Just Marry Me Already (BWWM Romance Book 1)

by Ayo Campbell

  “Who?”

  “You don’t watch enough old romance films.”

  “No. I guess I don’t.”

  Just then, the house lights flickered. People began finding their tables. The band walked onto the stage, finding their instruments. Vanessa found Justin’s hand under the table.

  “So, what kind of films do you like?” he asked, stroking her hand with his thumb.

  “I didn’t see too many films growing up,” she answered. “But I saw some movies. I liked Beauty and the Beast.”

  “Musical.”

  “Yeah. But I also liked Titanic, and Mulan, and Independence Day.”

  “Films with most excellent music, and gripping drama.”

  “Are you psychoanalyzing me?”

  “No. I’m trying to get to know you.”

  “Why? So you can marry me and make me happy?”

  Justin clutched her hand on her leg under the table. Then he looked her straight in the eyes.

  “You’re already happy,” he said. “I’m just talking films.”

  “Why is it,” she asked, “that you watch films, and I watch movies?”

  “Upbringing,” he said.

  “Wait a minute. Do you think–”

  “Quiet. Kelly is on stage.”

  Her second set was an engaging collection of jazzy and bluesy torch songs, and she tore them away from tradition. She did an upbeat version of My Funny Valentine, tickling the number, and went through the standards putting her vocal mark on each.

  That set, she paused for applause. She’d introduce songs, she had a patter, and she was a natural. Her rapport with the audience was casual, and charming. At the end, she dazzled the room blending Fever, The Man That Got Away, and ending with My Blue Heaven. The audience exploded.

  Vanessa spotted Kelly’s producer at a table in front, smiling and nodding as everyone stood. Watching the band take the applauds, she was sure that the bassist was her arranger. For an encore, Kelly covered Dusty Springfield’s How Can I Be Sure – to a tee.

  “Whenever I,” the girl belted. “Whenever I am away from you…

  “I wanna die – ‘cause you know I wanna stay with you…

  “How do I know? Maybe you’re trying to use me…

  “Flying too high can confuse me. Touch me, but don’t bring me down…”

  “It’s a pity,” Vanessa sang softly with the woman.

  “What?” Justin asked.

  “How can I be sure…”

  But as Kelly sang the closing verse, Vanessa clutched Justin and held him tight. She so didn’t want him to hear the last words of the song.

  “This place is going to get crazy in a minute,” she said.

  Kelly ended. The last note hung through the room. The audience paused. Then everyone began talking and clapping at once as Kelly and the band bowed.

  “That was lovely,” Vanessa said. “But, I think we should go.”

  “You want to get out of here?” Justin asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay for the after party? She’s good.”

  “She’s tits.”

  “I assume that’s a good thing.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “So, um…”

  “Ice cream?”

  Justin laughed.

  In the park, there was a man selling soft-serve, with toppings. Vanessa had chocolate dipped with sprinkles. Justin had vanilla.

  “Just so you know,” Vanessa said as the two strolled the park. “I had a wonderful evening. Kelly was fabulous; that girl’s going places. And it was so cool that Kaitlin invited me – us. I feel, well, I almost feel, like I could fit back in here, in Bean Town.”

  “That makes me happy,” Justin said. “You know, after the last bunch of kids came into the diner, I found this note under my chair.”

  “You find a lot of things under your chair.”

  “I do. So, anyway, it was all folded up tight. It was almost like a rock.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he said, digging into his pocket. “The note was one of those kid’s things. Check it out.”

  It was addressed to Rebecca, and it had two boxes drawn in red pen: Yes/NO. It read: I like you. Do You like me? Please check.

  “There’s no box checked?” Vanessa said.

  “No,” Justin said. “Poor kid. Maybe he dropped it, or maybe she dropped it – or threw it away. Anyway, I got it.”

  Vanessa stopped. She licked the ice cream sliding from her cone.

  “Justin,” she said as she licked. “I think that–”

  But as she spoke, Justin held up the paper with the check boxes. He looked at her, earnestly. Vanessa took a breath, then she stuck her finger in her cone drip. And then she put a chocolate check in the YES box, red and green sprinkles sticking to it. Justin smiled. He folded the paper and put it back into his pocket.

  “I’m keeping this,” he said. “Forever.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “I got the time. I’m Justin Time.”

  Vanessa laughed and held his arm close. They strolled the walk-way, gazing out on the river. They passed other couples, also arm in arm, walking and gazing out at the river. A big boat was easing its way away. It was all lit up, and on the shore, people leaned on the railing to watch the silent passage.

  “What do you think?” she said. “What do you think that ship has? Where is it going? Who is in there, and where do they come from?”

  “Can’t say,” he said. “But she’s low in the water. She has a full hold.”

  “Why do people call boats ‘she?’”

  “Because they’re pretty, elegant, and smooth,” Justin said, holding her closer. “And they are complicated. And, sometimes unpredictable. If man has ever built anything that is close to a woman, from sails to diesel engines, it’s a strong ship.”

  “I like that you said ‘strong,’” Vanessa said.

