by Love Belvin
Safely inside the cab of the Town Car, I watched hypnotically zoned out as we passed the lights aligning the sidewalks. I couldn’t believe the turn of events from this night. Was this one of the many events my grandmother said I had culpability in? Were there signs?
But I’m safe.
Even from across the car, without touching him, I was able to glean peace from the mere scent of Jackson. I felt my joints relaxing, soothed with release, and the tension rising in the back of my skull receding underneath his aroma. His scent! That utterly ridiculous and small trait of his brought me restful tranquility.
This is insane!
Something had to give. No one man or woman should elicit so much peace, and certainly not at the level of fermentation I was plagued by.
“Care to talk about it?” I heard his baritone rumble.
Without looking at him I shook my head. Instead I asked, “How was L.A.?”
There were a few moments of silence before he replied, “Interesting enough, other than receiving an email about an eight-year class reunion—something I’d never heard of—I got another unusual proposal.”
“Oh?” My eyes were stapled ahead, my adrenaline subsiding.
“Yeah. Rayna Jacobs invited me to dinner. Her agenda was…unexpected.”
“What was that?” I droned, noncommittal.
“She wants you in L.A. to launch her foundation.”
My eyes finally met his, recalling my faux pitch to Rayna a while back.
My eyes collapsed and head fell back on the headrest.
Shit! My conniving mind and big mouth.
Making a quick dash onto the sidewalk, my heel narrowly missed the puddle of water at the ramp causing me to wobble a bit. I clutched the umbrella tighter in my hands and my purse harder under my arm as I pranced into DiFillippo’s. Once in the ultra-modern receiving area, I took a deep breath, relieved at having made it safely from a charity event hosted by Stenton Rogers in his hometown, Newark, New Jersey. Not to mention my two hour conference call this morning with Dale and Patience who were vacationing in Venice and then my trip to the fashion district for details of Erika’s impending show. I was livid when my phone chirped with a reminder of a dinner meeting with my DB team.
All I wanted to do was go home, and curl into my bed with a glass of wine, let it settle in my blood stream and drunk text Jackson lewd pictures of myself to lure him over in the rain. That wasn’t always guaranteed considering his hectic schedule. But I also knew it had been over five days since we’d last touched and lucky for me, that was outside of Jackson’s cycle.
Don’t even go there. Having Jackson tonight is way ambitious.
“Elle Jarreau with Dynamic Branding,” I announced to the hostess.
“Oh,” she trilled. “This way, Ms. Jarreau. You’re the last to arrive.”
As she turned on her heel, I rolled my eyes, hoping to get this over with. I was too tired to be hungry. As I trailed behind the woman with a wavy chestnut mane, I tried recalling the last thing I ate.
Man…I could go for Jackson’s eggplant rolls with spicy tomato sauce. How he achieved the tang in the sauce I would never kn—
“SURPRISE!” I heard shouted just ahead, causing me to leap in my heels.
Shit!
I grasped my chest as I recognized Brad, Marie, Clarice, Bridgette, Greg, and Tim: my team. They quickly broke out into an inharmonic Happy Birthday ditty as I tried to settle my breathing. There was a cake…a fancy cake made into a shoe and purse. I understood the theme right away. There was one long candle stemming from it resembling fireworks.
Shit! It’s my birthday?
It was my actual birthday!
That’s why Mommy has been blowing up my phone since the crack of dawn!
“Elle, we know how private you are,” Bridgette spoke with high enthusiasm and her hands clasped together at her chest, “but we couldn’t let this day pass without celebrating you.” Then she pivoted slightly, making reference behind her. And that’s when I saw him. His beard had thickened, eyes dark under the glow of the low lit restaurant, but his deep gaze was no less intense. He wore a blue blazer over dark jeans—the color I couldn’t make out in the dimness—and dark shoes. Jackson was dapper as always. “Jackson said you don’t like much hoopla, so we promise to keep it nice and short with just drinks and dessert.”
Despite myself, I smiled appreciatively. They took that as my ascent and cheered.
