Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This

by Mary B. Morrison

  Parting her thighs, Darius said, “Let me see her. I know she’s wet.”

  Slowly, Fancy lay across the sheet, halfway slid off the thong that was restricting her flow, then waited as Darius pulled her thong over her knees, down her legs, and then over her feet. Darius held the emerald lace, sniffed, then seductively commanded, “Spread your legs. Let me see her. Um, damn, what is that smell? You smell sexy. You got me so hard I just wanna give this.” He slid his huge dick from underneath his blue UCLA sweatpants.

  Like a ballerina, Fancy’s legs parted parallel into a full split, seemingly without her assistance. She paused.

  “Damn, you’re limber. That’s sweet.” Gently parting her vagina into three sections, Darius said, “She’s almost as cute as you. Let me see you work her out on your pole.”

  “Sure, but not—”

  “Tonight. I know.”

  “Then let me taste you. And next time maybe you’ll do a dance for me.”

  Darius’s tongue softly parted her lips. “Oh, she’s sweet and sticky.” His slippery tongue slowly journeyed up one side of her shaft. Pausing at the top he gave Miss Kitty a kiss, and then his tongue continued down the other side. Miss Kitty pulsated with joy as Darius explored her inner lips. His lips rested at the top of her shaft again, softly pressing. Then he kissed down her shaft. Fancy wanted to scream. All the frustrations from the day’s activities floated from her body.

  “Damn, you taste like cotton candy. I could eat you forever.” Continuing his lip-tation, Darius’s kisses turned into sucks starting at the top of her shaft all the way down to the very tip of her clit. Juices eased from it. Miss Kitty was wet on the inside, too. Darius sucked a little harder, then his tongue traveled inside her walls again. Fancy wanted to cum so badly her thighs clamped over Darius’s ears.

  “Not yet,” Darius whispered, placing his palms inside her thighs, moving them outward. “I’m enjoying your taste too much. I want to take my time.”

  Damn, but could Fancy take her time? Inhaling deeply through her nose and slowly out her mouth several times, Fancy was able to lessen her orgasmic flow.

  “That’s good,” Darius whispered, sliding off his sweatpants and his sweatshirt.

  Aw, damn. Darius’s cobra-shaped body was beautiful. If only with his body, Fancy was definitely in love. Caramel. Smooth. Muscular biceps, chest, shoulders, and his waistline was incredible. Fancy was pleased that Darius wasn’t bulging like those weight-lifters on steroids. Simply pure athletic. Graceful. The body Fancy had envisioned on Kobe was nothing compared to Darius’s. Easily Darius looked ten times better than any basketball player she’d seen or met but Fancy had never dated a potential professional athlete.

  Darius repeatedly teased her breasts, her butt, the crevices in her fingers and toes for well over an hour, then redirected his attention to Miss Kitty. “You want me to put him in after you cum?”

  Fuck it. The biggest dick she’d seen was staring in her face. Fancy was burning up inside. “You have a condom that fits?”

  Darius whispered, “Of course.”

  “Then, yes. I do.”

  Rolling on his condom, Darius’s lips captured her entire shaft and sucked gently. This time when Fancy came to the edge, she came hard and long. Darius positioned his head outside her pussy then slowly penetrated Fancy. Fancy continued cumming. Miss Kitty suctioned hard.

  “Damn, you feel so good. Can I put him in the back door next?”

  “No, I don’t do that,” Fancy lied.

  “Then turn over.”

  Ignoring Darius’s request, Fancy said, “You are a much better lover than I anticipated,” then ran her fingers through his locks. Fancy looked into his eyes to see if she could vibe with the real Darius. Exchanging breaths, when Darius exhaled, Fancy inhaled. Fancy waited until he inhaled then she exhaled. “You are so beautiful.” Fancy’s fingers caressed his chest as she leaned forward, kissing Darius’s lips.

  Each time the thickness of his penis climbed her walls, Fancy clamped onto his head and squatted lower. Attentively, she responded to Darius’s body motions with her emotions, hoping to connect on a level she’d never experienced before. She waited until Darius was ready to release himself and came with him, holding him closer. Tighter. Lovingly. Afterward, Darius scooted down, lay his head between her breasts next to her heart, and neither of them moved. Darius’s lean caramel flesh peacefully rested on top of Fancy until the morning sun’s rays kissed their bodies.

