Scented Dreams ((A Dogon-Hunters Series Novel))

by Turner Banks, Jacqueline

  He flashed and he was sitting on her dryer. “I know.”

  “You know what?” As soon as she asked she understood what it was he’d learned. “Please, Ogo, please don’t tell her.”

  “Does Kingsley know?”

  “He knows she’s his and he knows that she’s not necessarily mine. That’s all he wanted to know, and I’ve respected his wishes. Until it was clear that I couldn’t have another child, I wasn’t even sure. She came from me, Ogo.”

  “How?”

  “A donated egg.”

  “Whose?”

  “Why do you need to know this? You claim to love us; leave it alone.”

  “The egg came from somebody very special, Dot, special like me.” He looked in her eyes and saw that she already knew.

  He shook his head and smiled. “How the hell did this get past me? I was there. I walked down the aisle with your maid-of-honor. I heard all the bellyaching from your crazy sisters.”

  “Please, don’t say anything to Ife!”

  “She’s calling herself LeeAna right now.”

  Dot nodded, remembering. “She’ll answer to Ife too.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Please, Ogo, don’t say anything. I begged her to help me, and she agreed under the circumstances that I would never try to know if it was her egg or mine that worked. Months went by before I was pregnant, just so I couldn’t say for sure. But I knew, I’ve always known Nesta was special.

  “When I was trying to wean Nesta from the pacifier, there wasn’t a place in the house I could put it and not return to her crib to find it back in her mouth. Over time I think she just forgot she could do things like that. Eventually I think she even came to believe she could catch colds and gets cramps like a normal person, and she did.”

  “And now she’s mated with a Hunter.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not in a dangerous sense for them, but any child who comes from that union is going to be extra special, to expand on that analogy.”

  “I’m sorry.” She started crying again.

  He wrapped his arms around her as he had her daughter. “It’s okay, Dot, we’ll figure this out. Kingsley is looking for you.”

  He disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I thought you were out for the count,” Ian told her once they were back in the king-sized bed.

  “I’m a power napper. I could get up and run a marathon now.”

  “Really?” He moved closer. “I wouldn’t want to put that kind of strain on you, but there must be a better way to expend that kind of energy.”

  With just the sheers closed, the city lights illuminated the room in a romantic aura that bathed their nude bodies. “I’ve got an idea—why don’t you let me make love to you?” she said.

  “Did you not get that that was what I was proposing?”

  She laughed. “I never know when you’re teasing.” His perfect lips broke into a smile that matched the one she saw in his eyes.

  “What I’m saying is why don’t you just lie back and let me?”

  They were facing each other, both resting on their elbows. He settled on his back and said, “Have your way with me, my dear.”

  I wish I had thought this out before I asked, she said to herself. She thought about every part of her body that was especially sensitive to touch. Nesta pushed back the cover sheet as she moved to the foot of the bed. She picked up his right foot and gently kneaded it. “Are you ticklish?”

  “Not in the least, but since you asked, I’m assuming you are—and you’re going to be sorry you brought it up.”

  “Don’t threaten me, man. If you’re not ticklish it means you’re sensitive in other ways, and if I do something like this,” she lightly licked the bottom of his foot, and before that sensation could register she did it again, “it’ll drive you a little crazy.”

  She was right. It felt like a million tiny pin pricks had settled on a nerve that was directly connected to his groin. He felt himself harden in a single beat. He instinctively cupped himself.

  “No touching. I’m the only one with touching privileges, and I will tie up those hands if I have to!”

  His penis swaggered a little to the left and then the right from her words. It was a pulse beat he remembered from his youth, when everything about sex was new and wonderful. “I’m scared of you,” he said, fully involved in their play.

  “You should be.” She rubbed the bottom of his foot against one of her nipples and then the other. Then she separated the big toe from the next one and tongue kissed the very sensitive area between the two toes.

  He moaned aloud. Who would have thought that could work?

  While she was playing with his right foot, she had positioned the left one between her legs. Moving forward slightly, it made contact with the sparse hair around her lower lips.

  He couldn’t believe the amount of heat that one area of her body was producing against his foot. He fought the desire to scoot closer, the desire to use his foot on her as if it were a hand. It was her show; she would make the call.

  She moved on and kissed between each toe the same way and then back again. While she did that, she moved forward again and rubbed herself against his other foot.

  “My tongue is so jealous of my foot right now,” he said.

  “I’ll gag you if I have to, too!”

  “Zip.”

  Then she moved over and switched feet. With him now able to anticipate her moves, she deliberately slowed her pace. The torture was divine. By the time she got to the area between his baby toe and the next, he was holding back to prevent himself from either transporting away or touching himself to release the joyful agony.

  Sitting between his opened legs, she ran her hands up and down in a soft massage.

  Again, she thought about her own body, and she stopped at the exact spots on his inner thighs that were most likely to make him lose his mind. Here she rubbed in small circles, first clockwise and then counterclockwise, using just her index fingers.

  When she was sure a rhythm had been established, she stopped. She leaned down and lightly bit his right thigh.

  He caught his breath and he moaned, but he didn’t speak.

