Insatiable was a scrumptious scent, but it smelled like trouble.
Ever so slightly, Jen pulled away, using her palm to secretly dab tears before they trickled from her eyes.
Sensing a mood shift, Rome clipped Jen’s chin, lifting her face. His worried eyes searched hers. “What’s wrong, Pretty Red? Why you crying, baby?”
“You haven’t left yet, but I miss you already.”
“Aw, come on, baby. Don’t cry. This summer is going to be rough on both of us, but you know I’m going to call you…text you…and send you flowers every day.”
Sniffling, Jen nodded. “I know. I’m being silly. Allowing my insecurities to get to me.”
Rome looked shocked. “Insecurities? About what? I’m not leaving you behind because I want to. I invited you to come with me.”
“I know, Rome. I’ll get it together.” Jen said, her tone unconvincing and pitiful.
“Jen. Baby,” he said patiently. “Didn’t we both agree that I would spend the summer with Twyla while you went back to school?”
“Yeah, but—”
Motioning impatiently, Rome shushed her. “You promised your parents you were going to take summer classes to make up for that semester you lost.”
“I know,” Jen whined. “I just wish you didn’t have to go.”
Rome spoke softly, taking on the patient tone one would use with someone who suffered from memory problems. “When you got accepted to Saint Joe’s, you said you wanted to hit the books hard. You even said that trying to study with me underfoot would be a distraction.” Rome chuckled.
“You’re right. Back when we made those plans, I was feeling a lot more confident than I do now.”
“What happened?” Soothingly, he smoothed wiry strands of her hair, and stroked her neck as he waited for her to answer.
“To be honest, I’m feeling really vulnerable. And jealous. I’m so scared I’m going to lose you.”
Rome stared at her. “Who are you jealous of? Twyla?”
“No! It’s just…well, you’re like a celebrity now. I guess I’m feeling like I can’t compete with all those fly chicks you’ll be hanging out with while you’re on the road with your mother.”
Rome gave a hearty laugh, indicating he thought her comment was absurd. But Jen felt too vulnerable to even crack a smile. Her heart was aching and Rome didn’t seem to be experiencing any pain over their separation.
As if reading her mind, he put a comforting arm around her. “Baby, the thought of getting on that plane without you is killing me. Look, the last thing you need to worry about is me getting involved with some aspiring actress. Do you really think I’d let somebody use me to get a photo op with Twyla Tanning’s lovechild?” He laughed loudly at his self-description.
Again, Jen saw no humor. She kept a straight face.
Twyla’s admission that she’d given birth to Rome during her teens had created hot tabloid fodder. Rome’s uncanny resemblance to his glamorous mother had stirred public fascination.
With his face splashed alongside Twyla’s on magazine covers throughout the world, Rome had become a celebrity by association. Twyla’s sold-out European tour would be filmed as a documentary featuring concert performances as well as poignant moments between mother and son.
Jen frowned, dreading the additional female attention the documentary would cause.
“What’s that frown about?”
Jen shrugged.
“Seriously, Jen. I’m going to be old news in a minute and everything will get back to normal. But right now, Twyla and I need to spend some time together. You know—get to know each other. That’s the only reason I’m joining her on her Return to Love tour. It’s why I agreed to let cameras follow us for that documentary.”
“But you’re gonna be in Europe…a whole continent away. And women are going to be camped out outside your hotel room. Not to mention the ones who’ll be in your company every day. Background singers, makeup artists, Twyla’s dancers…” Choked up, Jen looked away.
He shook his head. “Yeah, the media coverage is out of control. I mean…I want my mother in my life, but I’m not enjoying the fame.”
“I don’t want to get hurt, Rome. I can’t help worrying that now that Twyla has acknowledged you…well…you might be out of my league.”
He gawked at her like she was out of her mind. “Look, I had no idea that my going away was causing you this kind of pain.”
“I was trying to keep it to myself.” Jen’s voice sounded squeaky and weak, making her sound totally irritated with herself.
“You want me to cancel?” he asked bluntly. “You know I will.” His tone was dead serious.
Jen was quiet, her eyes downcast. She didn’t know what to say.
