by Xyla Turner
He shook his head and bit down on his bottom lip.
“Duncan, listen to me.” I cupped his face and nipped his bottom lip again. “A woman would have to be crazy not to consider a man like you. No matter how different you are. I…”
He shook his head again, but I was feeling way too much to be vocal any longer, so I kissed him softly. He hated this. I could tell because he bit down on my lip and pushed me back on the bed, where he quickly removed all my clothes, then his clothes, and grabbed a condom.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Portia, if that is okay with you.”
I gasped, and my mouth dried up as my pussy gushed. I gulped and watched as he pushed up on his knees, tore open the small square packet, and rolled the condom over his thick, hard shaft. It was so hot watching him pull it on.
I spread my thighs for him and rubbed my hand between my legs, preparing my body for his invasion. I bit my bottom lip. I couldn’t wait.
“Yes, Duncan. I am ready for you.”
He positioned himself between my bent knees and plunged into my body in one thrust. Stretching me. Then he set a maddening pace. Fucking me, good and hard.
He bit my shoulder as he thrust into my body, pounding every hard inch of his cock into me. I reached down and squeezed his butt, and he groaned. “So good, Portia. Squeeze harder.”
I obliged him. My body tingled. “I’m close, Duncan,” I gasped. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Make me cum all over your dick.”
He didn’t stop. He pushed me over the edge. I convulsed and contracted around his dick with a very strong and satisfying orgasm as he throbbed inside my pussy and filled the condom.
We were both panting and breathless as he pulled out of my body, pulled off the condom, and disposed of it. He leaned down to pick me up. Shower time. I was exhausted and let him take care of everything as I stood under the water. He made sure to give me my shower cap, which was a different color this time. It was a quick and efficient shower, and before I knew it, I was back in bed. I tucked my hand under my chin, smiling as I fell asleep with the covers over me.
Sunday
As he promised, Duncan brought me breakfast, but not in bed. He did not want crumbs on the bed. He told me he would not be able to sleep with the notion that food had been near his mattress. We ate at the circular wooden table in his bedroom, where he promptly wiped it down and vacuumed immediately after we finished. It was a bit much, but I went along with it.
We dressed, and Duncan ushered us out of his place and into the waiting vehicle, with Peter in the driver’s seat.
“Where we are going?” I asked, as he closed the car door.
“You stated that you liked surprises,” he replied and nodded in my direction. “Buckle your seat belt.”
His clicked his, and I followed suit. Immediately, he held my hand. Tight.
“I did?” I replied, trying to remember. “Is it too late to change my survey answers?”
“It is.” His fingers began to caress mine. “You will like this.”
If he said so, I guess I would just find out later. I’m not sure why I would have put I like surprises as an answer on that crazy-ass survey. I nearly laughed out loud at some of the questions, but at least the man had put it to use.
We pulled up in front of the African American Museum, and I nearly squealed.
“Are we going here?” I was almost yelling and jumping in my seat.
“Yes,” he nodded. “It was your answer of D.C. attractions that you had yet to see.”
“Yes, now that I remember.” I almost regretted calling the survey stupid.
It was freaking genius.
“Wow, Duncan.” I kissed him on the cheek and turned to get out of the car. “You are turning out to be my dream man.”
I lingered just long enough to see his eyes go wide, and his mouth turned up in a rare smile as I hopped out of the town car.
We did not get through half the museum before my stomach started to rumble. Duncan seemed to take everything in without saying much. I was like a kid in a candy store. I was stopping to read everything, take pictures, and watch some of the special videos.
“You need to eat,” Duncan told me after the fourth growl. “Let’s go.”
“But…” I tried to protest, but he had my hand and was moving me toward the food court. “Duncan.”
“What would you like?” He waved his hand around as if it were his food court.
However, once the smell of the food hit my nostrils, I immediately started moving toward the likely culprit. We selected our food, sat and ate, chatting about some of the exhibits.
“Which one is your favorite?” I asked him.
He blinked and said, “Barack Obama being elected President of the United States and that road to the hope that he professes.”
My head jerked back at his response because that almost did not make sense.
“Wait?” I smirked. “You’re a Republican. Why would you be happy about anything regarding President Obama?”
Duncan took a sip of his water and stared at me with a look I had not seen before. He was serious and not trying to be funny.
“Racism is a fundamental component of this nation’s history. This entire museum is a confirmation of that fact. The first interracial, both of Kenyan and European descent, was a testament that the world is changing. I am different, too. Not like you, but I am different. And if an interracial President, or black as people often refer to him, could be President, it proves that people like me, different people, they could be anything too,” he shared.
This man was going to turn me into a damn sop. I was not a crier, but Jesus. This man. He was so sincere, honest, and he absolutely melted me.
“That is why you ran against Jake?” I confirmed.
He nodded once and turned away. His original story was that his friends baited him into it, but he was testing the theory.
“You’re courageous,” I told him. “Different or not. People that are considered normal would not have done what you did. So add that to your list of things I like about you, okay?”
