by Mason Dixon
Kenya pulled Simone to her. Their mouths met in a kiss that seared Simone’s skin. She felt as if she had been branded, her body and soul marked Property of Kenya Davis. She let her motorcycle helmet drop to the floor and wrapped her arms around Kenya’s waist, drawing her closer.
Kenya’s body went boneless and she sighed in her arms. The sigh turned into a moan when Simone placed her hands on her hips and gently squeezed. Simone tasted peppermint on Kenya’s tongue. Smelled the ocean on her skin. She wanted more.
“Come with me.”
She took Kenya’s hand and led her to the bedroom. They had been drawing closer and closer to this moment for days. Now that it had finally arrived, she was tempted to pinch herself. But if this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up anytime soon. If ever.
She put some soft music on—Nina Simone, her namesake—and turned the lights down low.
“In case you’re wondering,” Kenya said, “the answer to question twenty-one is yes. Wherever you go, I will be by your side.”
Simone’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She kissed Kenya again. Kenya. The woman she loved. The woman who loved her back. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Right now, the only place I want you is under me.”
Kenya chuckled. The sound, low and sexy, aroused Simone almost as much as the look in Kenya’s eyes. Simone saw so much in those coffee-colored depths. Trust. Faith. Desire. Love. Kenya not only wanted her. She believed in her, too. Together, they could achieve all their dreams.
“I love you,” she whispered, nearly undone by the force of the emotions flowing through her body. “I love you, and I thought I’d lost you.”
Kenya’s smile held a hint of sadness. “I thought I’d lost myself years ago. You helped me find myself again.”
“How did I do that?”
“One question at a time.” The sadness in Kenya’s smile disappeared and the light shone through. “I want you to make love to me.”
Simone grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Kenya was still wearing her work clothes. She had ditched her jacket and heels, but the knee-length skirt and long-sleeved silk blouse remained. Simone unbuttoned the blouse and pushed it off Kenya’s shoulders. Kenya’s firm, round breasts were encased in a lacy black bra. Simone kissed their gentle swell as she lowered the zipper on Kenya’s skirt and let it fall to the floor.
Kenya’s underwear matched her bra. Both were entirely too sexy for work.
“Do all corporate bigwigs dress this way?” Simone asked as she traced a finger along the waistband of Kenya’s low-slung bikini briefs.
Kenya wrapped her arms around Simone’s neck. “I like to keep things interesting.”
Simone dipped her head to claim another kiss. “I’m definitely interested.”
“So I see.”
Simone’s nipples had hardened into twin points that pebbled the front of her shirt. She moaned when Kenya ran her thumbs over them.
“Still interested?” Kenya asked.
“You have no idea.”
Simone swept Kenya into her arms, carried her to the bed, and gently lay her down. She kicked off her motorcycle boots and reached for her belt, but Kenya stayed her hands.
“Let me.”
As Simone straddled her on the bed, Kenya unbuckled her belt. Then Kenya unzipped her jeans and helped her shimmy out of them.
Simone’s shirt was next to go. With each article of clothing they shed, Simone felt like they were shedding a barrier that had kept them apart. Mackenzie. Simone’s dead-end job and once-uncertain future. Soon, nothing and no one stood between them. Simone had once feared they would never reach this point. Now they were here.
Her hands trembled as she slowly explored the curves of Kenya’s body. Kenya’s voice did the same when she said, “I can’t begin to tell you how good that feels.”
“Don’t tell me. Show me.”
Simone slid her hand through Kenya’s wetness and slipped first one, then two fingers inside her. Kenya arched her back and began to move against her. Simone was so entranced by the look of ecstasy on Kenya’s face and the unequaled beauty of her body that she almost forgot to match her rhythm.
“Come here,” Kenya said.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Kenya reached for her. “I want you to come with me.”
Simone covered Kenya’s body with hers and groaned deep in her throat when Kenya slipped her leg between hers. She rode Kenya’s thigh as Kenya pumped her hips against her fingers.
