Bi-Sensual

by Nikki- Michelle

  I shook my head. “Fine,” I said. “But I don’t want to hear any complaints from them, since it is the first draft. That means it’s a rough draft.”

  “Now, you know I’m going to read over it before sending it to them,” she said, then laughed. “Can you get it to me by tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Also, I need the synopsis and the title.”

  I groaned low. “Ms. M, you know I never do my synopsis until I finish the book.”

  “I know, but things have changed, Ms. New York Times Best Seller.”

  Ms. M’s voice was jovial, like she had her famous smile plastered on her face, but it was still clear she meant business. While I was annoyed like hell with the publishing company, I really did appreciate all the hard work Maria put in for me. All she asked from me was to write damn good books. That was it. That was why, as we spoke on the phone, I sent her the five chapters that she wanted. I told her I’d send the synopsis the next day. We talked for a little while longer and then hung up.

  I called Summer, but she didn’t answer. She sent me a text a few minutes later, saying she couldn’t talk and would call me back later. I was set to order room service and get back to work, but just then someone rang the doorbell to my hotel room. I had a gut feeling as to who it was, since Elliot had stormed out.

  I opened the door. There stood Demitri. I moved to the side. He dipped his head and walked in. He was covered in white paint, dust, a bit of grime, and something I wasn’t sure of. The wheat-colored work boots on his feet were covered in dirt, with specks of paint and cement. He had one black hoop in his ear, as opposed to the two that were there the night before. Dust and flecks of paint were on his face. He had some in his hair. And he smelled like he had been at work. It wasn’t offensive. Just the smell of a man who worked outside, with his hands.

  I closed the door and watched him. He had his helmet tucked under his arm and a black carrying bag in his hand. He dropped his bag near the sky-blue accent wall, then turned to me. I didn’t know how to react to him. Just hours before we had touched and kissed one another like sex-crazed teenagers, and then, when the shit had gotten real, we’d abruptly stopped, like all the passion and sensuality meant nothing.

  “Hey,” I greeted.

  He thumbed his chin while watching me. “Hey,” he repeated back to me.

  “He’s not here,” I said.

  Demitri slid his hands in his pockets and looked around, like he thought I was lying.

  He said, “He texted me. Told me to meet him here.”

  “Well, he left. Ran out after getting a phone call . . . from Nicole.”

  I watched Demitri’s face. Was trying to see if my mentioning the mysterious Nicole rattled him. If it did, he didn’t let on. He ran a hand through his hair, but otherwise, he did nothing. He asked, “How long has he been gone?”

  I shrugged. “About an hour.”

  Demitri took his cell from his back pocket, then pressed a few buttons. I assumed he was dialing Elliot. And just like me, he got no answer. He put his phone back in his pocket. Picked up his bag.

  “Is it okay if I use the shower?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, go ahead. Fresh towels are already in there.”

  I watched the power in his stride as he headed to the bathroom. Those long, lean muscled legs made his gait deliberate and easy. He walked like each step had a purpose.

  He was so casual in the way he regarded me. It was as if we had never shared a kiss. As if his hands had never touched me. Fingers had never been inside of me. Dick had never graced my insides. He was back to the cold, reclusive Demitri.

  I should have known better. Should have expected it. He probably had wanted to fuck me only to make Elliot mad or jealous. Silly of me to think we had actually shared more in that brief moment. I let Demitri wash away the grime of the workday. I grabbed my laptop and sat on the couch. I typed up a synopsis that made little sense to me, as I wasn’t even sure what my new story was about yet. Sent it to my agent. A few minutes later, she sent an e-mail back highlighting the changes she’d made. The synopsis looked and read a whole lot better now than it had when I sent it over.

  Demitri came out of the bathroom about twenty minutes later. Whatever he had bathed with made my hotel room smell like patchouli and some other herbaceous scent. That distinctive African hemp smell was there as well, but not as strong. He dropped his bag by the wall again. I watched his dick print in the basketball shorts he had on. It was a beautiful sight.