I was smiling at him. Cheesing, in fact, and it was right there that he smiled back. It was slightly crooked, but definitely perfect.
Once we left the museum, hours later, we went to the seafood restaurant where they boil the food in front of you and allow you to add your own seasoning. We ate a lot, and I gave Duncan my own version of his survey, so I could attempt to capture what this man was giving out to me.
That evening, Duncan and I caught up on Single Parents. Then he randomly asked me, “Do you enjoy anal play?”
I blinked a few times as I thought back to the times, I had tried it. It had been different, but good. Then I began to think about who he would have done this with, and I tamped down on my jealousy. Well, so, I thought?
“Yes, it’s different,” I answered. “Are you familiar with it?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“How?” I found myself asking, against my better judgment.
“A former lover,” he answered with his eyes still on the screen.
“Anyone I know?” I asked, knowing damn well it wasn’t.
“No,” he answered.
Oh, this was going to eat me up, and I don’t even know why I opened this flood gate. I had sexual encounters, and he did not ask me about any of them. Why I felt the need to be in this man’s business was just stupid. But I sort of wanted to know what else he was into, which made me uneasy. I was not widely experienced, although I was no virgin. It was apparent that Duncan was much more experienced, since he knew how to keep me quivering between my legs. Literally.
Later that evening, we had sex, but this time I was on my knees, his dick impaling me and his fingers in my ass. I came so fucking hard, and I no longer cared how he learned it, but just wanted him to do it again.
Chapter Thirteen
Duncan
Monday morning came, which meant I would lose Portia for more hours than I wanted to acknowledge. Well, nine hours, thi
rty-four minutes and fifteen seconds. I also gave her twenty-three minutes and forty-five seconds to be late. She ran with me in the morning, ate breakfast at my counter, and then allowed Peter to take her to the first site on her schedule.
I almost did not let her go as she went to get out of the car. She was dressed in a white blouse that hung loosely on her top half and a tight black skirt that hugged her bottom half and had her figure on display. She wore those red-bottom shoes she had put down on her survey. While she was in the closet, picking from clothes that I purchased for her, she noticed the dress that I made her try on at her store right after we met. She held it up, while standing in the foot of the double doors and asked, “Is this the same dress that you had me try on and then acted as if you didn’t like it on me?”
It was not clear whether she was angry or not, but the inflection in her voice at the end of the question could only mean that she was invested in my answer.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Why do you have it?” She followed up.
“I bought it for you,” I admitted, finally.
“You said you were buying it for a pretty black woman, like me,” Portia countered.
“Yes.” I agreed. “You.”
She placed her hand on her hip, and that meant she was serious and getting annoyed. I had learned to read this sign from her.
“I did not want to lie, but I wanted to see you again in your element and on your turf, so that we could forge a friendship.” I tried to show that I was relaxed by placing my hands at my side. It was with the hope that she would relax as well.
“Hmm, sneaky.” Her eyebrow raised as a smirk morphed on her face. “Sneaky, Duncan.”
“I am not sure if that is accurate,” I came to my defense.
“Yeah, okay.” She shook her head, smiled and went back into the closet, where she continued to yell in excitement over the clothes that were hanging in the closet for her.
I concluded that she was astonished by my purchasing what she had shared in her survey, and with this conclusion, I think it was safe to believe I did well.
As she was exiting the vehicle, she asked, “Do you have lunch plans?”
My heart sank in my chest.
“What?” I asked.
“Lunch, silly. Do you have plans?” she asked me again. “I want to take you to lunch for a change.”
“Why?” I asked, tempering down my panic.
“I want to spend time with you,” she said and averted her eyes toward Peter.
“Lunchtime only?” I asked.
Her eyebrows came together, then recognition dawned on her features, and she smiled. “No, not just lunchtime. I loved breakfast and dinner too. I want that, but today I’ll be in your neck of the woods, near the Capital. I wanted to see you.”
“You can always see me,” I confirmed. “Lunch is fine, but we will have dinner later, too.”
“Yes, that will work,” she replied.
“Good, I’ll have Erin share my calendar with you, and you share yours, then we can be in sync,” I told her.
“I would like that,” Portia agreed. She kissed me on the cheek and escaped out of the Town Car.
When I walked into work, I ran into Trent and his best friend, Rich.
“Duncan Lee Morgan,” Trent called out to me and held out his hand for me to shake.
I did, then so did Rich, as he nodded.
“We’re getting lunch later, want to join?” Trent asked.
“I have plans with Portia,” I told him. “And dinner.”
His eyebrow rose and he semi-sang, “My man, Duncan.”
Then he pointed to me and explained to Rich that I was seeing Portia, Bernie’s best friend.
“Welcome to the family,” Rich smiled. “I tried to hook her up with one of my buddies in the Green Party, and she nearly laughed me out of Trent’s kitchen.”
“Well, fuck yeah,” Trent agreed. “Those panties are unbelievable. What do they want in life?”
“They want grassroots democracy, nonviolence, and more environmentally conscious governments,” I informed Trent.