“Make a wish, bioootch!” Marie hooted.
I stepped toward the cake being held by two waiters, playfully squeezed my eyes and mentally whispered a few things. When I opened them, I located Jackson right away. I could see something in his deep regard, but didn’t know just what. I blew out the traditional candles while they shouted me on.
Fighting a brewing smile of contentment at seeing him, I waited until the cake was placed on the table to make my way over to him.
“Here you go, Elle,” Clarice called over to me, staggering my steps. “I saved you a seat.”
I fought to keep my shoulders from dropping. I would have much preferred sitting next to Jackson. I hardly spoke to him when I arrived.
In fact, I didn’t speak to him the entire evening. We ate delicious cake, drank wine and champagne—a fresh glass constantly being handed to me the whole two plus hours we were there—and chatted away about random topics. I tried to furtively catch Jackson’s regard, but to no avail. I eventually stopped trying and went about the evening.
The restaurant was bursting with festive energy even outside our tables. Everyone seemed to have either been blissfully tipsy or on their way there. That was everyone with the exception of our sober leader. Jackson seemed laid back and comfortably engaging in a conversation with Jamie. At points, I could hear them discussing Jackson’s upcoming class reunion and how weird it was being less than ten years. Clarice would knee-nudge me underneath the table, I was sure to reference Jamie, but each time I glanced in his direction my eyes would greedily wander over to Jackson. One time I did catch his eye and when we met, I saw a flicker of mischief in them, a familiar and very intimate expression shared only between lovers. That single act quieted my foolish anxieties of being ignored by him.
“So, Cali’s calling, huhn?” Jamie’s narrowed eyes shrank as he smiled teasingly. “That’s a dope look over there. If you take the offer and need a spot to rent, holla at ya boy. I gotta friend who owns beachfront properties out there: long and short term leases.”
For some reason and despite myself, my eyes bounced nervously between Jamie and Jackson, seated next to him. I hadn’t thought about Rayna Jacobs’ proposal…well, not out loud. I certainly hadn’t discussed the possibility of it with Jackson and that was because I could instinctively feel his discontent and apprehension at the prospect. Broaching the subject could force him to admit he didn’t want me to go because it would mean the end of us and that admittance alone would be the end of us. This was just sex. There’s no room for inappropriate attachments when it’s just sex.
“Blah,” I blew out air and waved my hand as I went for my flute. “I don’t want to discuss that type of business on my birthday. Besides, if I take the file, I wouldn’t have your powerful resources across from my desk out in Cali. You’re the man to know. What would I do without your black and red books, Jamie?”
“I’m glad you finally recognize who’s the shit around here!” His eyes shrunk even further as his teeth beamed brighter at my ego-stroke.
When my eyes made their way back to Jackson, I saw him sitting back in his chair, arms stretched over the back of Jamie’s, but his preoccupied orbs finally on me. My breasts suddenly felt heavy in their holdings.
“Okay, guys, it’s time for us to let the birthday girl go.” Bridgette slurred about a half an hour later, seemingly as buzzed as I was. “I’m sure she has a hot date lined up for the night. Let’s say we call it a night.”
I think I giggled aloud at that mention.
What date?
“Heeeeey,” Cl
arice trilled. “Seems like you had a good birthday celebration. You’re so wasted. Damn, Elle!” her speech inaudible as well. “I’m headed to a party in the Bronx. Where’s your DD?”
“Marie, which way are you going? Wanna split a taxi?” I called across the table.
“I’m…uhhhh…” her eyes darted over to Jamie, unknowingly conspicuous. “…not headed to Harlem tonight.”
Although I had an idea of her agenda, I found myself pouting.
“You gonna to be all right, Elle?” Jamie asked, concerned in spite of his irrepressible smirk.
Before I could answer, I heard, “I’ll take her home. I’m headed that way myself.”
I recognized his voice right away and could swear a dollop of liquid landed in the seat of my panties.
When I entered my efficiency and turned on the lights. I closed the door behind me but didn’t lock it. Jackson insisted on dropping me off at my door and was off to park his car. I shook out of my coat and peeled off my heels then went to straightening the small area. I didn’t exactly plan on returning home with company.
