Kimberly was Darius’s number-one piece. Kimberly’s body was always immaculate. Nails manicured and pedicure. Pubic hairs flawlessly trimmed into a heart shape. Legs shaved. Marriage couldn’t separate Darius from Kimberly’s tight pussy. He still paid the monthly bill on the Visa Darius held in Kimberly’s name. He kept her happy because she kept him satisfied. Kimberly created no headaches. Started no drama. And, with the exception of using her credit card, had no expectations of a committed relationship.
“Good. Have my pussy ready and waiting. I need to see you,” Darius looked at the digital clock on his dresser, “in an hour.”
“We’ll be waiting for you, poppie.”
Darius nodded. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. I’m on my way.”
“Bye, daddy.” Kimberly hung up the phone.
Darius had to have sex. Masturbation wouldn’t suffice. He could’ve been at Kimberly’s house sooner but Darius needed to talk with Ashlee before he left. Darius hung a pair of black slacks, a black pullover sweater, and his tan collarless leather jacket next to his dressing-room mirror. Darius showered. Shaved. Dressed. Dabbed on Mark Jacobs cologne, grabbed his wallet and keys, then unlocked his bedroom door.
The house was quiet. “Ashlee,” he called out. No answer. Darius searched the family room, living room, dining room, and kitchen. No Ashlee. He tapped on her bedroom door. “Ashlee.”
Ashlee yelled, “Go, away!”
“Go away,” Darius replied. “This is my house.”
When Ashlee didn’t respond he said, “Look, it’ll be okay. I’m leaving. You can have your space.” Darius knew, right or wrong, he could make Ashlee feel guilty.
Ashlee opened the door. “Where’re you going?”
Darius hunched his shoulders. “Out. To clear my head.” Heads is what Darius thought. “Maybe get a drink.”
“It’s too early to drink. Don’t leave. Let’s talk about this.”
Whatever Ashlee was thinking or feeling at this point was pointless. “I’ll be back. Cook something for dinner.” Darius walked into the kitchen, out the door, into the garage, and started his Bentley.
The light traffic made the drive to Long Beach pleasant. Darius pressed the number two garage button in his car and parked next to Kimberly’s red Beemer. Scented mango and coconut oils greeted him as he unlocked the door.
Darius inhaled. “That’s what I’m talking ’bout. Ambience.”
“Hey, daddy,” Kimberly said, wearing a smile, a long fiery red wig that covered her breasts, a pair of clear stilettos, and a black sheer thong. Kimberly’s hands slid under Darius’s jacket, down his shoulders, and removed his coat. “You won’t be needing this.” She removed his shirt then tossed it on the dining-room table beside his jacket. “Or this.” His slacks. Silk boxers. And socks. “Or these.” Kimberly squatted in her heels. She scooped Darius’s dick in and out of her hot slippery mouth and said, “Oh, daddy. But I do need this.”
Darius led Kimberly to the garage and pressed her plump breasts over the hood of his car. The air was cold. His body was hot. Darius rubbed the head of his dick against her shaft until Darius felt Kimberly’s pussy become engorged. Her clitoris shaft was hard. Full. Stroking his penis, Darius rolled on his condom then eased his head in and out of Kimberly’s wet pussy.
“Spread your ass for me, so I can give you this dick.”
Kimberly looked over her shoulder at him, slid her long red nails from her waist to her ass, and spread her cheeks wide. “This pussy is for you. She missed you. She needs you. She wants you so bad, daddy. Fuck her good.”
Darius fucked Kimberly real good. An hour later they were still fucking in the garage. Darius slapped Kimberly’s ass and said, “Get the shower ready for daddy. I gotta go.”
Kimberly kissed his lips, caressed his jaw, then said, “Anything for you.”
Kimberly was heaven sent but she wasn’t marriage material. Darius showered, dressed in the dining room, grabbed his keys, and left. The drive home was relaxing.
“Whooo, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. A brotha getting his dick sucked and getting headache-free pussy from a woman on the regular.”
Ashlee would change her mind about being my wife eventually, Darius thought, parking in his garage. But before becoming his wife, they had to have sex. The smell of garlic and onions greeted him as he entered his kitchen. Ashlee stood in front of the countertop tossing a salad.
