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Lying Lips

Page 10

by Mahaughani Fiyah


  When did I become so wicked?

  Chapter 11

  “Do you love me enough to have lunch with me right now?” my new husband asked me.

  “Of course I do,” came my giddy reply when he simply held me, held my gaze.

  “How’s the restaurant?” I asked him when we finally went into the house and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Ah, the restaurant,” he said as he guided me toward a seat at the huge island, then began retrieving ingredients for a lunch it seemed he was to prepare. “Well, it’s not burning anymore, but it’s going to need lots of work. It wasn’t the financial loss I believed it to be though.”

  “So what’s your next move?” I questioned as he settled in front of the island and began to prep for the meal.

  “Tear down and rebuild. Since the opportunity is here, I may as well start from scratch and carve out a completely new place.” As he talked he moved about fluidly, gracefully, as if he had been in a kitchen since birth.

  “Hmmm,” I gave a distracted response as I watched his nimble fingers handle the foods and remembered how those same fingers handled me.

  Suddenly my mouth became dry and I was filled with a lust so strong I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if my air supply had been viciously cut off.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  I had one family going crazy with worry about me and instead of hopping on the first thing smoking to get to them and put their fears and worries to rest, I was sitting there, in another state, with another husband, who was still practically a stranger to me, eyeing him like I had not a care in the world.

  What was my problem?

  It unnerved me a little when I finally looked up and met Asanti’s gaze. “A penny for your thoughts,” he told me as he watched me in that way that told me he knew more than he was letting me believe he knew.

  “I uh…” I stumbled. “I was just wondering how you learned to cook and why you made it your profession.” I was becoming too good at this lying thing.

  “Well,” he said after raising one eyebrow quizzically, “I learned when I was about six years old. My mother had just run out on me and my father and we were left to fend for ourselves. Since I saw my dad doing so much with so little help, I decided to try and help him. So every time he went into the kitchen, I was on his heels.”

  He spoke calmly, but there was iciness in his speech, a coldness, as if he was still affected by whatever took place when he was a child. “Before I was ten I was able to complete entire meals on my own. Needless to say, my father was very grateful, especially since his cooking was terrible.” He paused, took a deep breath. “It was the least I could do for him. For us.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother leaving,” I told him.

  “Don’t be,” he looked at me, held my gaze. “Her leaving was the best thing that could have ever happened to me and my father. She didn’t love me, and I don’t love her,” he went to the stove and ignited fire under a skillet.

  “You seem angry,” I said to him. “Angry about…” I allowed my sentence to trail off since I wasn’t really sure what it was he was angry about.

  “For a long time I was,” he responded without missing a beat. “I was very angry. But what could I do? I was only six when all of that happened.” He became silent as he casually slipped ingredients into pots and had the kitchen smelling like heaven. “It affected me so much that I didn’t begin dating until I was twenty, and even then I was mistrustful of women.”

  “And now?” I asked him, my heart thundering. “Are you still mistrustful of women?”

  I was afraid of what his answer might be.

  “Not anymore,” he smiled at me. “Not since I decided to let my feelings out. And definitely not now since I have you.”

  Damn!

  “Why did she leave?” I questioned past the apple sized lump in my throat.

  His answer was whip quick. “Because she’d made another family with another man,” he looked up at me and paused all movement. “She had been married to my father for eight years. Had made a child with him,” he said as he placed the knife he had been using to chop seasoning on the countertop. “Then one day she meets this new man and just like that she was gone. My father and I were no longer useful to her. In fact, it seemed as if we were just in her way.”

  Was it really possible to feel anymore guilty than I was already feeling? Did he really have to drive more shameful nails into my already tightly sealed coffin? Out of all of the women in the world, did he have to choose me, an almost carbon copy of his mother? The one who was going to break his heart the same way his mother did?

  Damn!

  “Again, I’m sorr—” I never got to finish my sentence.

