by Naomi Chase
Tamia smiled sadly. “I think that’s the first thing we’ve ever agreed on, Cynthia.”
Cynthia looked surprised at the admission.
Tamia sighed. “That’s what I came over here to discuss with you. I need to go talk to Brandon, but I honestly don’t think he’ll open the door if I show up at his place tonight. So I was wondering if you could give me the spare key.”
Cynthia stared at her. “Seriously, Tamia? You’re asking me to hand over the key to my man’s apartment so you can have a talk with him?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking. And I need you to give us some privacy to really hash things out.”
Cynthia snorted derisively. “Bitch, please. You must think I’m fucking stupid.”
“What I think,” Tamia countered quietly, “is that you’re tired of having a third person in your relationship. What I think is that it’s time for you, me, and Brandon to grow up and get on with our lives. So you need to let me say good-bye to him once and for all. Not over the phone. Face-to-face.”
Cynthia silently regarded her, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “You’re telling him good-bye?”
Tamia nodded slowly.
“Give me the key,” she said, holding out her hand, “and I promise you’ll get it back for good.”
Dominic was silent and sullen on the ride home from the hotel. Seated beside him in the Rolls-Royce limo he’d rented for the occasion, Tamia stared out the window, lost in her own troubled thoughts.
When they arrived at Dominic’s penthouse, she helped him undress and brought him water to take the painkillers the nurse had given him for his sore ribs. After he’d crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep, Tamia took his car keys and snuck out.
Twenty minutes later, she let herself into Brandon’s condo and quietly closed the door behind her. As she ventured toward the living room, she heard the sound of male voices coming from the back. She recognized each one as belonging to Beau, Dre, Justin, and Cornel.
The fellas had obviously come to do damage control or some sort of an intervention. But judging by the frustration edging their voices, they weren’t making much progress.
As Tamia neared the open doorway of the study, she heard Brandon issue a low warning, “Y’all niggas need to get the fuck out.”
There were rumblings of protest.
“Yo, man, you really need—”
“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Tamia froze as the fellas shuffled quickly out of the room, grumbling darkly and shaking their heads.
Not one of them looked surprised to see her standing there. As they filed past her, Beau shot her an accusing I told you so look.
Dre’s eyes were full of guilt: Please don’t tell him what you saw earlier!
Justin’s expression warned: I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.
Cornel gave her an appreciative once-over, craning his neck to ogle her backside as he exclaimed under his breath, “Dayum! Shorty fine as hell, though.”
Tamia barely registered any of it.
She was focused on the open doorway of Brandon’s study. Crossing the threshold would be as insanely dangerous as wandering into a lion’s den.
But she couldn’t turn back now.
When she reached the door, she took a deep breath to shore up her courage and stepped into the room.
Brandon stood at the window overlooking a moonlit park. His head was bent, broad shoulders hunched, long legs braced apart, one hand gripping a glass of scotch. He’d removed his tuxedo jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it from his pants.
Without turning around, he said in a deceptively soft voice, “I thought I told you to spend the night at your parents’ house.”
Tamia swallowed hard. “My parents are dead.”
Brandon went still, then turned slowly and stared at her.
She stared back.
He had a nasty cut on his forehead that had crusted over, and the skin around his left eye was starting to swell. But that was it.
Dominic looked worse.
Much, much worse.
Brandon’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Fuck you doing here?”
Tamia winced, stung by the harsh words.
To give herself something to do, she closed the door behind her. But it took extra courage to release the doorknob and turn around to face Brandon, especially given the way he was glaring at her.
She took a step forward. “I came to talk to you.”
His lips curled into a sneer. “So now you wanna talk?”
Another step. “Yes.”
He stared at her for a long moment, silent and brooding.
She swallowed nervously, watching as he set down his scotch and slowly rounded the desk. As he prowled toward her, her heart tried to batter its way out of her chest, as if it didn’t want to be trapped inside her body should any harm come to her.
She briefly wondered if he still kept his Glock in the bottom drawer of his desk.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you for over a week, Tamia. But you ain’t been trying to hear from me. So why the fuck are you here now?”
“Because . . .” Because I came to tell you good-bye. Because your mother thinks being a mistress and a whore is all I’m good for, and apparently you feel the same.
“Because what, Tamia?” he growled. “What did you come here to say?”
He was nearly upon her.
And her courage hauled ass.
“You’re right,” she mumbled, backing toward the door. “I can see this was a bad idea—”
“Nah.” As she turned and opened the door his arm shot out, shoving it closed. He pressed his hard body to hers, trapping her against him. “You’re here now. So let’s talk.”
Tamia kept her back to him, willing her lungs to expand and contract the way they were supposed to.
“Well?” The warmth of his breath on her bare back sent shivers down her spine, goose bumps pricking her skin. She could smell the barest trace of his Clive Christian cologne, a delicious scent that always drove her absolutely crazy.
“Whatcha gotta say, Tamia? I’m all ears.”
She dragged in a shallow breath. “I can see that you’re still mad—”
“Really?” he mocked bitingly. “What was your first clue?”
She didn’t dare open her mouth again.
