Aftermath

by Tracy Brown

  “Yeah,” he responded. “I love you very much.”

  She nodded. “That’s nice to know,” she said. “But I don’t like the way you love people. And I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean you don’t like the way I—”

  “I’m not Camille!” Gillian was pissed, but she chuckled a little at the irony that she was now walking a painful mile in Camille’s shoes. “What me and you had was supposed to be different.”

  “It is different.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not. Otherwise, we’d still be together.”

  “I just needed some space, Gigi. I never stopped loving you. I just had to get my thoughts together—about the baby, about my brother and everything. I’ve been rebuilding my relationship with my mother and trying to forgive her, trying to forgive myself.” He looked at her sadly. “You know me better than anybody. So you should understand that I just needed some time to figure things out.”

  Gillian looked into his melancholy eyes. “You used to talk to me and tell me things. But when it mattered—when your brother died and your family secrets came out, you shut down on me, just like you did to Camille. You need to figure out why you do that to the women you claim to love. But I’m not gonna be the one to help you figure it out.”

  Frankie sat in silence and let her words sink in.

  “Congratulations on the baby, Frankie.”

  He felt like he was being dismissed. “Gigi, I know I hurt you.”

  She shrugged and looked away.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s not enough for me. I’m not Camille.”

  “Stop saying that. I don’t want you to be her.” He frowned, confused.

  “You can’t run in and out of my life like that—”

  Frankie closed in on her so quickly that she was amazed. Quickly, he slid into position beside her on the sofa and cupped her chin firmly in his hand. He looked intensely into her eyes. Gillian stared back at him, speechless.

  “Come on, Gigi,” he said, pleadingly. “Don’t do this.”

  Gillian stared at Frankie. Even with his hand gripping her face so tightly she felt no fear. She knew that Frankie would never hurt her. But the desperation in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Prying his hands from her face, she spoke firmly. “You did this. Not me.”

  Their faces merely inches apart, they stared at each other in a face-off of wills. Seconds elapsed with neither of them budging. Finally, without warning, Frankie covered Gillian’s mouth with his own. He kissed her deeply and pulled her eagerly toward him. Gillian resisted at first, pushing him away, but soon she gave in under the force of his kiss. Her intensity matched his as they went at each other. He pulled her onto his lap and gripped her hungrily.

  Frankie slid his hands underneath her shirt, stroking her breasts as she straddled him. His hands seemed to know her the way a pianist knows the ebony and ivory keys. It was the perfect combination of squeezing and caressing. He bit at her, nibbled on her mouth and she at his. Their kisses told a story—a tale of pleasure and pain, danger, discovery, and the ultimate safety they still found in each other’s arms. Frankie’s lips explored her body, tasting and sucking on her in the most erotic fashion, reducing her to moans that escaped her involuntarily. Clutching his head, Gillian pulled him closer, her body so desperate for him even though her mind was screaming no. Frankie tore at his belt, eager to free his rock-hard dick as it pressed against his jeans. Gillian reached for it, stroking it and feeling how rigid it was as she grinded in Frankie’s lap. He pulled her panties to the side and entered her raw, plunging into her silky wetness.

  Gillian felt an incomparable rush. All her senses responded to him and she was flooded with pleasure. His strong hands squeezed her ass as she grinded on top of him, swirling her hips in a way that caused his face to fall into ecstasy, his lips to part and his voice to sound.

  She called his name.

  “Yes?” he whispered softly, searching her eyes for the answer.

  “… feels so good…” she managed.

  “Yes,” he whispered again, so confident. “Yes, mami.”

  His voice in her ears made her creamy. She rocked her hips around in circles, then back and forth. She wrapped her arms around his muscular torso, his back and shoulder muscles so well defined and his arms encircling her tightly. They were meshed together—their mouths, their hands, arms, legs, their whole selves. He sucked her breasts, alternating between sucking them and sucking her lips, her tongue, her neck. Gillian felt herself building up to a fever pitch within. Frankie felt it, too, and he watched her—the way that her face contorted into a look of pure surrender. Gillian looked him dead in the eye as she came, riding him. He watched her face, her eyes narrowed, lips parted. He loved to see that expression on her face and he kissed her again, their tongues so good together, their breathing hungry.

  Gillian came some more, kissing his neck, his collarbone, his face, sucking on his beautiful brown skin. Her pace quickened as he glided in and out of her. She gripped him with her sugar walls and he couldn’t fight it anymore. She took him to his climax with the sway of her hips and the warmth of her pussy.

