by Love Belvin
“You gotta crave it and chase it…until you’re close enough to taste it…”
I cried out as he sucked my nipple hard. Then he applied chaste sucks to soothe the sting. He did this several times, paying the same brutal treatment to both breasts. I couldn’t help grinding my sex against his pelvis. I felt his lap lifting in the water. We were scooting toward the edge of the water.
“Free me,” he whispered.
With closed eyes, I felt my way to the hem of his shorts and tugged them just a little until his thickness sprang out.
“Sit on me,” he requested, his eyes penetrating me.
Ride him? In the water? I didn’t know if I—
“I’ll help you,” he advised like an instructor of sorts as if reading my mind.
My eyes flitted around again, checking for peepers. Then I positioned myself on top of him. Ezra returned to assaulting my nipples, his hips were still suspended in the water, holding us up. I moved slowly to work him in.
“You sore?” he strained, seemingly fighting for composure.
“Uhn-uhn,” I lied.
My perverted need to reconcile my dreams with reality superseded any discomfort. Before I knew it, we were moving again, further into the water. Ezra felt so good, I couldn’t fear going too deep, though I was aware. We stopped once the water was level with my belly again, and he dropped into the water, grabbed me at the shoulders, stabilizing my thrusts.
“Let the water assist with your movements,” he rasped.
And I did.
Shit…
Ezra felt amazing, his skin rubbing against mine like silk in the water. His mouth, a working group harmonized for pleasure. I grabbed him into my chest, hanging on against the massage of pleasure as he plunged into me. I didn’t want to get the undercurrent of pleasure I was able to escape several times last night. I couldn’t lose my shit with Ezra. I may have consented to many things up to this point, but some things needed to be reserved. He unraveled me with his mouth, delivering on bliss no other man before him was able to, but I couldn’t give him all of me.
We stayed at it in the water until Ezra released explosively, just like last night. Each time he climaxed in me, unmitigated sensations snaked my spine and my femininity skyrocketed. It was oh so satisfying. Addicting. In fact, we made love again once we hit the villa, and then twice again that night. The man was a beast in more ways than one. For the next few days, Ezra fucked me senseless. And I quickly grew unusually partial to it.
Five days later, Ezra rose early as usual for his morning workout. This time he woke me up to tell me I had an appointment for spa services this morning. He’d also arranged for breakfast in our villa. To my surprised delight, Yanti delivered breakfast, and easily we found ourselves in a chat session. I asked her about classes, seeing how school kept her away sometimes all day. She rambled about her studies, a topic I could relate to, as I ate outside by the pool.
“So, what’s up with Natalia?” I clandestinely posed to Yanti out of nowhere after wiping my mouth, done with eating.
That chick had been eating at me. The elongated stares at Ezra hadn’t slowed. Her purring when speaking to him was sickening. The way he’d curb her coquettish antics, amped up my curiosities. It was clear that she and Ezra had had some type of affair. I fully understood we had no emotional attachment, but we’d been sleeping together and that act alone had brought about an intimacy I didn’t calculate when agreeing to this marriage thing with him.
Yanti’s white eyes contrasted greatly from her olive tanned skin, almost guiltily. That stabbed me in the gut.
“What do you know?” I all but whispered, mirroring her expression.
“Nothing!” She shook her head hard, her long, jet black, silky tresses flaying. “I don’t know anything!”
She uncurled her tucked legs and left the small table near the floor-to-ceiling wall. I followed her further into the living room of the villa.
“Y-Ezzie,” I charmed. “I thought we were bad bitches.” I used the term from a 2 Chainz chorus. She had an especial fascination with the rapper, oddly enough.
“We are!”
“So we stick together.” The desperation that I could detect in my demand concerned me. “What are you keeping from me?”
Yanti winced, buried her face in her palms and she shrieked, tortured, then turned a ninety-degree angle. “Ughhhhhh! I don’t know anything, but I did ask my aunt why she’s been so eager to serve you and Mr. Carmichael. I know she’s the head of hospitality, especially when Jarabu is away, but it just seemed odd to me.”
