“Uh-huh. Aw, damn. Here it comes, whoa!” Thick fluids gushed toward her stomach like water from a fire hydrant, releasing his backup. Quenching his thirst. Pushing Fancy away, Darius stroked his afterflow cum and her saliva onto his dick.
“You must be crazy if you think you’re finished,” Fancy protested, watching him shake his heads. “After all I endured, here, put him in while he’s hard.” Eagerly, Fancy lifted her gown.
That was his woman, no panties. A gold-laced thong.
Fancy spread her lips, granting him full access. Never having left a woman dissatisfied, Darius unbuckled his pants, shoved them to his knees, popping the head into his pussy. But what if he had…Fuck! Darius shouted in his mind, pulled up his boxers, then his pants. Leaving them unbuckled and unzipped, he flopped on the cool leather.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Got a lotta shit on my mind, that’s all. Go to sleep.” What the fuck was Slugger doing? He’d zoned out and…damn, damn, goddamn. Darius removed his gold-trimmed black jacket, balling the coat into a pillow.
“I bet you do have a lot bothering you. I’ll give you a minute to stop trippin’, but I don’t care how frustrated you are, when we get home, you’re giving up the dick.”
As she stretched her feet across the seat, Fancy’s gold train spilled onto the floor. Her precious head weighed heavily on his thigh, facing his stomach. Darius could tell she was tired. He was mentally exhausted knowing he’d disappoint her again once they got home.
Darius wanted to sleep too, but all kinds of audiovisuals rewound in his head. Especially when Ashlee had the audacity to say, “I love you no matter what.” Liar. Love didn’t have shit to do with what she’d said.
The driver was already cruising on Interstate 5 South, practically a straight shot to L.A. but hours away. Moving his limp dick from under Fancy’s mouth, Darius closed his eyes, trying to understand how a woman’s need to be loved vastly differed from a man’s desire to love a woman. How did anyone ever get married? Better question, why? Should he marry Fancy, knowing that he might be infected? To his grave, one way or another he had to lie.
Perhaps his mother’s need for love or her desire to be adored was the reason it took Darius Jones twenty years to discover her lie. After a paternity test confirmed the truth, Darius took back—or should he say claimed—his real name, and irrespective of whether his mother was to blame he could never eradicate the pain or escape the shame of having to explain why, at twenty years of age, he’d changed his last name. From Jones to Williams.
With the exception of not marrying Fancy and losing his firstborn, the day his mother told him who his biological father was was the worst day of Darius’s life. Darryl Williams. That was his real daddy’s name, but how could Darius regain the years? Years lost. Not knowing the man he’d idolized growing up; his dad was a former NBA star. Darryl was his college basketball coach when Darius played at Georgetown.
Darius’s mother knowingly sent him to Georgetown, knowingly allowed him to play an entire season coached by his father, knowingly attended all of his high school games but never attended one of his college games, and knowingly never said a fuckin’ word until after she’d conned Darius into quitting the team, giving up his dream, to accept a six-figure executive vice president position at her company. To repay his mother, Darius fucked all four of her top-level executives the same way she’d screwed him, secretly. Man, he’d forgotten to add Heather, Miranda, Zen, and Ginger to the list.
Darius imagined what his mother might think now that four years had passed since her confession. “You still trippin’ on that? I’m sorry I fucked up your life, sweetie. Get over it. Move on. Be a man about it. Okay, if you won’t forgive me, then I’ll just have to forgive myself and you’ll have to get professional help.”
Women.
Be a man about it! About what? Her emotional autopsy gutted his insides, ripped out his beating heart, then tagged his toe with “John Doe,” like she’d done no harm. Like suddenly without cause he’d become a heartless stranger to her.
Women.
They always wanted men to forget their mistakes, especially after they’d told their cure-all truth. If a man lied to his woman, she’d nag the hell out of him, reminding him every chance she got. That’s why a man had two choices: bury the lie and never tell the truth, or bury his soul for the rest of his life. A man in love eventually forgot his woman’s lies, but his subconscious never forgave her. Ever.
A tear sat on his left eyelid as Darius struggled to disguise the bitterness in his voice. Lowering the divider, he instructed the limo driver, “Man, drive faster,” then raised the window. The ride from Oakland back to Los Angeles seemed a lot longer than the trip going.
