Lust & Loyalty

by Shelly Ellis

  Being so late-term in her pregnancy made her feel like an overly ripe fruit, but it also made her sensitive to every sensation. His kisses and caresses felt twice as intense and three times as pleasurable. The lightest touch of his fingertips against her skin left her shuddering.

  She shifted aside the waistband of his pajama bottoms and wrapped her hand around his manhood. He grunted as she stroked him, all the while kissing him. When his breathing deepened and she could feel him drawing close, she let go of him. She raised her nightgown to her hips and straddled his lap.

  He abruptly pulled his mouth away and shifted her back slightly. He shook his head. “Is that really a good idea, Lee, with you being so . . .” He glanced down at her protruding belly. “I don’t think we should—”

  He stopped talking when she placed her finger on his lips.

  “I’m not a china doll, Ev. I swear to you . . . I won’t break,” she said before she lowered herself onto him and he slid inside her.

  He groaned as she rocked on top of him, kissing his neck and nibbling his earlobe. Despite his earlier protests, he closed his fingers around her hips to steady her. Gradually, he began to move underneath her, meeting her thrust for thrust.

  When they were done, they fell back onto the mattress. Evan closed his eyes and fell asleep first, cradling her from behind and resting one hand on her hip. She fell asleep less than ten minutes later to the sound of his deep breathing. It was the most blissful sleep she had had in weeks.

  They slept in late, until sunlight filtered through the parted curtains. Evan woke up first and kissed the back her neck, making her turn to face him.

  He smiled. “And how are you this morning, beautiful?”

  “Good. A lot better than I was yesterday,” she said with shaky breath and a grimace as electric bolts of pain shot through her abdomen.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, eying her and shifting onto his elbow. “You don’t look so good, baby.”

  She nodded, closed her eyes, and smiled through her Lamaze breathing. “I’m perfectly fine, Ev. I’m . . . I’m just . . . finally going into labor!” she shouted, grabbing his hand. “Oww! Oww! Damn it!”

  Chapter 26

  Terrence

  “You’ve gotta be kidding, Terry!” C. J. called out.

  Terrence glanced up from his bowl of granola and banana nut cereal. He lowered the spoon from his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked her, mid-slurp. “Kidding about what?”

  “I mean there’s no damn space for my stuff in here!” She leaned her head out of one of the doors of his walk-in closet to stare at him. “There’s no place to put my things!”

  He set his half-eaten cereal on his night table. “Yes, there is!”

  “No, there isn’t!

  “Yes, there is!”

  Terrence then rose from his bed and walked across the room to join her in one of his closets to show her the space he had made for her.

  Two weeks ago, Terrence had asked C. J. to move in with him. They had both agreed that if they were serious about making their relationship work, they had to take things to the “next level.” That involved her giving up her apartment and setting up residence in his condo. They had both agreed to this in theory, but implementing “the next level” was turning out to be a little bumpier than anticipated.

  C. J. had already suggested changes to Terrence’s bachelor pad that made him raise his eyebrows or outright cringe: colorful throw pillows, new teal curtains, and a few abstract paintings from her apartment.

  “Maybe we should get a cat,” she had mused while they lay in bed a few nights ago. “A cute little tabby. What do you think?”

  Now that she was officially moving in, they both realized that making space for two in a condo that a bachelor had lived in for so long wasn’t an easy task.

  He walked into his closet to find her pointing to the section he had cleared out for her.

  “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong with it? Terry, you basically gave me three feet of shelf space. That’s all I get in two whole walk-ins?”

  He sighed. “Babe, you know I’ve got a lot of clothes.”

  “So do I!” She gestured through the opened doorway to her pile of clothes now stacked on his bed.

  “But not as much as me!” he argued, making her grumble. “Do you know I even had to get rid of some stuff to make room for you? And I did away with some good shit . . . even a few couture pieces from my modeling days.”

  “Oh, you poor baby,” she said dryly.

  “Some of them were signature pieces,” he continued, making her laugh and shake her head in exasperation. “I made sacrifices! Big sacrifices!”

  “Yeah, you’re a friggin’ saint, Terry.”

  He watched as she walked down the length of the closet and grabbed several pairs of jeans he had neatly hung together. She brandished the jeans at him. “What about these? Are these signature pieces, too? How many pairs of dark-washed denim does one man need?”

  He considered the jeans and glanced at the labels. “AG, Diesel, and True Religion.”

  “And? That means what?”

  “Different designers and different cuts. I need them all.”

  “Okay! Okay!” She tossed aside the jeans and turned to a series of shelves where he kept his shoes. She grabbed two pairs and held them out to him. “Are you also telling me you need identical pairs of gray suede hush puppies?”

  He squinted. “One is clearly gunmetal gray and the other is dove gray. Those are completely different shoes!”

  She dropped his shoes to the closet floor with a thud, then dropped her head into her hands. “Terry, do you really want to do this?” she asked from behind her palms.

  “Really want to do what?”

  “Do you want me to move in here with you?”

