My Storm

by Tiffany Patterson

  “Cum for me, doll,” I tell her.

  Her body tightens up, her legs attempting to squeeze together, and I feel the flood of juices against my tongue. If all of that wasn’t an indicator, the deep guttural groan I hear tells me she’s just had the most satisfying orgasm of her life. Her first orgasm.

  Satisfied, I release her thighs and sit back up on my haunches, looking down at her. Her chest is heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

  “Damn,” she moans.

  “That’s just the beginning. But that’s it for tonight.” I say, reaching up to remove the scarf and massage her wrists. I lay down at her side, turning myself to stare at her and begin stroking her belly. “Do you need any water or anything?”

  She begins to shake her head, but then she stops. “No, I-I’m better than I’ve ever been.”

  The smile she gives me wearing her post-orgasm glow satisfies me in ways I never thought possible. I fondle her belly-button ring. “This was a surprise.”

  She giggles. “I got it two and a half years ago after my first book was published.”

  “A gift to yourself?”

  She nods. “And a reclaiming of my body, sort of.” She shrugs.

  I nod, wondering what that meant. “Do you have any questions for me? About what just happened or anything else?” I ask, continuing to play with her belly-button ring.

  “Um, yeah, I do have a question.”

  “So ask.”

  “Can you tell me more about your foster mother?”

  My head shoots back, surprised at this question. “Really?”

  “Yes. I mean, I have questions about what just happened, but I need to let those play in my head a little more. In the meantime, I want to know more about you. I got the impression you didn’t want to discuss your foster mother earlier, but I’m here practically naked, exposed to you after you’ve just spanked me. I think it’s only fair that you expose yourself a little too.”

  I remain silent, contemplating what she’s really asking me. It is only fair of me to share a piece of myself with her considering the circumstances. “You may have a point. What would you like to know?”

  “Tell me how old you were when you went to live with her. What was she like? I sensed that you really love her when you mentioned her earlier.”

  I nod. “I did. Still do although she passed away many years ago.” I lay back on the bed, pulling her into me. “She was the first person who showed me what love really is.” I stroke the soft skin of her shoulder while staring up at the ceiling, my free arm perched behind my back. That’s not an easy admission for me. For the rest of the evening, I spend our time together telling LaTasha about the first woman who ever showed me any real love. I was twelve when I went to live with Ms. Janice, whom I eventually started calling Mama Janice. Those were good memories to indulge in. Before I knew it, we’d both fallen asleep, smiling at the stories I’d told LaTasha about Mama Janice.

  Chapter Nine

  Tasha

  “Oh!” I yell out, surprised by my ringing cell phone. I look at the number and immediately answer. “Hey, Stacey!” There’s more excitement in my voice than I can remember having in a very long time.

  “Hey! How are you? How’d your date go last night?”

  Stacey and I have continued to talk at least two to three times a week. So far, she’s the only one I’ve discussed my budding, whatever this is, with Jeremy. She’s just easy to talk to.

  I sigh contently.

  “Woah!” Stacey exclaims.

  “What?” I question defensively.

  “Nothing. It’s just that sigh sounds like a good sign. Your date must’ve gone well.”

  “It did, but I-I don’t even know how to describe what I experienced,” I admit, biting my lower lip. I’m unable to explain what happened the previous night. Yes, I’d had my first orgasm, but it was so much more than that. Jeremy was so controlling and assertive, but at the same time so considerate. Yes, there was pain, but the pleasure far outweighed it.

  “Goddamn, girl! That sounds like an out-of-body experience.” She giggles and I join in.

  “It sort of was. Can I ask you a question?” I hedge.

  “Of course.”

  “Um…” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “Have you…uh…like… Has Andre ever spanked you?”