  Awaking in the same position, Fancy whispered, “I don’t want just another relationship, Darius. I want you. All of you.”

  “Don’t say that,” Darius mumbled. His lips grazed her nipple. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

  “Yes, I do. For the first time, I think I’m falling in love. With you. But I’m not sure. But what I do know is, I need somebody who loves me for me.” Pausing, Fancy wondered how Desmond was doing in Atlanta, then continued, “And I was kinda hoping that person would be you.” How could she be sure when she’d only had sex with Darius one time? But that first time felt like they’d been together before. Did great sex define love? Or did love define great sex?

  “Well, don’t,” Darius protested. “This may sound crazy but a homeless woman told me that death follows me. She said I was going to marry but not the woman I want. So I can’t want you. Besides, I have to go back to L.A. tomorrow to get ready for college and I’m not sure when I’ll be back here in Oakland.”

  Fancy focused on the part of Darius’s statement that was most important to her future. She wanted to tell Darius about her encounter with the homeless woman but Fancy needed more information on his relationship. “Are you engaged to someone?”

  Quickly Darius replied, “No.”

  “Are you planning on proposing to someone?” Fancy asked, teasing one of his locks.

  “Not anymore. I told you I don’t believe in relationships.”

  Exhaling, Fancy said, “You know what?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know if you recall me mentioning it, but I met a homeless woman, too. She said someone was going to try to kill me and I needed to take a self-defense class. I took that class months ago and nothing has happened.”

  “Yeah, I hear you. We must be two strange individuals. How many individuals meet crazy homeless people?” Darius held Fancy tighter. “I’m sure it’s not the same woman. You wanna make love to me again? I need that.”

  Make love. That sounded so delectable but not nearly as sweet as the man who’d asked. Fancy whispered, “Yes, I do.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The quality of life for Darius rapidly declined. Being back in L.A. with no money was almost as depressing as not seeing Fancy for eleven days. Fancy called every morning to say good morning and each night to tell him good night. If Darius was busy in his dorm room talking to his roommate, Lance, or allowing females that showed up nightly at his dorm door to entertain him, he didn’t answer Fancy’s calls but was happy the next day listening to her sexy messages.

  Fancy was special. So special that Darius spent a few more of his last dollars to visit Fancy for the weekend. When Fancy confessed she needed someone to love her, Darius wasn’t man enough to admit that he, too, needed someone to love him. Darius wanted and needed to hold Fancy in his arms again. This time, when he saw Fancy, Darius would share his deepest feelings.

  “We’ll begin our preboarding of first-class members only. If you’re seated in first class, you’re welcome to board at this time,” the chipper flight attendant announced.

  Darius sat at Gate 72 holding a boarding pass for group five and a novel he’d recently purchased at an airport bookstore, The Preacher’s Son by Carl Weber, hoping some guy had more issues than he.

  Observing the nearby passengers, Darius realized that flying coach was reserved for medium- to low-income to the unemployed penny-pinching travelers with bad credit or too many goddamn unruly kids. Anything less than prime, including interest rates, was definitely not created for
Darius, but thanks to his hypercritical, scheming stepfather, Darius could no longer afford to spend the additional hundreds of dollars on a first-class ticket.

  Now that Darius’s mom knew that Wellington wasn’t the ideal husband, she still wouldn’t divorce him. His mother adored Wellington. Darius had no proof, but his instincts told him that somehow Melanie was involved in running Somebody’s Gotta Be On Top. Otherwise, why did Wellington protect Melanie instead of his mother? A piece of ass was never more important than the wife. Even Darius knew that. His mom didn’t know that he was aware of everything that happened at The Cheesecake Factory that day, but a man as powerful as Darius had many eyes in many places watching many people, including Fancy, all the time.

  Wannabe employees, actors, or sponsors would call or leave messages on his voice mail pretending they knew him well by saying, “Hey, Darius. Just called to say I saw your girl in the city today shopping Neiman Marcus. Give me call so we talk about my upcoming project. I want you in on this man. My number is . . .” Most of the callers, Darius barely remembered, but the information was always welcomed.