“Wearin’ this fucking dress,” he grumbled darkly, gripping a fistful of the red silk. “What the fuck were you tryna prove? Huh? Huh?”
She shivered hard as he began raising the gown up her bare thighs. The friction of silk against her skin . . . the scorching heat of his body . . . his barely restrained fury . . .
The nigga had her trembling like a rose petal beneath a torrential downpour.
“Answer me, Tamia,” he growled in her ear. “What were you trying to accomplish by wearing this dress tonight?”
She gulped audibly, licking her lips. She couldn’t speak as his hand curved between her legs, kneading the fleshy inside of her thighs. Her pussy throbbed, clit swelling.
His hand slid higher but stopped just inches from her crotch, denying her what they both knew she wanted.
“Tamia.”
“What?” she whimpered.
“I asked you a question.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I . . . I don’t know, Brandon.”
“Bullshit,” he snarled, the word lashing her cheek. “You know. You were trying to hurt me. And I’m really trying to understand why, Tamia. Wasn’t it enough that you used to fuck that scurrilous nigga behind my back? Nah. Wasn’t it enough that you popped up outta the blue wearing his engagement ring? Nah. Wasn’t it enough that you decided to show up on his muthafucking arm tonight? Nope, that wasn’t enough for you. You had to put on this dress and strut your pretty ass into that ballroom to torture me all fucking night.” He gave a low, dark laugh. “And now you wanna come here and talk.”
Tamia had never been more terrified and aroused in her life. Even as alarm bells clanged in her head, her pussy w
as raining like a waterfall, soaking her panties through.
“Brandon—” she whispered.
“I’m tired of talking, Tamia. I really am.”
Oh, God, please help me.
“Th-then I’ll just g-go—”
“The hell you will.” He seized her lace thong, ripping it clean off her ass. Then he picked her up and carried her over to the low black sofa against the wall. He set her down and pushed the gown out of the way, then shoved her knees apart and sank to a crouch before her.
She stared down at him as his face disappeared between her shaking thighs. And then he tasted her, licking her swollen clit before sliding his tongue down between her slippery folds. She moaned brokenly and opened her legs wider, grabbing the back of his head and pushing his face deeper into her sex. He opened his mouth and sucked her whole, taking her labia and clitoris in one hot, greedy swallow.
“Oh, shit,” she squealed breathlessly. “Ohhh shit . . . shit!”
He inserted two fingers inside her, spreading her pussy wide so he could fuck her opening with his tongue.
She sobbed with pleasure, head rocking back and forth on the sofa, pelvis twisting and bucking uncontrollably. Brandon licked her ravenously, lapping at the warm juices that gushed out of her while swearing fiercely that her pussy belonged to him and him alone.
As tears ran down her face, he curled his fingers upward and thrust his tongue all the way inside her canal.
She screamed at the top of her lungs, her hips rocketing off the sofa as she exploded, creaming all over his sexy face.
He licked her clean, then reared back and tore off his shirt and wifebeater. Her glazed eyes roamed over the ripped muscles of his chest and abdomen, watching as he frantically unzipped his pants and pulled out his curved dick. It was so thick and hard, so engorged with blood, that she gasped at the sight of it.
Grabbing her around the hips, Brandon surged to his feet, lifting her from the sofa. Tamia locked her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist as their mouths met, tongues clashing in an urgent duel of wet heat.
Brandon reached between their bodies, impatiently shoving her dress out of the way. Cupping her buttocks, he thrust upward, ramming his ten inches into her.
She screamed and arched backward, her stilettos clattering noisily to the floor.
“Fuck!” Brandon swore savagely, bouncing her up and down on his dick.
Tamia wailed with ecstasy, unbearably aroused by the friction of his steel-girder pipe stretching her swollen slit. He fucked her standing up, the muscles of his stomach and thighs flexing with each driving thrust.
After several intense minutes he moved to the sofa and sat down, keeping their bodies tightly joined as he pulled her on top of him. His hands dove under her gown to grip her ass cheeks as he pounded into her, doing his damnedest to knock the bottom out of her pussy.
She rode his dick hard, her breasts nearly bouncing out of her dress. Her nipples were stingingly erect, her pussy was aching, and her clit was on fire. When Brandon eased his finger inside her asshole, she almost busted a damn nut. She shuddered as he stroked her tight anal muscles with a gentleness contrasted by the ferocious pounding he was giving her pussy.
They kissed and tongued each other as they fucked, panting harshly and groaning like animals.
He lifted her hips then slammed her back down onto his cock, repeating this three more times before they both erupted, heads flung back, mouths open as they unleashed primal screams.
Panting for breath, the inside of her thighs slick with sweat and come, Tamia could only collapse against Brandon, her head falling upon his shoulder as her eyes drifted shut. He kissed her damp temple and tenderly stroked her bare back as his chest rose and fell against hers.
After a long time, she carefully climbed off his lap and stepped back on unsteady legs. As calmly as she could manage, she smoothed down the rumpled folds of her gown and patted her sweaty hair.
Brandon watched her sullenly from beneath his dark lashes. “Where you going?”