Hell…I didn’t know it was my birthday when I left home this morning.
In my drunken state, I laughed at myself.
“What’s so funny?”
I turned toward Jackson standing at my door with a long duffle bag. It was an unusual size, more suitable for equipment than overnight clothing.
“What’s in the bag?” I returned in response.
After glancing over his shoulder, he smiled sinisterly and advanced into the apartment, closing the door behind him.
“This is your assignment tonight?”
“Assignment?” I parroted as he placed the bag down and removed his coat, his eyes never leaving my aghast face.
“Yeah, here,” he sat on the sofa, unzipped the bag and pulled out a neatly rolled small bundle of tissue in silver and white paper with black silk ribbon tied at the center. “Please go put this on.”
Without thought I took it from him and could immediately feel there was something inside. I pulled the ribbon open and unraveled the paper to find white satin lingerie, appearing as pure as a first time bride. My mouth hung agape.
“What’s this?”
Jackson’s chin angled as his neck extended. “Your costume. I told you on my birthday you would dance for me. Tonight is the night.”
My head dropped. He was fucking with my buzz. I’d also realized in that moment how close our birthdays were. It felt like yesterday when Jackson made that bold decree.
“Jax, I told you I can’t dance,” I whined. This is not what excited me about spending the night with him.
“You can for me and you’ll enjoy it. I have the music and your props covered.”
“Props?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I don’t expect you to twirl and pop your entire routine, considering your lack of experience.”
“Routine?”
Jackson took a deep breath and stood from the sofa. “You have to trust me, Elle. You’re going to have a good time. Now go and get ready while I set things up,” he ordered while gently pushing me into the direction of my bathroom.
Just as always with Jackson, I relented and strolled into the bathroom where I stripped, showered, lotioned and applied my costume. When I padded out on my toes, I noted the change in my furniture. The two pieces were pushed back, one went to my bed area and the other against the far wall. In the center of the room was a long mirror reminding me of the one in Long Island. That flashback had fire shooting through my veins and my clit throbbing in no time. In front of the mirror was one of my barstools. But what was more arresting was the presence of a stripper pole in between the mirror and the stool.
Jackson gaited shirtless and sat on the stool with one leg propped up on the bar and the other firm against the floor. His feet were bare, too. All he wore were his jeans that hung sinfully low exposing the bubble of his pelvis. His elbow rested on his thigh and in his hand was a remote. Jackson’s head hung toward the floor, but his eyes roved over me appreciatively, dampening the crotch of my baby doll set. My eyes shot down to the opening of the top, exposing my belly and saw my muscles crunch. Just under my scars was a slight bump of fat I’d earned eating with Jackson over the past few months. But not even that could rival the arousal I felt by his agenda.
“I still feel like it’s my birthday,” he noted throatily and I swallowed hard.
The things he did to me. The way he made me feel like the fiercest female creature ever known to man. Was this what Jackson did with those older women? Was that why they flocked at his feet?
Shit… His feet!
“Come here, baby,” he commanded.
And without signal from my brain, my feet glided to him. Once there, Jackson turned me to face the mirror.
“Look at you,” he groaned as his fingers chastely drew delicate circles in my skin. “You’re fucking stunning, Elle. How lucky am I to be able to indulge in this on your birthday.” My attempt at fighting back a bubbling moan was an act of futility. My head lobbed over his shoulder behind me. “I wanted to toss your little ass over the table and fuck you insanely from the moment you strutted into the restaurant.” His hands traveled down to the bed of my panties. “You were wet for me then, just like you’re wet for me now, weren’t you?” His slivery tongue swiped that sensitive area on my neck, just above my shoulder.
“Mmmmmm…” I moaned unabashed this time before nodding my head.
Then Jackson’s fingers were in my golden curls, kneading my scalp.
“I’m ready to see you work. This song is slow, nothing up tempo.” He nipped my ear as he eyed me in the mirror. “Show me what you got and I’ll reward you handsomely.” I heard the snicker in his tease.