  “I wouldn’t have a ship, or woman, any other way.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay,” Vanessa said, turning in his arm. “You want to take me home?”

  “I do.”

  “I mean, your home.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  They finished their ice creams as they watched the ship glide along the channel. Vanessa so wanted to believe in the man in her arms, and so she lay her head on his shoulder as they turned and walked back.

  At that moment, she thought that she was in love.

  But she knew that she was in love with the moment.

  The Justin who-nobody-knew could be leading her to a penthouse or a dive, but it didn’t matter. At the moment, she felt that she was being held by a man who she could trust. It didn’t matter that she hardly knew him. She trusted his fine clothes, his fine demeanor, and his fine and wonderful ways.

  He led her back along the park path, and she knew that she could have been easily been being led to some sort of doom. They turned on the path, and took a way that she didn’t know.

  She thought that she should be afraid, but she heard the sounds of the street. They emerged from the park on the Boulevard. There was a limo waiting.

  “Justin?”

  “It’s my car,” he said. “I have this thing on my phone–”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “My place,” he said. “Unless you want to go somewhere else.”

  “Justin?”

  “Trust me.”

  She got into the limousine. The car glided away and north along the avenue. It was so plush; the seats were so comfy. Vanessa almost expected him to slide over and begin. But he didn’t. He sat way away on the other side.

  “This is nice,” she said. “Is this yours?”

  “Not sure,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Lawyers,” he said.

  “Um, Justin,” she began. “Are you rich?”

  “No,” he said. “I have some wealth—I own some money. But I am not ri
ch.”

  “Um, I think different.”

  “You confuse wealth with richness and satisfaction.”

  “No,” Vanessa said. “I have never been rich, and satisfaction has always been elusive, and fleeting. So, I think that the word rich means different to you and me.”

  “You think that it means money,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “Okay. So, according to your definition, I’m rich.”

  “But, according to your definition?”

  “It means having quality, and real value in that quality. This car, for example, is rich. But I am not.”

  “And, so, what are you lacking?” she asked.

  She expected him to reply with something schmoozie. She expected him to slide over, put his arm around her, and say something like ‘someone like you.’ She expected a line about how he needed completion, fulfillment in his life, and how that she could provide that for him. Instead, he said, “Freedom.”

  “Whaa?”

  “I want to go where I want to go,” he said. “Do what I want to do with whomever I want to be with, and for whatever reason I want.”

  “But–”

  “We’re here.”

  Vanessa looked up. The limo was pulling into a long, circular driveway. The house at the end was not what she had expected. It was neither a penthouse apartment, nor a fleabag dive; it was a very fine old, two story Victorian house with three turrets.

  “You can see the river,” Justin said, “from the top turret.”

  “Where are we?” “Vanessa asked.

  “South Chelsea.”

  He led her in through a foyer. It was dark, but, lit from outside, the way hinted of arches and doors, light reflecting off of crystal hangings, butterflies and brass things.

  “Anyone home?” Vanessa asked, as he led her to the staircase.

  “Geena,” Justin said.

  “Who’s Geena?”

  “My housekeeper.”

  “She forget to pay the electric bill?”

  “Naw. She’s upstairs somewhere with her kid. What’s the point of having lights burning if no one is down here?”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Justin,” he said. “Justin Goodman.”

  “The Good Man with the foundation?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I remember saying once, how I wanted to kiss the man who thought that up.”

  And before she knew what was happening, she was in his arms and they kissed, tenderly at first, but soon with more and more passion. Her head spun. Maybe it was the night, maybe it was his cologne, maybe it was his firm arms holding her tenderly, or maybe it was the small thrill she began to feel inside. Whatever it was she clutched his arm and lay her head on his shoulder as they strode into his mansion.

  Upstairs, he showed her a room full of fine art. There were paintings of generals and scholars, maidens and matrons and then a whole section that looked to be for fantasy. He took her wrap and poured sherry as she gazed at ballerinas. They sipped and he told the stories of the paintings that she liked. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he stood behind her as they gazed at a half-naked water nymph stepping from a glittering pool in a lush glade. He began to explain, but she hushed him.

  “Don’t,” she said. “I want to just imagine. She’s so beautiful.”

  “She is,” he said, his fingers tracing her bare arms. “But she is simply color on canvas. You, however, are real.”

  She sighed, drinking in his charm, and lay her head back on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and she caressed his hands. She turned and looked up and he kissed her again, this time with fervor and as he did she learned then and there what many women had learned long ago; she learned that the power was in her and of her. Here she was with a rich and worldly man, and he was kissing her as if her were begging her. She felt that power. She melted in his arms and again let him lead. He led her to the bedroom.

  It was huge and elegant and had a fireplace with a low, warmly glowing fire. They embraced and kissed again before the fire. Then she pulled away, and standing in the orange light she struck a pose she had seen so many women do in the magazines and on TV and for the first time that night, he gazed beyond her eyes.

  He stood in the center of her room, and the look he gave her was as good as saying, “Come to me.” She floated into his arms and he kissed her, softly, gently on the lips. She wanted to clutch him and pull him to her, but he was slow. He was patient. He was silently telling her to relax and be at peace. She had expected, she had thought that he would have taken command and taken her as rough and as forceful as he had in her little room. But he didn’t do that.

