by N'Tyse
Chyna tilted her head sideways. She stared deeply at Sand, studied her for the right answer, a better answer other than the one she was getting. Her danger-filled eyes warned Sand that she wasn’t in the mood for the dumb shit. “I called. The line to the room was busy.” She stopped and raised her brow some. “So you might wanna tell me who you were on the phone with.” There was a hesitating moment of nothing. “My customers’ profiles are strictly confidential, and I believe we’ve already had this conversation,” Chyna reiterated to Sand. But Chyna knew she was a long way off from the direction she was headed. She already knew that Sand hadn’t compromised her clients’ profiles, but she threw the fish out there anyway. She wanted to know if Sand had spoken to one individual in particular, and that’s all she cared about at the moment.
Sand finally said something. “I was just checking in on some things. You know, making sure Sabrina and Angel made it to the spot okay.”
Chyna suppressed her laugh. She could smell bullshit, taste bullshit, and hear bullshit, so Sand was pushing her luck. Fantasy was in charge of all the check-ins, and the last time she checked, Sabrina and Peaches were the ones that were working the call because Angel had a special request ticket with another private client in Las Vegas. By now, she was laid up in the Bellagio, escorting a highly favored city councilman to his own pre-Christmas party. Chyna’s teeth slid over her bottom lip. “Humph. Really? So I guess everything was fine?”
Sand’s eyes were locked on Chyna’s. “Yeah, everything straight. They made it.” The menacing stare Chyna gave Sand was intimidating, but underneath her clothing, Sand knew she was still a pussy, and because of that, she wasn’t threatened, at least not now. She sucked her teeth. “You asked me to handle this business for you, and that’s what I’m tryna do. I’m handling it so I can be done with this mess you done pulled me into.”
Chyna admired Sand’s wit and valor for trying to play her the way she felt that she might have been doing. She found the entire performance amusing—but worthless. Chyna turned her attention back to the road, then roughly shoved the car into Drive.
“By the way, when’s the last time you spoke to your girlfriend, Rene?” she asked snidely, getting down to the real question at hand.
Chyna glanced at her passenger. Sand was handsome, and the color she wore complemented her best. A solid red Polo sweater, starched black jeans, black high-top Air Force Ones and a red baseball cap with a bold, solid black S mid-center. Her biracial genes gave her a smooth sandy-red complexion that won over plenty of hot chicks. Women practically threw themselves at Sand. Gay, straight, bisexual, young and old. It didn’t matter. They would serve their pussy on a platter and feed it to her with chopsticks if they could. Sand was suave, that much Chyna would admit. Even more now with her hair cut low and faded, bringing out the tomboy in her stud-appeal. The long braids she once had were all gone. But in conjunction with her fine looks and boyish swagger, it was obvious Sand needed a recap of whose ship she was on.
Right then, Sand felt like her lungs had collapsed and her breath stolen at the mention of her ex. She inhaled, looking at Chyna like she was the Grinch who stole Christmas.
“It’s been like three months or something like that since I last talked to her.” She twisted her lips and screwed up her face. “Why you asking?” she inquired, giving Chyna a once-over. She was wearing the same white strapless corset dress she’d seen her leave in earlier tonight.
Chyna wanted to play this game along with her. She shrugged her shoulders. “Just concerned. I mean, we are family, Sand,” she smiled impishly. “Anyone that works for me, I consider family. We look out. Make sure each other okay. I’m sure you can understand how important that is, right?”
Sand pretended to be listening, but the mention of Rene’s name distracted her from anything else Chyna had to say. A million things ran through her mind. She wanted to scream, “Fuck that bitch! That ho played me like a Pac-Man game. She fucked off and got pregnant on me. That bitch violated me. I don’t wanna hear her name no-fuckin’-more. She can eat shit and die for all I care. Rene don’t give a fuck about me, so why should I give a fuck about her? Man, she played me. All that time she was just playin’ me. Playin’ me like a damn fool.” But that was her own business.
Chyna believed she’d found Sand’s weak spot judging by the look in her eyes. As they rode in silence all the way back to the house, the only sounds to be heard were the raindrops splashing against the windows and the slow train of tears that crept down Sand’s face.
