Black Diamond

by Ja'Nese Dixon

  His large hands braced her lower back and she noticed the differences in their size. She had been wrong about his height. He had to be over six feet and compared to him, her five foot six inch height seemed comical.

  “Where should I begin?” Marc paused to look down into her face. His gaze was smothering. She saw it coming. He wanted to kiss her and she wanted him to kiss her. It felt brazen, but she did. She reasoned that maybe the kiss would settle the fire brewing in the pit of her stomach that was slowly moving south.

  Marc lowered his head and captured her mouth in a fleeting kiss. The controlled fire in her stomach was now a full alarm inferno. She opened her eyes to see his sparked with awareness as he pulled back.

  Camille saw raw sexual energy beaming in her direction. She glanced around the dance floor and noticed that the song had changed. She stepped back. He stepped forward, closing the space. Her eyes ventured back to his full, soft, kissable lips.

  Camille needed some space to breath. She stepped back, extending her hand, “Thank you for the dance.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed her gently on the back of her hand.

  “Camille, do you know that you’re beet red?” He chuckled and she joined in, relieving some of the sexual tension.

  “No, but it happens from time to time.”

  “I like it. It’s cute.” She found herself back in his arms. “And you’re beautiful. Can I see you again?”

  She paused and looked towards the bar. Something was going on and Camille knew she needed to get back on the job.

  “Sure.”

  She knew he noticed the change in her mood because he followed her attention towards the bar. He didn’t say anything, but they both knew their time together was limited.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, I need to run.”

  “How about we exchange numbers and talk over the weekend?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Her preoccupation with scanning the club drowned out the noise in the club. She looked at him and he too began to look about the room.

  “Are you looking for Ashanta? She’s over there.” Marc said pointing to a private booth on the far end of the club.

  Ashanta and Harold sat huddled up. Camille looked to the seat Saul occupied earlier and found him still there.

  “Thank you. I gotta go.”

  She moved out of his embrace, placing her hand against his chest. She could feel the definition of his body. She needed to get as far away from Marc as possible. Camille turned to walk away when he grabbed her wrist, and diverted her attention back to him.

  “What’s your number?”

  Camille rattled off her number. He nodded, but didn’t write it down.

  “But you’re not writing it down.”

  “I don’t need to. I got it right here.” He tapped his index finger on his right temple. He leaned, brushed a quick kiss on her cheek, and let go of her hand.

  Camille began moving towards Saul, but paused to glance over her shoulder. Marc remained in the same spot, feet planted, watching her every move.

  * * *

  Damn, he’s sexy. Ashanta watched as Harold settled into the booth. His relaxed demeanor made it appear as if he partied in a club full of young Black professionals on a regular basis. He was one of the only white men in the club, yet he walked around as if he owned the place. She knew he didn’t usually socialize after work but this time, he attended to prove a point to her and she was reading him loud and clear.

  Harold placed her drink on the table and lazily laid his arm along the back of the bench, touching her shoulder.

  Ashanta glanced towards the bar. She knew Camille would have a lecture prepared when they talked later, and she understood her concerns, but fuck it. Harold made the madness of her life disappear. Didn’t she deserve it?

  They made a striking pair, she was five-ten in her bare feet with deep, rich ebony skin, kissed by the motherland and he cleared six feet with salt-and-pepper hair, and twenty years her senior. He had the body of a twenty year old and the determination of a worldly man who took what he wanted; no apologies. She found his rough edge sexy as hell.

  “Do you see the look on Saul’s face?” Ashanta asked although she honestly didn’t care about Saul. Nor did she like him. He was an arrogant bastard and a spoiled brat. He sat at a table alone, watching them as if disgusted. She could care less, but she did not want to come between Harold and his eldest son.

  Harold shrugged, “I am a grown man. I’m his father. Who I decide to spend my time with is none of his business.” He paused as if in deep thought. “I believe we have an understanding.”

  Yeah right, she thought. She doubted that he and Saul had come to the same understanding.

  Harold slid his arm between her lower back and the cushioned booth. He cupped her hip and pulled her body closer to his. Their legs touched, and her body responded immediately to his nearness. The smell of his cologne, the brandy on his breath and swirl of his finger, as he traced small circles on her thigh, had her buzzed; and it wasn’t all due to the alcohol.

  “Let’s give my son something to watch,” Harold suggested.

  Ashanta parted her lips in an open invitation and he wasted no time. He captured her laughter in a smoldering kiss that erased their casual façade and exposed his sexual need. She tilted closer, wanting to experience all that he had to offer.

