by L. V. Lewis
Nate picks Jada up and swings her around, and Tristan swoops in for a kiss. I eagerly return it, and we part.
“Darryl will be back,” Tristan says to Nate and Jada, “so be cool.”
Their lips release with a loud smack as they part. I giggle. What were the odds that Jada and I would be dating brothers? Then I remember, Tristan and I aren’t dating. We have an arrangement. I’ll need to talk to Jada about that. She and Nate already look like a real couple, so at ease around each other. Tristan can be kind of stilted.
When I look up at him again, he’s smiling. “What?”
“I want to hear more laughter from you in general, but also in my role-play room.”
“Then I suppose that would be up to you, Mr. White.”
“Is that so?” He challenges.
“Yes. As I told you once, you need to take a chill pill.”
“Oh, that.” He leans in to whisper. “Keep giving it to me like you did the other night, and I’ll take all the chill pills you want me to take, baby.”
I try to control it, but my mouth turns up in a smile. Tristan moves us to the small table in his office that seats six, where he and Nate hold chairs for Jada and me. Darryl returns with a homely looking fellow with advanced stage, male-pattern baldness going on. Tristan introduces him as, Gibson, one of his corporate lawyers. I’m not sure if that’s a first or last name.
As expected, Jada challenges Tristan about the necessity for finding another location.
“We really hoped our business would be instrumental in the revitalization of the neighborhood,” she says. “A lot of young people in and around the Gage Park area are extremely talented, but the south side is all they’ve ever known. If we move the business further north to attract a wealthier clientele, my concern is that those kids will be lost to us.”
“You could still market to them, via radio, internet, magazines, social networking,” Tristan says.
Jada isn’t convinced. “But then, transportation comes into play.”
“CTA is reliable, I understand,” Tristan counters.
Nate adds his opinion. “The Bulls’ franchise and NBA charities go into the neighborhoods of the children we serve all over Chicago.”
“And your point is?” Tristan says.
Nate jabs his forefinger on the table for emphasis. “A seasoned Chicagoan will go anywhere in this city.”
Tristan gestures toward the demographic data he shared with us at the beginning of the meeting. “Not middle-classed snobs who are afraid of that neighborhood. No offense ladies.”
“None taken,” Jada and I say.
“What if we opened two locations? One in the south, as planned, and then another in the north at a later date?” Nate says.
Jada wrinkles her nose. “That would take capital we don’t have.”
“I could use another investment,” Nate insists with a smile. Jada shoots him a brilliant smile back.
Tristan levels Nate with a look, then stands and addresses everyone at the table. “Excuse us just one second, please. Nathan?”
Nate follows his brother to the opposite end of the cavernous office. They have what amounts to a whispered, shouting match for several seconds as we all sit there twiddling our thumbs.
They return smiling. It’s disconcerting to see them together. Same face, same body, polar opposite personalities, but brothers nonetheless.
Tristan speaks. “It seems that my brother is bound and determined to fund another venue for KSR, which means, ladies, you will begin your business venture as a franchise.”
I am numb, but Jada squeals. I’m going to have to talk to her about this annoying new thing she’s doing all the time now.
“Are you sure?” I say to Tristan.
“Absolutely,” he says. “Nathan is a shrewd businessman in his own right. He’s free to invest as he pleases.”
This certainly complicates things. We’ll have to hire more staff, do double the amount of PR. This snowballs so quickly I’m still in the fucking drifts when everyone else has moved on. When will I ever get to write? To Sing?
I look at Jada, but realize right away, all she’s seeing is the bottom line.
“Gibson will draw up an amendment to this contract immediately, but in the meantime we still have an opening in three weeks.” Tristan hands Jada and me a heavy Mont Blanc pen each. “If you’ll sign by the red signature flags, I’ll countersign by the green ones.”
#
We part ways with Nate and—a so excited she’s almost vibrating—Jada as they enter Nate’s low-slung sports car, which he drove over himself. We are in Tristan’s limo before I get a chance to mention the impromptu changes to our contract. Curiosity gets the better of me, first.
“Do you ever drive?”
“Yes, sometimes when I’m not working. I’m always juggling projects, so I use the drive time in the back of the limo to work, usually.”
“I pegged you right, then.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re king of multi-tasking.”
“I try to be. In everything.”
“So I noticed.” I take a deep breath and plunge headfirst into the deep end. “I hope you didn’t feel pressured to add a new location to this deal. Jada can be pushy, and I don’t want you to think we’re some kind of golddiggers.”
Tristan has a benign look on his face, but then he smiles. “I’ve known my share of golddiggers, Ms. Beale and you don’t have a gold-digging bone in your delectable body.”
“It’s just, I could tell you weren’t pleased with Nathan’s generous offer. I get that you probably want us to prove ourselves before any further investment is made.”
“Is that what you thought our little sidebar was all about?”
“Well, yeah.”
“It wasn’t. I just reminded my brother that he can invest, but I’m managing the controlling interest in this venture. Nate has a tendency to try and flex business muscle he doesn’t possess, nor has the time or inclination to hone given his busy NBA career. I wanted to squash that notion in advance.”