“And?” I prompted impatiently.
“And she said she noticed it too, but not to worry about it.” Yanti’s eyes raced across my face.
I shifted closer to her, towered her to intimidate her. “And?”
“Awwwww! Lex-dawg!” she cried, accent highlighted in that plea. Easy, Lex. “I could just tell she was hiding something by the way she dismissed me.”
“Like what?” my tone less cold.
“I don’t know! But I could tell it was something,” she assured.
My shoulders dropped in defeat. That’s all she seemed to know. I didn’t get anywhere…other than confirmation that he’d possibly fucked her in the past.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” Yanti leaped as she shouted.
The door opened and it was Ida. “Ready for you.”
Just as she spoke, Yanti ducked out.
Shit!
FUURISSSSSSSSSSH!
“FUCK”! I screamed, tensing to the point of popping on the table. My nose flared as I rode out the pain.
Ida tried rubbing my thigh to sooth me. We were in the yard of the villa, just inches away from the ocean. There were a few people around in passing, but I couldn’t give a damn. My sex felt like it was being skinned.
“Are we done now?” I whimpered.
“Mr. Carmichael say Brazilian,” Ida tried reminding me of her orders.
“Listen, Ida, I don’t give two shits what he said. That’s enough. We’re done!”
“Give him what he like!” Ida’s eyes hit me harder than I thought she was capable. She was channeling something to me, demanding me to see this through. “Mrs. Carmichael, please! Make your husband happy!” her urgent plea was more of a harsh whisper.
Well, damn. I guess Ida could speak English well enough when she wanted to get her point across. I lay back on the padded table, berating myself for allowing Ezra yet another call for my life. Who consents to getting the hairs on their privates ripped out by a man she hardly knew?
My stupid ass is who!
FISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!
That one was less painful, but stung just the same. I tried to zone out into my compartmentalized mind. I decided on a room that was more pleasant. Ezra was there and he was kissing me. Then lip-locking led to groping. His rough hands then stripped me until I was bottomless. Then he opened my legs and I was ready for him to do all the meticulous hip thrusts he’d been spoiling me with, driving me out of my mind with. Then—
“All done!” I heard chirped.
I glanced around and Ida was there, cleaning up her waxing tray. She pulled the sheet down to cover my lower half that I was surprised with being okay to have exposed in the openness of the outdoors. Then she motioned for me to turn over while she held it up from the side and turned her head. As I shuffled to my stomach I thought about how I was naked on a padded table near the water with just a white sheet casing me. Talk about nature changing you. I had Ezra to thank for that. This was of his doing. Apparently he didn’t like hair down there. Should I be concerned? Was he turned off?
“Demas going to massage you,” Ida informed before pushing her cart away.
I gathered the robust woman with a wide round face, wobbling up to the table was Demas. She smiled and bowed before picking up a bottle of what I’d soon learn was oil. She folded the sheet to the small of my back and began rubbing my shoulders. Her hands were big and soft, but her touch rou
gh. I wasn’t sure if she spoke English and didn’t want to go through the hassle of explaining my pressure preference so, I decided to endure it instead. I wasn’t new to discomfort and had survived bodily pain before. I decided to just drift off again into my mind to escape it all.
Just like when I was kid. I was fourteen and Mr. Jemas had just pulled Rocky and me apart from fighting. He’d called me a dike boy, which didn’t make since, but was a blow to my teenaged ego. I was tall and naturally muscular…like a boy only with a wooly shag of an afro pulled into a ponytail. He’d gotten me on the ground, but I managed to get up, just not able to get him down where I could do damage.
“You both need to carry ya’ asses home!” Mr. Jemas yelled, pointing to our separate respective destinations.
I stomped my way into the house. And en route to my room, I passed my mother, sitting in front of a powered off television again.
“What the hell done crawled up yo’ ass?” She followed me.
“Rocky called me a dike boy!” I whined, refusing to cry.
“And what the hell did you do?” She placed her fist on her hip.
“I smacked the shit outta him!” I yelled.
“And what did he do?”