He threw his hand at me and said, “Exactly. What the fuck is that? We have people getting ready to annihilate us off the face of the earth, and they’re talking about recycling.”
Rich laughed and shook his head, as if he knew his best friend was crazy, and somewhere along the line, he had become okay with that. I also learned that Trent was a bit eccentric, but he was trustworthy, which, to me, weighed more than his other attributes.
“Well, now that you’re in the family,” Rich turned his comment in my direction. “I already know Lisa will want you over for dinner.”
“Don’t be pressured by their shit, Duncan.” Trent was shaking his head. “That’s how they lured me into their trap, by inviting Bernie and me over for dinner. Once they form that womanly bond, you’re going to be in trouble. It’s bad enough Bernie and Portia are best friends, but after you add Lisa in the mix, I’m telling you, brother, it’s over for you.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Rich jabbed Trent with his elbow. “My wife is a good cook.”
“And a journalist,” Trent added. “She even wrote a scathing article about his ass.”
Oh.
“Stop telling this man shit without context.” Rich pushed Trent, but the big man didn’t move. “It was when we first met. I’d said some crazy shit, and she didn’t like it.”
“I say crazy shit,” I told Rich. “That’s what Portia says. Will she write an article about me?”
“No.” He turned a glare toward Trent, who lifted his shoulders as if he was not quite sure if that was true. “No, she will not. Now, look what you did?”
That was aimed at Trent, who shook his head in the negative as if his warning stood.
“I will ask her,” I assured Rich, referring to Portia.
“Okay,” he replied, seemingly appreciative of my response. “I got to run to a meeting, but I’ll see you guys around.”
This left Trent and me. He immediately pulled me towards him and said, “You and Portia are hitting it off, huh? That is fucking great.”
It was great, but I knew all about good things turning sour, so I had no plans to jinx it. I replied, “She likes me.”
“Yeah, man.” Trent sobered a bit and looked me in the eye. “It feels good, doesn’t it? To have a woman’s love. A good, smart, and genuine woman like Portia. That is priceless.”
“I don’t have her love,” I informed him. “She likes me very much. She has a list of things that she likes about me.”
“Even better,” he said as he pounded my back with his open hand. “Good to hear.”
The hours escaped me as I sat down to work and dove into everything that needed my attention. Having an assistant was good, but she took care of some things that I would have liked to focus on. I told her this several times, but she stated she would have no work to do. That was a bit of an overstatement. However, she was thorough enough.
At some point, Erin came through the doors of my chamber and said, “Senator Morgan, there is a woman by the name of Portia Lane, and she claims she is here for your lunch date. She did not have a pass for you, but for the Democratic Senator, Richardson. How would you like me to handle this?”
I stood up with a slight panic. “She is correct. It escaped me to put it on the calendar, but yes, let her in.”
She hesitated, then looked around, as if she did not know what to do.
“Erin,” I called louder. “Let her in before she leaves. She must not leave.”
“Yes, sir,” she jerked to attention and nearly ran out of my chamber.
Feeling restless now as I waited for her to return with Portia, I was hovering near the door, until it opened.
“Senator,” Erin called, but I took a quick, wide step in her direction and apparently scared her because she jumped. “Sorry, Portia Lane is here.”
I looked over her to see the woman that had the list of things that she liked about me, i
ncluding that I fucked her good.
“Portia,” I called to her. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“Yes, are you?” She raised an eyebrow and looked at Erin, who was still standing between the two of us with her back to Portia, facing me but staring off.
“Of course.” I nodded my head and walked around my statue of a secretary. “Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise,” the woman replied, with those big brown eyes on me.
“I do not like surprises. You like them,” I explained to her.
“Yeah, but I think you might like this one.” She grabbed my arm and squeezed it hard, just like I like.
“Senator, I will be scheduling your dinner at Tenz over on Fifth Avenue with Congressman James Klinger, the Democrat,” the helpful Erin chimed in as we walked away.
Before I could answer, Portia chimed in and said, “He doesn’t like Bison. You should have him go to the Ritz over on Seventeenth Street.”
Erin turned around to face us, but kept her eyes on me.
“Senator would you like a change of venue?” she asked me in a pointed way that I did not quite get or understand, but the overall feeling was not a good one.
Portia twisted her body around mine and stared at Erin.
“Senator?” Erin called me again. “What would you like me to do?”
“Duncan,” Portia squeezed my arm again, but this one was not endearing. No, she was upset.
“Yes,” I answered Portia.
“Can we go to lunch now?” She was smiling, but it did not reach her eyes.
“Yes, lead the way.” I nodded toward her.
To my surprise, because it was indeed just that, we arrived at UFly Indoor Skydiving. It was an underground, private facility that required a special pass, which Portia had obtained.
“I like this very much, Portia. How did you know?” I asked her.
“You said, you enjoyed extreme sports and this is definitely extreme on some level and a perfect lunchtime sort of event that is near your job.” She was smiling at me. “I’m glad you like it.”