  No way could I lie and assert that his dick wasn’t a work of art. I wanted to see him naked. Wanted to see him with the lights on. Desired to admire his body as the work of art it was, appraise it to see what value I could give it. His legs, thighs, back, ass, chest, and abs. I wanted to take it all with my senses. Burn it into my mind’s eye to use for later.

  Those were my thoughts as he sat next to me. Mistresses was playing on the TV, but the volume was so low, I could barely hear it. I had my Amazon Fire TV Stick plugged into the television so I could watch all the shows on Hulu that I’d missed.

  “Your day go okay?” he asked me out of the blue.

  It surprised me. Maybe last night had changed things between us, I thought.

  I glanced over at him while typing. “Yeah. Got some work done. Quite a lot, actually,” I said. “What about you? Your day go okay?”

  “Work was work. Construction is a dirty job, but I like to do it.”

  “How does one go from med school to construction?”

  He grunted. “You ask a lot of intrusive-ass questions. You know that?”

  “And you’re an elusive-ass person. You know that?”

  “I’m supposed to be. You’re fucking my dude.”

  I glared at him, my eyes green with envy. I wanted what he had. I wanted the right to claim Elliot as my own.

  “Your dude, huh?” I said with a hint of nastiness and sarcasm.

  He nodded.

  I asked, “Is he yours when he’s with me?”

  “He’s always mine. No matter where he rests his dick or lays his head. Still mine. I’m home. You’re a rest stop.”

  Whew. That burned. That hurt like fuck. Just as he’d intended it to. I nodded. Ran my tongue over my teeth. I chewed on the inside corner of my bottom lip to keep from saying something nasty in return. His words stung like hell, and I knew he was able to tell by my silence.

  Demitri turned to me and said, “You’re the woman my dude is fucking on the side. You think I’m supposed to just what? Talk to you? Be open with you?”

  “You were last night,” I said.

  “I was horny. I wanted to fuck. You were available.”

  “Ha! Wow. Go to hell, Demitri.”

  “Only if I can drag you there with me.” We stared one another down for a few seconds. Then he said, “Lots of people flirt with Elliot online, but it was you who stood out. I knew there was something there. Just didn’t know how deep it was until recently. You knew he was with someone, and yet you allowed yourself to be available to him.”

  “No, he made himself available to me, open relationship and all,” I countered. “He came to me. He started flirting with me. He flew to see me in New York when we first met face-to-face.”

  Demitri sat up and frowned so hard, one would have thought he was in pain. He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “Him flying to New York.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not. He flew to New York. I was in Brooklyn, at a book signing. He came to see me. I drove him back to my place afterward.”

  I had to close my eyes. My pussy swelled at the memory of how Elliot had so thoroughly fucked me out of my mind that night. That was after he had cooked me dinner, fed me from his fingers. He’d treated me like I was fucking African royalty, like he had paid a dowry for me and was making good on it. There was no need for me to tell Demitri all that. Clearly, I’d already rattled his cage j
ust by telling him Elliot had flown to New York. No need to poke an already angry bear.

  Demitri ran a hand through his hair, tugged at his ear, then nodded. His nostrils flared. Lips flattened out. I mean, I guessed he should be angry. I’d just told him his man had flown to New York to see me.

  Demitri stood up. I sat back, just in case he was angry enough to attack me. I looked at my clutch, the one I’d carried the night before. My Taser was still in there, but I could run and grab it if need be.

  But, to my surprise, he walked over to the window and looked out. “Did you fuck him?” he asked while staring down at the city of Atlanta.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you fuck him the first time you met him?”

  “No. The first time I met him was on Facebook.”

  He shook his head, then turned to scowl at me. “Don’t be a cunt, Samona.”

  I gave him a blank stare. The way he had said my name sent a searing flash of heat up my spine.