“He hit me back.”
“And?”
“And we fought!” I knew what she was getting at. My mother didn’t play turning down fights. She had a reputation to uphold in Rasul Grier’s absence.
“Who won?”
That question had me swallowing air.
“Mr. Jemas broke it up,” I tried to circumvent the truth that would get my ass kicked for real.
“Anybody get thrown to the ground?”
“Yeah,” I trilled, but no tears. I could not cry.
“You?”
“Yea—”
WHOP!
Her fist smacked my face, blood squirting everywhere. Then my wild hair was yanked at the roots and I was tossed to the floor.
“I’mma teach yo’ ass how not to lose another goddamned fight!” She began charging to my closet. “How many times do I have to tell you, like Biggie said, “Niggas bleed just like us.” and have you believed it? When you fighting, you ‘posed to fight to win.”
My heart pounded at the sight of the fat brown leather belt. It was better than the extension cord she took to me last month when I lost the fight with Dinky. When she took the first swing, I squeezed my eyes, desperate to find a mental room to hide in. If I landed in the wrong one, it could have lasting effects. One time I chose a room that had me swinging back at her and I woke up with a swollen head from her having knocked me out with a broom stick.
No! I needed a peaceful room.
Great Adventure. Good!
By the third strike, I was gone, stowed away in my mind to survive another beating.
The sheet had been removed from my cheeks of my ass and warm hands kneaded with a sensual touch, clearly wakening me from my flashback. I jerked my head from out of the donut, lifting just slightly and shifted to my right where I caught the big oaf padding down the walkway. Then I knew.
Those hands began to dig deeper into my flesh, working between my cheeks. My shoulders gave out and my face fell back into the face pad. In three short days, I was now familiar with his touch. He slipped onto my labia, fingers tracing around my lips that were so lubricated my newly waxed skin didn’t protest. When he slithered in between, my breathing hiked and pelvis jerked back. I was so wet, it embarrassed me. How was I aroused so quickly? He found my bulb, swollen and pulsating with need. I heard him growl over me and my face tightened. I wanted him so bad, but didn’t have the heart to tell him. I didn’t know how. Sex—this real sex that I actually enjoyed—was new to me.
He circled and circled, applying measured pleasure that was in between gentle and urgent. My ass lifted from the table, hips rocking on his hand. Within seconds, I shamefully came, writhing wildly, moaning a tortured cry.
“Good girl, kitten,” Ezra rasped in my ear. “Too bad you can’t indulge for at least twenty-four hours.” He kissed my shoulder chastely.
When I turned to question him about that unknown datum, I caught his back as he was headed inside the villa. Needless to say, as we went about an adventurous day of touring, Ezra didn’t touch me. He in fact, he took on a reserved mood, not initiating much conversation. He spoke very little unless I engaged him, goading him to converse with me.
His distance bled into the following day when we were laying poolside, relaxing after a delicious breakfast. Ezra hardly said two words after his run when he joined me in the dining area to eat. I was surprised to see him so early, the previous two mornings I didn’t see him until close to lunch. He mumbled something about having caught up with everyone necessary on the island.
We’d been out for nearly thirty minutes, soft music he selected on his iPod drifted all around us. I glanced over to him to see if he’d fallen asleep, he’d been so quiet, considering we were mere inches away. His chest was bare and his shorts hung torturously low, teasing my eyes that wanted to gape and my tongue that wanted to taste. I couldn’t decide which part of this man’s body I favored the most. I thought I’d been confused before marrying him, now, after being introduced to the most virile member of him, I greedily favored them all. Ezra had fooled me. All these months while I flirted and pushed for sex, he tactfully refused. He knew he had, not just a huge sexual appetite, but a sensual mastery buried beneath that disciplined layer.
I fell for his nobleman ploy hook, line and sinker. I bought the church boy persona because it was easier to understand, not exactly what he presented. I’d been bamboozled. And to my dismay, that quickly addicted to the new discoveries he’d bestow each time we had sex. I now craved it, was desperate to have him in me, on me. I feigned to feel the quake that I would allow to abate without fail each time he’d penetrate me. And now he was here, reticent, apparently in a mood that was conducive to solitude. But I wanted to explore more.