5
With $5,000 stuffed in her pocket, Rene felt like she had just committed highway robbery. She sped down a dimly lit two-way street, determined to get the hell out of the hood. As she flew over railroad tracks and drove through a secluded warehouse district, she couldn’t help wondering if the money Chyna had just given her was even real, or, better yet, stolen. But stolen or not, she could use the cash, especially after everything that had transpired over the past few months.
Rene counted her blessings and was thankful every morning she woke up alive and kicking because three months ago, she could have been lying up in a hospital bed—or even worse, six feet under. Death had knocked on her door, found a key, and let itself in. She’d seen her life flash right before her eyes the night her fiancé, Vincent, pulled a gun on her, ready to determine her fate. That was right after she was raped by his accomplice. She kept telling herself that her intentions were never meant to hurt anyone. She tried for as long as she could to deal with it alone, but still, somehow, Vincent haunted her thoughts. She recalled the feel of his breath blowing against her skin while his hands rubbed her protruding belly. It was impossible to block out those memories of her unborn baby’s father.
For too long she hid behind shadows, pretending she was happy when deep down, she was hurting—hurting because she was confused. Confusion never granted a painless transition, so why should she expect any mercy? Over the months, Rene wondered why it was so hard to live and love without limitations. She needed someone to make her understand how being in love could be wrong and why people were so threatened by her sexual decisions. And if love was supposed to be free, she wondered why in the hell she almost had to pay for it with her life.
Thinking about her ex-fiancé, and then her lover, reminded Rene why she was in the position she was in. She failed to make a choice between the woman she loved and the man who she had foolishly believed would make for a perfect future. But tonight, for once in her life, she was ready to face those truths. Sand was who she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She was also the reason she was about to put her life on the line.
6
The red Honda Civic was only a car’s length distance behind. Deja had been following Rene for close to a week now just like clockwork. She had learned her routine, and everything about the woman was consistent. When she first spotted her that day leaving the barbershop that her best friend Nessa worked in, she knew right away it was Sand’s girl. She looked exactly how she imagined she would look, if not better. Rene’s jet-black hair was long and wavy, her skin the color of simmering honey, and her Bambi eyes a shade or two lighter. Together, they glowed like the moonlight. She was more gorgeous than any other woman Deja had ever laid eyes on, and she could see why it may have been hard for Sand to detach herself. But deep down, despite Rene’s abundant beauty, Deja could sense that Sand wasn’t happy. She didn’t need a crystal ball to see through their relationship when the vibe Sand fed off spoke to her loud and clear. Sand wanted more, needed more, and Rene was nowhere around to provide, at least not from what Deja could see.
She didn’t recall her being there for Sand on several occasions when she needed her to be. But the person that was there and came running was Deja, even when it wasn’t her job to do so. Although it all was done out of the kindness of her heart, Deja believed that kindness had grown into something else. Love. But the last thing Deja wanted to do was wreck a happy home. That was beneath her character, but she felt she owed
it to herself to find out for sure if those feelings that intruded her thoughts late at night were anything but wrong.
Rene turned left. Deja sped up, catching up to the light before it could turn red again. The rain began falling harder, making it difficult to keep up without being noticed. Rene’s beam lights guided them down a narrow, dark road without a streetlight in sight. Deja held her composure. She was determined to find out what was going on with Rene and attempt to put together this crazy mystery that would hopefully lead her to Sand.
Deja’s last recollection of Sand was her being hauled off to jail like some escaped felon. Then her mind raced back to the fonder memories and that one night she cherished the most, opening night of Sand’s nightclub, Sandrene’s. As Deja remembered it, Sand passed out at the club. She had been drinking the entire night, drinking her problems away, Deja reasoned. She didn’t know who to call or where to take her, so she drove her to her place.
* * *
They staggered through the house, into the guest room, and onto the bed. As Deja turned to leave, Sand grabbed her by the arm. “Come here for a second,” she said.
