We still held hands as we stepped into the hotel’s glass elevator, and as we began the slow rise forty-two stories up, the chaos of Times Square sprawled out below us. Chastity gasped, but her eyes stayed on the view. When the elevator doors parted, I gave my name to the maître d’, and then we followed him to the window table I’d reserved at New York’s only revolving restaurant.
It wasn’t until we sat down that Chastity spoke, although all she uttered was “Wow.”
Her excitement continued as we ordered our entrees from the three-course dinner menu—the loin of Colorado lamb for her, the surf and turf for me—and every few moments, her glance turned back to the window as the restaurant continued its slow revolution.
“It doesn’t feel as if we’re moving at all,” she said.
I nodded because my thoughts were racing too much for me to speak.
“How long will it take for us to go around once?”
“About an hour.”
This time, she was the one who nodded. “This is amazingly beautiful.”
Her face shined over the flickering flame of the candle, and once again, I inhaled a few deep breaths to steady myself. I was thrilled when she began chatting about the case she called the new War of the Roses. As she shared only the details she could about Tasha and Derrick Rose, my mind skipped ahead hours, wondering if she would be pleased with my plans.
It wasn’t until our food was set on the table that I relaxed into the company of this woman I was so growing to love. We chatted about work, about life, and it wasn’t long until we fell into the easy rhythm that had become us.
We laughed over a new bad lawyer joke: “What do you call an attorney gone bad?”
She frowned, shook her head, and when I said, “A senator,” she laughed so hard, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
Once we gathered ourselves, our conversation shifted to the more serious.
“Jackson Steyer has been stopping by my office on the regular for the last two weeks.”
There was as much hope in her eyes as I felt in my heart. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“It is. We’ll be getting lots of media coverage with this case, and he wants to make sure I’m in lockstep with the firm, which I am. But his visits are about me becoming a partner.” Before she asked, I added, “He hasn’t said that, but they have to be considering me now.”
Her smile turned into a beam, her emotions shining through her eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”
Like always, her words, her tone, her expression, filled me with all I hoped we’d be. She hadn’t said it, but her love for me was so apparent, I felt it down to my soul. With Chastity, I was finally content, finally complete.
Once again, her attention turned to the view. “An hour must’ve passed,” she said. “We’re back at Times Square.”
Now the neon lights from billboards that towered high above the street beamed bright through the night’s darkness.
When Chastity pulled out her cell phone, I groaned. “Are you really going to do the tourist thing?” She snapped a photo as if she didn’t even hear me. “You’re a New Yorker, for God’s sake.”
She snapped another, undeterred by my words and my laughter. She had more than two dozen pictures before she pleaded for me to join her for a selfie. One Times Square and the glittering 2019 ball faded over our shoulders as the restaurant began another 360-degree revolution of Manhattan.
When I returned to my chair, Chastity sighed her satisfaction. “Mr. King, you always outdo yourself.”
Reaching across the chocolate mousse cheesecake we shared, I asked, “So what did you like best? The food, the view, or”—I paused for just a beat—“me?”
She released her fork and took my hand. “The company, of course.” Chastity leaned across the table, her lips aimed for mine. We both had to stretch to connect, but I would have walked across shattered glass to kiss her.
She eased away with a smile that warmed every part of me. “I love being with you,” she said, speaking as if she were reading what was written in my heart.
At this moment, I wanted to pull out my cell phone and snap my own picture, though a photo wouldn’t have been sufficient to capture all of the love in Chastity’s expression. Still, I’d send the picture to Roxanne, Diane… and my grandmother, if she were still alive.
“So… what else do you have planned for tonight?”
Her eyes were away from me, on the city’s skyscrapers, giving me time to gather myself. By the time she faced me, my expression was innocent enough.
With a shrug, I said, “Let’s just see where the night takes us.”
After I paid the check, we made our way through the restaurant back to the glass-encased elevator, leaving the top of the world. Outside, though, was just as exciting; Times Square was Friday-night lit, especially since this was the beginning of the end-of-summer holiday weekend. New Yorkers mingled with tourists, strolling through and soaking up the chaos. We moseyed through what felt like a giant celebration, holding each other as we passed Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. and people who were dressed as the Statue of Liberty and Spider-Man, and, of course, the Naked Cowboy. On Forty-Second Street, we passed Madame Tussauds and Ripley’s Believe It or Not! before we circled back. As we moved by one of the street vendors, Chastity stopped.
“Let’s get one of these,” she exclaimed with a child’s glee as she pointed to the street artist sketching caricatures.
I whipped out my wallet and pulled out a fifty. “I want one of us together.”
The man snatched the money, then nodded. Chastity sat on a cushioned milk carton, and I knelt beside her. When I laid my hand on her leg, she rested her head on my shoulder.
The artist’s face stiffened with a scowl of concentration, and as I inhaled the fragrance of the jojoba oil and coconut cream that scented Chastity’s hair, I closed my eyes and breathed in this moment. My prayer was this was only the beginning of tonight.