  Reflecting on how his mother had gotten furious at him, screaming, “Darius, you will do anything to hurt me!” Darius had only tried telling her what she should’ve already known. Wellington was no good.

  Smack!

  Darius’s face burned with bad memories of almost striking his mother back. “Are you crazy? That’s my face! What’d you hit me for? Wellington’s the one you should be going off on.” That was the first time his mother or any woman had slapped him. What gave her the right? Tired of defending himself against Wellington, Darius gradually peeled away his mother’s fingers then angrily articulated, “Don’t you ever hit me again.”

  Reliving the moment, Darius’s throat tightened. Clenching his back teeth, his jaws twitched recalling how his mother ignored his demand and continued, “Just because you hate Wellington, don’t try to make me hate him, too!”

  Men knew one another’s vices but Darius would’ve never told his mother about Wellington’s two-year affair with Melanie Thompson if Wellington hadn’t stolen his money and his company.

  Damn, Darius couldn’t continue letting Fancy drive his uninsured Escalade but perpetrating his lifelong style of spending lots of money on the finest women, Darius didn’t know how to ask for his car back without pissing Fancy off. Women. Wasn’t that some shit? Darius Jones, trippin’ over what started out as a quickie. A “wham, bam, thank you for your time” dime piece. A “let him bust a nut and then he was done” chick. Months later, Darius was struck and stuck.

  The friendly flight attendant smiled at Darius then announced, “This is the last boarding call for flight two, two, seven to Oakland.”

  When had he missed his seating number? Longing to hold Fancy in his arms once more, Darius fingered his locks, zipped his black leather jacket, brushed his black slacks, and then boarded the ten-thirty Friday morning flight at Los Angeles International Airport.

  Fancy was the only person who understood his plethora of problems or cared enough to listen. Eventually Darius would have to find a reason—legit or not—to dismiss Fancy. Her clever technique of persuading him to express his feelings and disclose personal information was extremely upsetting. Sure, some people had acquired knowledge of some segments of his life but no one had uncovered Darius’s vulnerabilities. Until now. Until Fancy.

  There was a part of Darius encased within his ribs, on the left side of his body, pounding against his chest that genuinely loved that sultry woman. Being with Fancy was different from sexing his ex-fiancée Maxine, his step-sister Ashlee, all his faceless one-nighters, the chicks that boldly came to his dorm, and his soon-to-be ex-wife Ciara.

  Maybe Darius desired Fancy because she was more physically fit than all of his women combined. Or because Fancy had sucked his dick better than Kimberly. Or perhaps because Fancy wasn’t with him for his money. Or at least he hoped not. Or simply because Fancy had confessed, “Darius, I’ve never been in love. I want to learn how to love you unconditionally so that if my life depends upon your survival, I wouldn’t have to think twice.” What bothered Darius the most was, when he wasn’t with Fancy he wanted to be with her. And that was the difference.

  Who was he fooling? He was falling in love. Rummaging through his past affairs, a short time ago Darius believed he loved Ashlee, and two years ago he was sure he was in love with Maxine. He’d never loved and barely liked his wife. But Fancy . . . Darius exhaled, thinking aloud, “Nothing has ever felt like this.”

  For the first time true love was riding more than his jock. And Darius hated it. In the midst of blinking, when his eyelids touched, Darius yelled inside his mind, Fuck this dumb shit! Love is for suckers. Punks! Wimps! Willing to relinquish control of their emotions. Darius Jones! Get your shit together, man!

  Opening his eyes, Darius stored his bag, claimed the aisle seat in row twelve next to his assigned middle seat, daring anyone to ask him to move, fastened the seat belt tight across his lap, punched ten on his cellular, and then hit the talk button.

  “Hey, Darius,” Fancy eagerly answered. “I’ll pick you up in front of baggage claim at noon. I can’t wait to see you. I miss you, baby. And I have a surprise for you.”

  The last surprise Darius had received was a twentieth birthday party from his mother. Then he’d stood in a room filled with his fiancée Maxine, his mom’s four executives, all of whom he’d fucked, and his early birthday date, Kimberly Stokes, who’d worn only a pair of stilettos and a short red coat, rotating his present between her chocolate thighs in front of a mound of mousse on the dessert table. Darius’s mom vowed never to surprise him again. Women. If Fancy would listen for two seconds or inhale, Darius could answer.