“Smells great. What are you cooking?”
“Sautéed shrimp, scallops, and calamari with garlic pasta.”
“Sounds good. I’m hungry.” Darius smiled as he lifted the top off the pot. “Fix me a plate.” The aroma followed Darius into his bedroom. He hung his jacket in the closet and tossed his clothes into a dry cleaners bag for the maid to pick up on Monday. When Darius returned to the dining area, the table was set. The arch tier held burning black candles. Steam rose from the platters of seafood, spinach fettuccini, and fresh mixed vegetables. The salad was topped with black olives, croutons, and cherry tomatoes. Pork was not welcomed on his table or in his stomach.
Darius sat at the head of the eight-party rectangular onyx wooden table. “Smells good.”
Sitting to his left, Ashlee bowed her head, then waited for Darius to say grace.
“Dear Lord, please bless this table. Bless Ashlee for time and love she dedicated to the preparation and completion of the great meal. Jesus, let this food strengthen our mind, body, and spirit to do Thy will. Amen.”
Ashlee said, “Amen,” then looked at Darius and said, “I understand what you meant earlier when you said, ‘We’re good for one another.’ But I’m struggling with my emotions. The problem I have is that this can’t be morally right. At least I don’t think so . . .”
Either Ashlee’s words trailed off or Darius had become consumed with his own devious thoughts. One sure thing, in all of her talking, Ashlee hadn’t agreed to consummate their relationship because that would’ve gotten his attention. But more importantly, she hadn’t disagreed. Watching Ashlee speak while he ate, Darius realized that with Ashlee’s support he could accomplish anything. Darius needed a woman like Ashlee to support him no matter how badly he fucked up. When he was wrong, Ashlee didn’t agree with him. And that was good because it was never what Ashlee said. It was how she said it. Sweetly. Caringly. Lovingly. And most of all, without judgment.
CHAPTER 5
The first Tuesday morning of a new year, Darius lay awake under his royal blue suede comforter reflecting on the past year. The main reason Darius had moved to Washington, D.C. was to distance himself from his mother and to make her feel guilty. The first six months Darius didn’t call his mother, answer her phone calls, or return any of her messages. The sight of her face made Darius so angry he tossed her pictures—the ones of his mother at his games, his birthday parties, with Santa, the Easter bunny, school events—and all of his photos they’d taken together in storage boxes and mailed them to her in Los Angeles. Darius didn’t write his mother. Click. Click. Click. He deleted her e-mail messages without opening a single one. She had a choice. She chose wrong. Material gifts—cars, clothes, jewels, money—couldn’t replace the years he’d missed growing up without his real father.
Taking a deep breath, Darius gazed at the ceiling and massaged his dick. His morning erection shifted his thoughts. Darius smiled then said, “Boy, yo’ dick is always on swole. You ain’t never gon’ be faithful.” Darius had tried being monogamous in the Chocolate City with this Virgo sistah he’d met. What a joke. She truly loved, damn near worshiped, him. Their relationship survived six months. Sex with Mary was magnificent. Frequent. Two, sometimes three times a day. Within fifteen minutes of his request, she’d break for lunch, come to his office, and sit on his dick. Suck his dick. She probably did the same for her other man. Men. Stripped off her clothes. Danced on the desk. If she weren’t cheating, eventually she would so Darius pursued new pussy, which ultimately ended their relationship. Tired of spending holidays, birthdays, and special occ
asions without his mother, Darius moved back to Los Angeles.
Hypnotized by the flames from his bedroom fireplace shadow dancing on the white walls, Darius took another breath then clamped his hands behind his head. No other woman had given him a greater level of security and comfort than Ashlee. Except, at times, his mother, and of course, Maxine.
How was Maxine? Health wise. Had she lost weight? Was she still beautiful? Was she still a national spokesperson for the Centers for Disease Control? Was Maxine happy? How could she ever be jovial again living with a terminal disease ticking inside of her like a time bomb waiting to explode? Boom! Rodney was already dead.
“Fool one day you gon’ be dead too.” Darius answered himself, “True dat. That’s why I’m fuckin’ every day for the rest of my life.” That was for at least another sixty, seventy, eighty years or more. Did Darius really have that much control over women? Enough influence to make someone do something they’d regret for the rest of their life? Darius didn’t feel sorry for Maxine, she shouldn’t have given up her pussy.