She said quietly, “I need to go home.”
“No, you don’t. Your home is right here.”
Tamia smirked at him. “Does your fiancée know that?”
Brandon clenched his jaw, glaring at her as he angrily zipped up his pants. “So that’s it, Tamia? You fuck me then run on back to that punkass muthafucka like nothing happened? Like nothing’s changed?”
“Nothing has changed,” she said tightly.
“The hell it hasn’t.”
“Really?” she challenged, hands on hips. “What’s changed, Brandon? We had sex but you’re still engaged to Cynthia, and I’m—” She broke off as he suddenly shot to his feet and pushed his face into hers.
She stared up at him, heart thumping as the scent of sweat, sex, and fury swirled potently between them.
“You’re what, Tamia? You’re engaged, too?” Brandon grabbed her hand. “Where’s that rock you were wearing on Saturday? Don’t tell me you took it off to spare my feelings ’cause you obviously didn’t give two fucks about that when you showed up at the banquet tonight.”
Tamia jerked her hand away.
Brandon glared at her. “So now you staying with that nigga?”
Her eyes narrowed. “He told you that?”
“Oh, yeah,” Brandon jeered. “He was only too happy to share how wonderful things are between you two.”
Tamia shook her head, bending down to scoop up her shoes. Sidestepping Brandon, she sat down on the sofa and shoved her feet into the strappy heels.
“Do you love him, Tamia?”
She didn’t respond.
Brandon cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his probing gaze. “Do you love him?”
She pushed his hand away and sprang to her feet. “I’m leaving, Brandon.”
His eyes flashed with pain and fury. “What that nigga got, huh? What he got that I can’t give you and more?”
“Brandon—”
“Answer my fucking question!”
“Commitment!” Tamia exploded, shouting into his face. “He can give me commitment, Brandon! He can put a fucking ring on my finger and walk me down the aisle—something you apparently can’t or won’t!”
“That’s not true!” Brandon yelled hoarsely. “I do wanna marry you!”
“Sure you do!”
“Are you even listening to me? I’m asking you to be my damn wife!”
Tamia stared at him, stunned into speechlessness.
He stared back, chest heaving, nostrils flaring with emotion. “Baby—”
She slapped him hard across the face.
“How dare you?” she hissed furiously. “How dare you! You don’t get to decide you want me now that you’re afraid of losing me to a man you despise!”
“BULLSHIT! This ain’t about that sorry muthafucka! I love you—”
“Do you, Brandon? Do you really? Tell me something. Where was your love for the nine months that we were dating and you refused to let me meet your family? Where was your love when you secretly took Cynthia to the governor’s state dinner and introduced her to your parents? Where was your love when you attended the mayor’s fundraiser without me and spent the whole night cozying up to Cynthia? Where was your love when I called and poured out my heart to you, begging you not to marry her, pleading with you to choose me instead?” Tamia sneered, shaking her head at him. “You don’t love me, Brandon. I’m a trophy that you love to possess. But guess what? I’m not yours to possess anymore. Do you hear me? Contrary to what you choose to believe, I don’t belong to you!”
“The hell you don’t!” he roared, eyes blazing fiercely. “You can tell yourself whatever the fuck you want, Tamia, but we both know the truth. You’re here right now because you love me! And like it or not, you belong to me as much as I belong to you, and nothing you say or do is ever gonna change that!”
Tamia got into his face, trembling with outrage. “You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you’ve alwa
ys gotten whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, wherever you wanted. But not this time, Brandon Chambers. Not this fucking time!”
With that she spun on her heel and stormed from the room.
As she marched down the hallway she heard Brandon following her, but he didn’t try to stop her from leaving.
When she reached the front door, he snarled viciously, “I don’t care how good that nigga fucks you. I don’t care how many different ways he can make you come and scream his name. Unless you’re a whore, good pipe will only get you so far.”
Tamia’s face flamed.
Whirling around, she shrieked furiously, “Go to hell!”
Brandon laughed harshly. “Look at me, Tamia. I AM IN HELL!”
She held his anguished glare another moment, then turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
She didn’t even make it three steps before she burst into tears, sobbing so hard she doubled over.
It was only when she heard a loud crash from inside Brandon’s condo that she managed to pull herself up and stumble down the hall to the elevator.
Once she was inside, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and closed her eyes, praying for the strength to get herself safely home.
But even that task threatened to be more than she could handle . . . because she didn’t know where home was anymore.
Dominic was waiting for her when she returned.
He sat in the living room, lights from the tall Christmas tree scattering over him as he quietly toked on a blunt.
Tamia was instantly struck by a feeling of déjà vu.
This scene was hauntingly familiar. Except this time she was sneaking home to Dominic after being with Brandon.
Talk about an unexpected role reversal.
As she stepped out of her high heels and padded slowly across the floor, Dominic drawled, “So is this how it’s gonna be?” His voice was slightly slurred, a result of the painkillers and the weed.
Tamia didn’t answer him.
“Are you gonna be sneakin’ off to meet him the moment I fall asleep every night?” he pressed. “Is this what I should expect goin’ forward?”