by Francis Ray
Blessed with the ability to retain his hardness, Clinton joined Savannah on the cold kitchen floor and entered her with a force that made her body shake like a rattle. He practically had her under the table as they slid across the kitchen floor covered in sweat.
Clinton pummeled her body with all eleven inches of grade-A satisfaction. Clinton sucked Savannah’s salty-sweet nipples, causing her to call out his name.
“Clintooon, Clintooon . . .” she whispered as she pulled his ass deeper into her source. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby.” Clinton kissed Savannah’s trembling lips and pulled out with expert precision.
He dripped cum all over Savannah’s quivering breasts and stomach. And all she could think was how sweet it was.
“Hey, girl!” Giselle waved to Savannah as she sat outdoors at Scopello, a small Italian restaurant on Lafayette Street. It had been weeks since they talked, and they both had too much to catch up on and not enough time.
“Two house reds,” Savannah said, holding up two fingers to the young waitress. She slipped on her shades to avoid the relentless sun and smiled in Giselle’s direction. There was definitely something different about Giselle, including what looked like some recent weight gain hiding beneath a long, blue summer dress.
“Whoa, that four train was so packed and sweaty this evening. The air conditioner was broke, and folks had the nerve to smell funky, too.” She laughed, sitting down across from Savannah.
Savannah adjusted the strap to her cheetah-print halter top. “Well, it’s not their fault. There were plenty of times I wore deodorant and still ended up smelling a little musky.”
Giselle laughed again. “I’m talking musky to the umpteenth, girl! Anyway, nothing was gonna stop me from seeing you today.”
A timid busboy appeared and set two ice-cold glasses of water before them. Giselle anxiously sipped hers as she watched the after-work crowd zoom by on a humid, August afternoon.
“So how did your talk with your hubby go?” Savannah said, playfully tilting her head to the side.
“It went good. He told me he was feeling the same way about us, but he doesn’t want to lose me.” Giselle grabbed her glass of red wine from the waitress and sipped it noisily. “And I don’t want to lose him either. It’s just hard when you start off on the wrong foot. Make sure you get it right with Mr. Firefighter before you go any further. Da hell with his good health benefits.”
Savannah laughed and bought the glass of red wine to her lips. “Hmmm, well, I got that part covered. We stayed in bed for hours the other night. I’m telling you, I don’t know what he has over me. I can’t think of anything else but him.”
“I have never seen you like this. Not even with that scum Derrick. Mr. Firefighter seems to be doing more than putting out your fire; he is sparking some new flames in you, girl!”
Savannah gently patted her forehead, which was damp from the humidity. “It’s just a little scary. I don’t want to give my power away to any man, like I used to. When you do that, they shit all over you.”
“But this guy don’t sound like that. He sounds like one of those good men who slipped through the cracks. You betta get him, girl, before someone else does.”
Savannah covered her laughter. “See, it’s that type of stuff. I didn’t have to get him; he got me.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out then.” The waitress returned and laid down their salads.
Fanning herself with her hand, Savannah said, “Maybe, but I know he is gonna want more.” Savannah sprinkled some pepper on her salad. “His lease is up, he is moving, and he asked me to go with him.”
“So when are you leaving?” Giselle shoveled the salad into her mouth and looked at Savannah, bewildered.
But Savannah said nothing.
“Girl, I said don’t be messing this up. That man is showing you a commitment. You better go take care of your biz.”
“Giselle,” Savannah said, slamming down her napkin. “My business is me. It’s protecting my interests. I am not living with no man without a ring. Until I am married, it’s me for myself.”
“Fine, fine,” Giselle said, shaking her head as though Savannah were a hopeless case.
“Just because you moved in with Trey before he married you doesn’t mean it’s like that all around. At least you were engaged. I need something. I have made some major changes in my life, and I know I want all those things: some stability, some sense of normalcy with one man. And he knows that.”
Giselle’s frown slowly turned into a sympathetic smile. “I just want to see you happy, whatever you decide. Talk to him. But just remember—instead of talking about the life you want, sometimes, you have to just live it. If I tried to think through everything, I’d be still dancing in that club because I was afraid of getting disappointed again. Plus, some of the best things are unplanned,” Giselle said, dangling a fry from her mouth. “I’m pregnant! Six weeks, girl.”
“Congrats!” Savannah yelled over the loud sounds of police sirens. “No wonder why you looking all happy and all. I want to be the baby’s godmother,” Savannah said, squeezing Giselle’s hand.
“Oh, no, the last time you said the Lord’s name was on your back. No, thanks.”
Savannah couldn’t argue with her. They both laughed hard with their mouths full, turning heads from the nearby tables.
“This is the three-bedroom apartment on Seventh Avenue that approved me. It has beautiful bay windows, and it’s closer to your school,” Clinton said, showing her the pictures in his digital camera. They lay snuggled under his black silk sheets.
Savannah clicked through the photos and fell in love. The apartment was sun-drenched, with an island in the kitchen that faced the living room. The bathroom had one of those old-fashioned circular bathtubs and a separate shower. If it were possible, she thought, she’d jump right through the camera and into the gorgeous photos.
