Dangerous Consequences

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  “We’ve been waiting in the cart-holding area,” Tony said, shooting Austyn a look of disdain. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  Donathan turned back to Austyn and extended his hand.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, then turned toward the exit.

  “Wait!” she called after him, reaching out to grab his arm. He jerked away automatically, sensing this was some kind of game for her. It seemed she had arrived at the bar with every intention of luring him in. “What about my issue?” she managed in a desperate tone.

  He stopped in midstride and turned back to face her, weighing his options. He’d already decided this chick was a whack job, but he was curious nonetheless. “Look, Austyn,” he said, feeling awkward, “I’d like to help you, but here’s the thing: This isn’t the time or place. Why don’t you call in to the radio station and tell them I said to put you through? We can talk about it then.”

  “No worries,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “I’m sure we’ll have another opportunity to talk about it soon.”

  Donathan smiled, backed away, then turned to catch up with Tony, who was holding the door open for him, his face stern. Donathan gave him a quick once-over, noticing his eyes were missing their usual luster. His six-foot-three frame looked leaner today.

  “Is it just me or was that some weird shit I just walked up on?” Tony asked as he and Donathan headed toward Tyrese and the waiting golf cart.

  He smiled at the thought of the sexy woman masturbating to his voice as it blared through her radio. “I’d have to agree with you on that one, man,” Donathan said as he grabbed his clubs from the holding area and placed them in the rear of the cart. He jumped in the second row of seats, behind his friends.

  “I can’t remember the last time both of you were on time. Am I on Punk’d or something?” he asked, laughing.

  Two hours later and well into their back nine, Donathan leaned against the cart, enjoying the rolling green hills and the view of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was beautiful out here, but it was only April and the sweat was pouring down his back like a waterfall. He took a momentary look at his friends.

  “Damn, it’s hot out here. We’re going to have to tee off a little earlier,” he said, using the small towel tucked in his waistband to dab the sweat off his brow.

  “How’s Sydney?” Tony asked, preparing to take his swing. Donathan had left him and Tyrese both a message about the accident the day before.

  “She’s fine, out spending money with Payton, but her truck is fucked up. I had it towed to Cole European this morning.”

  Tyrese shook his head, his six-foot-seven frame towering over everyone. He removed his hat, exposing his already bronze bald head, then used his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow. “People are crazy nowadays. You never know when they’re going to pull out a gun over a fender bender. I mean, what’s the point? It’s just a car.”

  “Exactly, but I’m glad the police got there before I did.”

  “Shit, I’m glad that wasn’t Joi,” Tyrese said. “Her ass probably would have been the one hitting somebody’s car with a shovel.”

  They all laughed.

  “This morning, while I was getting dressed, I kept hearing a beeping noise that ended up being a voice-activated digital recorder that Joi had taped underneath the bed. It had been taping my telephone conversations.”

  “Nothing incriminating, I hope?” Donathan said, stepping forward and readying for the game-ending swing. “Did you confront Joi about it?”

  “I did, but her response was, ‘It must have been the boys playing around.’”

  Tony, now sitting in the front seat of the golf cart, tugged at the bib of his white cap and looked at Tyrese with a rigid stare.

  “Man, you should be concerned. Your twins are four years old, and I’m not saying they’re not smart, but what does a four-year-old know about a digital recorder? The fact that your wife went to those lengths says a lot about what she’s willing to do. Both you and Donathan need to cut out that creeping mess before somebody gets hurt.”

  Tyrese looked up, his piercing gray eyes focused on Tony. “Joi’s harmless. Before I left home, I gave her some good loving, and when I left the house, she was purring and asking me what I wanted for dinner.”

  “So, are you still coming to Maxwell’s tonight?” Donathan asked, recognizing a need to change the subject.

  “Man, I needed a get-out-of-jail card, so I promised Joi that I would take her and the boys to the movies.” Tyrese steered the cart back into the return area, then checked his watch. “Shit, I’m about to be late.”

