In His Arms

by Yasmin Sullivan

  When it was over, Michelle fell forward into his arms, and Rashad had to catch her against his chest.

  After a few moments, her eyes flew open, and she looked at him as if shocked by what she’d done.

  “That was beautiful, Michelle.”

  He pulled her close and held her against his body.

  “What did you do to me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never felt that way before.”

  Perplexed, Rashad breathed in the scent of her hair and asked, “Have you ever had an orgasm before?”

  She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke it was against his neck.

  “Not with anybody else and not like that.”

  “Not with anybody else? But by yourself, you mean?”

  She nodded her head.

  But weren’t you married? He wanted to ask that question but didn’t need to. He understood what she meant. And what she meant raised too many other questions for him to ask right then.

  When she had gotten her wind back, Michelle lifted her head.

  “Are we finished?” she asked and smiled.

  “I hope not.”

  “Where is your bedroom?”

  In answer, Rashad lifted Michelle in his arms and carried her up the steps to the master bedroom. He laid her on his California king and turned on the lamp next to the bed.

  The dim light outlined Michelle’s features, showing Rashad a woman whose face seemed always on the verge of a smile. His mind raced from thought to thought. Here was a woman who hadn’t been pleased by her own husband, by anyone. And he wanted to be the one to please her that way and always.

  He pulled a condom out of his drawer and stepped back to the bed. Michelle was taking off her clothes, and he watched her, mesmerized, before he snapped to attention and started to take off his.

  With her clothes off, she opened her arms to him in a gesture that filled him with a possessive desire. He went to her, but he didn’t enter her arms. He coaxed her back down to the bed.

  “Let me kiss your body.”

  “You’ve done enough for me. It’s your turn.”

  “It’s our turn—together.”

  Michelle rolled her eyes, and he chuckled, but she acquiesced, giggling.

  Rashad started with her lips, slowly. He wanted to take his time with this woman. He moved down to her breasts, which were all that he had imagined, and she finally stopped trying to pull him down to her. She relaxed on top of his comforter and began to enjoy what he was doing.

  He kept his lips and tongue working against her breasts. After a little while, Michelle began to stir and a soft whimper escaped her. Rashad was elated that she was getting turned on again, and every signal of it engorged his manhood even more.

  After some time of his lips against her breasts, she began to writhe on the bed, and when Rashad saw her hand move down between her own legs, he almost lost control.

  He took her hand away, lowered himself between her thighs and licked her lips. Her back arched off the bed, and she moaned. Her sounds of pleasure were his muse and his music, making his member leap.

  “What are you doing to me?” Michelle asked for the third time.

  “Loving you,” Rashad answered before dipping his tongue into her wetness.

  Michelle cried out in pleasure, and her body twisted on the bed. He tilted his head and gently sucked her tender bud into his mouth. Michelle cried out again, and her knees began to tremble. He tilted his head down and returned his tongue to her wet cave. He alternated between the gentle sucking and the shallow dipping until she was crying out in short, rhythmic puffs of air. Damn, he loved giving pleasure to this woman.

  It took Rashad a minute to realize that Michelle was tapping on his shoulder and calling his name to get his attention. He raised his head, and she tugged him upward. He followed her direction.

  She took several deep breaths before she kissed his lips, and when she settled back, she gazed into his face.

  “Rashad,” she said, “come inside me.”

  He smoothed her hair down, startled by the tenderness that was moving inside him for this woman.

  “I wasn’t finished what I was doing. I love giving you pleasure that way. Let me satisfy you that way. You’ve never had that, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then let me give you that.”

  “Next time. You said that this was our turn.” She moved her hand down to his leaping member, drawing its moisture. “And I want you inside me.”

  Under the spell of her hand and captured by the plea in her voice, Rashad was spinning out of control.

  His fingers roved down her body, and he began to knead her sex with his palm, wanting her ready, knowing it had been a long time for her. He wanted to please her this way, too, if he could.

  When her hips thrust against his palm, signaling her readiness, Rashad found the condom packet he’d lost on the bed, slid on the slick disk and positioned himself between Michelle’s legs.

  Just when he thought he was in control, she slipped her hand between them and gripped him, guiding him to her entrance. He began to move inside her inch by swollen inch, giving her time to adjust to his presence. She was so tight, so warm, so wet. He gritted his teeth to keep his composure, to keep going slowly, gently. Once he was inside, he paused.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “I know it’s been a while.”

  “I’m okay,” she said. “You feel good inside me.”

  Michelle pulled his head down and claimed his lips, and he began moving slowly inside her, letting her get used to his movement.

  She tilted her hips and pressed her fingers into his back, drawing him farther inside and lighting his passion.

  She rocked with him, thrusting upward onto his body, making him groan.

  “Faster,” she commanded, and he began to plunge inside her. Her moan filled his mouth, and her sex clung to his. Her fingers raked his back, and her body heaved upward against him.