“So what do you think?” Clinton rubbed her shoulders as she lay across his chest. “I know you like it.”
“I do. Um, I think you will really be happy in it. It has everything, like the apartments in one of those home magazines.” Savannah pretended to sound excited, and not torn, as she felt.
“I guess you’re not ready yet?”
“I’m not, Clinton; I just don’t—”
“Savannah, I am ready for a real relationship. I am a grown-ass man and would like to wake up with my woman every morning. It’s about time you really started acting like we’re a couple.”
“How have I not acted like we’re a couple?” Savannah sat up in the bed and rolled her eyes so hard her head hurt.
“All I’m saying is, every time I try to get close you pull back,” Clinton said, his thick brows slanted in concern.
Savannah sank into the bed. “Seventh Avenue is just a ten-minute bus ride from me. It’s not like you’re moving out of state. I will be there with you whenever you need me—and when you don’t. I want to do this right, Clinton,” Savannah said, rubbing his chest. “You know I love you.”
Clinton sighed heavily, and Savannah felt the thump of his heart through her hands. “Let me just say this,” he began, with his dark, handsome eyes peering into her soul. “Before I met you, getting married was out of the question. And now you’ve made me want to get married. But I’m tired of playing by your rules all the got-damn time.”
Savannah tried to remain cool, but her insides were jumping all around. They had been together only four months, but she already felt a part of him. And that was why, she thought, she had to take her time. To her, keeping her own space was her only leverage. If she had learned anything about men, it was that they had all the power in the relationship, and very little before. It was up to her to keep hers until he showed her that he wouldn’t abuse his power later.
“I never really thought I would want to get married, either. But I’m not about to just throw myself at your feet because you mentioned the word marriage in our future. Life still goes on, and I have to l
ook out for me,” Savannah hissed. She didn’t mean to sound so defiant, but she felt that Clinton was trying to give her an ultimatum.
Clinton grunted, and she was familiar with his sound of frustration. He was a man used to getting his way, but she didn’t blame him. He was loving her the only way he knew how, and she was doing the same with him.
“Well, if it’s like that, I’m gonna look out for what I want. I already made my offer. And I see you made your decision,” Clinton said, getting out of bed and slipping on some gray sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“Clinton! Where you going?” Savannah flew out of bed behind him, but he shrugged her off him.
Savannah watched him search for his keys and slam the door. She couldn’t help feeling that she was rejecting him, and prayed he didn’t think that, too. She walked back to her bed and wondered if she was just making things worse. What if he just gives up on me? she thought. She lay back down in the bed, and the heavy weight of loss rested on her chest, which heaved up and down as she fought back tears. The bed that had been warm and toasty a few minutes ago now felt cold and hard. She fantasized about needing him to feel her with those big, brown hands. She had a feverish urge to have him in her mouth and suck in all his essence. She wanted to reassure him, make things right. But he was gone. She dozed off with dreams of him making love to her and whispering sweet, nasty nothings in her ear.
Four hours later, she woke up to a tender, soothing voice.
“Savannah,” Clinton said, stroking her hair. “I want to show you something.”
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and pitter-pattered to her kitchen. “You decided to come back?” she asked, looking at Clinton standing there with a bag.
He opened it and handed her a red pack of sour sticks, “This flavor will never run out.”
“I do want us to eventually move in together. I know this is gonna work.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hopped her naked body on him.
Clinton pulled down the jar from the cabinet, and a sly smile grew on his lips. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
A few minutes later Savannah was covered in the sugary taste of slim red sour sticks and in the sweet, new possibility of a love that was all hers.
Maryann Reid, a graduate of Fordham University, has written for Black Enterprise magazine, and her novella Single Black Female appeared on usatoday.com. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. She is currently working on her next novel.
Her Web site is at www.maryannreid.com.
Chocolate Kisses
by RENEE LUKE
To my editor extraordinaire, Tina Brown.
To the Playground, for fun, love, and support.
To my agent, Sha-Shana Crichton, for finding Chocolate Kisses a
home.
To Stacey Lynn Riemer, who is much more than my critique
partner—she is my best friend.
And finally,
To my husband, LA Luke, who is all the hero I’ll ever need.
Chapter One
TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT!
Tugging in a breath, Nicole Davis studied her reflection in the mirror. “Now or never,” she said, wondering if the dress she’d chosen to wear made her intent apparent.
“Lord, I hope so,” she whispered, smoothing her palms down her hips, feeling the softness of the persimmon silk covering her body. She knew apprehension would make the words difficult when it came time to tell Marcus why she’d called him over tonight.
Not that Marcus’s coming over to hang out on a Saturday evening was an unusual occurrence. Rather it was one that happened with weekly regularity, in combination with the Monday-Wednesday-Friday-morning workout regimen they shared at a nearby gym. Hell, she’d known Marcus since her senior year at California State University, Sacramento, a long six years ago, and had developed a close bond of friendship with him.