  “You need to cover your tracks better,” Donathan called after him. “The last thing you need to do is fuel a suspicious wife.”

  “I got this,” he said, hurrying toward his truck. “I’ll holla at y’all later.”

  Donathan turned to Tony. “What about you?” he said, eyeing his friend with worry. He looked exhausted, but maybe a night out would recharge his battery.

  “I think I’m staying in tonight. I picked up my aunt Rosemary from the airport yesterday, so maybe tonight I’ll be able to get me some rest.”

  “Good. You look like you need it. How’s Moms doing?”

  “She’s good.”

  “Well, call me later if you change your mind.”

  After watching Tony leave, Donathan approached his own car, where he found a business card with a lipstick kiss tucked into the weather stripping on the driver’s side door. He read the message, then flipped the card over and studied the East Bay telephone number. She was so fucking sexy.

  Her handwritten message said to call her so they could discuss her issues, but if he did, he had a feeling her issues wouldn’t be the only thing they’d discuss. Should he? Shouldn’t he? he pondered, remembering those unforgettable pouty lips. His gut instinct told him she was young and probably immature, which meant drama. And he despised drama.

  Problem solved, he thought as he tucked the card in his front pocket and made a mental note to pass it along to his producers. He honestly didn’t know if she deserved it, but Austyn Greene had just earned herself a spot on the never-put-through list.

  CHAPTER 6

  Payton stepped out of the shower. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this giddy about any man. There was something deliciously wicked about keeping a secret . . . like the one she and Tony were keeping. They’d been fucking for three months now, and both Donathan and Sydney were none the wiser.

  Tony called and, to her surprise, agreed to come over, which was something he’d never done. They always played on his turf, which was fine with her. But since he’d recently moved his sister and his terminally ill mother into the house with him, their East Oakland rendezvous was no longer an option.

  Cupping her breasts, she turned slightly and stared in silence at her perfect, round, chocolate ass, and, unlike her need to keep everyone in her life at arm’s length, this was one of the better attributes given to her by her mother.

  Shutting off the bathroom light, she passed down a short hall and stepped into her walk-in closet, in search of something to put on. She shimmied into her black lace boy shorts and matching racer-back lace tee, deep in thought about how Sydney had questioned her about her need for sex today. She couldn’t stop thinking about it and it didn’t make sense. Why did she care? When it came to sex, Sydney was a prude, a fucking nun, and she didn’t have a clue about sexual freedom. But still, Payton resented being judged by her. She surveyed her image in the full-length mirror.

  “Damn, I look so good, I’d fuck me.”

  Once in her bedroom, she heard her cell phone humming on the nightstand, and she picked it up without looking at the caller ID.

  “Hello.”

  “Little girl, who gave you the right to sell my daddy’s house?” shouted a familiar voice through the phone. Payton shook her head and sighed. It was her uncle Sheldon. She had known he would call sooner or later. Earlier in the day, she’d met with a real estate i
nvestor who had agreed to buy her grandparents’ house.

  “Uncle Sheldon, I told you things were going to change.”

  “Where am I supposed to go, Payton?”

  “How about rehab, for starters?” she snapped.

  Sheldon Jones was sixty-two years old, and he was the reason Payton found herself running back and forth to Pittsburg every week to manage one crisis after another.

  “C’mon, Niecy,” he begged, using the name he affectionately called her. She took a long, deep breath and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a bit agitated.

  “I know this decision is a hard one, but I think it’s best for everybody—”

  “Everybody? Meaning you,” he exploded. “I bet my daddy is turning over in his grave. You know he didn’t want you to sell his house.”

  “He didn’t want you smoking crack either, did he?” she spat back.

  “Niecy, I promise this time it’s gon’ be different. I’ll get a job and pay the taxes and insurance.”

