The Deviant

by Tiana Laveen

  “Why’s your coat still on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He cocked his head to the side and rubbed his hands together.

  “Well, if there’s no reason, then take it off.”

  She slid off the coat and handed it to him. He promptly hung it up, then slid off his own and did the same.

  King flicked on a light in the small foyer area which also illuminated his kitchen, off to the left. All of the cabinets and appliances were fairly new, refurbished in a dull walnut finish. He hoped it met Suri’s expectations.

  “Your apartment is quite nice. Especially for a single man.” Suri laughed at her own joke as she stepped beside him and stood like a dutiful soldier. She was much shorter now that her high heels were gone.

  “Thank you. Are you thirsty?”

  “Yeah, I could use some water.” She leaned against the green granite countertops of his kitchen and crossed her ankles, one of which was adorned with a pretty anklet.

  He turned on some music, ‘Girlfriend,’ by NAO, then opened up a cabinet to grab a tumbler and pour her a glass of water. He handed her the cold drink as she looked left to right. her big eyes bouncing from one spot to another.

  “What’s this? About nine hundred, maybe a thousand square feet?”

  “A thousand.” He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, as if shedding a second skin. Crossing his arms, he stared at her. Her gaze landed on his array of tattoos. She studied him as if she’d never seen him this way before. In a different light, in more ways than one.

  His dick throbbed with need, straining against his boxer briefs like a coiled snake snared in a trap. His heart beat fast at the sight of her breasts. They’re so damn soft. I dreamed about these motherfuckers… Can’t wait to get my mouth on them again. All he could think of was dragging her to his bed and doing horribly hedonistic, obscene, delightfully vile things to her.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “A few years. I love the area.” She nodded her pretty head. “But I’d like to eventually get a two bedroom.”

  “Yeah, but this is nice though. It feels cozy. Clean. Definitely masculine, but welcoming.” She turned and looked around the living room. Sandwiched between the wall and couch were several large canvases, turned backwards. He knew it was coming… and it did. “Can I see some more of your art?”

  He went to grab himself a bottled cranberry juice from out of the refrigerator. Breaking the seal of the cap, he tossed it in the small stainless steel trashcan with the temperamental foot petal. “Okay.” He slipped the word between two hearty sips. They walked into the living room as ‘Different Planet,’ by Lion Babe, played through the Bluetooth speakers. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

  She sat down on the sofa, smiling, and lay back on a plush black pillow. He lifted a hexagon shaped white table top and pulled out several black hardbound art portfolios from the storage space. He approached her like a man bearing gifts, and sat them on her lap before returning to the other side of the room, back turned, bouncing to the beat of the music.

  He could feel her penetrating stare upon him, sense her vigor bubbling through his own veins and snuggling against his core and brain cells, trying to pick his mind. His heart. His soul. He imagined her looking at his back muscles as he flexed a bit while he danced. He was tempted to laugh as he worked his body, trying to entice her, seduce her, warm her up. An urban peacock putting on a show. It wasn’t long before he began to hear the pages turning in their protective plastic inserts. One after another, with heavy pauses in between.

  She’s studying them…

  They were scans, quality photos of his art. Most of the originals were housed in a storage unit he rented for his vast collection of artworks, which he’d started collecting at the young age of ten.

  I dance on the edge of wanting to save the world to wanting to crush it with my bare hands. It’s my secret. Sometimes shameful. Sometimes admirable. That’s my soul she’s looking at. That’s the shit lodged deep inside my mind. The shit I wish for. My visions. My nightmares. Anything but the actual reality. This woman is holding my dreams between her thighs…

  He kept dancing, arms stretched out like a bird’s wings, eyes closed. He was feeling a little tipsy, a little high, though no drugs coursed through his veins and it wasn’t the alcohol. He was simply high off life.

  “King, you love women,” she spoke above the music, breaking him out of his trance. “I mean you really love women.” The series of works she was looking at depicted women receiving and giving oral sex, all in different settings and positions. Some were pencil sketches, others oil paintings, a few abstract renditions in ink. “These are beautiful, King. Nasty, and beautiful.”