  Elliot called me by my full name, and it gave me chills. Not the kind of chills that freaked people out. The kind of chills that told a woman the man in her presence wanted her, desired to have her. Demitri said my name, and it gave me a sensation of heat. Interesting. It was the way they each said my name that got to me. It rolled off Elliot’s tongue like it was a delicacy. When Demitri said my name, it was authoritative. He pronounced every single syllable.

  “Did you fuck him?” he asked me again.

  “No. He fucked me.”

  Demitri’s gaze bounced around the room for a few seconds. From me to the TV, to whatever I’d left on the dining table, to his phone and back to me. He walked to the kitchen area. Grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then came back to sit next to me. I looked at my clutch again. Wondered if I was going to have to electrocute a man today.

  “You two use protection?” he asked.

  “Yes. We even got tested together. We always get tested together. You two use protection?”

  “I have a feeling you already know the answer to that,” he said, then scratched his chin. “Always.”

  “You get tested with him?”

  “Always.”

  Silence settled between us. I didn’t know why he kept asking me those questions. Wait. I did know. Any person who had been cheated on wanted to know the answer to all those questions. I knew that feeling. But could what Elliot had done be called cheating, since he and Demitri were in an open relationship?

  I sent furtive glances Demitri’s way. Needed to see if I could read his eyes. He must have felt me watching him.

  His gray eyes found mine before he said, “You look like her, but you’re not her.”

  I knew who he was referencing, but I asked him, “Like who?”

  “Nicole. He chose you for a reason.”

  “Because he liked my book.”

  “Elliot loves to read. He’ll read just about anything.”

  My eye twitched. “Was that another potshot at my book?”

  Demitri cut his eyes at me but didn’t answer.

  I asked, “Who’s Nicole?”

  “Ask Elliot.”

  “Why bring her up—tell me I look like her—if you’re not going to tell me who she is?”

  “Ask him who she is.”

  My jaw clenched, and I sneered at the giant sitting on my couch. Not knowing who Nicole was annoyed me. The way Demitri kept talking about her, coupled with Elliot’s abrupt departure earlier, led me to believe she was someone of importance to Elliot. I wondered if she could be another woman on the side or an ex. The jealousy I felt over a woman I didn’t know tap-danced on my last nerve.

  I went back to my story, while Demitri flipped through the selections on Hulu. He stopped on an old episode of Monday Night Raw. Pressed PLAY.

  The volume was still low, so I told him, “You can turn it up a little bit if you want.”

  He looked over at me. Let his eyes roam over my face, then my chest before his eyes came back to mine again. “Aren’t you still working?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He turned back to the TV. “Then I’m chill.”

  I pretended to be typing. Couldn’t think when my eyes kept going back to the bulge in his shorts. Especially since he was lying back. His head was almost on my shoulder, and he had one leg thrown over the arm of the couch. I took in the coils in his hair again.

  “May I touch your hair?” I asked him.

  He gave a head nod. I ran my fingers through his hair. It was soft, almost like cotton mixed with wool. But it was clean and moisturized. Shit, his hair looked better than mine when I didn’t have my braids in. I let my fingers massage his scalp. The leg he had thrown over the arm of the couch casually bounced up and down. He was relaxed. Comfortable even. Or he could be the silent but deadly type.

  I sniffed his hair. Did some finger coils in it. Massaged his scalp again. He gave a low guttural grunt.

  “Stop that,” he said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Running your fingers over my scalp, massaging it. Stop that.”

  I smirked. Had I found something that moved the ever elusive giant? I kept at it. Massaged his scalp some more. He laid a hand over his manhood. His head lolled back, and his eyes focused on me.

  “You’re trying to get fucked,” he asserted.

  My eyes widened; my shock from his words was written all over my face. “What?”

  Demitri cleared his throat and then sat up. He took my laptop and set it on the table next to the couch. He grabbed my leg and snatched me closer to him. No, really, he did. His hand was big enough to pull me to him with no issue. The move was so unexpected that I frowned, then looked down at his big hand on my thigh. His other hand came up to my chin and forced me to look at him. I almost recoiled, thinking he was going for my neck.