  “Hey, Ladycat. I—”

  “Oh, Darius. Oh, sweetheart, you won’t believe what happened to me yesterday. Two things. One, the police found my Benz so I can give you back your Caddy, Daddy. And two, Mr. Riddle, my real estate instructor, introduced me to this tycoon who’s giving me an exclusive listing on his ninety-four-unit waterfront complex in San Francisco! Not forty-nine like the football team. Ninety-four units!”

  Darius knew Fancy had zoned out when she started calculating aloud her seven-figure real estate commission as if he weren’t on the phone. “Let’s see, if the property sells for the asking price, two hundred million dollars, times six percent commission, divided by two, times her sixty percent is . . . damn! Howard is going trip out! Can you believe that? Darius? Did you hear me?”

  Yeah. He’d heard everything except the dollar amount. Hanging up, then powering off his phone, Darius unbuckled the seat belt, retrieved his carry-on from the overhead compartment, and dashed down the aisle through coach into first class, and out the door.

  The flight attendant yelled, “Sir, wait! This plane is departing immediately.”

  Without looking back, Darius replied, “I know!” then hurried to the parking shuttle.

  Pursuing Fancy was a huge mistake. He couldn’t date a woman who had more money than he. It took four months for Fancy to give up the pussy. She asked too many damn questions. And bragging about her newfound success was unattractive for any woman. So what if she’d closed on four houses last month, had three new deals on the table, and was closing on two investment properties in Las Vegas. And she’d better not give his pussy to that real estate tycoon Riddle introduced her to, some old dude who was supposed to give her an exclusive.

  Rich men promised females anything to get laid. Why didn’t Riddle list his friend’s property for sale? If Fancy was going to be Darius’s future wife, she had to quit dealing with so many rich men, especially Darius’s competition, Byron Van Lee, who seriously wanted to marry Fancy. Darius wished he could get back the seventy-five grand that he’d generously donated at Byron’s charity event last year where he’d first met Fancy.

  Cruising out of short-term parking onto Century Boulevard in his burgundy Bentley, Darius laughed at himself. “You’re the only arrogant
youngster imitating a millionaire who has rich parents that literally won’t give you a dime. What the hell are you doing driving around with your entire savings in your pocket?” Darius glanced at his image in the rearview mirror. His three hundred and sixty locks had grown halfway down his back. Two had detached from the roots due to stress but Darius reminded himself that he was still an irresistible brotha. Thick cocoa lips. Chiseled chin. A solid six-pack complemented his snake-long dick.

  Months ago Darius could’ve cashed Fancy’s four-, five-, and six-figure checks repeatedly. Darius parked in the garage space marked CMCA for Ciara Monroe Casting Agency, next to Ciara’s S600 Mercedes, rode the elevator with a bunch of wanna-be millionaires, and then entered his wife’s office.

  Ciara’s new receptionist was consuming versus earning her salary, frivolously chattering on the phone.

  “Hum-um. Excuse me, but is Mrs. Jones in?”

  Pivoting in her chair, she whispered into the receiver, “Yeah, uh-huh. Girl, hold on,” then replied to Darius, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. We don’t have a Mrs. Jones here. What company are you looking for?”

  “One more uninformed comment like that and you’re fired. Get off the phone and learn your job. Yes, you do have a Mrs. Jones. Ciara.”

  The secretary’s glittered, glossy lips suctioned against her teeth. “Oh, you mean Ms. Monroe. I didn’t know she was married.” The thirty-something-year-old provocatively dressed woman’s eyes roamed Darius’s six-foot-seven stature, lingering between his pockets. “Oh my.” She looked up then said, “Ciara is in with a client. Do you have an appointment?” Twirling her hair, her tongue rotated in the corner of her mouth. She smiled.

  “That’s your damn job, too! Get off the phone and check your calendar.” Darius could’ve slapped the phone she held in midair from her hand as she waited to resume her conversation. He could’ve fired the airhead but she wasn’t worth his energy. Instead, Darius strolled down the hall, punched in the digital code to unlock Ciara’s door, and entered her office without knocking. “Ciara, we need to talk—”