The touch, the feel, Deja knew where this was going. “You’re drunk, Sand,” Deja professed, trying to pull her arm away from the embrace that sent electrifying shock waves all through her body. “Don’t do this to yourself,” she kept saying in her weakest of voices. “You’re drunk, so this isn’t happening,” she said truthfully.
“It is happening, and I know you feel it too,” Sand slurred. Her drunken drawl sounded like Ebonics slang. Her hands soon slid from Deja’s arm to her wrist.
“You have a woman, remember?” Deja painfully reminded, poking Sand in the left arm where Rene’s face stared back at her—giving her an uneasy feeling in a compromising situation. Rene wasn’t even in the room, and Deja felt her presence standing between herself and Sand, watching their every move.
Sand’s hand moved up Deja’s arm. “Yeah, but she ain’t real with me,” she exclaimed, staring into Deja’s eyes. “You keeps it real with me. That’s what I need, ya feel what I’m saying? Somebody that’s gon’ keep it real all the time.” Sand’s hazel eyes were barely open, but she refused to let Deja go.
The liquor on Sand’s breath was so strong, but Deja wanted nothing more than to lie in her arms and allow those intoxicating vapors to seduce her all night long. She shook her head slowly. While her mouth was saying all the wrong things, her pussy was voluntarily translating the opposite. “Please don’t do this. Don’t tease me this way,” she pleaded, disappointing herself as she spoke those betraying words. She wished like hell Sand knew what she was saying because if she did, she’d realize that every word that fell from her lips made her pussy wetter and wetter. She was going to dismiss the fact that Sand had a woman and that their timely affair could never be more than just a last-minute call for affection.
Sand pressed her forehead into Deja’s. “I just need somebody to hold me,” she said.
“You’re drruu . . . unkkk.” Deja dragged, her head falling back once those uneasy words full of unwanted excuses made way through her lips.
Sand’s leading hand maneuvered its way underneath Deja’s dress. “I want you,” she whispered. She began pulling on Deja’s clothing with her teeth, her hands freely exploring all the speed bumps on Deja’s body where her curves molested every inch of her frame. Deja had to speak up. She was losing herself. “We can’t do this. Ummm . . . This ain’t right. Oh shit. Umm, it ain’t right,” she purred like a kitten standing in-between Sand’s legs. Her head almost fell off her shoulders.
“Just hold me,” Sand repeated. “That’s all I want you to do right now.”
Deja reached her arms around Sand’s neck and pretended that they were slow dancing to the melody that played in her head. She didn’t refrain when she felt her dress hiking up above her waist, lifting over her shoulders, and sliding down her arms. Sand unclasped Deja’s bra with only the two fingers she used to trace the small of her back. She slipped it off slowly with her teeth, greeting Deja’s breasts anxiously with premoist lips. The tip of her tongue caressed her swollen nipples like silk. She bit down softly, taking them one at a time between her teeth, then sucking them both as if they were tiny raisins waiting to spill their sweet juices.
“What if—” Deja stopped, feeling her thong being ripped to shreds right off her ass.
“Ssshhh,” Sand silenced her with her tongue. She dropped her head and began kissing her way up and down Deja’s bare neck and chest.
Deja was frozen. She held Sand tighter as the long stiffness of two of Sand’s fingers suddenly began parting the lips of her begging pussy. It felt so good, so right. She spread her legs some more, assuming responsibility for what was already taking place. Those two fingers moving between her were soon bathing themselves in her sticky wetness.
Sand’s voice was just above a whisper when she asked, “You see that?” She mingled the juices that coated her fingers as she slid them in and out of Deja’s pussy with ease. She proceeded to suck off the marinade she’d helped to create, swallowing and savoring every last drop.
Deja was in another world. “See what?” She could barely catch her breath as she panted, her breasts rising and falling against Sand’s come-coated lips. She opened her eyes for just a moment, then quickly closed them because the ceiling looked as if it were caving in on them.
“See how it talks to me?” Sand asked as her fingers took another cruise along Deja’s warm opening.
Deja’s juices made all kinds of sounds that she never heard it make before. Squishing sounds just like when her clothes washed or when a tide settled in against the shore. Her pussy was communicating with Sand in a language that only its interpreter could understand. It was letting Sand know that she could have it all. It was hers if she wanted it.