  “You didn’t leave me, Legaci,” he snapped his words out at me as he began cooking again. “She did.” Although his eyes were calm, I could see a deadly storm raging behind them. A storm that had been brewing since this grown man was a small child. At that moment I understood that my new husband was someone to fear. “You don’t owe me any apologies. Besides, you’re nothing like her. That’s why I married you.”

  “Yeah,” was all I could utter.

  “Now, enough of that talk,” he said with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “How about lunch?”

  When I looked at him, he was sliding a plate in front of me. A plate filled with shrimp and pasta and Alfredo sauce that smelled so good I wanted to bite the plate.

  But when had he completed the cooking? When had he served the dish? Why the hell was I even there about to partake of it?

  I should have been home with my real family.

  “Asanti, I have to go,” I announced.

  Where the hell did those words come from? I was shocked that I had just blurted them out like that.

  “I figured as much,” was what he said to me as he handed me a glass of vintage red wine. “Actually, I thought about that during my meeting this morning.” He took a seat across the island from me. “And I made arrangements for you to fly back to New Orleans whenever you’re ready.”

  Wow.

  I had no idea what to say to him. Here he was looking out for me, having my best interest at heart, and there I was being the wolf in sheep’s clothing ready to devour him the first chance I got. I meant him no good. I was definitely going to break his heart.

  Suddenly I burst into tears.

  Damn!

  “Hey, hey,” he crooned gently as he left his seat and immediately made his way to my side of the island. Instantly he took me into his arms. “What’s all this about?” He hugged me and gently rubbed my back. “What are the tears for?”

  I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. I hated myself.

  And still, I couldn’t tell him the truth. I mean, what was I supposed to say? Hey baby, you’re husband number two? And I’m going to break your heart just like your mother did? At that moment I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

  “It’s nothing,” I lied. “Just jet lag, and then your restaurant, and thinking about you as a kid and how sad it must have been to have a mother abandon you like that.”

  “Sweetheart,” he cajoled, “I’m okay.” He chuckled lightly. “But you’re not.”

  His words, although sweet and caring, made me sob even more. He was right. I wasn’t alright. I hadn’t been alright since I’d met him. I’d been nothing but the devil since I’d met him. Why did I have to meet him? And be so stupid in the aftermath?

  Mentally I was so tired. Doing my best to stay inspired… to make up lies so big and so bold. Making up more lies to maintain one’s already told. Too coward to woman up and tell the truth. I was dirty and deceitful all the way down to my roots. Who had I become? What had I done? And how did I end this treachery?

  “No, really. I’m okay,” I tried to assure him. I tried to get it together.

  “No, really. You’re not,” was his reply. “And I think it’s because you’ve been through so much in the last month,” he spoke softly as he stroked my hair. “You’v
e just met me, we’ve just gotten married. You’re trying to adjust to that new married life, trying to be a good wife and still work your demanding job. The fire, the constant traveling. It’s all taking its toll on you. You need to slow down for a minute. You need rest.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I resigned. “Maybe I do need rest.”

  “No maybe, sweetheart, definitely. So, I’m going to take back what I said earlier about you leaving anytime you want and returning to work.” Immediately my body stiffened. My hands clinched. I had to get back to Ashton and the kids. My family needed me. I needed them. “It’s okay,’ Asanti spoke soothingly as he stroked my back, trying to release the tension that had just crept into me at his words. “You can still get back to work, I just want you to take the rest of the weekend off and rest.”

  “But I need to—” again he cut me off.

  “You need to take care of yourself. And as your husband I’m going to make sure you do that.” He looked at me. Intently. His eyes serious, his grip strong. “And I’m going to take care of you too.”

  He then lifted me from my seat and sat me on the island so that he and I were face to face and eye level. Using one hand he spread my legs and walked between them. I stared at him. He kissed me gently. Wiped my tears away.