  Gillian moved to dismount him but he pulled her back, held her closer to him. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she inhaled his beautiful scent. They held each other, her arms still tightly linked around his body, his arms encasing her in a wonderful embrace. His chest rose and fell as his breathing steadied. The rhythm of her breath fell into step with his, and soon she could hear him softly snoring, his eyes closed serenely, his arms still tightly wrapped around her. She lay there with him still inside of her, not wanting to disrupt the absolute bliss she felt in his embrace.

  While he slept, she tried to come to terms with what had just happened. She hadn’t meant to lose control that way and she felt angry with herself for allowing it to take place.

  Gillian felt conflicted. She loved being in control of the Nobles family empire. But it meant nothing without Frankie by her side to share it with. Still, she felt as though she was letting him off the hook too easily and she wondered how long it would be before he went running from her again. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  Gillian climbed slowly off his lap and sat beside him on the couch, her mind reeling. She looked at Frankie, still asleep, his mouth open and his head laid back against her sofa.

  Gillian stared at him. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop loving him. She had gained control over every other aspect of her life—Baron had been removed from power, and his troubles with Danno were history; Mayra had been stripped of her father’s fortune and was groveling at Gillian’s feet in search of forgiveness; the Nobles crew was answering to her and her alone. She had achieved every goal she’d set for herself in recent months. But when it came to Frankie and her love for him, Gillian was powerless.

  She kissed Frankie’s sleeping face and went to take a shower. As the steamy water dripped all over her body, she closed her eyes and inhaled. Stepping into the stream of the shower, she let the water glide down her face as she flashed back to how Frankie had made her feel only moments ago.

  Then she thought back on the pain he had caused her, how he had made her cry. She remembered how it had felt to learn that he had climbed out of the bed he shared with her and gone home to Camille in the middle of the trial. And now he had left Camille in the hospital recovering from childbirth to make a plea for Gillian’s forgiveness. He always managed to get his way. She grew angrier the more she thought about it.

  Who does he think he is? she thought to herself.

  She opened her eyes and lathered up, washed the scent of Frankie off her. This was a test, she decided. Him coming here this way—making love to her the way he had, taking control—it was a power move. He had come there today to reclaim her, to make her submit to him. She was not about to lie down, roll over, or jump through hoops the way Camille did for him. In the weeks since he had walked out of her life, Gillian had
risen to a position of influence unlike anything she could have possibly dreamed up. Running an empire, having control over so much money, being able to decide who lived or died, it all gave her an incredible high. Her love for power—for control over the men who answered to her and over her own heart—was being put to the test.

  She rinsed off and thought about how taking Frankie back into her life would change everything. The line would be blurred between which one of them was actually in charge of the Nobles family. Gillian wanted there to be no question as to who was running this show.

  Her father had asked her once what she was looking for, what she wanted out of life. She knew now. She wanted the power, the influence, and the life of luxury she had now become accustomed to. She wanted the respect of her friends and enemies alike. They didn’t have to like her. But she insisted that they respect her, if only because she was Doug Nobles’s heir to the throne.

  Gillian stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and walked naked into her bedroom. She dressed, draped herself in her family jewels—diamonds her father had given to her upon her graduation from high school years ago—and scrawled a note for Frankie. She left it on her coffee table as he lay on the sofa, softly snoring as he dreamed of his new baby girl.

  Gillian lingered for a moment as she headed for the door. She watched him sleeping, handsome even in his slumber. She would miss loving him. But loving him was too costly. And Gillian was determined that she would not lose.

  Frankie shifted in his sleep, but didn’t waken. Gillian’s note fluttered to the floor and landed near his sneaker. Her cursive letters written in black Sharpie stood out boldly against the hot-pink Post-it.

  Frankie,

  I’d appreciate it if you’re gone when I get home. It’s over. Daddy always told me to never go backward, never retrace the steps you’ve already taken. And I’ve always listened to his advice. I’m not going to stop now.

  Congratulations on your baby girl. I wish you nothing but the best.

  —Gillian

  P.S. No hard feelings.

  She opened the door, walked out into the sunshine, put her sunglasses on, and got back to her father’s business.

  Also by Tracy Brown

  Dime Piece

  Black

  Criminal Minded

  White Lines

  Twisted

  Snapped

  Anthologies

  Flirt

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  AFTERMATH. Copyright © 2011 by Tracy Brown. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Brown, Tracy, 1974-

  Aftermath : a snapped novel / Tracy Brown.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-312-55522-1

  1. African Americans—Fiction. 2. Inner cities—Fiction. 3. Revenge—Fiction. 4. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3602.R723A69 2011

  813'.6—dc22 2010038759

  First Edition: February 2011

  eISBN 978-1-4299-9188-9

  First St. Martin’s Griffin eBook Edition: February 2011