“You wanna feel me inside of you?” Sand asked her lover.
Deja couldn’t speak. She felt numb all over. She wanted to pinch herself to be sure it was really happening. But real or not, she was right where she wanted to be—at her climactic peak. Without answering Sand, she just held on tighter, feeling herself being lifted onto the bed, and leveled onto her back. The golden heels of her four-inch pumps sank into the comforter and poked at her pillow-top.
“You want me between you?” Sand asked again. “Tell me yes. I wanna hear you say that shit.”
Deja moaned even louder. How much more could she take? “Oh, yesss!”
“Keep holding me,” Sand managed between kisses. She dragged her tongue from Deja’s earlobes all the way south to meet her belly ring that was identical to the rainbow-colored ball in Deja’s tongue.
“I’ll keep holding you,” Deja squealed in delight, her eyes completely shut.
Sand lifted Deja’s legs and placed them over her shoulders. Her head fell between and her tongue not too far behind. She placed her mouth on Deja’s swollen pussy lips. That sweet and tasty desire revived her lonely soul.
“Ummmm. Damn, Sand,” Deja cried out in pleasure. She felt like she was being rocked into a trance as each breath she took sounded weaker than the last. Sand’s snakelike tongue was moving feverishly in and out of her pussy, activating all the sensors that controlled how wet she could actually get. She almost died when suddenly Sand’s mouth began sweeping across her clit in soft, then heavy broom strokes. She felt like she was being swallowed whole as Sand’s fanatical flesh backstroked, dived, and floated in her creamy sea. And Sand’s sensual slurps were confirmation that she was collecting every drop that oozed through her folds.
“I’m coming, Sand,” Deja moaned, biting down on her bottom lip so hard it started to bleed. With her arms in their same position, Deja was ready to give birth to each nut that Sand had impregnated deep inside her. “Oh yes!” she cried out mercifully, wishing she could be at the other end of that bed, posed in a sixty-nine. She wanted Sand to feel it too.
“Hold me,” Sand said as she buried her tongue deeper inside, ready to catch those children of hers with
a tongue for a mitt.
Sounding like a wounded animal, Deja called out in satisfaction, “Oooh.” Her legs wrapped themselves around Sand’s body as tightly as they could until their bodies molded into one. “Oh God!” She couldn’t take it anymore. Sand’s lips were brushing against her pussy fast and slow, playing it like a harmonica. The more she squirmed around, the harder Sand’s nose rubbed and knocked against her poking clit.
In between slurps, Sand encouraged her lover. “Take it. Don’t run,” she coaxed, French-kissing the lips of Deja’s love some more. “Don’t fight it. Slurp. Take it.”
“Ew shit, baby. I’m com . . .” Deja didn’t even have asthma, and she felt the need for an inhaler. Her squeeze then faded into seizurelike convulsions as her body began to shake and tremble irrepressibly. As Sand rose from between her legs, all Deja could do was lay spent. The energy she once had was gone, and that ceiling that was caving in was now spinning around, taking her in circles. She remained quiet, but the inside of her pussy was still humming from the aftermath. She looked over her shoulder at Sand. Deja knew how guilty sex looked and as she fought back the desire to challenge her for another round, she sensed that Sand was already battling her regrets. Maybe even practicing how she would feed those apologetic lies to her girlfriend later—much later—long after the liquor wore off and the stench of their sex corroborated its own version of the truth.
Deja checked herself, then slid off the bed wrapped in complete nakedness. What had she done? What had they done? She took one last look back at Sand, wishing like hell she’d offer her a spot beside her. Between her. But she didn’t. She lay selfishly alone, drifting in and out of an uncomfortable sleep. Deja patted her hair back down on her head because she could feel it all over the place. She gathered her thong, bra, and dress, suddenly feeling like a puppet with loose strings. Partly embarrassed, she left the room, quietly closed the bedroom door, and then made her way to the master bedroom. She could only wish and hope that their little episode wouldn’t be the last time.