  I pull the phone away from my ear when Stacey’s boisterous laughter comes through. “Oh, that’s what happened? Yeah, Andre can get a little possessive and dominating. He’s not a full-on Dom, like Jeremy, but he definitely has tendencies. I’ll have to tell you about this one time when we broke up while dating and he locked us in the bathroom at this gala. Whew!”

  “Oh my God!” I laugh.

  “Yeah. Shit, I’m getting hot just thinking about it. I need to send some pics to my husband. He loves when I do that in the middle of the work day.”

  “Yeah, I should probably get back to writing too.”

  “Ohhh, you’re writing?” Stacey asks excitedly.

  “Yup!” I happily answer that question for the first time in months.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Great! My fingers can barely type as fast as the words come.”

  “That’s great, Tash. Okay, I won’t bother you any longer. But call me tomorrow so we can talk more.”

  “I will,” I promise before hanging up.

  I toss the phone on my bed, but not before turning off the sound to ensure I don’t have any more interruptions. This is the first time in a very long while that I’ve been able to write for hours on end and I don’t want any more unnecessary distractions. It’s bad enough that my agent has been calling me nonstop over the past week asking me about how my latest manuscript was going. She also mentioned that damn event in New York this coming fall. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’ve barely written a thousand words over the last month. And I sure didn’t feel like telling her there was no way I was going to that damn award ceremony. She could forget that. But all those thoughts scatter as soon as my fingertips touch my keyboard. I’m once again in the zone and it feels too good to get sidetracked thinking about award ceremonies and letting my agent down. Throughout the day, I only get up from my desk to go to the bathroom and refill my tea mug.

  My thoughts remain intact and flowing until four o’clock when the alarm on my cell phone buzzes. It’s the one setting I’d forgotten to turn off. I can hardly believe that nearly the whole day has passed while I was indulged in writing. I check my word count to see that I’ve written nearly fifteen thousand words today. Not only that, but I’ve edited and re-edited those words and they’re actually good! I finally feel like I’m writing the book I started out writing months ago.

  “What the hell happened?!” I ask out loud in my empty bedroom. As soon as the question comes out, an image of Jeremy comes to mind. I frown, confused as hell, but I needed to find out some answers. Without another thought, I pack up my laptop, notebook, and phone in my bag and grab my keys before I head to my car.

  Within the half hour, I’ve reached my destination. I look up at the huge building in front of me. Bennett Industries. Jeremy’s office is on the fifteenth floor. I show the ID, Liam gave me when I first moved here just in case I ever needed entrance into the building at any time. Passing the security desk, I head toward the elevator and press the up button. I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to say when I see Jeremy face to face, but something is pushing me forward. I need to know what he did. I had been stuck in damn writer’s block for months, but after one weekend with this man, it’s gone. And there’s no hint of it slowing down either. If my thoughts aren’t filled with images of him, they’re filled with more scenes to write, better ways to invoke context into my manuscript, and amazing storylines.

  I take a deep breath as I exit the elevator, turning toward the glass doors that that bears the name Bennett Hotels and Spas. Opening the glass door, I’m surprised to see the front desk chair is empty. I look around I see Jeremy’s door to the rig
ht. I know it’s his office because his name is inscribed on the door plaque, which also indicates that he is CEO of the company. A feeling of pride warms me up when I read those words, but I suppress it as I move closer to the slightly ajar door.

  “I said I’d be there when I can. I have a lot going on at work right now and that includes travel. My life doesn’t just stop for you!”

  I hear the agitation in Jeremy’s voice although he’s not yelling. I frown, wondering who he is talking to that has him upset. Jeremy isn’t the type to get easily agitated. For some reason, I don’t like to think of him being affected by anyone. The usual calm, unflappable, and even charming demeanor is what I’m used to.

  “LaTasha.”

  I nearly jump when he says my name. I’ve forgotten that I’m standing in his opened doorway. “Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just, um…”

  “I’ve gotta go,” he says, hanging up his phone and standing.

  “You didn’t have to end your call for me. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I came to see you and your assistant isn’t out here,” I say, pointing over my shoulder to the empty chair.