“I wish you would’ve squashed the idea, altogether.”
His brows raise. “Really? Are you getting cold business feet, Ms. Beale?”
“No, I just thought we would be managing one location, not two. Now we have to hire more staff, and divide ourselves between the two locations. That gives me precious little time to write my own music, and be your beck-and-call girl at the same time.”
He smiles. “My beck-and-call girl? That’s rich.”
“That’s what Julia Roberts said to Richard Gere in Pretty Woman.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Apparently gazillionaires didn’t watch many movies, either.
“I like the idea of you being at my beck-and-call.”
“I’m serious, Tristan. I just don’t want to bite off more than I can chew.”
“Since you put it that way, I don’t want that either, because I want you in my role-play room, and that is not up for negotiation. We’ll hire additional staff. I’m sure we can lure a few record company executives away from the competition.”
“So, that’s your answer? To throw more money and personnel at us? At this rate we may never be able to pay you back.”
“That’s not the attitude to have going into a business venture. Ms. Jameson’s rudimentary figures project a positive return-on-investment, even if you were to discover only a half a dozen new acts in your first six months. Given the plenitude of talent in Chicago, that shouldn’t be hard to do.”
“So you really believe in our concept?”
“Yes, but we have yet to see whether it will flourish in its execution.”
“We’re going to work hard.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
I wasn’t altogether sure we were talking about the same thing.
#
In the three weeks leading up to the grand opening of Kente Studio Records, Tristan promises to go easy on me in his role-play room.<
br />
“After that, it’s no holds-barred, Keisha.” His words ring like a threat, not a promise.
Jada and I hire the staff for the south side location, put other staff on notice for the north side location, and pull together an extravagant, grand opening. Tristan and Nate even help with securing local celebrities to make it one of the most exciting, and well-attended events in Chicago.
With the stellar human resources budget we have, we’re able to convince Jorge to leave his high paying job with the software company he’s worked for the past four years to head-up our IT division. He’s already created our elaborate website in his free time pro-bono, and who better than its creator to manage it?
I enjoy discovering Tristan’s kinky world, despite my earlier misgivings. Thus far, he’s only used his hand to spank me for pleasure, a few crops, and a small cadre of other toys that make my vajayjay heel like a domesticated pet.
Jada’s tutelage keeps me out of trouble with him, and I believe things are progressing well. After the grand opening, I’m set to graduate from training to something more hard-core. I have no idea what I’m in for. Understatement of the century.
The grand-opening is a smashing success. Our newly hired staff select a dozen new talents from our vast pool of applicants on the website to feature at the opening, and will select a few to offer contracts based on crowd reception.
I am the final act to go on that Saturday afternoon, and I’m nervous. Tristan has never heard me play, or sing.
On a stool, in the center of our makeshift stage in the record store section of the studio, I don my acoustic guitar and begin to sing a song I wrote for the opening several weeks before I ever met Tristan White. It’s a ballad about dreams coming true. I execute it as flawlessly as I can with my emotions running as high as they are. Jada and my mother are on the front row at my right, and I see Tristan and Nate standing a few rows back, so the shorter folks in the crowd can get a better view.
When I get to the part where I sing, “and I don’t ever want to wake up,” I repeat it till the end like a refrain, and my voice breaks when I see my mother and Jada crying.
Tristan makes his way through the crowd, and disappears into the back, as I’m rewarded with a shower of deafening cheers.
I’m congratulated by Jada, my mother, Nate, and our friends. Then Jada takes the stage to remind the crowd that the party will continue tonight at the Elysian Hotel downtown, a venue that we could never have afforded without Tristan’s influence at the last minute.
One of our new employees whispers to me. “Mr. White needs to see you in the office.”
When I enter the office, Tristan looks at me with an expression that holds enough heat to melt the polar icecaps. I lock the door, because I know we’re subject to be in a compromising position in a few minutes.
He walks slowly toward me.
I am a bundle of nerves. “So, what do you think so far?”
He doesn’t answer, because he is a man on a mission. He sweeps me into his arms and crushes my lips with his own. He thrusts his tongue deep into my mouth greedily, as I gasp from the sudden intrusion. Yet I arch my back and yield to his assault, as he holds me close to his always-primed-for-sex body.
“Hearing you sing is a fucking aphrodisiac,” he murmurs against my lips. “I couldn’t wait for you to get back here.”
He begins to disrobe me in haste.
“Tristan!” I balk. “We have a room full of people out there. And my mother.”
He pauses, then rearranges my clothing, a look of disappointment marring his handsome face. I remember this look weakening me the first time he had me in his role-play room. What the hell.
I drop to my knees. He is a master at reading my intentions. His pants are unzipped, and his gorgeous cock is out before I can say, Fuck my mouth, Sir.
I wrap my lips around the head and take a deep draw. Peeking up at him, I see his eyes roll back.
He groans deeply, “Keisha . . .”