  Payton held the phone away from her ear while her uncle rambled on. There was nothing new about what he was saying. She’d heard his song and dance before and she’d made up her mind. This time there was no turning back.

  Just as she was thinking this, her intercom buzzed from downstairs, letting her know her guest had arrived.

  “Uncle Sheldon, I have to go. I’ll give you a call tomorrow; we can talk more about this then.” Payton ended the call and held the red button until the cell phone powered off because she knew he’d call right back. She stood still for a few moments, contemplating her decision. If everything went according to plan, for the first time since her grandfather’s death and being named the executor of his estate, she would no longer be responsible for her uncles Sheldon and Donald—two grown-ass men—and she couldn’t wait.

  The moment the door opened, she threw herself at him, wrapping her long, bare legs around his waist, kissing him hard, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth.

  “Looks like someone isn’t in the mood for conversation tonight,” Tony said, his smile a little less enthusiastic than usual. He was an average-looking man, but when he walked into a room, women took notice. His mysterious eyes, meticulous style, and confidence drove women crazy.

  “I was about to fix myself a cocktail. Would you like one?”

  He brushed the black lace stretched across her pert nipples. “What are my choices?”

  “Beer, wine, gin, gin,” she repeated, her voice trailing off as she unwrapped herself and headed toward the bar. When he didn’t answer immediately, she looked over her shoulder and found him staring at her ass. She tossed him a knowing look.

  “I’ll take the gin.”

  Payton slid behind the bar and Tony took a seat on one of the stools. She poured herself a glass of wine and mixed up a Bombay Sapphire Salty Dog, Tony’s drink of choice. She stirred the contents with her finger as he opened his mouth and sucked it in greedily to sample the concoction.

  “How’s that?”

  “Perfect.”

  Tony followed Payton into the bedroom, walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, and stared out over Lake Merritt. The lake was lined with thousands of white lights that reflected off the water, and the illumination of the Henry J. Kaiser Center made the view majestic.

  “The lake looks much better from up here,” he said, taking a sip from the salt-rimmed glass, his back to her.

  “Take your clothes off.”

  He turned around, a wicked look in his eyes. “Oh, so now we’re exhibitionists,” he said, gesturing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “I do have a little exhibitionism in my blood, but if you must know, the windows have a special coating that allows me and you to see out but prevents others from seeing in.”

  “Sounds kinky.”

  “Hold that thought,” Payton said, scurrying toward the bathroom. She turned on the shower and adjusted the water pressure to a hard pulse. She was horny and ready to explore without inhibitions, and that always required her partners to shower first. She laid out fresh towels, picked up her wineglass, and moved back through the bedroom, where Tony had begun undressing.

  “I’m going to freshen up my drink. Do you want some more sin?” she said, making a reference to the cliché that gin will make you sin, and he laughed out loud because he knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “Of course.”

  A few minutes later she returned to the bedroom, her glass of red wine in one hand and his elixir in the other. The shower was still running. She placed his new drink on the granite nightstand closest to the bathroom, then took another gulp from her glass of wine, feeling the tingles in her extremities and the wetness stirring between her legs. She opened the top drawer and removed a palm sized object from a slender leather pouch. She pushed the power button, the soft hum emitting from the silicone vibrating tip growing stronger, until she felt the speed and intensity she wanted pulsating in her hand.

  She turned down her Egyptian cotton satin sheets and climbed into the bed, her vibrating apparatus in tow. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the sea of pillows, imagining Tony brushing the creamy white towel across his rock-hard body, a direct benefit of his jumping on and off a big brown UPS truck, delivering boxes and packages all day. She opened her legs and dangled the pulsating ball across her center; a soft moan escaped her lips. She reached into her lace panties and touched herself, her senses heightened.

  Tony cleared his throat and leaned against the doorframe, the towel wrapped casually around his waist. Payton made eye contact and grinned.

  “Looks like you started without me, but don’t stop,” he said. “I’m enjoying the show.”