Kenya’s hands were everywhere. Touching her. Teasing her. Taking her higher.
Then she fell. Hard and fast in a giant explosion of light. And Kenya was with her. Under her. Beside her. Inside her. Where she would always be.
Simone drew Kenya into her arms after the last spasm had finally subsided. “How did you know I was the one?”
“Easy.” Kenya lay with her head on Simone’s chest and a smile on her face. “You asked all the right questions.”
Epilogue
Five Years Later
Kenya parked her BMW near what had once been one of the hottest nightclubs in South Beach. Azure was long gone now, as was Azul, its sister property across the street. Both had been sold after Mackenzie Richardson, the former owner of both businesses, held what amounted to a fire sale in order to raise cash to pay her astronomical legal bills. After the lawyers for Fernanda’s husband were able to force her into paying a huge settlement, representatives for at least a dozen other aggrieved parties attempted to do the same. As a result, Azure and Azul were bought for a song, and Mackenzie’s remaining businesses were reorganized in order to distance them from her tarnished reputation—and protect them from the many hands reaching into her pockets. The resort she once hoped would be her legacy never got out of the planning stage after the potential investors she had lined up chose to back someone else.
It was funny how life worked out sometimes, Kenya thought. Mackenzie had been like Teflon for years. No matter how many scandals she found herself a part of, nothing stuck to her. Now, no matter how many charitable donations she made or good works her publicist made sure the press saw her performing, she couldn’t get clean.
Everyone’s true colors came out in the end. And Mackenzie had certainly showed hers.
Kenya said a silent prayer, grateful she had been fortunate enough to find someone whose colors didn’t run. Simone didn’t change who she was in order to fit her audience. She was the same no matter what. Kenya loved that about her. Then again, she loved everything else about her, too. From her warm smile and gentle nature to her creative mind and loving heart. Simone was the one she had been looking for all her life. Her head had tried to tell her otherwise. In the end, though, her heart had won out.
She looked over her shoulder when she heard cheers and loud music coming from down the street. A souped-up bicycle was slowly making its way to the last stop on its journey. Heidi Marx was at the wheel. Behind her, twelve tourists pedaled furiously while a grinning Amanda Chun and the three remaining passengers who had scored seats that didn’t require any exertion on their parts cheered them on. Kenya stopped to watch them disembark. The passengers picked up their souvenir T-shirts—available for a nominal fee—while the next group waited to take their turn.
Amanda waved to Kenya but indicated she didn’t have time to talk. Kenya wasn’t surprised. Pedal Power had been in business for four-and-a-half years, and its footprint in what was once a niche market was growing by the day. Amanda and Heidi had graduated from one bike to a fleet of them after positive word-of-mouth from their customers made theirs the go-to outfit for adventurous tourists and residents looking for something new. Their success necessitated the company’s move from the tiny rental space it once called home to the impressive complex it had built from the rubble of what had once been Azul. The bikes were stored on the first floor, and the corporate headquarters were housed on the second. Lines for the two-hour tours snaked down the street.
Amanda’s girlfriend wasn’t doing half-bad either. Reagan’s first full-length album had gone platinum, the second had sold twice as many units, and expectations were high for her third release.
Kenya checked her watch. Charlotte served the weekly family meal promptly at seven and she didn’t want to be late since whoever showed up last was forced to assume dishwashing duty. She increased her pace as she neared the new home of Liberty City Records. Not so new now. It had been almost three years since the studio moved from its former location in one of Miami’s toughest neighborhoods to its new spot in the middle of swanky South Beach.
Azure and its trademark blue doors were gone, but crowds were still lined up outside. This time, instead of waiting to get in, they were waiting to see who would come out. Some of the most recognizable artists in the music business had walked through the gauntlet in the past few years. More were scheduled to arrive. Everyone wanted to work with the hottest producer in the industry.