I gurgle, because my mouth is so full, I can’t giggle. I get down to business and suck him off like the pro I’ve become in just a few short weeks. Tristan is such an excellent tutor in oral skills, sixty-nine has become one of my favorite positions. My poor vajayjay had been sorely lacking tongue action before Mr. White. Now, the trifecta almost loves giving and getting head more than fucking.
Tristan has some of the best moves, even when he’s fucking my mouth, and I know his body almost as well as he knows mine. I can feel when he’s getting ready to come. He’s made a habit of carrying a travel pack of tissues with him, because he respects that swallowing is a hard limit for me. However, this time when he pulls a tissue out in preparation to catch his jizz, I don’t let go. I figure this man swallows my juices as if it’s ambrosia or some shit. The least I can do is reciprocate.
“Keisha?” He grabs my shoulders and holds on when I suck deep one final time. “Oh, Keisha . . . fuck!” With a shudder that wracks his whole six-foot plus frame, he spills his seed into the back of my throat, and I swallow every drop.
I am barely finished swallowing before he hauls me up against him and kisses me so hard, it’s as if he’s trying to taste some of his own spunk before the last vestiges of it disappears down my throat. I tuck him back inside his pants and tug the zipper up while he’s still probing my mouth like he’s never going to stop.
Finally, he comes up for air, looking at me with something akin to reverence. “Now, that was a great grand-opening present,” he says. Still holding me in his arms, he stiff-walks us over to my desk. “Let me give you one.”
I push against his chest. “No way. You know I make too much damn noise.”
His face lights up as if he’s had the best idea since the light bulb. “We’ve got a few hours before the party tonight. Come to my place and let’s go together from there. I’m literally right around the corner.”
I laugh. “Okay, but first, I have something for you.”
“What?”
I go to my new desk and pull out the long, narrow box in professional gift wrap containing the present I got for him at an African boutique on the Mile.”
“What is it?” he insists.
I thrust it into his hands. “Open it.”
Tristan immediately rips the wrapping off. So much for a meticulously wrapped gift. He’s like a little boy in his excitement.
He drops the box and examines the colorful Kente cloth necktie left in his hands. He looks inordinately pleased. “You bought this for me?”
“Yeah. I thought you might wear it to the party tonight. It’s a subtle hint of your connection to our business venture.”
He hauls me up against him again and kisses me hard.
“Thank you, Keisha. I’ll wear this with immense pride.”
He then reaches inside his jacket and brings out a smaller narrow box.
“Tristan, your personal shopper has already loaded me up with clothes and accessories I don’t even know what to do with.”
“But this is from me. It’s a congratulatory gift for a successful grand opening.”
I smile and take the trademark Harry Winston box from his hands. Inside is a gorgeous diamond solitaire on a white gold chain. I don’t even want to think how much it cost.
I kiss him my appreciation. “Thank you so much. And I’ll wear this with immense pride tonight, too.”
~*~
101
Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever
Chapter Eight
In Tristan’s role-play room, I have assumed the position kneeling on the floor, next to the door, my palms resting on my knees. I’m dressed in a red, satin bustier and a thong. Nothing else.
My heart beats a rapid tattoo as it has each time I’ve been in this room. I try to calm myself, to connect with my inner submissive Triple-G, who has abandoned me. I get a quick glimpse of her, hiding behind my Fairy Hoochie Mama, who revels in this moment, as though it’s all she lives for these days. Insatiable heifer. The skank-ho licks her tongue out at me, and I don
’t have time to react before Tristan enters the room.
He’s in that Dom zone he goes into when we’re in here. I sneak a glance at him. Opening one of the highboy drawers in the corner, he removes something and carries it to the bed. He’s wearing that royal purple smoking jacket, with matching satin pajama pants, looking for all the world like a younger, hotter much better-looking version of Hugh Hefner. He could give the Playboy mogul a run for his fucking money in the sex department. I’m just saying. Inwardly, I’m glad I’m the only woman experiencing his goods these days.
He stands in front of me, and all I see is his feet and the legs of his pajamas. I keep my head down like a good little submissive, but already my vajayjay is crying tears of joy and anticipation. What will he do to me now? I get that nagging sensation that this is . . . just wrong, but I know it isn’t because of him. This is part of who Tristan is—and after the last few weeks—after all he’s done for our new business venture, I am happy to take whatever he decides he wants to subject me to on this occasion in his role-play room. Right now, I’d give him whatever he thinks he needs.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.
He bends down and nudges my chin with his forefinger, giving me permission to meet his gaze.
“Who do you belong to, Keisha?” he demands.
“You, Master.” That word still rankles when I use it, conjuring images of a Plantation owner in the deep south, and I’m his bed slave. I nix that shit before it freaks me and my Triple-G the fuck out. Her little ass is still not used to this. She’s shaking in a corner as I even think it.
“Stand up,” Tristan commands, and I stand, careful to look down again.
“You may look at me,” he breathes, and I gaze up into his smoldering blue peepers. He’s wearing his Dom look, in his Dom mode—implacable and chilling—but sexy as all get-out. I swallow convulsively, and know in that moment, I’m willing to do anything he wants.
“What are your safewords?” he asks in the authoritative tone he uses, especially in the confines of this room.