  He took a step toward her. “I asked you to do it, didn’t I? Of course I want you to move in!”

  “You say that, but I’m not seeing it,” she said, gesturing again to the space he had cleared for her.

  “C. J.” He gripped her shoulders. “I love you. I want something serious and permanent with you. I’ve told you that about five thousand times! What else do you—”

  “Then show me, Terry! Show me that you’re as serious about us as I am, and it might involve getting rid of a lot more than just two pairs of shoes and a couple of designer jeans.”

  He dropped his hands from her shoulders, feeling his hackles rise at her challenge. “You want me to show you I’m serious?”

  “I would love you to show me.”

  “You really want me to show you?”

  She threw back her head and laughed.

  “Fine, you asked for it. I’mma give it to you.” He then strutted out of the closet.

  “Where are you going, Terry?” she called after him.

  He didn’t answer her. Instead he went straight to his dresser and went rummaging through the drawers, pushing aside stacks of boxer briefs and socks in search of what he was looking for.

  He had purchased it a week ago, returning to the same jewelry store where Evan had bought Leila’s “push gift” months earlier. Evan had returned with him, except this time he was the one advising Terrence. Terrence had known not to loiter too long over his decision because Evan had been in a rush to get back home to his newly expanded family, to his darling infant daughter, Angelica.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this shit,” Terrence had muttered with a trembling voice as he peered down at the line of solitaire diamond rings displayed in the glass case.

  He had felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest and trickles of sweat tumbling down his back as he stood there, trying to decide which ring to buy.

  Evan had smiled as he stood beside him. “I can’t believe you’re doing it, either! I never would’ve guessed in a million years that my skirt-chasing, commitment-phobic brother would want to ask a woman to marry him.”

  Terrence had stilled at Evan’s words and grimaced. “Y
ou think I’m not ready? You think it’s too soon, right?”

  Evan had shaken his head. “I think no such thing! Besides, it doesn’t matter what I think, Terry. This is about you and C. J. What do you want?”

  “I . . . I want her. I want to be with her,” he answered solemnly. “I don’t want to be without her again.”

  “Good answer!” Evan had clapped Terrence on the shoulder. “Well, if you think you’re ready to build a life with her, I support you. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

  “That’s if she says yes,” Terrence had mumbled, nervously peering down at the glass case again. “She could say no.”

  “She won’t say no.”

  “I wish I knew that shit for sure!” He had sighed before roughly scrubbing his hand over his face. “But first things first . . . I’ve got to pick out the ring.” His eyes had drifted to a seven-carat, canary-yellow diamond that looked big enough to choke a squirrel. He’d pointed at it. “How about that one? That looks good, right?”

  Evan had pursed his lips as he stared at Terrence’s selection. “It’s nice, but word to the wise . . . and I speak from experience. Get C. J. the ring that you know she would want, not the one you would want for her. She’ll appreciate it more.”

  * * *

  Terrence now reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out the black velvet box he had planned to give her later that week at a candlelit dinner in a penthouse suite overlooking the Washington Monument, Jefferson Memorial, and the Potomac. He had even hired a saxophonist to play them one of the jazz hits she liked.

  “Ah, well,” he muttered with another shrug as he slammed the drawer shut and popped the lid of the box open, revealing a three-carat, emerald-cut solitaire with an understated white gold band. It was simple and elegant—just like C. J. More important, it was something he knew she would wear, that she would want.

  “I’m waiting, Terrence Murdoch!” she shouted as he walked back across the bedroom toward the closet.

  “Let me guess,” she said with laughter in her voice as he rounded the closet door, “instead of me putting my stuff in one of your closets, you’re giving me another drawer.” She snorted. “Well, at least it’s a start! I’m happy you even bothered to . . .”

  Her sarcastic quip died on her lips when she saw what he held in his hand. Her eyes zeroed on the ring and her mouth dropped open. She took a step back, blinking furiously and bumping into one of the closet shelves.

  “What the . . . what the hell, Terry,” she murmured. “What . . . what are you . . .”

  She couldn’t finish.

  “I told you that I’m serious about us, C. J.,” he said, not feeling any of the nervousness or misgivings he had experienced when he had purchased the engagement ring. He was sure now of what he wanted to say and to do. He was completely resolute. “I want to make this as permanent as we can possibly make it, if . . . if you’re willing to have me.”

  “Oh, my God!” She dropped one quivering hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.

  He took another step toward her, still holding out the box and the ring.

  “This isn’t really happening, is it?” she whispered. “I must be dreaming, because it looks like . . . it looks you’re . . . you’re a-a-asking me t-to—”

  “I’m asking you to marry me, girl!”

  She stared at him mutely, openly crying now.

  “Will you marry me, C. J.?”

  She smiled and slowly nodded. “Yes. Of course, baby!”