“So what’s it gonna be, Jen? You want me to cancel and stay here with you? Will that make you feel secure?” He stared her down, demanding her final answer.
Weighing the gravity of his proposal, Jen’s mind went into hyper-drive. If she fed into her insecurities and asked him to stay, he’d probably grow to resent her. Now was the time for Jen to have some faith. Faith in love. And faith in the unseen.
If the Goddess Realm truly exists, and if the goddess prophecy was true, then she and Rome were destined to be husband and wife. And parents of a son.
She’d never told him about Tara and Zeta. She wasn’t sure if she ever would.
Taking a leap of faith, Jen smiled at him and said, “I…uh… I’m just being silly. Separation anxiety, I guess. Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”
“You sure?”
Changing her tone from meek to confident, she said, “I’m positive. I want you to bond with your mother.” She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. “End of August, I’m going to be right here.” She patted the bed. “Right now, I’m ready to pick up where we left off.” Jen spread her legs invitingly.
Instantly ready for round two, Rome’s lips traveled to her neck, nipping the spot that drove her wild.
But before Jen succumbed to passion, she pulled back. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.” He spoke with rasping breath.
“Don’t wear that cologne while you’re away.”
Baffled, Rome frowned. “Why not?”
“You’re only allowed to wear Insatiable when you’re with me.”
“Is that right?” Rome’s lips spread into the boyish smile that made Jen’s heart do flips.
She kissed his neck, and then inhaled his scent. “Um,” she uttered. Enjoying the blend of his natural scent mixed with the heady fragrance, she sniffed him from his neck down to his chest. “You smell delicious.” Jen licked her lips. “Good enough to eat.”
Proving her point, she slid off the bed and eased down to her knees.
Releasing a groan of pleasure, Rome inched to the edge of the bed. Jen moved inside the space between his legs. She held his dick in her hand admiringly, and then inhaled his pungent masculine aroma deeply.
She brought the smooth head of his dick close to her lips and kissed it gently. Flicking out her tongue, she administered love licks. Pausing, she looked up at him. “See what you do to me? I can’t help myself.”
“Don’t try.” Aroused, Rome kept his words to a minimum.
“I won’t, then.” She sucked his hard flesh between her lips, causing him to let out a growl that was rough and primal. Enraptured, his eyes were at half mast.
Drawing in the full length of his bulging shaft, Jen relaxed her throat, permitting his length to travel further than it ever had.
Rome’s eyes opened. Awestruck, he watched as Jen deep-throated him for the very first time. Her mouth was moist and hot as she slowly…methodically…and deliberately gave him the ultimate blowjob—the best oral sexing she’d ever given him.
“So good,” he moaned.
She was giving him the kind of tender tonguing he’d never get from a meaningless encounter on the road.
“Oh, baby,” he shouted, his body beginning to convulse from the loving suc
king she was putting on him.
Jen rose from the floor and straddled her man. She rode him hard and fast, meeting his desperate thrusts.
He tensed and groaned.
She collapsed upon him.
He held her tight, pressing her sweaty breasts against his chest.
Roaring a primal cry, he released his seed.
Suddenly, sparkling light spilled into the darkened bedroom; trumpets blared.
“Rome!”
“Yeah, baby?” he said dreamily.
“The bright light, don’t you see it. Can’t you hear the music?”
“Stop playing. I know it was good, but you don’t have to try to blow up my ego like that.”
The light began to dim; the sound of music faded. Jen heard soft wings fluttering in the distance.
Tara and Zeta had stopped by!
Filled with a sense of peace and well-being, Jen knew with certainty that Rome would return.
She touched her stomach and smiled.
The goddess prophecy was fulfilled.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
If you’re ever in the Chestnut Hill section of Philadelphia, you don’t have to worry about spotting an apparition running aimlessly across a bridge.
When writing the scene where Jen first encounters Eris, I envisioned Jen jogging along Kelly Drive, looking up, and seeing Eris pacing on Falls Bridge, which is located in East Falls.