Darius leaned forward, glancing at the digital alarm clock on his entertainment center. Fifteen more minutes. Kimberly had fucked him so good again last night, Darius wanted to stay in bed. He nestled into the over-king-sized black silk pillow.
“Ahh, life is grand.” Darius added, “For a man.”
Darius squinted then shielded his eyes from the sunshine creeping into his twelve-hundred-square-foot master bedroom overshadowing the dancing flames. He loved living in The Valley. His neighbors were movie stars, athletes, or other wealthy celebs. Slipping his naked body into his robe, Darius smiled. “This is it, boy. The day you’ve waited for. Do the damn thang.”
Darius brushed his teeth then stood outside Ashlee’s bedroom door. The door was ajar. He peeped inside. Ashlee’s head rested on the lime-green pillowcase. Eyes closed. Knees bent. A silhouette of her figure curved into an S-shape under the matching sheet. Darius’s toes tipped barefoot along the cold hardwood floor. Quietly he eased to the edge of her bed. Ashlee slept like an angel. X-rated thoughts swept his mind. Kiss her. Kiss her. Darius longed to feel the sensation of Ashlee’s lips once more. Lowering his face to hers, he pressed his moist lips against her temple.
“Huh. Oh. Good morning.” Ashlee yawned as she secured the sheet inches above her breasts. Her nipples grew larger, soliciting Darius’s undivided attention.
“Good morning to you. I came to get a pre-victory hug. I know I’m going to get the contract,” Darius said as his butt balanced on the side of the king-sized mattress next to Ashlee’s hips.
“Come here,” Ashlee said, opening her soft slender arms. “You know you worked hard and you deserve this.” The comfort of her limbs, doused with the Victoria’s Secret Velvet Luxe Crème he’d given her, embraced then drew him close. “As soon as the meeting is over, I want you to call me. Regardless of the outcome. Call me, first. Okay?” Ashlee insisted. Her large brown eyes stared directly into his.
Darius loved how Ashlee understood her womanly place was to support him and wished other women would stop trying to emulate his manly God-given qualities. No woman could ever tell him when to come home. When he could go out. Or how to handle his business. Ashlee never competed with or challenged him.
Darius’s arms drifted around Ashlee’s waist. The nectar of her perfume and softness of her flesh lured him closer. He sniffed behind her ear. Damn. His dick went from limp to hard in seconds. The pounding of his heart thumped against her firm breasts. The only thing between them was the sheet and thankfully his black flannel robe.
Think, Darius, think. Let her go. Shrink, Slugger, Shrink. His manicured nails rotated in her spine slightly above the crack separating her cheeks. Let her go.
“Okay,” Darius replied. The left corner of his mouth curved. “I got this deal on lock. When I call you, get dressed so we can celebrate. Make a reservation at Alex on Melrose and reserve our usual table.”
Slowly Ashlee’s grip loosened. Her lightweight fingers rested on his collarbone. “You’d better get going. Call me later.”
“You’re right.” Darius stopped massaging then tickled her obliques.
“Stop!” Ashlee jumped and howled with laughter. “You know I’m ticklish.”
Ashlee’s infectious laughter triggered Darius’s laugh. They shared a similar joyful spirit whenever they reflected on their childhood. Running away from Lawrence’s Malibu home to his guest house outback, protesting their parents’ marriage, days before the wedding in Los Angeles, had gotten both of them in big trouble. Darius was relieved his erection subsided. The slippery silk folded beneath his armpits when he stood. Releasing the sheet then tying his belt tighter, now he knew.
Ashlee gasped. The happy sound became trapped in her throat.
“Oh, damn.” Darius re-tightened his belt because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He definitely enjoyed the view. Slowly, reluctantly, Darius turned toward the door.
“Just go,” Ashlee said cupping her breasts then grabbing the cover. “I’ll make the reservation for three.”
“Make the reservation for the two of us at three o’clock,” Darius clarified.
“Of course. That’s what I said.”