The strong throb of my clitoris pushed me to shift to face him. That’s when I noticed his eyes were closed beneath his sunglasses. I lay there for a moment, in awe of his perfect frame: six feet, three inches, 235 lbs. of mahogany virility. I wasn’t used to Ezra in this state, subdued. He never rested around me, had always been on the move. Alert.
My body yielded to him in sick curiosity, shifting closer to his face. Before I could stop myself, I moved into him until our lips touch, his beard tickling my chin. When I could see his nose meeting mine, my eyes peered up and focused in on his. Ezra lids were heavy behind his sunglasses, but his orbs were very much inspecting me, inquiring about my venturing in his personal space. My heart pounded feverishly, but I stayed the course. I needed to connect with him, turned dependent on feeling him. And yet this was more. This was me exploring him. My mouth stretched to capture his lower lip. I pulled it into my mouth, licking the plump tissue. In an instant, a burst of arousal spiked my nub. I released him and went for his top lip while returning his gaze, slowly licking the tender flesh. I refused to breath, didn’t want to think. I just wanted this private exploration with the man who turned my psyche into mush with his mind via his body.
After releasing his top lip, I slowly pushed my tongue into the warmth of his mouth. My spine shivered, but I fought like hell against it, tensing my frame. It was no surprise how acutely my body responded to Ezra. Even without command I craved his touch, succumbed to the course of his sexual instruction. I was sick with unyielding desire for him. I knew it wasn’t normal, but I couldn’t fight it if I wanted to. My tongue began to stroke his mouth, tasting the full length of his tongue, the roof of his artistic mouth, the gum lining between his teeth and lips. I explored it all. My eyes shut in forfeiture because I lost control and swiped my tongue wherever I thought his would land. When I found myself sucking on the slithery muscle, I heard unbridle moans surface from my belly and my fists clenched, nails cutting into my palms.
I withdrew, needing to breathe to relieve myself of the light headedness coming over me
. That’s when I saw Ezra’s eyes close. His pinched brow line eased into its release. He waited seconds long before opening his eyes to unabashed hooded lids.
“Beloved,” he rasped, out of breath. “I enjoyed that very much, but it would be wise to not provoke the slumbering beast.”
Those words clipped my confidence, and slowly, I lay back down on my lounge chair chewing on what had just taken place. Ezra raised a barrier between us that we hadn’t arrive here with. I found myself licking my wounds.
What the fuck is his deal?
twelve
Ezra
The run this morning had been more brutal than usual. I started out after my morning meditation, which was two hours after dawn. I took to my running trail with eager anticipation. My eventful mind had taken my attention from the burning sting of my protesting muscles. I had a troubling quandary on my hands that wasn’t as simple to resolve as I’d perceived. I knew this came too easy. Up until this point, Alexis had been too pliant to my demands.
Of course something would go wrong at some point! screamed in my head as my feet pounded against the terrain of the village.
She wouldn’t respond to me in every way. I needed that. I understood this to ultimately mean, she hadn’t fully yielded to me. Some men couldn’t care less that their partner could not detonate around them during intercourse. Mine simply wouldn’t. Deep in my spirit I knew Alexis’ issue wasn’t a matter of physiological impracticability; it was psychological. Yes, we were still virtual strangers yet, but that logic wasn’t good enough. I could not accept that I was unable to bring unadulterated pleasure to my wife. I needed this small yet significant functionality for her training. It was gravely significant. I could use it against her and for her benefit. It was paramount that she was able to release vaginally.
I came to a stop just at the hedge of the hamlet, out of breath and dripping perspiration. This concern had been so thick in my mind that I disconnected from body sensory. I hunched over, resting my palms on my thighs as I caught my breath. Little Hadi waddled past me wearing the most jovial smile, expressing his toddler independence. His mother, Utami was on his heels, but that wasn’t the same as being carted around in her arms, I was sure he felt. I greeted her with a smile and nodded as she passed by.