On foot, there’s quite a distance between Chestnut Hill and East Falls. Being that Jen didn’t have access to a car, and was only out for a short run, I had to keep her in Chestnut Hill.
Taking creative license, I constructed a fictitious bridge, named it Piper’s Bridge, and placed it in Chestnut Hill.
I hope you enjoyed The Sorceress, the continuation of my first paranormal novel, The Enchantress.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Allison Hobbs is the national bestselling author of eleven novels and novellas: Pure Paradise, Disciplined, One Taste, Big Juicy Lips, The Climax, A Bona Fide Gold Digger, The Enchantress, Double Dippin’, Dangerously in Love, Insatiable and Pandora’s Box. She is one of the contributing writers of Cinemax’s Zane’s Sex Chronicles.
Her novel The Climax was nominated for the 2008 African American Literary Awards Show.
Allison received a bachelor of science degree from Temple University. She resides in Philadelphia, PA where she’s working on her next novel.
Visit the author at: www.allisonhobbs.com, www.blackplanet.com/allisonhobbs or www.myspace.com/allisonhobbs
LEARN ALL ABOUT ERIS AND THE STOVALLS
IN THIS EXCERPT FROM
THE
Enchantress
BY ALLISON HOBBS
AVAILABLE FROM STREBOR BOOKS
Chapter 1
ROANOKE, VIRGINIA
1806
The whispered grumblings in the slave quarters on the Stovall Plantation were usually about Eris.
“Now, a gal like dat—black as tar—ain’t got no business workin’ in de big house,” the old man named Make-Do complained.
“You sho’ ’nuff right, Make-Do. In all my years, ah ain’t nevah seen nothin’ like it. Dark-skinded gal wit dem big ol’ clumsy feets tendin’ to Missus and givin out orders to de cook and e’rebody else workin’ in de big house,” agreed Peahead. “She sho’ got Massuh fooled.”
“Hmph! Don’t nobody seem to know where she come from, but wherevah dat was, ah bet she wasn’t nothin’ but a field hand jes’ like us,” groused Peahead’s wife, Florette.
Make-Do scratched his head. “If ah ’members co’reckly, Eris showed up here in de middle of de night. She told Massuh she been on de run from some evil slave owner way down in ’Bama somewhere.”
“You mean to tell me dat gal ran all de way from ’Bama to Virginy?” Florette scrunched up her lips and shook her head. “Don’t make no kinda sense dem slave catchers nevah got ahold’a her ’long de way.”
“Massuh got such a good heart; took her in promisin’ to hide her and all. She showed up buck naked—ain’t had nothin but a box filled up with potions and such. Told Massuh she was good at nursin’ folk. Dat why he keep her up in de big house,” explained Peahead.
“Well, it don’t look like her nursin’s worth mucha nothin’. Missus be gittin’ sicker by de day,” said a young woman by the name of Willa. “And why somebody blacker den soot talkin’ like de white folk? And why she got dem strange-lookin’ blue eyes?” There was a collective confused shaking of heads.
“Bet y’all don’t know…” Willa paused, waiting to get the group’s undivided attention. “Eris done started wearin’ all the Missus’s clothes.” Willa’s bottom lip jutted out in disapproval.
“Wearin Missus’s clothes!” Peahead and Florette chorused incredulously.
“Sho’ ’nuff is.” Make-Do confirmed with a nod. “Eris done give all her old frocks to Molly and Tookie.” Make-Do had been on the Stovall Plantation long before the current master was born. Now, too old to work the fields, Make-Do kept an eye on the children and performed easy tasks that didn’t require agility or a strong back .
“I done told dem girls they ain’t gon’ have nothin’ but bad luck from wearin’ dat evil woman’s clothes,” Make-Do continued.
“Uh-huh. I tried to warn ’em, too. Dey so happy to have spare frocks, dey won’t even listen. But dey gon’ see. Mark my words, dey sho’ ’nuff gon’ see,” Willa said, staring off into space and shaking her head as if a future fraught with unparalleled horrors was being revealed.
“Lawd, look ovah dere.” Peahead pointed toward the big house. All heads turned. In the distance, illuminated by moonlight, Eris was kneeling on the ground.