  He ran his hand up and down his arm, smoothing the hairs down along the way. She kept turning the pages.

  “I love this still life, too.” She pointed to a realistic painting of bananas, sliced kiwi, an African wooden mask, broken glass, and a clear bowl of oranges. “Even your abstracts are sensual, dark, deep. Damn. So talented.” She kept turning the pages and he drew closer to her. Slowly. So slowly. Until finally, he was sitting right across from her in an oversized black chair. She lingered at several celebrity paintings he’d done. Babe Ruth, Tom Hanks, Drake, Bill Clinton, Joaquin Phoenix and Beyoncé.

  He stretched his legs and adjusted his pants, allowing some extra room for his never-ceasing erection. As she studied his work, one depicting particles of his pneuma, he fell deeper into his lake of lustfulness. Drowned. Bound by not mere physical attraction, but psychological and emotional magnetism, too. Getting to his feet, he went to her and gently pulled the portfolio from her grasp, and their eyes locked. He slowly closed it, then placed all the folders back onto the coffee table. Taking both of her hands, he pulled her to her feet and led her away to his bedroom.

  Cracking open the light blocking curtains, he raised the window a half an inch, then lit an unscented candle. Soon, they were stripped down, their bare bodies pressed together, standing by the bed with a slight, cool breeze now flowing in from the cracked window. Gallant’s ‘Gentleman’ played in the room, titillating his eardrums, bringing back memories of when they first met.

  With a slow caress, he traced her delicate shoulders as their naked bodies swayed in the darkness, only the flicker of the candle and a thin stream of light illuminating their forms. When cars passed on the street, the brighter light highlighted the curve of her cheeks. He layered her neck with kisses, while he touched the soft skin of her arms, and she shuddered, leaning into his hard frame.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered. She did as he asked, her arms looping around his neck to help keep her balance. “Imagine the perfect day. Maybe it’s a vacation in the Caribbean. Or maybe a cold, rainy afternoon, perfect to indulge in incredible comfort food, hot teas, and a marathon of black and white movies. Whatever it is… imagine being there. Enjoying it.” He waited a few moments, allowing her to gather her thoughts and knit something gold and pretty with them. Guiding his hand along her waist and the arch of her hips, he sucked in air when he felt a hint of moisture budding from between her thighs. The wetlands of her hot pussy rubbed on his cock, and they moved together in the dance of two souls trying to see if they fit…

  “Now, I want you to imagine I am there in your perfect day, too. I want you to see me with you, doing all the things you love to do. Picture having someone to debate with, as we seem to like to do, but also someone to care for you in ways you’ve never experienced until I entered your sunny side of existence. Someone to understand you, not flinch at your authenticity and audacity. Someone who can… make love to you like no other man can. Each time I do it to you, it is different from the last.” He paused and listened closely to her breathing. Shallow, then deep. A hard swallow. “Imagine us lying naked in your perfect space, baby, on your perfect day… our legs wrapped around one another’s.

  “Envision us sharing the same pillow, lying so close together we become an overlapping collage of i
mages from the dark side of the moon. Your soft, long, thick, textured curls blending into my straight black strands and… we make music. We make art. We make fucking a thing of beauty. Though we’re different, we fit. We’re complete apart, but even better together. So, imagine being seen from the inside out. I see you from the inside out, precious soul.” He cradled the back of her head as they swayed. Eyes closed tight. Erection standing strong. “I am now truly understanding how your mind works. You make me question my own authority. That authority is me. And I… I am addicted to where you force my mind and soul to wander. Wanderlust.” He ran his hand along the nape of her neck then pulled away to stare at her. Her eyes fluttered as she slowly opened them and stared back.

  Tilting his head, he leaned in and stole a kiss. The softness of her embrace reached deep inside of him and wouldn’t let go. He was greedy for more. In a blur of need, he moved fast, knocking something off a surface, and pinned her against the wall. She arched into him as their kiss deepened. He picked her up and laid her on the red sheets then yanked her hard, causing her to lift her body from the bed and bringing her ass to rest against his abdomen. Thighs spread, legs hooked over his shoulders and secured tight, he feasted fast and furious on her folds, lapping and sucking the trickling juices, then teasing his appetizer: her clit. She moaned and whimpered, her voice contending with India Shawn’s, ‘Movin' On.’