  “And the first thing we’re going to do is put you back in bed and then feed you lunch in bed,” he informed me as he rubbed his hands up and down my arms in a comforting manner. “As soon as I put the icing on this cake,” he said as he turned me to face the kitchen so that he could watch me, watch what I was doing.

  But it was I who watched him.

  And watch I did.

  In no time at all my mind had gone from worry and stress to a sexy mess. My heart thudded as I watched him handle that spatula, my thoughts more sensual, more decadent than usual. I saw him ease his fingers around the edge of the cake, dip the tip into the icing, and gently ease the icing onto the cake. That simple, non-sexual act was turning me on like crazy. Lunch wasn’t on my mind anymore. My other family wasn’t on my mind anymore. He was. Asanti was. Being roughly taken was.

  And the Bentencourt’s would have to take a back seat once again.

  Without realizing what I was doing, my body went into Asanti mode. Immediately I began unbuttoning my blouse. One by one, slowly tantalizingly. Asanti looked up from the cake. Looked at me. My hands. My fingers. My blouse. But he never moved from the spot where he was firmly planted. And he never stopped slathering butter-cream on that cake.

  When I was done with every button, I reached down and unhooked my bra. Slowly, easily, my breasts tumbled forward, my nipples aimed high and at him. They were sore, tender, desperate for his attention. I saw his hand tighten around the spatula, his knuckles practically turning white. And still he didn’t move other than to tend to the dessert.

  With my eyes now on his and his eyes on mine, I began to slowly fondle, massage, one breast. Tweaking my nipple gently between my thumb and forefinger. With the other hand, I aimed for the button on my slacks, slowly, teasingly. In a heartbeat, I had it unbuttoned and I licked my lips like they were tasty treats as I watched him watching me unzip my pants.

  Around and around the cake Asanti smoothly moved that spatula all the while his eyes were on me. Easing my other hand down toward my pants, I lay back on the long kitchen island with my head toward the edge and my feet on either side of the double sink that was in the middle of that countertop.

  Resting my shoulders on the granite, and my feet firmly on the hard but smooth surface, I lifted my hips and butt and in one smooth motion, slipped my pants down and off.

  Asanti inhaled sharply. But never moved.

  Wasting not another second, I removed my blouse and bra and in the blink of an eye, I gripped and then ripped my thong completely off.

  And there I was. Naked before him. Hot for him.

  And that’s when my husband moved.

  Fast as lightning his hands were no longer on the cake. They were on me. As I lay on the island, my body facing the ceiling, braced on my elbows, my new groom came to me. With my knees bent and aimed for the ceiling, my feet planted firmly on the surface of the counter, I spread my legs and watched the lust take over Asanti muscle by muscle.

  The feel of his hands on me was wonderful. The way he eased them over me. Across me. Down me. The way he gently caressed me as if I was fine china that he didn’t want to break. The spatula that he had spent so much time using on the cake was now being used to lavish icing on me. On my nipples. On my belly button. Between my thighs, on my puffy, distended lips.

  “Mmmm,” I moaned as the feel of the cold topping between my hot legs thrilled me. “Aaaaaahhh,” I moaned again as I watched him use his magic fingers to spread those lips and slather more icing there.

  I began to tremble. To shudder.

  And then his mouth was on my breasts. Licking away the same icing he had just applied. “Mmmm,” he moaned as if I was delicious.

  On to the next breast he moved, tasting, feasting, gorging on the sweetness until there was nothing left but my taut nipple which he gently, firmly bit into. Suddenly I was dizzy. The room began to spin. My husband began using his mouth to move down, further and further until his face was planted firmly between my thighs.

  Then he devoured.

  “Babbbyyyy,” I cried out as I lifted my chest and shoulders from the counter, reached for his head, gripped it tightly.

  One of his strong hands came up quickly, gripped my neck. Pushed my head back, forcing my back into a sensual arch. I thrust my hips forward, offering my core to him wantonly. He partook of it. Avariciously. Greedily. Devouring the butter-cream at my creamy center.