  Harold wrapped his hands around the sides of her neck as his thumb gently brushed along her jaw line. He groaned his approval of her submission and expertly darted his tongue into the warmth of her mouth.

  She was too enthralled with him to care that they were making out in a club booth. They let the sounds of the club absorb the moans that passed between them. He ended their exchange and she captured his lower lip between her teeth in an intimate nibble before allowing him to adjust his posture to accommodate his rising manhood.

  Ashanta saw the passion stirring in his crystal-clear blue eyes mirroring the feelings pulsating through her body. She had ignored his requests to take their relationship to the next level, but tonight she planned to give in to his persistent patience.

  They knew her misgivings were valid. The reality of him owning the company that employed her was just the beginning of her worries. When she add in the twenty-year age difference, the fact that she was an African woman and he was a white man, the deck was stacked against them.

  “I want you,” he whispered as his lips grazed her ear. He leaned back and his smothering gaze imprisoned her. His statement was simple and direct, however, the look in his eyes was intent with a hint of vulnerability.

  Ashanta knew his hesitation was well founded. His appearance at happy hour signaled a big step in declaring his feelings for her. She didn’t think he would actually do it. In some ways, she wished he hadn’t.

  He made it hard to refuse what he openly offered and she was tired of fighting her feelings. She decided to accept his invitation and enjoy it for what it was worth.

  Ashanta turned into Harold and let the softness of her breast rest against him. She wanted him too, but giving in would be the death of her.

  Harold ran his index finger from her exposed shoulder to her forearm leaving a train of tingling need as he continued to seduce her, fully clothed and in public.

  “Don’t worry so much, honey.” He read her mind as if they had known each for a lifetime. His finger continued its journey as he ran it across the hollow of her cheekbone. “I love the look of your beautiful skin. I love the taste of your mouth on mine. I can’t wait to see your onyx eyes filled with sleepy satisfaction, in my arms, in my bed.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Harold closed the remaining inch separating them. “Let me love you, honey. Let me make love to you.” He pulled back and mouthed please.

  Damn. He searched her eyes for the answer. She would give him a dose of his own medicine. Ashanta wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair. She flicked her tongue along his mouth, stopping only t
o nibble on his lips before grabbing his earlobe between her teeth.

  “Yes,” she finally answered. He rewarded her with another kiss that left her lightheaded.

  “Let’s say our goodbyes.” He stood to let her out of the booth. Ashanta righted her dress, as she scanned the club.

  “I want to find Camille and let her know we’re leaving.”

  “Okay, I’ll make my rounds and head to the men’s room.”

  Harold pulled her into a parting kiss that started as a quiet storm with the patience of a saint and ended in the heat of the devil’s seed. Her legs could barely support her weight. They felt like jelly stilts. He slowly ended the kiss.

  “Hot damn!”

  He laughed. “That was so unladylike.”

  She rested her head on his chest to catch her breath. She would find a way to tell him the truth and save her family.

  “You know I curse like a sailor.” She looked at his handsome face and took hold of his erect manhood. “We both know you don’t want me for my poised, ladylike ways.”

  “Hot damn.” Harold released a low growl peering at her through lowered eyes. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Donovan.”

  Ashanta turned to find Camille. Harold held her hips and aligned their bodies, positioning his throbbing need against her round derriere. She could feel the rapid rhythm of his heart beating on her back. She felt the warmth of his breath before she heard the low raspy confession that would follow.

  “I love you.“

  She froze. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. She turned to see his face, but he was gone. She watched his back as he retreated.

  She loved him too. Ashanta only hoped their love would be enough.

  * * *

  He should have skipped this whole scene. Witnessing his father with her almost made him hurl. Harold still chased anything in a skirt.

  Saul ordered another drink. The leggy blonde-haired woman stepped to the side and revealed Harold. He stood a few feet away with his hands casually in his pockets. His tie hung loosely around his neck and the top button of his oxford dress shirt was undone.

  “What is your problem?” His head angled lower to level his stare.

  You, Saul thought but dared not voice.

  “What problem?” He hated that his father still had the power to intimidate him. His eyes frigidly moved about the room.

  “Don’t play ignorant with me, boy.”

  Boy… “Father, I’m a grown man. I haven’t been, your boy, since you ran off with your little office hussy.”

  The dim club lights reflected across Harold’s face casting a sinister shadow. He turned the chair opposite Saul toward him straddling it as he rested his forearms on the back of the chair. The smile on his face did not reach his piercing cold eyes. He grabbed the glass left by the parting waiter and smelled the contents. “Oh, so this yak is helping you grow some balls tonight,” he laughed.

  Saul squirmed in his chair as his father’s laughter caused his stomach to gather in tight knots.