  “She had the day off.” He peruses my body up and down, his eyes lingering at the apex of my thighs before they move up.

  I swear his gaze feels as if he’s literally touching me.

  “Come in,” he says. The semi-amused grin already taking away the look of irritation that had been on his face just moments ago.

  “No, really, I can wait out in the lobby.” I move to back up and out of his office, but his voice stops me.

  “Love,” he admonishes.

  The deepness of his tone sends an instant chill down my spine. I hate that I love the way he always calls me Love when he intends to scold me. “Right. You don’t repeat yourself.” I grin and turn, re-entering his office.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, gesturing for me to take a seat in the chair facing his massive cherry wood desk.

  I oblige. “Um, well, I’ve been writing all day. Like, really writing. Not just the one hundred or a few words here and there. And they’re good. I’ve already read over all fifteen thousand of the words I wrote today.”

  “Fifteen thousand?”

  I grin at the way his eyebrow shoots upwards, questioningly. “Yup. I’ve been writing since six o’clock this morning. I only stopped for breakfast earlier and to go to the bathroom. Anyway, like I said, they’re actually good. And I’ve made to significant progress in my manuscript in just one day.”

  “Wait. Did you say, you haven’t eaten since breakfast?”

  I frown. “Yes, but…” I stop talking when Jeremy picks up his phone.

  “Yes, John, order two turkey club sandwiches, fruit salads, a can of Sprite, and bottle of water from Mike’s Deli. Have it delivered to my office, okay? Thanks.”

  I crinkle my brows in confusion.

  “It’s almost five o’clock and you haven’t eaten all day. That’s unacceptable.” He shakes his head. “Our meal will be here in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “You didn’t have to order me anything. I can just eat at home. I didn’t come here to talk about food anyway.”

  “You need to eat,” he says firmly.

  I have to bite my inner lip to keep myself from rolling my eyes.

  “So what did you come here for?”

  “I wanted to ask you a question.”

  He merely looks at me and tilts his head to the side, encouraging me to continue.

  “I want to know how you did it?”

  “How I did what?”

  I grin at the confused look on his handsome face. “I mean, before our weekend together, I could barely pull out a hundred decent words. Today I’ve written thousands, which typically isn’t abnormal for me, but lately it had been. How’d you do it?”

  His face morphs from one of confusion to understanding before a smirk emerges. He shrugs. “All right, in the spirit of honesty, when I gave you that little assignment last week I knew you wouldn’t be able to complete it.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess.” He grins.

  I level a glare at him.

  A deep throated chuckle emerges from him and I have to clench my legs together.

  “All right, on our date at your place you were talking about your writing and how your first three books were written more or less in isolation. Since moving down here and seeing others read your work and have growing anticipation of your next book, I could tell that was your roadblock.”

  My brows lower as I contemplate his words. “That makes a lot of sense and it’s very perceptive of you. So…” I trail off hoping he’ll answer my unfinished question.

  “So Friday when you told me you had failed, I’d already decided your punishment, which was the little spanking I gave you. Sometimes a little maintenance spanking is necessary to loosen a sub up. It relieves their tension and anxiety. The session after the spanking wasn’t planned, but…” He shrugs. “I couldn’t resist.” He licks his lips as if he’s still savoring the taste of me.

  I close my eyes and inhale deeply before opening them. “You knew that would break up my underlying tension and allow me to relax enough to write?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you knew what I needed just from our conversations?”

  “Mainly.” He looks over my shoulder at the same time our meal arrives.

  I don’t even notice him move for the door because I’m too absorbed in my own thoughts. I’ve never had anyone outside of Coral and my grandmother pay such close attention to me. Someone who really got me. A strange feeling begins to rise in my stomach. I feel incredibly safe. I’ve only experienced this kind of security with three people in my life. One is dead, one is my sister, and the other is my therapist who’s all the way in the Northeast.