  “Yessss,” she hissed, rotating her gushy pussy and pressing it against his mouth. “Eat my pussy, baby.” Digging his fingers into her ass, he lifted her even higher, darting his tongue in and out of her canal. As she started shaking, her stomach caved with each ragged breath. He regarded his prize, getting high off all that she was. Once she’d settled, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his dick now hard as a rock. He grabbed a condom out of his nightstand and sheathed himself. Pushing some stray curls away from her face, she reached for him.

  “Wait a minute,” he directed. “Turn around and get on my dick.” Her eyes gleamed with sparkles of light as she turned her back to him and put it in reverse. Sitting upright, his legs far apart, he guided her down onto his length.

  “Oh, shit!” She winced and purred as she slowly became flush with his groin.

  “That’s it, baby.” The heat of her hollow pulsed and warmed his shaft, filling him with desire. He began to slowly pump upward. Her nails dug into his thighs as she held on, riding him in reverse. Amerie’s, ‘Talkin’ To Me’ played in unison with their overlapping sighs and moans. Needing more of her, he slipped his arms under her knees and lifted her legs up into the air, wide open, which forced her back to press against his chest. He clasped the back of her neck, driving her hard down onto his dick to meet his deep, fast thrusts. She screamed and shuddered, coating his dick with sweet snatch nectar.

  “Shit shit shit! King!”

  He groaned, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull she felt so damn good.

  “Stop runnin’ from it.” He forced her down on him then drove inside of her at warp speed.

  Suri cursed, screamed and fell apart as he fucked her, their bodies slapping against one another, in a fight of their very own. His climax knocked at the door. He hung on a bit longer, needing to give her more pleasure, to make her cum again. She pushed down into his thrusts, her voice echoing and vibrating as she unraveled once more. The music, traffic, harsh breathing and moans became an orchestra as he twisted her around, inside out—made her pussy his latest exploration.

  “Cum again,” he demanded, holding on by a thread, doing his damnedest to not explode deep inside of her.

  “I… can’t.” Her hot body was sticky with heat and desire. He released one of her legs, kept the other hiked up high, and thrust slow and hard while strumming and massaging her clit. He slid his digit inside of her, garnered more moisture, and slipped it across her bud, enticing her to the point that she had no choice but to follow his orders. When she came, her body beat against him like fluttering butterfly wings. He licked her earlobe, then cooed as she calmed. He rocked slowly inside of her, barely moving, then began to speed up once again.

  “Fuck! Yes, baby! Tear my pussy up! Fuck me, King! Fuck my shit up with that good dick!”

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed his head into her back and slammed into her with brute force. His calves burned, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down, and within seconds, he exploded… Reeling, the world watery and his muscles tightening, he gentled his pace. His dick throbbed and jerked inside of her, forcing the last of his cream to flood her case. Someway, and he wasn’t certain how, they both ended up face down on the bed, breathing hard, suffocating themselves in the sheets. He heard her laughing and he smiled against the fabric.

  “How am I getting my clothes back on and walkin’ out of here because sir, you have fucked my spine clear out of my body. They call me Suri the jellyfish.”

  He laughed at that… tried to stop, but couldn’t.

  Damn, her pussy is unreal.

  He gripped a fistful of sheets and exhaled, feeling hungry and horny all over again. Discarding the condom, he replaced it with a new one and slammed her on her stomach, fucking her doggy style as Summer Walker crooned, ‘Girls Need Love.’ As he neared his orgasm, he pressed into her back, grinding and bumping against her ass. He began to do push-ups while fucking her, ensuring he stayed inside her wetlands.

  “Boy!” She giggled. “You’ve got skills!”

  He started to show off, doing them with one hand as the sweat from his brow dripped upon her silky brown skin.

  Moments later, they came together, quietly. Beautifully. Painfully connected.

  An hour later, they sat in bed, eating greasy hot wings, coughing on incense smolder and ignoring the television show airing on the TV in his bedroom.