  “Oh, don’t stop now Mr. Badass. Say what’s on your mind,” Harold probed.

  Saul swallowed a lump the size of a bowling ball, straining to clear his throat. He inserted his index finger between his neck and his shirt collar, trying to loosen its hold. What he saw in his father’s eyes made him bite back the words he wanted to say.

  “Let me help you,” Harold sipped from Saul’s glass before continuing. “You have an issue with Ashanta? Grow up! Who I date or sleep with has nothing to do with you. Am I making myself clear?”

  His voice was a mere octave above a whisper, enforcing every syllable of the parting sentence through clenched teeth. Saul flinched. Harold did not wait for Saul to answer. He stood and walked away the drink.

  Saul released the pent up air trying to disregard his humiliation. His father made him feel like a child and he hated the hold Harold had over him. Mortified he sat with his elbows on the table, cradling his head. Saul looked up only to catch a glimpse of Harold escorting Ashanta out of the club. The strain of his clenched fist caused tremors to quiver through his arms. Saul hated him and her. He slammed his fists on the table, startling a woman walking past. Harold would not get the last word.

  Chapter 4

  “I have to go.” Harold opened his eyes and hoped she was joking.

  “Stay the night with me,” he asked.

  They had made love several times. Most women would gladly lounge in his bed. She was different and he loved everything about her.

  “I can’t.“

  “Why?” he asked. His frustration was evident.

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ashanta sat up in the bed. He followed. In a split second, Harold felt the vibe change and helpless as the moment slipped through his fingers. The sex-laced aroma lingering in his master bedroom was the only trace of what they shared. He wanted it back.

  “Honey, I’m sorry. You just…I just…damn.”

  Ashanta threw back the covers, climbed out of the bed and stood in front of him with her hand placed wickedly on her hip. The moonlight gleamed through the bay window. God, he wanted her again.

  Harold reached for her hand and she snatched it from his reach. He had to change her mind and quick.

  “Don’t ‘Honey, I’m sorry’ me.”

  Ashanta began searching for her clothes in the dark room. Harold scampered from the bed and wrapped his arms around her body. He used his hands to cover her bare breast. He began to massage them, gently pinching her nipples until they hardened under his fingers.

  “Don’t…” Her protest escaped in a hushed whisper. Her head fell back against his shoulder and she moaned. He allowed his hand to move lower. Pressing her body to him, he entered her.

  “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he said in rhythmic cadence with gentle strokes of his fingers.

  “You can’t control me.”

  “Please stay.”

  He continued to plead with his hands, stroking her until she had trouble breathing. He watched the rapid movements of her chest until she screamed a hoarse release.

  “All you have to do is ask,” she stated with her eyes closed.

  “I’ll remember that.”

  She laughed. He joined in, once he felt her body relax in his arms. He looked down on her face searching for any traces of her anger. Harold had to control his emotions with her. He had never had to censor himself with a woman. They always did what he said, when he said it.

  “Harold, I can’t stay the night. Sit with me for a second. I need to tell you something.”

  “Tell me what?” The edge in his voice hung in the air as she turned to face him. Her brow lifted. “I’m sitting,” he said.

  He sat on the end of the bed with his hands clinched in tight fists on his knees. Ashanta climbed in the bed and patted the space beside her. Without a word, he laid next to her. He extended his arm and she snuggled down, laying her head on his shoulder, running her fingers through his chest hair. The smooth texture was different. How would she tell him?

  “I’m listening.” He interrupted her musing.

  “Harold, there are some things you don’t know about me.” She felt his body tense underneath her. She continued, “I had a different life before moving to America.” She paused, appreciative that he remained silent as she collected her thoughts.

  “I cannot tell you everything you should know, but I will soon. I promise.” For the first time in her life, she felt insecure. She would fix this. She knew she could. She needed him to understand.

  “I don’t like being in the dark. Are you in trouble? Is there something I can do?”

  The questions rushed at her with lightening speed, she had to handle this carefully. She decided to tell him a story of how it all began.

  “You know that I’m from Angola. It’s where I lived until moving to America to attend graduate school. I was around thirteen years old when I had a run in with some young thugs while walking home from school.” She felt his
body react. She began to stroke his chest.

  “We didn’t live in the best part of town, but my parents worked hard. My mother cleaned many houses to pay for my private school and my father took any job he could to support our household. The only thing they expected in return was for me to do well in school and make something of myself.” Ashanta smiled, seeing her mother’s face. She felt Harold’s thumb run across her cheek, drying her tears. She did not realize she was crying. She kissed his knuckles.