But last Saturday night she had worn a pair of faded jeans and a plain T-shirt, not a silk dress that clung to her body, revealing more curves than she knew she had. Even her cleavage looked larger, accentuated by the plunging line of the material and the wisp of cloth hugging one shoulder. Last Saturday night they were friends; tonight she wanted them to become lovers.
A butterfly tremor of anticipation ran the length of her spine. It wasn’t like her to set out to seduce a man, but tonight she put aside pride and took a chance, because if she wanted Marcus—and she did—she’d have to make her move before he left town for good.
Nicole bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Shaking off her unease, she grabbed up a feather brush, dipped it into Honey Dust, and lightly brushed the shimmering, sweet-scented powder across her chest and up the slope of her shoulders.
She liked the way the powder made her caramel-toned skin glisten, reflecting the soft golden rays of more than a dozen candles. She’d spent almost an hour arranging them around her bedroom, then setting them aflame.
Although she’d been expecting it, the sound of the doorbell startled her. Her breath hitched in her lungs. It’s just Marcus. Despite her intense physical attraction to him, she’d never been nervous in his company before. Nicole took a moment to smooth back her hair, which had been washed, pressed, and curled that morning.
Walking out of her bedroom, she flicked the wall switch, lighting the room with only the small flames of many flickering candles. Padding barefoot, she passed the kitchen as she made her way to her front door.
Entering the living room, she grabbed the remote control and turned on her stereo, glad she’d remembered to remove Jay Z, replacing him with the more sensual songs of Keith Sweat. The fact that her favorite CD was now considered old-school gave validity to this scene of seduction.
Next month she’d turn thirty. She didn’t have a man, hardly ever dated, and was downright lonely, not to speak of horny. And, with the announcement that Marcus had accepted the job offer that would move him three thousand miles away, this was the perfect—and quite possibly the only—opportunity to indulge in such a fantasy with him.
She was a woman with needs, and damn smart enough to know that unless she solved the problem herself, no one was knocking at her door.
The doorbell rang again, causing Nicole to laugh.
He was ringing the bell!
Sucking in a calming breath, Nicole opened the door with a smile, hoping Marcus wouldn’t see the nervous twitch of her lips.
Marcus stood on the top step, lounging against the bricks decorating the front of her Spanish-style house, his wide shoulders silhouetted by twilight and the artificial illumination of the streetlights. Her gaze moved across loose-fitting khakis and casual black button-down shirt that hugged the sharp contours of his sculpted body.
His full lips lifted into a smile. His midnight eyes sparkled in welcome. She’d always thought his smile was sexy as hell, but now the sight of it virtually stole her breath away. The straight line of his clean-shaven jaw framed his face. Damn gorgeous.
His left cheek was chiseled with a single dimple that deepened when he smiled. Nicole resisted the urge to run her finger across his indented cheek, just to feel the texture.
“Hi,” she said, holding on to the edge of the door to keep her knees from knocking together.
“Hey, Nic. You going out?” His eyebrow arched as his penetrating gaze swept over her.
“Nope,” she replied. It’s Marcus, girl; you can’t be nervous. “Come on in.” Nicole stepped aside, keeping the solid wooden door between them.
Marcus’s foot hesitated on the threshold before he stepped across and entered the foyer. Nicole closed the door as soon as he had passed and followed behind him, walking down the narrow hall that opened to the living room. Keith Sweat pulsed from the speakers. Marcus swung around to look at her, his eyes narrowed, his features showing he misread what he’d walked into.
Nicole could see his uncertainty. He tilted his head to the side, obviously confused. His dark gaze shifted farther down the hall, where the flicker of flames cast shadowed movements across th
e carpeted floor, spilling pale light into the dim hallway.
“You have someone here, Nic? Do you want me to go?”
“Only you, Marcus.”
He shrugged, then lifted his hand. “I brought a couple movies,” he said, showing her the two DVDs he held.
Nicole reached out and took hold of the movies, her fingers lingering on his skin for longer than she’d intended. With reluctance she pulled away, immediately missing his warmth. “I’ve been wanting to see these movies. But not tonight, okay, Marcus? I was hoping we could talk.”
“Yeah. Sure. What’s going on, Nic? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
Drawing a deep breath, Nicole gathered her courage for a moment, knowing this was the time to put up or shut up. If she had any hope of getting what she wanted, she had better speak up, and do it now.
“Nothing is wrong.” Nicole grabbed his hand again, her palm brushing against his as she intertwined their fingers. “Come in here.” It took only the slightest tug to get him to follow her into the kitchen. She set the DVDs on the counter and released Marcus’s hand.
Moving to the fridge, Nicole withdrew a bottle of white zinfandel and a Bud Light. She tried to ignore the heat of Marcus’s dark eyes as they followed her movements back to the counter, where she poured a glass of wine, then popped the top of the beer. She handed the beer to Marcus, careful not to allow her fingers to brush against his.
She was nervous enough about asking Marcus to change their relationship into a mutual yet more physically satisfying one. Touching him now, before she said what was on her mind could be a serious mistake.
Nicole lifted the glass of wine to her lips. Taking a long, deep drink, she searched her mind for just the right words. Go slow: explain what you want.
“Marcus, I want us to become lovers.”