For a moment, Darius chuckled, flashing back on how neither Fancy nor he had showed up at their wedding in Los Angeles. Instead, both of them ended up at the pier in Berkeley—the first stop of their first date—forever their special place. Darius would never take another woman there. Most women he couldn’t remember where he’d taken them. What he did know was Fancy had better not take another man there.
Yeah, Fancy was right. They were two of a kind. Over five hundred miles away from their matrimonial service, they’d stood on the planks next to Skates Restaurant, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Undoubtedly Darius loved Fancy. Fancy excited him in every way imaginable. Challenged him. Confronted him on his lies.
In his heart, Darius also loved Ashlee. Only God knew how much he loved Ashlee. Ashlee, no matter what the circumstances, supported him. Every man needed a supportive woman. Ashlee shouldn’t have had to carry his baby nine months without him. Bury their son without him. Now that Ashlee needed him, she shouldn’t have to deal with her illness without him. He’d already failed her several times.
Glancing down at Fancy while she slept, Darius thought, Stop trippin’, dog. Your commitment isn’t to Ashlee. You’ve got the finest woman in the world on your lap.
Darius had already revealed more of his skeletons than he’d intended to Fancy, but how could he explain to his fiancée the phone call he’d received from Ashlee? He couldn’t. Hopefully, things would work out and he wouldn’t have to.
Not wanting to seem selfish—it was too late for Ashlee but hopefully not for him—silently Darius prayed, “God, I tried to pull out, but, but you know how good sex feels. Right? I’m not blaming You, Lord, we know the devil made me do it. Satan, I rebuke you. Lord, I know I’m on my second set of nine lives, but thanks to You I’m on a winning streak. I’ve rolled the dice again, please let’s not crap out. Too many people would lose their lives.” Darius leaned closer to Fancy, making sure she was asleep, and then he quietly dialed Ashlee’s number.
“Hey, how are you?” Ashlee answered like she hadn’t just given him the worst news of his life, next to the day she’d told him their son had died.
Angrily, Darius whispered, “How do you think I am? Were you serious about what you said earlier or trying to fuck up my wedding?”
“I was at your wedding. You weren’t.”
Darius’s lips tightened. “So what you sayin’? You was gonna drop that shit on me in front of over a thousand people?”
“You mean like the way you dropped me?”
Darius became quiet, biting his bottom lip. His eyes automatically shifted to the corners whenever he lied or avoided telling the truth. He had no nonargumentative response, so he waited for Ashlee to say something.
“Darius, I need to see you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, right now, or ever,” Darius replied, worrying how he’d feel about Ashlee if he did see her.
Firmly she asked, “Where are you?”
Darius whispered, “On my way home,” checking on Fancy, praying she was still asleep. Fancy was motionless. Eyes closed. Lightly breathing.
“Which home?” Ashlee asked.
Lowering his voice more, Darius mumbled, “The Valley. Why? What’s up with all the questions? You haven’t called me in mon
ths.”
“How close are you?”
Darius hissed, “Where are you?” then tightly ground his back teeth while flinching his jaw. Whenever his jaw tightened, Darius wanted to punch something or someone. Right now it was Ashlee.
“Close.”
“To what? Ashlee, don’t. Look, I can’t ignore what you said earlier, but right now I gotta go. Don’t call me. I’ll call you later.”
“I’m sick of being your fuckin’ puppet!”
Widening his eyes, Darius felt his forehead tensing in disbelief, giving him an instant headache, as he continued listening when what he should’ve done was hang up on the bitch. He didn’t mean to call her a bitch, but he hadn’t realized how attached she was to stupidity.
“Ashlee, please move in with me. Ashlee, please don’t leave me. Ashlee, I need you to work for me. Let me lick your pussy. Ashlee, let me fuck you! Well, I’m tired of being fucked!”
At any time she could’ve simply said no. Wasn’t like he’d held a gun to her head. Women. Was that why she’d fucked his brother?
“Doing every damn thing your damn way just to make you happy when you obviously don’t give a shit! About me!”
Maybe she should’ve given a damn about herself, less about him, and neither one of them would’ve had to have this conversation.
