Victoria joined him.
Lathering Victoria’s body all over, Heavenly gripped the handle of the showerhead, then knelt before her. Pointing the stream toward Victoria’s clit, she watched him open his mouth. Powering on the vibrator, he traded places, sucking, teasing, until she screamed his name.
When she nearly lost her balance, Heavenly stood quickly to his feet, caught her in his arms. “I’ll never let you fall,” he said. “I love you. Do you love me?”
Love. Was that the appropriate way to describe his true feelings and hers? Victoria had a strong liking for him, but she wasn’t in love with any man. Never had been. For her, love and in love were two totally different emotions.
Heavenly dried her off, tucked her in. “I’ll see you next weekend. But if you have some free time during the week, I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“I’ll let you know,” Victoria said. “Thanks for everything. Order yourself an Uber, Heavenly.”
“Thanks,” he replied.
“Lord knows you definitely hit the spot today,” she said, cuddling the pillow.
“No, thank you. Nobody has ever loved me like you do,” he said, then left.
CHAPTER 39
Chancelor
The baddest bitch in all of Atlanta was worth his wait. Chancelor grinned, admiring—more like lusting for—Elite. He wasn’t the only one. Surveying the room, he caught a few men and females checking out his woman’s body.
Yesterday he’d gotten a haircut, manicure, and pedicure. This morning he’d shaved, scrubbed his balls and the crack of his ass, and cleansed his dick thoroughly. He’d added a spritz of sandalwood cologne to his genital area. Chancelor didn’t want to give Elite any reasons to reject him.
“Sky blue is my favorite color. Did you know that?” he asked, placing his hands on her waist.
The fitted dress was a second skin, smooth to the touch. The halter plunged down almost to her navel. Her nipples protruded. Chancelor could hardly wait to bite them. If he hugged her again, the way he’d done when she first entered, he’d feel the firmness brush against his chest.
Elite planted the sweetest spearmint kiss on his lips. “Of course, I know. That’s why I wore it.” She kissed him again.
Sliding his hand down her spine, he cautioned himself not to disrespect her the way Tracy had done him. Elite’s ass sat higher than Tracy’s. Waist was smaller. Titties were huge. He didn’t care if every inch of Elite was manufactured off of an assembly line straight out of the Dominican Republic. He loved it and her.
“I’ma spoil you,” he said as they sampled the Cabernet at the black-owned winery in Avondale Estates. “Purple Corkscrew was a great recommendation. Your mama named you right. You have exquisite taste.”
Chancelor gently touched her ass with one hand. Pulled her closer and inhaled. Elite’s breath was minty and fresh. A cool breeze went up his nostrils. The experience was nothing like Tracy’s. He snickered at the thought of how Tracy had cleared the entire church after opening her stinky mouth.
“What made you post on ChristianFornicators?” she inquired.
He loved that she hadn’t backed away or moved his hand. “I’m looking to take a lucky lady off of the market. Settle down. Get married. Start a family.”
Really? Are her lips pressed against mine again? Damn. They are.
Chancelor closed his eyes, opened his mouth. Suddenly all he felt was air. Looking at Elite, he realized her nose almost touched his. But her mouth didn’t. If he puckered, he could reconnect.
“I want a man like you to stuff me with twins.” Sliding her hand between them, she rubbed her stomach. “I only plan on being pregnant once.” Stepping back, Elite created a gap wide enough for a child to separate them.
Like me? “Why not me?” he questioned. “We’d make the perfect power couple.”
Swirling the next sample of merlot, she told him, “It’s not your fault. My standards are too high for you.”
How could she draw that conclusion? “Explain yourself.”
“See that comment. You’re doubting yourself,” she said. “That’s inconsiderate of you.”
Chancelor frowned, then replied, “No, I’m not doubting myself at all. I know what I’m capable of.” Wanting to back away from Elite, he couldn’t. His back was to the bar.
“Now you’re defensive. You know men think having a baby is easy. Y’all not responsible after you get the pussy. Most of the men I meet want to be head of household, but they don’t want to be husband and father to their family,” she said. “I need a real man. Like you.”