That was what Ashlee meant but clearly not what she’d said. Returning to his bedroom, the snapshot image of her breasts was etched in his memory. “Ooow, yes.” The steamy shower pulsated against the nape of Darius’s neck down the center of his back. Side to side Darius’s head tilted to each shoulder. His right hand wrapped around the opposite side of his dick. Twisting up and down his shaft, Darius moaned, “Ashlee.”
Darius visualized his chocolate dipstick sliding between two plump white peaches with golden-brown raisin-shriveled nipples. “Damn. Nice tits.” The flow of white semen washed in waves down his inner thighs and slid into the tiny metal holes. Darius whispered, “Um, um, um. One of these days. Whew.” Repeatedly Darius washed the crack of his ass, twirling the tip of his finger inside for extra cleansing. The first time his mother discovered a shit stain in his Superhero underwear she gave him a graphic speech on how to thoroughly cleanse his ass. Darius never forgot.
“Yes!” Darius danced in front of the three-way mirror inside his spacious dressing-room closet, inspecting his dripping wet body. He yelled, “You da man dawg,” tightly curling his fingers. Thump! Thump! Thump! Darius pounded on his muscular chest and said, “This mutherfuckin’ proposal is gon’ hit boy-ie!”
Darius flexed, admiring what all his women loved. Him. His exotic locks. A handsome face with chiseled jaws and a manly squared chin. Two muscular mounds of chocolate garnished a chest so appealing that whenever he wore wife-beater T-shirts or swam in his boxer trunks on the beach, men stared too. Darius’s “I’ll beat your ass if you make a pass at me” look kept the strays quiet. A six-pack of abdominal muscles rolled like waves washing upon the ocean’s shore as Darius swerved his entire body like a snake’s. Thighs hard as steel but smooth as butter. Flawless skin. No woman was allowed to leave fingernail tracks on his back. Darius didn’t tolerate that “let me brand you” mentality “so I can prove to all the other women I was with you.” Darius Jones knew he was undoubtedly the sexiest and most arrogant man alive.
Darius retrieved the fifty-page leather-bound proposal from his solid oak, six-drawer dresser. Flipping to page ten, his lips landed against his film production chart.
Title: Soul Mates Dissipate
Status: Filming in the Future
Production Start: September 17th
Studio: To be determined
Location: Oakland, Los Angeles
Primary Actors: Morris Chestnut, Lela Rochon,
Kendra Moore, Boris Kodjoe, Diahann Carroll,
Loretta Devine, and Cedric the Entertainer
The list of potential financial backers Ashlee had suggested, along with the proposed motion picture companies, producers, directors, casting companies, and a signed commitment from Morris along with Morris’s filmography, were enclosed.
“Those amateurs are going to flip when I walk through the door and announce that Morris has accepted the part.”
Darius valet parked in the adjacent lot, tossed his keys to the attendant, and then strutted into the lobby of the forty-two-story downtown building. His left shoulder slightly dipped with each step as he strolled through the congregating crowd and onto the elevator.
“Wait! Hold the door!” a woman’s voice pleaded. Darius adamantly pressed the close button while the other passengers pretended not to watch. Between the disappearing crack, the biggest breasts he’d ever seen, attached to a woman exquisitely dressed in winter white from her hat to her boots, vanished. Frantically Darius searched for the open-door button. Accidentally he pressed the inward arrows again as he watched her lips tighten. The elevator moved quickly and quietly, stopping several times. No one said a word until Darius uttered, “Damn. Oh, well.”
Despite arriving twenty minutes early, Darius was apparently late. “Mr. Jones,” the receptionist pointed, “the conference room is down the hall on your left. We’re waiting for two more representatives before we start.”
Darius stepped into the freezing room. It seemed colder than the fifty-degree temperature outside. Candice sat at the head of the table draped in a crimson-colored cape with a navy turtleneck blouse crinkled under her chin. Ten attendees were gathered around the conference table mumbling and perusing documents. The only available seats were at the opposite head of the double-wide black leather-top table.
Darius assessed his competition. Bunch of losers. Wasting his time. Closing his eyes, his thoughts drifted back to Ashlee. He’d bought her an engagement ring after their trip to Cannes last year. When the time was right, he’d ask the question hoping she’d proudly wear the internally flawless five-carat emerald-cut solitaire set in platinum.
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