  If he noticed it, he didn’t let on. He kissed me. Kissed me like he wanted me to know he wanted to fuck me. As his tongue played with mine, one hand slid up my exposed thigh, and the other aggressively squeezed my right breast, then the left.

  His tongue snaked out of his mouth, licked . . . sucked on my lips. By the time I realized his fingers were nudging my panties to the side, I was already on the verge of an orgasm. His fingers teased my clit. He pinched it. Made me yelp, then moan into his mouth. He moved his hand long enough to put my hand on his dick.

  I massaged it through his shorts. God, he felt heavenly. There was nothing like having the power of a man in the palm of my hand. Absolutely nothing like knowing I had control over him in the moment. It was in the way his breathing deepened. The way he kissed me harder. His hand found its way back to my exposed clit. This time he slipped two fingers inside of me. My legs started to shake as he stroked me. Finger fucked me while licking, kissing . . . and biting my neck.

  After yanking the top of my dress down, he went at my breasts like a man who hadn’t seen a woman in years. Demitri wasn’t a man afraid to make noise. He fingered me harder. Sucked my nipples and groaned low. That nigga made a guttural sound that rattled my soul. My head fell back, and I lost it.

  I lost my orgasm, I mean. I’d been holding it in. Shit.

  “Moaning Mona,” he crooned in that deep baritone. “Moan for me, Mona.”

  I did too. I couldn’t help it.

  “You like this?” he asked. “Tell me you like it,” he demanded.

  I did. Told him I didn’t want him to stop. I held his hand in place with one of mine, while my other one slipped inside of his shorts. He was so hard. So damn hard. Like steel. He was ready. Pre-excitement leaking heavily from his mushroom-shaped head.

  He gripped the back of my neck and brought my face back to his. “Want me to fuck you?” he asked.

  His big fingers were deep inside me. I would have just about answered yes to anything. We were eye to eye. My lips against his lips. His eyes on mine.

  “Your pussy’s so wet,” he said, voice low, the timbre vibrating against my lips.

  “Your dick’s so big,” I muttered.
<
br />   He gave something akin to a smirk just before he bit down on my neck. On the side. That space between my neck and shoulder. Shit sent a rainbow coalition of lights between my eyelids. His fingers stroked me. My hand gripped his dick, stroked him up and down. I was coming again. So close. Right there on the edge. I was there . . . and then the lock on the door clicked.

  Mona

  Housekeeping. Fucking housekeeping had interrupted my orgasm. Demitri and I had jumped away from one another like children who had been caught doing something they had no business doing. I closed my legs and hopped off the couch. He had an erection that refused to be hidden, so he disappeared into the bathroom. We kept playing with fire, and I didn’t know why. We had to stop the madness.

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman from housekeeping said. “I asked the front desk if you were in your room, and they said you had stepped out. They say you asked for fresh linen. I was going to leave fresh towels and change your linen. So sorry. So sorry.”

  That was my fault. When I’d called down and asked for those things, I had told them I’d be stepping out. The woman continued to apologize as she backed out of the room. I nodded. Smiled. Kept it polite. Gave her a nice tip, anyway. Assured her it was okay, and when she was gone, I shut the door and caught my breath after putting the DO NOT DISTURB sign up. The thought of Elliot catching me with Demitri actually scared me. I didn’t know what he would do. But I also knew not to test him so I would find out.

  Demitri came from the bathroom ten minutes later. By then I’d saved my manuscript and closed my laptop. I’d dressed in a pair of formfitting jeans, combat boots, and a loose-fitting tee that read BLACK WOMEN’S LIVES MATTER TOO. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Was hungry and needed to eat, because I couldn’t think straight. I wasn’t myself when I was hungry. That was clearly evident by the game Demitri and I kept playing.

  “We have to stop this,” I said once he’d rounded the corner.

  “Then stay away from me,” he said.

  I quirked a brow. “You’re in my hotel room. You started it.”

  “No, you did. Told you to stop massaging my damn scalp.”