Like? What the fuck did she think he was? He kissed Elite, then reassured her, “I am your guy.”
“Prove it. CashApp me a push gift deposit right now. A grand if you want to be exclusive. Ten thousand for a deposit to snap this body back, if you want me to have your baby. And five hundred if you just want a fuck buddy now and then.” Elite turned her back to him. Backed her ass up to his dick. “I’ll give you a minute to think about what you should already know the answer to.”
“I’m not looking for a whore,” Chancelor lamented in her ear.
“And I’m not interested in a broke man who thinks after dinner his dick is dessert. I can have any man I want, but what Elite,” she said, referring to herself in the third person, “will never do is suck broke or cheap dick.”
Chancelor wasn’t willing to lose the investment he’d already made. “Why don’t we see if we’re compatible first.”
She responded, “Cool with me, Daddy. But I haven’t received your funds.”
Her ass was tight. His dick was hard. Chancelor imagined lifting her dress and penetrating her at the tasting while holding on to her breasts. The guys who were still periodically staring at Elite could cheer him on.
“Add this to the five I already gave you?” He sent Elite her minimum. “Now we officially go together.”
Victoria had to cancel the spell she’d put on Tracy. How else was Tracy going to see his new woman?
Elite pulled out her cell, started typing. Facing him, she asked, “What type of woman do you honestly want?”
Fed up with her head games, he felt his dick go limp. “Let’s just enjoy the moment, then cap the date off at my place, where I can answer any other questions that you have.”
A tall, handsome dude entered the room. He approached Elite. “You ready, babe?” he asked Elite, taking her hand into his.
“It was nice meeting you, Chancelor,” she said as though she wasn’t his date.
“Hey, man,” Chancelor said, tapping the guy on the back. “You owe me a grand or you need to keep walking without my woman. I bought her.”
The man stopped. “Excuse me for a minute, baby,” he told Elite, then turned to Chancelor. Speaking in a low, deep tone, he said, “You’re disrespecting my girl. You want to repeat that?”
He could be brave, but doubted he’d be Elite’s hero even if he won the battle for her. Was this a new kind of pimps-up ho stroll where females no longer had to fuck for food or funds?
Chancelor left. Got in his car and drove away. He might as well take Tracy back if he had to deal with this bullshit. Parking a half mile away from Tracy’s home, Chancelor set up his drone.
Having it hover over Tracy’s place, Chancelor lowered the drone outside her bedroom window. Tracy was naked, on all fours, on her mattress.
“What the hell?”
He zoomed in closer on the guy’s face, then scanned down to dude’s dick. Watching him slide all of his sausage inside of Tracy. Her mouth was closed, but her ass was wide open.
Chancelor yelled, “Stop right there!”
As though she’d heard him, Tracy looked toward the window. Her mouth opened wide. Dude scrambled to get up. Hopping on one foot, he stumbled into his pants, one leg, then the other. He pinched his nostrils before running out of Tracy’s home.
Chancelor laughed so hard, his drone crashed into Tracy’s window.
CHAPTER 40
Jordan
&
nbsp; “Request denied! Ms. Jackson.” Judge Goodwin banged her gavel on the block.
Nothing Jordan had said warranted the judge yelling at her. Jordan had presented cases before her for years. This level of aggressiveness was new.
Calmly Jordan contested, “Your Honor, we have circumstantial evidence we’d like to present. You can’t deny our client his right to—”
Bang! Bang! Bang! The judge hammered. The block popped up, hitting her on the forehead. Jordan concealed her laughter, but others didn’t hold back their gasps or saying, “Oh.”
“Order in the courtroom,” Judge Goodwin demanded, placing the block back in its original location on her desk. “You’re out of order, Ms. Jackson. Are you suggesting that I’m incompetent?” she questioned.
Incompetent? No. Inconsistent. Yes. Racist? Maybe. Black people discriminate against our own kind, too.
Was Judge Goodwin overly protective of city law enforcers, like Anne Whitehall? Absolutely!