  Chapter 27

  Dante

  Dante stumbled out of his bedroom a little after one o’clock to the sound of banging at his front door. He squinted at the bright light streaming through the window blinds and absently scratched his hairy stomach. He realized, grudgingly, that he had developed quite a paunch from all the cheap beer he had drunk in the past few months. If he kept going at this rate, he might develop a full beer gut. He tossed a handful of pills into his mouth as he walked down the hall, as he did every morning, and made a mental note to buy more OxyContin later that week. He was running low yet again.

  “Open up!” Kiki shouted as she banged on his front door. “I know you in there! Open up, Daddy!”

  No matter how many times his daughter said it, Dante didn’t think he would ever get used to someone calling him “Daddy.” Well, outside of the bedroom, anyway.

  “I’m coming!” he yelled back.

  Kiki had become a persistent and permanent fixture in Dante’s life. She came by the house almost daily now, raiding his fridge, using his phone, and watching his television. She would talk constantly while she was there, filling his ears with a chatter that at least helped him momentarily forget how his life had taken a high dive off a steep cliff. But he still needed a break from her every now and then; she was a teenager with a lot of mouth and attitude, after all. Judging from her banging at his front door, he guessed his break was over.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed after he unlocked the door and swung it open. “It took you long enough.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” he murmured dryly.

  “You might wanna check your clocks. I think you mean ‘afternoon,’” she corrected, sauntering into his living room, throwing her purple braids over her shoulder.

  “Morning . . . noon . . . Who the hell cares?” He reached for one of the half-empty beer bottles on the coffee table and rubbed his eyes. “What do you want anyway? You don’t usually show up here for another couple of hours.”

  She grinned. “I came to give you an early Christmas present.”

  At that, he raised his brows. “Christmas present, huh?”

  He hadn’t gotten her anything, even though Christmas was in two days. That fact had mentally escaped him in the alcohol and drug-filled stupor he usually found himself in lately. Plus, he hadn’t thought they were the type of father and daughter who would exchange gifts.

  “Yep, and you’ll love what I got you,” she said as she tossed her cell phone at him.

  “What?” He caught her cell in the palm of his hand and squinted down at the screen. “What is it?”

  “Just read it!”

  The font was small, but even he could clearly see the headline on the mobile news web site.

  “‘Area woman goes missing. Family and community hold vigil to pray for her safe return,’” he read aloud.

  He then saw a close-up picture of Mavis Upton, Renee’s mother, with tears in her eyes. Several people stood behind her, holding lit candles. Dante fell back into his recliner and read that Renee hadn’t been seen or heard from by family members and friends for more than a week. According to a police report filed by Mavis, Renee was last seen pulling off in her car after dropping off her daughter, Tasha, at Mavis’s home.

  “Renee’s disappeared a day or two before when she went out clubbing, but she’s never been gone this long,” Mavis said in the article. “I’m really worried about her. I’m worried that something’s happened to her.”

  When Dante read that line, his face broke into a smile. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered with a rumbling chuckle. He slowly looked up at his daughter, who was grinning ear-to-ear. “You did it,” he said, almost with awe.

  “You goddamn right I did it!” she said, hopping to her feet, pumping her fists. “I told you I would do it, didn’t I?”

  He gradually nodded. “That you did.”

  But he hadn’t believed her. Why would he? She was just a loudmouthed teenage girl with beat-up tennis shoes and ratty purple braids that were badly in need of a touch-up. How the hell could she arrange a hit? Even when he had given Kiki the eight hundred dollars in cash along with Renee’s address two weeks ago, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. He had thought it would be money flushed down the drain. Now he was elated to find out that he had been wrong. Turns out it had been the best eight hundred dollars he had ever spent!

  Dante gazed at his daughter, assessing her openly now. He had tried in the past to have allies in his
schemes—and all had disappointed him. Charisse had been a mistake and Renee had been a disaster of even bigger proportions. How delightful it was to discover that his best and most reliable ally was his own seed, his own daughter. He guessed it made sense. He was a lot like his father, George. Scheming and dirty dealing was in Kiki’s blood.

  “So can I stay here?” she asked eagerly. “Can I move in the back room?”

  “That was our deal. I won’t renege on it.”

  He watched as she shouted and did a mock end zone dance in his living room, celebrating her victory and Renee’s demise. She didn’t seem the least bit sorry that a woman was now dead thanks to her.

  No remorse. That’s good, he thought.

  If he refined her a little, Kiki could become a force to be reckoned with. She could be an awesome weapon he could wield.

  She paused from dancing and twisted one of her braids around her fingers. “So you’ll let me drive your ride? That was part of the deal, too!”

  “Sure.” He reached for the car keys on his coffee table and held them out to her. “Just bring it back in a couple of hours, and don’t break any speed limits.”

  She giggled and grabbed the car keys from him before racing to the front door. She ran like she wanted to get out of the house before he had a chance to change his mind, but he wouldn’t change his mind. She had earned her reward ten times over. Renee was dead. His biggest problem was taken care of.

  Dante watched as his door slammed shut behind Kiki. He heard the tires of his Jag squeal seconds later as she drove off to a destination unknown. Dante rose to his feet and walked across the living room. He grabbed the cordless phone and began to dig through his wallet for an old business card.