“What she up to now?” Florette inquired in a hushed tone.
Peahead stood up and squinted. “Look like she tendin’ to dat garden a-hern.”
“At night!” they all exclaimed loudly, then looked around anxiously, hoping Eris didn’t catch them spying on her. But Eris was intently involved with gathering the herbs and roots she needed for the mistress’s remedy.
“You know dat woman’s stranger than a two-headed chicken,” Peahead whispered nervously. “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she diggin’ a hole so’s to holla down dere and talk to Satan hisself.” Peahead gave a shudder. “Come on, Florette. We goin’ inside. Ah don’t wanna be nowhere near Eris after daylight. And ’specially not with dat full moon burnin’ while she dealin’ wit’ de devil,” he said ominously. Peahead and Florette gathered themselves to go inside their cabin, careful not to look in Eris’s direction.
Willa latched onto Make-Do’s arm and helped him to stand upright. After he was safely on his feet, Willa respectfully handed the old man his walking stick. She hurried to her cabin while old Make-Do shuffled on down the dusty path to his own shanty.
Edith Stovall, the mistress of the plantation, was so consumed with fever she had no idea that her fine garments had been relegated to adorning a lowly slave. Had she known, she would have diplomatically excused her husband’s lack of judgment, but such impudence by a slave girl would have warranted a visit to the whipping post. Nine and thirty. That’s how many lashes the ill-mannered, uppity heifer would have incurred if the mistress of the house had her strength and wits about her.
The mistress was stricken with a serious illness and according to her husband, Arthur, she was delirious. Talking out of her head—accusing him of unspeakable acts since she’d been banished from his bed. Having the fever and carrying what appeared to be a deadly and contagious disease, of course she had had to be exiled from the marital bedroom. She was being quarantined until she got better or—God forbid—she died.
Since none of the local physicians could figure out what was wrong with Edith and none wanted to risk catching her strange sickness, it was lucky for Edith that Eris seemed immune. Eris could go in and out of Edith’s sickroom and administer to her without so much as a cough or a sneeze.
Arthur was more than grateful to Eris. As master of the plantation, he couldn’t afford to
come down with the strange illness that had gripped his pitiful wife. Why, he’d lose everything his daddy had left him if he caught whatever was ailing his wife.
It was for the good of the plantation and the future of the Stovall family if Edith stayed far, far away from him as well as any essential slaves whose labor he depended upon. Until her health improved, Edith would have to stay tucked away in that cramped and musty bedroom up in the attic.
But in the meantime, a man had his needs. Manly desires that a sickly wife could not fulfill.
Eris used a sharp-edged rock to grind the mixture that she’d concocted in the moonlight and then carried it up the stairs to the attic. With the wooden bowl and ladle in hand, Eris used her hip to bump open the door to the quarantined room.
“Missus,” Eris said sharply. “Wake up, Missus. It’s time to take your remedy.”
Although Arthur Stovall never came into the room personally, he’d been known to send in slaves whom he considered dispensable to periodically check on his wife and give him a report on her condition.
Eris wasn’t willing to risk having unexpected visits from loose lips reporting that she wasn’t giving the mistress the best treatment possible, so she set the bowl on the bedside table and used the hem of her apron to blot the perspiration from Edith’s forehead. Then, certain that no prying eyes could see her, she roughly wiped the sickly woman’s face and mouth, using the lace-edged pocket of the apron. With a hateful grimace, Eris dug the crust out of the corners of her patient’s rapidly blinking eyes. The friction of the stiff lace was painful and caused angry red blotches to pop up all over Edith’s frail face.
As far as Eris was concerned, the red blotches further proved that the mistress was contagious and required an extended quarantine. And more doses of her special remedy.
Eris gave a low chortle as she recalled the last slave the master had sent to the attic infirmary. Scared to death, old Make-Do had limped into the room holding a rag over his face. The rag covered his mouth, nose, and eyes.
He wasn’t going to be able to give the master a detailed report being that he had neither seen nor smelled anything, so out of pure spite, Eris instructed Make-Do to empty the mistress’s almost overflowing chamberpot.
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