The security guard out front opened the door for Kenya. She nodded her thanks as she stepped inside. Walking down a hallway laden with certificates, plaques, photos, framed album covers, and the occasional Grammy, she headed to the main recording studio. The red light above the door was on, indicating a session was taking place. Trying not to disturb anyone, she slipped into the back of the room and found a seat next to a magazine reporter who was shadowing Simone for an upcoming article.
Simone sat behind a soundboard. Dre was at her side. In a padded booth, Reagan clutched her headphones while she sang her face off. Kenya loved watching them work. Dre was loud, boisterous, and full of energy. Reagan exuded controlled passion. And Simone was the embodiment of stillness. The calm at the center of the storm.
“That’s the one,” Simone said calmly after Reagan hit her final note.
“We did it again.” Dre gyrated like a football player who had just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl.
He had reason to celebrate. The deal Simone had brokered with the label she had chosen to sign with had not only made her rich but Dre, too. When the label had offered her the chance to have her own imprint, she had made Dre her business partner and taken Liberty City Records along for the ride. Even though their profile had risen significantly, Simone and Dre still continued to mentor and record local artists as well.
For Simone, it was the best of both worlds. Nothing made her happier than stumbling upon undiscovered talent. Taking a lump of coal and turning it into a diamond. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. When she had presented her parents with the keys to a new house close to the ocean and far from the ’hood, she had been pretty happy that day, too. So had Kenya, though she had been crying so hard that anyone looking on probably wouldn’t have been able to tell.
“Do you have everything you need?” Simone turned to face the reporter. Her face lit up when she saw Kenya had arrived.
Kenya loved that look. It was like Simone was seeing her for the first time. Falling in love with her all over again.
The reporter jotted a few notes and rose from his seat. “Yes, I do,” he said, shaking hands with Simone and Dre. “Thanks for giving me a sneak preview of what’s sure to be yet another hit. The article should hit the stands in a few months. I’ll be in touch.”
As Dre conferred with an up-and-coming rapper about one of the tracks on his demo, Reagan came out of the booth and gave Kenya a hug. Kenya hadn’t seen her since she had filled in for a flu-stricken Jennifer Hudson at the Academy Awards and her performance had brought the audience to its feet. She looked tired but satisfied. Like she was exactly where she wanted to be. Kenya knew the feeling.
“Easy,” Simone said, playfully pulling Reagan away from Kenya. “Save some of that for Amanda.”
“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” Reagan draped a messenger bag over her shoulders and headed out of the studio, a burly bodyguard in tow. A few minutes later, Kenya heard the screams from Reagan’s adoring fans as she exited the building and climbed into a waiting limo.
Simone wrapped her arms around Kenya’s waist and laced her fingers just above the rise of her hips. “Hello, beautiful,” she said, giving her a lingering kiss. “How was your day?”
“Mercifully over. You know how trying creative types can be.”
“No,” Simone said with a gleeful grin, “I have no idea.”
Simone nuzzled the side of her neck and Kenya melted at her touch.
“I could stay here with you like this all day,” Kenya said with a sigh, “but we’ve got to get going or we’ll be late.”
Simone didn’t move. “Tell me something first.”
“What?”
“Do you love me?”
Kenya looked deep into Simone’s eyes, confident that the emotions she saw expressed in them would only deepen over time. Certain that her eyes reflected the same. “Baby, that’s something you will never have to question.”
About the Author
Mason Dixon lives, works, and plays somewhere in the South. She and her partner enjoy grilling, traveling, and fighting for control of the remote. 21 Questions is her third novel. Her previous works include Charm City and Lambda Literary Award finalist Date With Destiny. As Yolanda Wallace, she has published nine novels—In Medias Res, Rum Spring, Lucky Loser, Lammy Award-winner Month of Sundays, Murphy’s Law, The War Within, Love’s Bounty, Break Point, and 24/7. Mason can be reached at [email protected].
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