He clicked the remote and Beyoncé’s strong tenor flowed a cappella before the beat dropped. After a few seconds, I recognized the “Rocket” track. My eyes met Jackson’s in the mirror and observed his nod, urging me to go for it.
I wasn’t nervous, but my strut to the pole exuded more confidence than I could deliver on. When I touched the pole I had no idea what I’d do next so I swayed my hips while facing the mirror. Then I circled it, keeping my orbs on Jackson for cues. I’d taken a pole course at my gym twice last year where I sucked, but was able to lift my body weight from working out. With one arm, I swung my body until I stood directly in front of the mirror, the pole behind me. I pushed in until I felt the cold metal between my cheeks and bent to grab my ankles.
I was a cheerleader in junior high, so I knew how to travel from one pose to another. The seasoned seductress in me knew how to use my body to tease men. So from that moment on, I decided on the combo to indulge Jackson. I finally attempted the pole on a leap to the top, wrapping my hands and thighs around it and slowly dropped to the floor where I landed on a pose. That’s when I saw the first piece of paper fall from the air. I turned to Jackson and saw him watching fixedly with a wad of cash in his hand. I sputtered a laugh at the concept of making it rain, but he didn’t crack a smile. Once again, the ardent look in his eyes was sans the sleaze and degradation I’d come to see when seducing men. He was all in with me and that spurred my desire to continue.
I got lost in the music, the visual of my body moving sensually against the bass and Jackson’s piercing regard. I tried the pole again, gingerly attempting another safe swing, and kicked my legs into the air before coming down. I touched myself: my thighs, ass, ankles on a deep back arch, and my breasts all as I gazed directly into his eyes. Then I lost myself all over again.
Before I knew it the track was done and looped around to start over again. At that point, I glanced back to find Jackson without his pants. He’d messed up the vibe at that point. I was heavily aroused and blissfully tipsy. Damn teasing: I needed him. I twirled toward him rhythmically.
“Damn. You done already?” he asked directly in my ear as I planted my mouth on his neck.
Jackson was taken.
I didn’t answer, just took him at the band of his b
oxers, pushing them down, then off. I turned and pulled my panties down to my ankles before kicking them off then backed and positioned myself to sit on him, just as we did in Long Island. Jackson positioned himself and I sunk down onto him, gulping in air at the fullness until we were skin to skin. Then I began to rock him in my waterfall. He felt incredible inside me. Slowly, he peeled the baby doll top over my shoulders causing me to shudder once my heavy breasts were released.
I noticed my eyes were closed when he tapped me on the thigh and pointed to the mirror. As I grinded on him, pulling up and dropping back down onto him, I watched him collect and swipe my hair onto my right shoulder, clearing away the obstruction for him to see over my measured bouncing on him. That quickly I was losing it. And when his big hands raked up my belly and grabbed my pebbled nipples, my plunges turned wild.
I moaned viciously underneath the music as I used his thighs to balance myself, feeling him deep in my womb, the crown of his appendage rubbing against several sensitive spots in my canal. I went wild on his lap, bumping into his chest, unable to control the pleasure as I absorbed the building erotic melody of the song. My thrusting quickened rabidly, my groin coiling, sex gelling uncontrollably. I was so lost in pleasure, so enraptured by the wonton web this man spun me into without effort. I plunged, thrust, lifted, dropped—
Just as Beyoncé climaxed vocally, I did physically.
My body convulsed, groin exploded, shattered me into a million pieces as Jackson extended my rocketing by taking me at the waist, continuing my plunges. I cried out in delirium, mind lost in bliss.
He lifted me from the stool, gently placing my knees on the cushions of my sofa, my hands grabbed the back as he pounded me with strong lunges. Jackson’s fingertips stabbed my hips as he dove into me with reckless abandon. This was paradise. It had to be, the pleasure wouldn’t end. Every thrust he delivered forced air out of my lungs and butterflies in my womb. Before I knew it, that familiar brewing warmed my core and within seconds another implosion.