  Rashad choked back a groan, trying to retain his control. He brought one of his hands from beneath Michelle and began to play with her breasts as he rocked inside her. Her murmur filled his mouth; her sex contracted around him. She started to thrust harder against him.

  “Rashad,” she called.

  “Yes. Anything.”

  “Don’t stop what you’re doing to me.”

  “I won’t,” he said. And now he had to keep his promise, and the beauty of this woman made that a difficult thing to do.

  Rashad closed his eyes, ran his thumb over the peak of the nipple under his hand and continued his seduction, so wanting to please her this way.

  When she cried out and her fists pounded his chest, he knew she was near the end. He moved his hand from her chest and pressed his thumb over her sex. She cried out again and pummeled against him. Her womanhood gripped his sheathed flesh tighter. She called his name, and he felt the first waves of her contraction ripple along his sex; her body began to shudder.

  Hearing his name from her raspy throat pushed Rashad over the edge, where he had been dangling for so long, and he groaned as he fell along the precipice. He gripped her hips and locked himself inside her, his body going rigid at the crest of an upward plunge. He called her name as the flood within him broke, throbbing through the channel.

  Rashad felt Michelle squeeze herself around him, drawing him on, milking him. He opened his eyes in surprise as he poured into her.

  After he caught his breath, Rashad lowered himself next to Michelle and pulled her into his arms.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Thank you?”

  “I— Thank you.”

  Michelle nestled her forehead against his cheek, and he ran his hand along her nude figure as they both quieted.
As the sound of their breathing became slow and steady, questions circled Rashad’s mind. What the hell had her husband been doing for those years if he was holding a woman so clearly unused to being satisfied with a man? And what did it mean that he was determined to be the one to satisfy her?

  He rubbed her hair, and she hummed briefly. She was falling asleep.

  He returned his fingers to her side, tracing her silhouette. She was so different from what he thought he wanted. Beautiful, yes. But his expectations hadn’t included a woman with a past and a child, a woman with a wild youth and an ex-husband. Even her beauty didn’t fit the paradigm that he’d created for himself. Instead of the sleek, glossy, high-heeled, high-powered image he had of his ideal match, she had translucent eyes and a face that always seemed on the verge of a smile. She was a mixture of a little bit of feisty and a lot of down-home sweetness.

  He kissed her forehead and pulled her naked body against his. Regardless of the image in his head, he couldn’t deny the tenderness he felt for this woman. Soon he would have to get up, wash off, put them under the covers. But for now he just wanted to feel her naked body against his.

  He was sure that when they had started the evening, neither had known they would end up making love on his California king. Now he lay next to her naked, sleeping figure. This woman just put him at ease.

  Chapter 7

  Michelle closed the book for Introduction to Public Relations and checked the PowerPoint slide at the front of the room to make sure she had taken all the notes. While the professor was wrapping up, her mind had skipped ahead. It was Wednesday, and after getting home, after getting Andre something to eat and after getting him to the sitter, she would be going to her art class.

  Rashad would be there, and it would be the first time she’d seen him since their night at his place. They wouldn’t be doing anything after class tonight, but they could still talk at her car, and she would still follow him to Greenbelt, even though she knew the way by now.

  Michelle heard the faint ring of the Founders Library clock tower and started packing up.

  The student in front of her turned around. “Do you have good notes from last week? I was out.”

  “Yeah,” Michelle answered. “Give me your email, and I’ll scan them for you.”

  “Great. Do you want to put together a study session for the midterm?”

  “No. I work, so I can never make the time.”

  The other student seemed disappointed, and Michelle wondered how many times she’d been “out.” In a way, Michelle was glad to be an older student. She knew what she wanted and that she didn’t have time or money to waste. She didn’t goof off or skip classes; she couldn’t afford to.

  She took the page the other student handed to her.

  “I’ll email you by tomorrow night.”

  “Thanks.”

  Michelle slung her backpack over her shoulders and headed for Georgia Avenue to walk to the Metro, not bothering to wait for the campus shuttle. There was precious little parking on campus, so she had to park at the Metro and take the train in.

  After she got Andre from his preschool and settled him at the table to do his homework, she went to change her clothes. She still had on her uniform from her shift at the coffeehouse that morning and wanted something more comfortable (and more attractive) to wear to class.

  She was in her room stripped down to her underwear when her phone rang. Without giving it a thought, she picked up the receiver and said, “Hello?”

  “I don’t need your hello.”

  Michelle placed the voice immediately and crossed her arms over her seminude body like a shield. It was Lucius, her ex-husband. Lucius Omar Vaughn. And he was drunk. His words were slow and slurred.

  “What are you doing calling me?” she said. “You know you’re not—”

  “Don’t tell me what I’m not supposed to do. You think you can get away from me? You can’t.”