Ashlee continued, “So I’ma tell you the fuck what!” Gasping heavily into his ear, she softly said, “Better yet, hurry your ass home. I’ll talk to you when you get here.”
Like the bull he was, quick sharp puffs of steam hot enough to form smoke balls escaped Darius’s flaming nostrils as he shut his eyes, rolling his eyeballs to the top of the sockets. “Ashlee, you’d better not be at my house.” Darius wanted to exceed her anger but instead he said, “Fancy’s carrying my baby and she doesn’t need to deal with your nonsense.”
Darius could’ve simply said Fancy was with him, but Ashlee already knew that and that wouldn’t have convinced Ashlee to stay away from him. Damn, did he trust Ashlee wasn’t daring enough to trespass on his property that he hadn’t changed the locks? Fuck! How ignorant of him.
“Our house. I love you, Darius. I’ll see you when you get home. Bye, baby.”
Smothering his voice, Darius hissed, “Ashlee. Ashlee. Damn it,” then sucked in all the oxygen he could before blowing the hot air out of his mouth, fogging up the window.
A woman sure knew how to fuck with a man’s head. Heads. Both of his were in pain: one from not getting enough pussy and the other from hearing too much bitchin’. Was any of the shit Ashlee said true? Or was Ashlee jealous of Fancy and willing to do anything to keep him from getting married? Women.
How could Darius tell Fancy he was sorry he came in her mouth and that he couldn’t make love to her? Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe never again. He definitely didn’t want Fancy to hear the bad news from Ashlee. Why, of all days, had Ashlee called him on his wedding day to fuck with him?
Interrupting his mental monologue, the limo driver said, “Mr. Williams, you’re home,” cruising into the driveway.
Darius lowered the rear passenger-side tinted window, staring at his house.
Fancy opened her eyes. “What was that all about?”
The living room, dining room, and kitchen lights were on. Seconds later, all of the lights in his house went out.
Oh, shit, Darius thought. Holding his breath, he prayed for the best and prepared for the worst.
CHAPTER 3
Ashlee
Rocking little Darius in her arms, Ashlee kissed his lips, then laid him across the back car seat. The royal-blue baby blanket covered his lower body. Folding a pair of sweatpants into a makeshift pillow, Ashlee slightly propped his head, then fingered his thick curly hair. Six months had passed since the day she’d given birth. The same day he’d first and last seen his father. That would change when Darius got home.
Ashlee sang, “You light up my life, you give me strength to carry on…hum, hum, hum, hum…” until little Darius’s round hazel eyes became heavy, heavier, then gently closed. Their son was the new love of her life. His golden-tanned complexion was a perfect blend of her pale and Darius’s melt-in-her-mouth caramel-sugary skin. The shape and color of their son’s eyes were an exact replica of Darius’s mom’s.
“Wait here, my precious baby,” Ashlee said, rubbing his hand.
“Mommy’ll be back soon. This time with Daddy.”
Leaving the black rental SUV in Darius’s circular driveway, Ashlee grabbed her purse, quietly closing the car door. “Oh no.” Reopening the door, she lowered the window a half inch, then reclosed the door.
A few steps toward the front entrance, Ashlee yelled, “Ooohh,” then covered her mouth while shielding her eyes. Blinding lights beamed across the lawn. Kneeling on the GO AWAY mat, she rummaged inside her purse.
“Okay, wallet, credit card holder, lipstick. Shit!” The teeth of her comb lodged underneath her fingernail. Ashlee sucked her middle finger, then pulled out her keys.
“Please let this work.” Boldly she shoved the silver metal ridges into the lock, twisting to the right.
Click.
“Yes!” Entering Darius’s home through the front door, Ashlee stood in the foyer. An enormous topless painting of Fancy hung on the wall above. “Uuhhh. How disgusting!” Critiquing the image, Ashlee thought Fancy was as beautiful as the day she recalled meeting her for the first time at a fund-raiser Darius had taken Ashlee to. And while Ashlee would love to say the painting was airbrushed, she knew it wasn’t. A woman that gorgeous, another woman never forgot.