In less than fifteen minutes, we were thanking the man for our rendition before Chastity rolled it into her purse. We continued our slow stroll, holding each other, passing people, hearing nothing. Finally, I paused purposefully, turned to her, and when I pressed my lips against hers, we were there again—in the center of Manhattan’s madness, all by ourselves.
We were breathless when we pulled back and I glanced up at where we’d stopped. In front of the hotel, right where we’d started.
Chastity followed my glance, and she also followed my thoughts, because she said nothing, only gave me a hesitant smile. I took her hand and led her back inside.
This time, we stepped into a different elevator, and as Chastity faced the glass, watching the chamber rise over the lobby, she whispered, “You have a room?”
My hands trembled a bit when I turned her toward me. With the tips of my fingers, I lifted her chin and searched her eyes for her message, but there was nothing I could read.
I nodded. “I got a room earlier today because I was hoping.” But then I added, “If you’re not ready, it’s okay,” I said. “You’re more important to me than this. So it’s—”
Before I could say more, her lips were on mine and she kissed me with a passion she never had before. The elevator stopped, but that didn’t stop us. When the doors parted, we found a way to step out, still connected. I was so grateful we were in room 2701, right by the elevator.
I pulled away from her, just so I could grab my cell to use the digital key. But once the door was open, my lips returned to hers, and I pulled her into the hotel room.
12 Chastity
Lust, with a bit of lunacy, had taken over. That was the only way to explain why I’d kissed Xavier that way. We’d had plenty of public displays, but what we’d just done in the elevator had gone beyond affection. That was nothing but overwhelming lust.
With lips connected, we stumbled into the hotel room. The door slammed behind us; I wasn’t sure how Xavier had done that, but before I could question it, he pushed me away, making me cry out, and spun
me around, though he still held me close, pressing his front against my back.
As he held me, the sight of the room made me gasp. “When did you do this?”
The suite was illuminated by hundreds of flickering flames, a dazzling glow in the darkness. Candles were everywhere—on the two end tables that flanked a chintz sofa and on the table in front of the matching floral chairs.
But what captivated me most were the dozens of candles on the floor that lit a path of rainbow rose petals from the front room through the sliding doors where a four-poster bed as wide as the ocean (and covered with roses) awaited.
“My goodness,” I whispered, taking in the whole scene. I’d never seen anything so romantic.
Turning around, I faced Xavier, and this time, my kiss was filled with a gentle passion, wanting him to feel all of the care I had for him. Xavier moaned and melded his body into mine.
He returned my affection with the same tenderness, his desire so apparent. Slowly, he backed me toward the bedroom, but then, after just a few steps, he lifted me into his arms, his lips never leaving mine. He carried me as if I were a feather, and inside the bedroom, he laid me down with the same tender care.
The bed became our oasis, our place where we explored terrain we’d never traveled before. The hardness of every part of this man left me panting, left me wanting, and then, when he pulled his tongue away from me, left me gasping. But then he sent me swirling when his tongue tickled my neck. I moaned, leaning into the pleasure. If I could have spoken, I would have begged for his tongue to return—or maybe never return so he could do what he was doing forever. But I couldn’t speak because Xavier had taken my breath, my words, my mind away.
My man was on a seek-and-search mission that guided his tongue down, down, down. I raised my chest to greet him, wanting to give him full access to all of me. And he took it—in a single stroke, he ripped my blouse away. Buttons fluttered across the bed, onto the floor, but I had no cares about that.
“Come back,” I murmured, but it was as if he didn’t hear me, and I settled into the feeling of his tongue, once again exploring me, feasting first on my breasts through the satin of my bra. He stayed there, as if he were trying to caress me into unconsciousness, licking, biting, for several minutes, or maybe it was a few hours.
Then his excursion continued as he cruised lower, tickling my belly. When he broke away from me, I cried out, missing him already. He lifted my hips and, with the deftness of a magician, he had me naked from the waist down (skirt and panties gone!) before I could breathe or blink.
When he spread my legs, my hope seeped through my lips in a gasp. I so wanted him, I so wanted more. But that more would have to wait, because now his lips were back on mine as he slipped my jacket away from my shoulders. My buttonless blouse and bra were next.
The air was cool, I was sure. But unless the thermostat was set to arctic, it wasn’t any good to me. Every inch of my skin was afire with the desire I had for this man; there was only one thing that would extinguish this flame.
But once again, he pulled away, leaving me throbbing. As he hoisted himself above me, his eyes were a mirror of my craving. His lips twitched as if he was trying to smile as his gaze drank in all of me. “You are so beautiful.”
My response: I pushed him back and rocked onto my knees. Now I kissed him as I slipped his jacket from his shoulders. Next I shredded his shirt, and then I made my way to the treasure hidden inside his pants. I moaned my appreciation; he moaned his gratitude.
I touched him, I held him, and then I begged him to take me, and he granted my wish. I didn’t breathe as he filled me, little by little, more and more, until finally, he reached my brim, and I exhaled. Or maybe I screamed as we began to sway to the same beat. With all that made him a man, he sang praises to me as a woman. And I sang with him, a new song, our song. Then he rolled me over and now I led the dance—a new dance, our dance.