  Payton closed her eyes but felt him fixated, watching her. She imagined his eyes were his hands and she could feel them exploring her body.

  He finished his drink and climbed onto the bed beside her. He smelled good, and that was a turn-on. He lightly stroked her hair, his eyes fixed on her breasts, each breath she took lifting them toward him. Barely making contact, his fingertips approached her nipples. Payton shuddered, moved her hips faster, and melted into her perfect rhythm. He lifted her lace T-shirt and gauged her response as he made small circles around the swollen cinnamon flesh.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her neck gently. His tongue lingered at the curve of her shoulder, sending jolts of excitement through her body. She was on fire.

  His middle finger inched slowly, found its way, and slid into her center. Payton paused momentarily and then fucked his finger, her moans giving voice to her intensifying excitement. She could feel his stiff dick brushing against her thigh. Her pussy tightened, pulsating around his finger.

  “You starting without me?” he said, his voice low and deep. He pushed in another finger deeper and a tormented expression washed across her face.

  “Is that what you want?”

  Payton panted, breathing heavily, on the verge of nirvana. “I-want-it,” she panted.

  “Tell me how much.”

  “Fuck,” she cried out, closing her legs and clutching the vibrating ball to her clit. “I’m coming, baby,” she said, embracing the sensations that were exploding, sending shivers through every inch of her body. He was still until her breathing slowed as he toyed with the edge of the black lace. He ran his finger across the monarch butterfly tattooed in her right pelvic region, only fully visible when Payton was naked.

  “Pretty,” he said, removing her panty with a one-handed gesture, showing he was in control.

  “Now, let me show you what my dick can do.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Donathan awoke in the darkness, struggling to remember who he was and where he was. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and his head was throbbing as he attempted to stand up and get his bearings.

  With no recollection of why he’d awakened naked, with his feet and one hand tied to the bed, he found himself standing there in this unfamiliar hotel room. Pieces of his clothing were scatte
red all over the floor. He grabbed his undershirt and pulled it over his head, then stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his dress shirt. What the hell was going on?

  For the first time he noticed the clock on the nightstand. It read five a.m.

  “Shit,” he mumbled. He’d been out for hours.

  He tried to remain calm, but the last thing he remembered was walking Austyn to her hotel room door. Was this her room? Had he entered?

  There was no sign of her, but he took a look around and discovered an imprint of blood-red lipstick on an empty martini glass.

  For a second he willed himself back to last night. Much to his regret, he’d arrived at Maxwell’s alone. He and Sydney had argued briefly because she’d been called to the hospital to cover an overnight shift and she’d agreed to go even though she wasn’t on call. His thoughts had moved on to Austyn. She’d shown up at Maxwell’s, and after he autographed some headshots and took a few pictures, curiosity got the better of him and he’d joined her at the bar.

  He rushed into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, then soaped a fresh washcloth, washed himself off, and haphazardly buttoned his shirt. He hurried back into the room and stepped into his boxers, slacks, and jacket as quickly as he could.

  Next, he patted down his pockets and found his keys and cell phone. He patted himself again, but this time he wasn’t so lucky in locating the bulge he was looking for. No wallet. On impulse, he checked the nightstand.

  “Fuck.” Donathan grabbed his head to stop the echo. His temples were pulsating and his throat felt like sandpaper. He knelt to the floor, felt beneath the bed, but came up empty. He grabbed an unopened bottle of water off the small desk, turned it up to his mouth, and gulped half the liquid before bringing the plastic bottle down, fixated on it. It had to be the water. That was the only thing he remembered drinking.

  Last night he’d talked with Austyn off and on for an hour. When she stood to leave, being the Good Samaritan he was, he’d offered to walk her to her car. That’s when she’d informed him that she was new in town and was staying at the Courtyard Marriott, a few blocks over. He’d walked her to the hotel—to her room, but that was it—no more memory after that.