment, Stace burst into tears and ran from the table.
“Lord have mercy, what now?” Jewel, the maid of honor, sig
hed, speaking my thoughts aloud. She looked over at me and I got up. As if choreographed, all the girls got up from the table and followed Stacie. Jewel stopped at the door and looked back at Roman. “Don’t do anything to embarrass me while I’m gone, player.”
Roman rolled his eyes and reached for another corn-bread muffin.
Stace must have felt like a cornered turkey on Thanksgiving morn. We were all circled around her in the living room. She stood in the middle of the room weeping, and we hovered about her like vultures circling an expiring carcass.
“So, what’s the problem?” Jewel questioned, cutting to the chase as usual.
“So, do ya love ’im, girl?” Keisha asked.
“Really love him?” I repeated.
“Like you can see yourself with him for the next thirty or forty years? That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Jewel pressed.
“Does your mouth water looking at him?” Tammy added.
“How could her mouth water looking at Oliver?” I couldn’t resist. Like I said, he looked white, he talked real white with a British accent, he walked white, and worst of all, he thought white—no flavor whatsoever. Still asked things like, “Why don’t you want your hair to get wet?” So unacceptable.
“What’s the mouthwatering got to do with any damn thing?” Roni Mae asked. “Your mouth can’t water for the next forty years. Shit.” Roni Mae and Aaron must’ve had a big fight. She was sounding a wee bit bitter.
“And mouth water don’t pay no bills,” Keisha added.
I tried to put it plain. “I guess what I’m asking is, are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”
Stace looked scared shitless. “I think so.” She was wringing her hands and refused to look any of us in the eye. Poor Marie was only fourteen; she looked kind of shell-shocked by this conversation. Let it be an early lesson to her: men were hell. White, black, purple—hell, every one of ’em. But then again, they did have their uses.
Jewel got that I-can’t-believe-this-shit look on her face and took a step closer to Stacie. “What do you mean, you think so? Listen, girl, if you’ve gotta single doubt, speak NOW. Tomorrow at three it’s ’til-death-do-you-part time.”
Heard It All Before Page 15