  “You are a fool!” She cackled.

  “Nah, I’m serious. I kid you fucking not.”

  “Are you really sure it was the same man?!”

  “Hell, yeah! Check it. This motherfucker was on the side of me in traffic, right?” She nodded, her big ass pretty eyes even larger than usual. “And I saw him eating. I was on the phone with Shane in my dad’s car, tryna figure out something, and I remarked to him that the guy was going to town on some fries. It was funny to me because he was eating them really fast, cramming them in his mouth like it was some sort of contest. I didn’t think anything else of it, right?” He licked his fingers and drank some of his apple juice.

  “Don’t leave me hanging. What else happened?” She tore into a chicken wing, chomping with her mouth open.

  “So, I got to the crib and this same jerkoff, Suri, got out the car a few seconds after me. I’m thinking, that was a strange coincidence that he was coming to the exact same place. So, he was parked across the street and came up to the front of my building with the bag of food. So, at this point, I was thinking he must be visiting someone there. Crumbs all over his damn mouth. Dude rings the bell. I continued on my way upstairs and my neighbor came down. I figured it was a friend of his. My neighbor was all like, ‘Hey.’ And the guy was like, ‘What’s up, yo, got ya food here, pipin’ hot.’ This joker handed him the bag of chow that he was just eating from.”

  “Nooo!”

  “Yeeeessss! He was his Uber Eats driver, Suri, and see, that’s why, unless I’m sick, and that’s rare, I don’t fuck with the Uber Eats app. anymore. If I want take-out and the restaurant doesn’t have their own delivery drivers, then the hell with it.” He shrugged. “I stood there and watched this mofo get a tip and everything. I didn’t say anything though because this same neighbor complained about my music being too loud, and tried to get some poor old man kicked out of our building for frivolous crap. So, fuck him and his sampled, half eaten, stranger’s-saliva-covered fries.”

  Now Suri was slumped on his shoulder, smelling like hot sauce, hair grease, cocoa butter and beautiful sweet dreams, laughing her ass off. Who could resist that? Her mirth was contagious.

  “King, I thought you were one of the good guys.” He
shrugged. “You’re always talking about how messed up people are. Horrible, not worth a damn.” He yawned loudly. “You should’ve told him. Gave him a heads up.” She could barely say it with a straight face.

  “I’m a good Samaritan when it’s needed. I don’t just offer a helping hand to anybody. I show discretion. Besides, I have no sympathy for petty ass people. He kept a lot of shit going on in our building, a lot of unnecessary drama, so that was a small taste of karma as far I was concerned. Served with only seventy-five percent of the original order.”

  She laughed all the harder, then burped.

  “Excuse me.” And she began to laugh all over again—a lazy, tired laugh, but one she couldn’t fight. They drew closer to one another. Smiled at one another. Then kissed. She pointed to the flatscreen mounted to his wall. “The news is on.” They watched together for a few moments. “Damn. Someone else got shot in Navy Hill tonight. So tired of this mess. I get these calls all the time, King. It’s constant.”

  “Why do they have the dead rat blurred out on the screen?”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious. Look.”

  “Oh, shit.” She laughed. “I see it.”

  “That’s dumb. It’s not a dead body of a person. Shit, it’s not even Mickey Mouse, Rizzo, or Speedy Gonzales. It’s just a fuckin’ rat. A trash chomper. They act like this little rodent’s loved ones are gonna see it and feel some kind of way. Like they’re going to call the news station and say it was insensitive to show their cousin like that, and file a lawsuit.”

  “Stop!” She chuckled.

  “Like it’s Ratatouille or some shit, owner of a five-star restaurant, a celebrity rat…” He threw up his hands. “Like the news has to protect his family from the horror of it all, all 536 members from emotional distress and mental upheaval.” Suri was really going now. “Picture it, they’d have a press conference, right? ‘My name is Ms. Chewy, Ralphie’s mutt-tuh, and my 98th son was exploited on tha Harlem ABC7 News. We’ve secured a loy-yuh, and we’re gonna take all the city’s cheeeese!”