  As the room spun, as my husband used his tongue to extinguish the blaze within me, I did my best to focus on the lights above me. But I couldn’t. Asanti was taking me closer to the edge. Easing me forward. Slowly. Lasciviously.

  I fought for control. But that battle was lost. Then my body shook. Hard. My mouth opened but no sound escaped. Asanti flicked his tongue over my pearl one last time. Then sent me flying over the sexual edge. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I heard him chuckle sexily.

  Then I heard water running. As I slowly lifted my head, I saw my husband holding the hose attached to the kitchen sink that was between my sexy legs. I saw him place his fingers under the water as if checking for proper temperature, for perfect pressure. Then he looked at me again. Smiled. And before I could register what was happening, he aimed the water between my legs, at my center, and shock ripped through me with razor sharp claws.

  “Oh Ggggg… aaaaaawwwwdddd!” I screamed as the water made contact with my still thumping jewel. The pressure from the stream sent me into immediate seizures.

  Sensations I never felt before were rushing through my system. My blood heated, boiled for more. My head spun. I gripped the countertop, hoping for something to anchor me. My hips thrust forward of their own accord. My legs spread wider. I wanted more, much more.

  I looked up with glazed eyes at my husband. Panted like a primitive animal. Gave into the spasms that were plaguing me. He smiled down at me. And that wasn’t all. As Asanti allowed the stream of water to torture me, to pleasure me, he side stepped smoothly until he was at my chest then eased his mouth down to my breasts. And with his tongue and teeth, my new husband drove me to the brink of sexual delirium.

  “Asanti.” That was all I said when I reached the peak. “Asanti,” I said again when he sent me over it.

  As I did my best to recover from the sensual assault, I could feel my body being quickly pulled into a sitting position, my legs being thrown over the side of the island and then spread.

  “Open your eyes, Legaci,” his voice commanded, a rough whisper in my ear.

  Weakly I complied. And when I did, I was rewarded with the sight of his darkening eyes as he plunged into the depth of me. I was on the verge of a massive meltdown. Falling, falling into the depths of pleasure and delight.

  Asanti thrust, hard. Re
treated, then thrust again. I gripped him, held onto him. Wrapped my arms and legs around him as if I would die without him. Faster and faster he went. More and more I wanted. Then something in the core of me tightened. Sprung forward and tightened again. Tighter. Tighter. Until I felt as if I were a taut wire ready to be strummed and plucked

  And then he did it.

  Asanti looked me in the eyes, his beautiful brown eyes becoming a shimmering sea of black. Then he thrust one long, delicious, final time, and I gave up my juices as I fell into a tumultuous oblivion filled with blinding black mere seconds after I felt him release inside of me.

  Chapter 12

  When it was all said and done, a weakness fell over me that had my muscles too lax and my limbs extremely weak. As Asanti and I tried to walk to the bedroom for round two, I found that standing up had become unbearable.

  I couldn’t do it.

  “Hey there!” Asanti said as he quickly broke my fall when my knees buckled under me. Then, “I got you, baby,” he said as he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the bedroom as fast as he could. I was dizzy. So dizzy and so nauseated. And my head pounded as if someone was beating me with a baseball bat. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got you,” were the last words I heard as I fell into a spiraling abyss.

  “…was fine a moment ago and then she…” I could hear Asanti talking but he seemed so far away. “…walking to the bedroom and she collapsed…” Still more words from him, but who was he talking to and who was he talking about?

  As hard as I could I tried to open my eyes, to lift my head, but those simple acts seemed impossible. I was hot and yet cold down to the bone. I tried to speak, in my delirium I tried to ask Asanti to call Ashton, but my throat seemed to burn like fire before closing up on me. Then as if lifted onto a cool cloud that brought extreme relief, I seemed to be floating, floating, and then I was out.

  When I woke, I felt refreshed and invigorated like never before. Looking around the room I was stunned to find Asanti sitting on the edge of the bed, holding my hand with his head down as if praying.

 

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