  Michelle snapped up the shirt she’d just taken off and covered herself with it.

  “You can’t get away from me,” he said. “You can’t keep my son from me, either. I pay for you. I’m paying for you both.”

  “I don’t have to—”

  “You’re paid for, Miss Thing. Michelle. Michelle who thinks she’s so cute. I pay for you, you whore.”

  “Don’t call here again.”

  Michelle clicked off the phone, put it back on the receiver and sat on the bed with her shirt gripped to her chest.

  She stared at the phone as if it had been the one talking and was about to say something else, like it was a black hole opening her universe to an alternate dimension, a nightmare world.

  She waited.

  The phone did not ring again.

  This was a nightmare. What if Andre had answered the phone? What if he had been in the room when she answered the call? How did Lucius get her unlisted number? And if he had that, could he have other information about where she was—her address? Could he get an address from an unlisted number? What should she do now?

  But she didn’t do anything right away. She just sat there, staring at the phone.

  “Mommy,” Andre called from the dining room.

  His voice sounded like a chirp. It seemed so small, so vulnerable.

  “Yes, baby. What is it?”

  Michelle got up and moved toward her bedroom door, ready to open it half-naked if she had to, if she had to get to her son.

  “What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”

  “Can I have some cookies?”

  Michelle let out a breath. “You go ahead, honey. They’re on the counter, and I’ll be right out to get you some juice.”

  Michelle set down the shirt that she’d been pressing to her chest, made a quick change and went to the dining room to check on Andre and get him some juice.

  He was tracing a g in his copybook with a large pencil, completely at ease. There were two cookie wrappers next to his book, and Michelle collected them.

  “How many cookies did you have?”

  “Four cookies. They come two at a time.”

  “No more cookies right now. I’m about to get dinner.”

  Michelle tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but she was distracted. Lucius had her number.

  After setting Andre’s plate in front of him, Michelle went into the living room, where she could see him eat, and got on the computer. She pulled up her email and sent a brief note to her lawyer in South Carolina, letting her know that Lucius had called her and asking her what to do. She hit Send and let out a breath. At least she had done something, and soon she would know what she should really do. Having put something in motion, she could relax a little—but just a little. She had to be more alert now than ever.

  She went to Andre and ruffled his hair.

  “Is dinner okay, honey?”

  “Yep.”

  “Eat up while I make you a snack for later. We have to go soon.”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Michelle got Andre to Mrs. Miller and made it to the Torpedo Factory in time for her class. Rashad winked at her and smiled when she sat down, and she couldn’t help smiling back and remembering their night together—the ecstasy she’d felt, the safety of those warm arms.

  “How’s cute little Shaka?”

  Rashad bent his head down and put on a deep bass voice. “Big, manly Shaka. Shaka Zulu.” Then he laughed. “Shaka’s fine. He misses you.”

  His mouth was open to say more, but their class started.

  As usual, the hours skipped by while they were in class—taking notes, learning terms, doing exercises. But Michelle was distracted, and not just by the fact that she was sitting next to Rashad for the first time since they’d made love. There was now a cloud hanging over all that she was trying to do with her life, even thi
s art class. And that cloud was Lucius, who now had her number.

  She tied to stay focused, but part of her mind was on that call. When class was over, she could barely remember what she’d written in her notebook. She would have to read it over later.

  Rashad walked her to the parking lot, and they kissed at her car, but she said she couldn’t linger.

  They didn’t make plans for the weekend because she had to study for a midterm on Monday in her communications law class, and he had a work project due, but they made plans to talk on the phone, to see each other in class and to set up something for the next weekend.

  Michelle followed him to Greenbelt, retrieved a sleeping Andre from the sitter, tucked him in, had a bite to eat and began to pull out her clothes for the next day.

  She glanced at the phone. The call hadn’t left her mind, and now the phone itself had come to stand for the enemy.

  She went into the living room and checked her email. Nothing yet. She changed and got in bed. Maybe it was a onetime thing. Maybe it was just because he was drunk. Maybe that would be the end of it. But she knew Lucius, and she was hoping against hope, against the weight of her experience with him.

  She heard from her lawyer the next day. Her lawyer wanted more information so that she could file a complaint on Michelle’s behalf and alert the police to his violation of the court order that had been issued after their divorce.

  A week went by without further incident—but only a week.

  The next Wednesday when she got home, it wasn’t the phone but the mail that assaulted her. She got an unsigned letter. Her address was typed, and inside was one of those kinds of things you see in detective movies, where the serial killer cuts out words from different magazines and glues them down. But it said just what Lucius had said to her: “You can’t get away. You can’t keep him from me. I pay for you.”

  She got the real message being sent: he had her address now, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Michelle knew he could show up at any moment, court order or not. She didn’t know if he would have the nerve to risk being arrested, and she didn’t care about anything that concerned her. It was the second line that bothered her most: “You can’t keep him from me.”