A chilling room filled with people awaiting their cases to be called became quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Today’s case was unrelated to any officer of the law. Jordan’s partners, against her opposition, had unanimously decided to represent the wrongful-death lawsuit for Donovan Bradley Sr. against Anne Whitehall and the police department. Someone’s decision had changed Jordan’s firm’s ability to get an ordinarily favorable ruling on any of their cases. From community service to probation, the odds had shifted from eight wins out of ten, to one dropped case out of ten, including misdemeanors of obstruction and trespassing.
Judge Goodwin’s outward display of innocence—long, loose bouncy curls, pearl earrings and necklace, and mocha lip gloss—didn’t match her acrimonious disposition.
Filing a request to have Judge Goodwin removed from the case would be a waste of everyone’s time, especially her client’s. Jordan whispered in her client’s ear, “Don’t worry, we’re going to figure this out.”
The prosecutor spoke, “Your Honor, I recommend four years of probation with ninety days’ jail time. With seven days of credit for time served.”
Oh, he’d gotten bolder with his plea offers since he knew the judge strived to make Jordan’s firm withdraw representation for Donovan. Jordan’s team had the highest number of cases won in Fulton County.
How easy, Jordan thought, for a young white male solicitor to make an unjust recommendation for a nineteen-year-old black man who was an honor student, college-bound, that had never been in trouble with the law.
Feeling defeated, but refusing to give up, Jordan avoided looking directly at the young man’s family seated on the front row. The mother, a single parent, sat between her two sisters. The young man, her only child.
Eyes filled with tears, her young black client cried. “I swear I didn’t do anything disrespectful. The police officer was harassing me. I’ll lose my mind if I go back to that cell. Fulton County is the worst county prison in America. Don’t you guys read?”
“Counsel, control your client,” Judge Goodwin said, then asked, “Have you ever thought about committing suicide, young man?”
That was a new low for Judge Goodwin. Jordan felt the statement was intended to encourage acceptance of the deal.
Jordan’s client frowned. Quickly she covered the gap between his lips with her hand, then whispered in his ear, “Don’t answer that question now or ever. Suicide watch and isolation are ten times worse than being in general population.”
“We declined the solicitor’s plea, Your Honor. And request a trial, Your Honor,” Jordan said.
“Bail is set for five thousand dollars,” the judge said, then slammed that damn gavel again. Too bad it doesn’t smack her in the face again.
“Next time be better prepared, Jackson,” the judge said.
No. What Jordan should’ve been was bed partners with the governor, police chief, and their inner circle of friends, like Judge Goodwin. Jordan wasn’t asking for leniency, but they all knew evidence mattered, and without it there was no way a jury could unanimously find her client innocent based on the lies the officer had written in the report.
The boy’s gaze upon his mother pleaded for her to rescue him. His mother lowered her head toward her lap.
Jordan knew his mother didn’t have $500 to bond out her son. But she did know her client could serve months or years awaiting trial.
Approaching the mother, Jordan said, “We’ll get him out. It’s just going to take a little longer than anticipated.”
One sister handed the mom a $100 bill. The other gave the mom $50.
Lawyers were like journalists. They weren’t supposed to show emotions or get involved in situations where they represented clients or reported events. Leaving the courtroom, Jordan had to make a decision. Was she going to try to save every client that Judge Goodwin ruled against, or was she simply going to do her job and nothing more?
Exiting the building, Jordan stood on the steps of the county courthouse, then texted Victoria, I need a HUGE favor.
Returning to her office, Jordan told her assistant, “Hold all calls.”
The first thing Jordan did was kick off her heels and close her door. She knew Victoria would bond the man out, but Jordan already felt guilty for asking.
She phoned the one person she knew would make her heart smile, Langston Derby.
“Hey, babe. How’s your day going?” he asked.
“Horribly,” she answered. “The system sucks.”
“Well, fortunately for you, I do, too,” Langston joked.
Laughing, she said, “What do you have for a headache?”
“You forgot? I have magical hands, and I’m running out to get your favorite bottle of wine, and I’m going to swing by the grocery store for butter pecan. Come by.”
Jordan already felt less stressed.