Long breezy hair fluttered side to side with each sensuous sway of her shoulders. Immaculate glowing skin. Peachy, perky, gravity-defying breasts that stood alone separated by nature. Sexy engaging brown eyes with hypnotic lashes batting like she was taking snapshots of Darius. Darius had pretended not to notice Fancy’s perfect size 7. Now he claimed she was carrying his baby. Fancy was probably the reason Darius had dropped Ashlee off in such a hurry, then left that night to return to the fund-raiser after-party.
Was that seventy-five-thousand-dollar check Darius donated and Ashlee had placed in Fancy’s cotton-soft meticulously manicured hand for Fancy? Or Byron’s philanthropic organization?
A man could easily pass another woman off as a friend or pretend she was a stranger, all along knowing he’d fucked her before, sometimes the night before. Ashlee had been that woman once when Darius had introduced her to Ciara. Had Darius fucked Fancy while Ashlee was living with him? What difference did that make now? Fancy had everything, including Darius.
More curious about Fancy than Darius, Ashlee roamed about Darius’s home in search of what she didn’t know. Anxiety, fear, and trepidation tripled-attacked her as she impatiently awaited his arrival. What would she say? How would she react if Darius was more concerned about Fancy’s feelings? Ashlee was already on the edge, and any form of rejection would push her into insanity.
“Why can’t I turn off the radio?” rang from her cell phone, indicating that Darius was calling. Hastily she answered, “Hey, how are you?”
Reclining on Darius’s plush golden suede sofa, Ashlee entertained his pathetic attempt to control her again. Not this time. Terminating their conversation, she said, “I’ll see you when you get home. Bye, baby,” then ended the call.
She rose angrily from the couch, and then the beaded train on Ashlee’s wedding gown traced her footsteps throughout the house. Cautiously entering Darius’s weight room, Ashlee froze in front of the ceiling-to-floor mirror. Tension wrapped her chest and shoulders in an invisible harness. Disappointed, she scolded herself, “I shoulda made a beautiful bride. Coulda been the perfect wife. Woulda become a fantastic mother.”
Mother, mother, mother, echoed in her mind. Fancy was carrying Darius’s baby. Was it a girl? A boy?
Gripping the cold iron bar propped parallel above her head, Ashlee reflected on the first time—over a year ago—when Darius screwed her in the same room she now stood in feeling dejected. Tears
flowed over her cinnamon lipstick into the crevices of her mouth.
That evening, a while back, Ashlee had entered his workout room. “Darius, Ciara is on the phone. She said it’s important that she speaks with you right now.” Ashlee handed Darius the cordless.
Darius coldheartedly answered, “I’m busy. Let me call you back,” then tossed the phone to the floor.
When Ciara called back, Darius said to Ashlee, “Don’t answer that. I’ll call her when I’m done. Come here. Let me teach you how to work on your upper body.”
“No, thanks. I have to get dressed. Maybe next time,” Ashlee said, rejecting Darius’s offer.
“It’ll only take a minute. Hold on. Grab each side.”
With the bar suspended above her head, Ashlee did as Darius had instructed.
Unexpectedly Darius cupped her breasts. Brushing her hair aside, he pressed his lips gently against the nape of her neck. Then he whispered ever so seductively, “I want to make love to you, Ashlee.”
How could she deny him? Darius was every woman’s dream came true.
She remained silent. Her fingers loosened, but not wanting to sever his touch, she didn’t release the bar. Her hips curved backward into Darius’s thighs as Darius pressed his long hard dick into her spine.
“You won’t regret it,” Darius whispered. “I promise.”
Lowering the spaghetti straps on her silk nightgown, exposing her breasts, Darius teased her pink nipples, then passionately made love to her from behind on the weight bench. Straddling his muscular thighs outside hers, Darius massaged her clit with his long fingers. The head of his dick navigated through her pussy as if he’d been there before. But he hadn’t. He poked, then stroked, her deep, inside and out, until she came at his command. “Aw, damn. I’m cumming Ashlee. Cum with me.” She had cum and somewhere along their blissful journey Darius detoured leaving her for another woman.
Staring in the mirror at her tattered image—dressed in all white—Ashlee knew if Darius had showed up at his wedding, he wouldn’t have married Fancy. Ashlee had prepared her “if anyone knows why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony let him speak now” speech. But no, Darius ruined her presentation. His limo never arrived.
When Somebody Loves You Back Page 3