  He reached around to the back of her top and deftly undid the hook at her neckline. She lay her head on his chest and held him as he slowly undid the zipper. She felt the cool of the night air waft across her back.

  She pulled away from his embrace as he carefully slid the dress from her shoulders. Inch by inch, he drew it down beyond her breasts and to her waist. Then with a tug from him and a wiggle from her, the gown was on the floor.

  She gasped silently. She stood half naked in the arms of a stranger. And yet he was no stranger. It was as if he knew her thoughts, her feelings, and all of her desires. It was as if she were in the hands of a dream.

  His fingertips caressed her thighs. He began to move them up, but he moved so slowly. He traced the place where her garters grew and the feeling on her thighs sent shivers through her. He found her panties and glided across the lace clinging to her flesh. Then his hand cupped her cheeks and pulled her to him. She felt his swelling against her. She held her breath.

  Then his hand traced up her spine. He followed her ribs, his fingertips running along until he found her bra. As if it were nothing, he undid the clasp and the elastic fabric fell away.

  “Oh,” she gasped out loud.

  “It is what you want,” he said.

  “Yes – no – it’s…”

  “What you need,” he finished.

  He pulled away and looked at her. His eyes were tender. His thumbs slid up the straps and then eased them down. The lace of the cups stretched across her breasts, then fell away. And for the first time that night, he looked away from her eyes. He gazed down at her, and she saw in that gaze a sort of relish that made her feel so very pretty and so very much a woman.

  He cupped her from beneath, and his touch was almost alarming. She had never been caressed there like that. She had been groped and fondled but she had never been held with such – such adoration. He didn’t maul, he didn’t paw. He held her as if he were relishing the feeling.

  “You are,” he said, “so lovely.”

  She melted with his words, and she wallowed in his touch. Holding her like that he kissed her again, his tongue exploring and probing, seeking and feeling.

  She held him tight in that kiss. She pressed herself against him so that his hands mashed her tits, and she pressed against his swell. She was feeling so alive that even her hair tingled. She had never been so consumed by desire, and as she kissed and clutched she understood the idea of lust.

  He grabbed her by her thighs. She spread her legs and he lifted her and pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He carried her to her bed and set her down. Again, she expected him to sprawl across her and do as he would with her, but he was so much more than that.

  He stood above her, gazing down as he took off his coat. She lay beneath his gaze. She was left with her panties, garters, and stockings. She was almost naked, but she was unashamed. She spread for him. She opened her legs and she grabbed the bedrails to show him that she was so willingly his.

  His face was stern. He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shirt. Vanessa saw the small curlies that adorned his firm and stern chest. The dim light softly glinted off his tanned skin, and she tensed.

  He lay on the bed beside her. Her heart leapt as the bed-springs squeaked. He kissed her with a kiss that was not more than a
glance.

  “Trust me,” he said.

  She couldn’t respond. She was captivated. She wanted to hold him but he lay his hand on her outstretched arm as if to tell her to stay. She obeyed. She clutched the head-rails of the bed as he kissed her lips, her face and her cheeks. His tongue flicked around the curve of her ear and she giggled a silent giggle.

  Then he slid down her neck and he kissed and licked in ways that made her shudder. Then he began to kiss and lick lower. He traced the line of her chest until he was tracing circles around her breast.

  Vanessa was alit with the sensations. His slimy tongue was exciting places that she never knew. He swirled and lapped around her tit and she was awash with a thousand needles of delight. She was feeling her old desires reawakening.

  She so was warm down there. She was seeping inside, and she felt a glow from within. And even as he teased and tickled her breast, his hand was delicately roaming the inside of her thigh. His fingertips followed the lace of her panties, and even as his tongue found her nipple, his hand cupped her slit.

  She clenched her teeth. The small of her back arched all of its own and she rammed herself onto his hand. She was starting to sweat. He nibbled her nipple, and his finger rippled around her lips.

  “Lovely lady,” he said softly. “Trust me.”

  “I do,” she whispered in a sigh. “Oh Justin, I do.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 9

  When Vanessa was twelve years old and becoming a woman, she was still enough of a little girl to believe in fairytale romances. She was certain that, just as it was in all those Disney movies, there would be one right man for her, and when they found each other, they would ‘just know.’

  That night, in Justin’s fabulous bed, it was as if they both just knew something else. He understood her small quivers, and she learned from his sighs. Loving long and lazily, they had taken their time in pleasing. And, unlike it had been with any other lover, Vanessa had found genuine pleasure in giving pleasure. She had delighted in his delight, and had such new and wonderful thrills in thrilling and surprising him. And, she also had been thrilled and surprised at how he had treated her so tenderly, and then so ravenously.

  In her teens, when she had found her way into sex, she thought often about those cartoon princesses; so self assured, and yet so femininely tender. She would imagine their wedding night, and fantasized about princess-whores; genteel ladies, whose dignity came off with their clothes. That was how she had felt with Justin.