Her assistant buzzed on the intercom. “Hold on,” Jordan said, placing Langston on hold.
“Yes, Tia,” Jordan said.
“Donovan Bradley Senior is here. He won’t say why,” her assistant stated.
Unmuting her cell, Jordan told Langston, “I have to take this.”
“No problem, babe. I’ll be waiting and I’ll cook your dinner and bathe you tonight,” Langston said, ending with, “Text me your ETA.”
This was the last time she was allowing Donovan to ignore protocol. If he wanted to meet with her, next time he’d need an appointment.
She told Tia, “Send him in.”
Entering her office, Donovan wore a navy-colored slim suit with his jacket opened. A tan shirt was buttoned up to the collar. Nearly one hundred degrees was the high for the day. Buzzed haircut. Clean-shaved. His cologne greeted her before him.
“Don’t say anything, I won’t be long. I came to thank you for helping me to get justice for my son, but I’m concerned about the number of cases you’re losing. By the way, you look hotter than all outdoors. Maybe that’s why you’re not winning. Tone it down when we go to court. No one is going to take you seriously in that tight dress. If I may, I’ll send you a stylist.”
Jordan stood, placed her hand on the doorknob. “Tia,” she politely said.
“Yes, Ms. Jackson,” she answered.
“Introduce Mr. Bradley to our male partners. I think his concerns are more suited for the opposite gender. Do have an amazing day, Donovan,” Jordan stated.
Barely waiting for his ass to cross the threshold, Jordan closed her door.
CHAPTER 41
Kingston
“Let’s get out for brunch. Go to Copeland’s. Then we can go to my shop. I’ve been dying to get your other measurements,” Theodore suggested. Rolling onto his side, he rested his elbow on the mattress; with his chin in his palm, he fluttered his eyelids. His fingertips touched his cheek.
“All you can eat” deliciousness came to Kingston’s mind immediately. Lilly had taken him there on a Saturday. Fried catfish nuggets. Omelets made to order. Crawfish étouffée. Shrimp creole. Red beans and rice. Lamb chops. Freshly carved ham. Grits. Bacon. Eggs
. Chocolate chip cookies. Banana pudding. Pasta. Salads. Alcoholic beverages starting at 12:30 p.m., but that was on Sundays. All that, and live music. Kingston’s mouth watered at the thought of the Creole jambalaya. He got full thinking about the calories.
“I do want to make it to your clothing store. That’ll be dope.” Now that he was permanently in the ATL, Kingston could establish and promote his unique style. And Theodore could be his assistant.
Tempting as the bottomless feast was, being seen with a man who’d exhibited feminine ways wasn’t happening again. Secretly Kingston felt embarrassed witnessing that Theodore couldn’t completely contain his public display of affection while they were in B-More at the Inner Harbor. Kingston had never been on a da-dada-da-date with a man. Theodore being comfortable with his sexuality made Kingston the opposite.
He’d pretended not to see Bianca in the lobby at the hotel in Baltimore. Kingston prayed she hadn’t coupled him with Theodore. Kingston became upset at the thought that Theodore believed he could (but couldn’t) mask his mannerisms whenever he chose. But how could Kingston ever stay angry with a lover so sweet.
“Tell you what. I’ll consider it, but not today,” he lied. “Why don’t we order in, chill outside on the deck, and make . . . I mean have sex in the sunshine,” Kingston said; then he raised his head and kissed Theodore.
Neither of them was under the sheet. Both of them were naked. If he had been at home with Monet, she’d be buried in cotton up to her collarbone.
Kingston’s cell vibrated. Stretching his arm to the nightstand, he picked it up. Held it in front of his face.
Theodore stared at him. “Can we have one day,” he asked, holding up a finger, “to ourselves without any outside interruptions? You don’t see me picking up the phone every time I receive a text or a call.”
“You don’t have kids. I do.” Kingston silently read the text from Langston, What’s up?
Kingston scratched the nape of his neck to suppress the urge rising in his groin, then replied, Nothing much, then read an incoming message from Monet, Thought you’d want to know the girls are in a play tomorrow.
Careful What You Click For Page 18