We sang and we danced until our serenade reached that crescendo where, even if we’d wanted to, we couldn’t hold our notes any longer. There was nothing we could do except waltz through heaven’s gates… together.
It took me a few moments to roll over and away from Xavier, and when I did, I knew I’d never breathe the same way. It wouldn’t be possible. Not with the memory of what we’d just shared forever in my mind.
We lay together, staring up, hypnotized by the shadows of the candle’s flames dancing on the ceiling.
When Xavier panted, “How are you feeling?” I wondered if he would ever breathe the same way, too.
It took me a moment to roll onto my side, and I pressed my hand against his chest. I wanted to stay there for a while, touching and agreeing with his heartbeat. “Wonderful,” I whispered.
He turned onto his side, too, and our noses almost kissed as we lay there smiling. “I hope you’re okay with…”
I pressed my fingers against his lips. “I wanted to be with you,” I said. But a moment later, a familiar feeling washed over me, making me roll onto my back.
He pushed himself up and looked down at me. “If you were okay with this…”
The rest of his question—what’s wrong?—was in his tone.
Again, I pressed my fingers against his mouth, but this time, it was just because I wanted to touch him. “Nothing’s wrong.” I answered the question he hadn’t asked. “Being with you was wonderful…”
“But…”
His frown made me sit up. “This may not be the time to talk about this. Especially after…” I glanced down at the sheets. “I just want to be honest.”
When his fingertips traced the side of my face, his touch made every part of me tingle. “I want you to be honest with me.”
I nodded, though it was difficult to think with Xavier so close, and his fingers going lower, lower, lower. I grabbed his hand so I could focus. “True confessions,” I began.
He nodded, with a grin. This man knew what he’d done to me.
Still, I continued, “I haven’t been with a lot of guys.”
His grin widened.
“Because at times like this, I feel a bit guilty.”
Just like that, his grin flipped.
I continued with a shrug, “I’m a preacher’s kid. I can’t get away from that.” I held up my hand. “Not that I want to. Because I truly believe that making love should be in the context of marriage.”
“Oh.” He nodded as if he were considering my words. Then, “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “Of course not,” I added, wanting to make sure he understood me. “I mean, I’m not saying I wouldn’t marry you. I would. I mean, someday.” The more I spoke, the wider his grin, and finally I shook my head. “Oh, God. Why can’t I shut up?” I flopped back onto the bed and pressed the pillow over my face, trying to smother myself for real.
He laughed as he wrestled the pillow away, and now I used my hands to cover my embarrassment that made me forget any guilt I’d felt. But Xavier pried my hands away, then warmed my eyelids with his lips, kissing one, then the other. He kissed me over and over until I opened my eyes.
“I understand what you meant, and trust me, I understand baggage. We all have some.”
“But you must think I’m some kind of prude, and I’m not, it’s just that being Kar…” I paused, not believing I’d almost uttered my father’s name. But then here I was naked in bed with this man—we were beyond my having any doubts that Kareem Jeffries being my father would make any difference.
He tilted his head. “What were you going to say?”
Sitting up, I combed my fingers through my hair, which had to look a whole mess right now. “I don’t know what this is about,” I began, tugging the sheet over me. “I’ve never felt the need to confess everything…” I glanced downward, and Xavier reached for my hand.
“You can tell me anything.”
His voice was soft, sweet, and his eyes were filled with such—love?—I blinked and shook that thought away. I was just stalling, seeing things that we
ren’t there. So I inhaled, then exhaled, “You’ve told me a lot about your family, but I haven’t shared much about mine.”
“Well, let’s see.” He leaned back, mirroring my posture. “I know your father’s a pastor.”
“Yeah.” I twisted so I could see his face. “Whose name just happens to be… Kareem Jeffries.” I pressed my lips together.
His eyes narrowed a bit as if my words were going through the computer of his mind. Then I saw the moment when he understood, and his eyes widened.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “The Kareem Jeffries?”
I nodded.
“And you’re Chastity Jeffries, his daughter.” It wasn’t a question, so I just sat there as he hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. But then he turned to me with a frown. “Why… why?”
I gave him a one-shoulder shrug, knowing what his question meant. “So many people have tried to get close to me because of my dad. It got so bad at one point, I thought about changing my last name.”
“Wow.”
“But at the same time, I’ve received a lot of privileges because of my parents. And they’ve done a great job keeping me out of their limelight.”
He stared at me. “I knew he had a daughter.”
“Yeah, but especially in the last ten years or so, I’ve been out of sight.” I added, “On purpose.”
He cupped my cheek with his palm. “I never thought about it, but I guess it’s tough to be a celebrity’s child.”
I nodded, though I was sure we were talking about different reasons. He thought it was hard because of my dad’s fame, when it was because of my dad’s women.
“Well, this is what I have to say about Kareem Jeffries being your dad.” He pressed his lips against mine and eased me down onto the bed. I moaned as he caressed my chest, my desire rising, making me want to sing a new song.
But then he pulled away and his lips were only a few inches from mine when he whispered, “I don’t want you to feel bad about the guilt you sometimes have or who your parents are.”
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