  “When it comes to our relationship, it’s always my job to know what you need even before you know. Sometimes that’s a spanking and others times it’s a sandwich when you’ve been too busy writing all day to eat.” His deep voice sounds off above me as he towers over me, offering me the sandwich and a bowl of mixed fruit.

  “Thank you,” I say at the same time my stomach growls from the aroma of the turkey club. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

  “Eat up. Then you can pull your laptop out and continue writing at the table,” he says, gesturing to the large round table on the other side of the office. “I have a meeting to get to, but it shouldn’t be longer than an hour or so.”

  “Oh, I can leave if—”

  “Sit.” His hand presses my shoulder down to keep me from rising. “I’d like to think of you in my office while I’m out handling business. I’ll be back in an hour. You’ll probably have another six thousand words by then.”

  I giggle. “I don’t write that fast.”

  He grins. “I’ll be back.”

  I watch as he grabs a few papers from his desk along with his phone and tablet before he heads toward the door. I turn, admiring his stature in the charcoal, tailored suit. I know the body underneath is very nicely sculpted. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see much of it this past weekend. After our very eventful Friday night, we ended up falling asleep as he told me stories about his foster mom. He had lived with her for three years and she’d even begun the adoption process, but then she became ill before it was completed, she had to stop. My heart ached at the sadness in his eyes when he talked about losing her. Soon afterwards, he was reunited with his biological father and went to live with him, although he didn’t go into very many details about that relationship. The rest of the weekend, we watched movies and he told me more about the spa he’s opening in Tucson. Although there wasn’t much more physical contact besides what took place on Friday, it was still one of the best weekends I’d had in a very long time or maybe ever.

  I grin as I carry my food and bag over to the table. I finish my sandwich, fruit and soda quickly because I want to resume writing as soon as possible. Jeremy was right. Judging
by the way I feel, I probably could complete a couple of thousand words by the time he gets back from his meeting. Unfortunately, as soon as my fingers make contact with the keyboard, my phone rings.

  I groan as I look at the name that pops up on my screen. Knowing I can’t put her off for too much longer, I decide to press the answer button. “Hey, Camille.”

  “Damn, no need to be such a sourpuss. I haven’t even called you at all over the weekend. Give me some credit.”

  I giggle. Camille is my bad-ass agent and the girl knows her shit. When she read my first manuscript she knew it would be a hit. I had doubts, assuming that a sci-fi series centering on a little black girl from the Bronx wouldn’t be many people’s cup of tea. But Camille knew what I didn’t know or at least what I’d never thought of. The market was hungry for diversity. People, especially children, wanted to see characters that looked like them the same way I did all those years ago when I picked up my first comic featuring Storm.

  “You’re right. It has been more than forty-eight hours since you last harassed me.”

  “See? Recognize my growing patience. Anyway, how’s the book coming along?”

  That question actually made me smile. I finally had some good news on that subject. “It’s going really well. Just today I wrote close to ten thousand words,” I say, downplaying the actual amount I’ve written.

  “Wow! That’s great. So when should I expect a rough draft?”

  “Patience, Grasshopper.”

  “Tasha!”

  I bite my lip to hold in my laughter. “Soon.”

  “All right. I’ll accept that for now. Now, about that other thing,” she says in a sing-song voice.

  “Here we go.”

  “Yes, here we go. I’ve been trying to get you to agree on this New York appearance for months. Do you know what a huge honor it is to be a National Book Award finalist? It’s especially an honor in the genre you write in. Come on! You have to attend the ceremony.”

  “I don’t have to do anything but write these books, stay black, and die,” I retort in my best Joe Clarke played by Morgan Freeman voice. I don’t like doing public appearances. Camille knows this and has known it from day one. Yet here we are. Yes, being a National Book Award finalist is a huge honor. But I just can’t embrace the idea of attending the ceremony in New York.