  She sucked the spot she’d bitten, and then she sucked the spot on the other thigh, but she didn’t bite it. She rubbed her cheek against his hardness.

  Finally.

  But she didn’t take him in her mouth. Instead she lunged forward and placed him between her full breasts. She squeezed her breasts together as she moved them up and down repeatedly.

  On a downward stroke, she stopped and quite unexpectedly took the head in her mouth.

  He moaned, but still trying to keep the tenets of their agreement, he resisted the desire to grasp her head. Her curls that he so loved caressed his belly. When she turned her head slightly and he groaned, she realized the effect her hair was having on him. She tilted her head down and let her hair wash across his pelvis.

  “I need to touch you,” he begged.

  “Not yet— I’ll stop if you do.”

  “Not fair.”

  She answered by licking him like a lollipop and then tongue kissing his manhood. “Not fair, Ian?” she stopped and asked. Nesta resumed her administrations before he answered. “Humm, I love the way you taste, but I’ll stop if it’s not fair.”

  “Fair, fair, I take it back!”

  He didn’t know how she could possibly know, but twice she stopped just seconds before he would have announced his release. Each time she squeezed him gently at the base of his penis, and the moment slid by.

  “Now I’m going to climb up on you and ride you hard,” she said.

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  She laughed. “You’d better not be making fun of me.”

  “Get up here!”

  She mounted him without argument. His hands went everywhere at once. She leaned down, and they kissed. They grew still except for the movement of two tongues.

  He deeply i
nhaled her scent.

  I can’t be without you.

  She resumed her ride, and he met her stroke for stroke. She mewled out words that he didn’t recognize, and her feral cry sent him over the edge too.

  She collapsed on him.

  He buried his head in her hair and rubbed her back.

  There was no need for words; they each listened to the music that only he or she could hear.

  After Nesta caught her breath, she worried that she might be getting heavy on him, and she attempted to move.

  It stirred him in his light sleep, and he responded by holding her put.

  “I’ve got to go potty, Ian,” she whispered.

  His eyes popped open. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was holding you so tight. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, but I’ve still got to go, now!”

  He let go, and she hurried away. She took longer to return then he would have expected. His arms felt empty. He was up, making his way to her, when she opened the door.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought you might have fallen in,” he told her.

  “Oh, that’s sweet, you were worried about me.”

  She walked into his arms.

  “Still feel like running that marathon?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding? Only shame prevents me from asking you to carry me back to bed.”

  He scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

  “I can’t believe how easily you do that. I’m a lot heavier than I look.”

  “What are you, about sixty-four and a half kilos?”

  “Kilos? You don’t really think I know my weight in kilos, do you? Or that I would tell you in pounds?”

  He laughed. “Why wouldn’t you? I love your body. I didn’t think sisters adhered to all of that body image nonsense.”

  She giggled. “It’s so strange hearing you talking about the sisters.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I still have a difficult time thinking of you as an African.”

  “I know, all of this will take time to understand, but there have probably been times in your father’s long life when his skin was as light as mine. And he’s not much darker now!”

  “That’s true. I can understand the chameleon skin thing, but does your features get sharper as you get lighter?”

  “There’s not a lot of differences in our features and hair as our skin coloring changes. People just perceive the features differently. There is a change in our bodies when we first join, and join is the word I’m using because it’s the best, but there’s so much more to it that I can’t talk about.

  After that initial change, the only changes are skin tones to make it easier to fit in. We all look fairly generic.”

  “Right, generic like any runway model,” she said sarcastically.

  They were facing each other, both on their sides. He pulled her closer. “Let me sleep, Nesta.”

  “Go ahead, but please answer one question for me first.”

  “All right.”

  “So I don’t have to remember sixty-four and a half kilos to look it up later, will you tell me what it is in pounds?”

  “Promise me you won’t hit me.”

  “Promise.”

  “That’s about a hundred forty-two pounds.”

  “Wow, you’re only off by two pounds!”

  He figured she was two pounds heavier, because most women would have corrected two pounds lighter. Ian was impressed that she didn’t feel the need to ask him any more questions about it.

  She nuzzled under his arm. That was when he realized she’d taken so long in the bathroom because she was washing up. Nesta needn’t have bothered. He loved the way she smelled, especially after she was seasoned with the scents of their lovemaking.

  Ian’s next thought caused him a moment of panic. Neither one of them had thought about protection. He had no way of knowing, but at that moment, she was having the same panicky thought.

  Had Nesta been standing, the weakness in her knees would have brought her down. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew without a doubt that she and the Hunter had just made a baby.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They slept late for her taste. It was a little after ten when Ian finally sat up in bed.

  Nesta had bathed, but she was waiting to put on her clothes. Her reluctance to dress had nothing to do with leaving herself available— she just wasn’t looking forward to putting used clothes on her clean body.

  When he opened his eyes and saw her exiting the bathroom, he held open his arms. “I’m glad you’re not dressed,” he said after her greeting.

  She found her comfortable spot in the crook of his right arm before answering. “You’re insatiable.”

  He smiled. “That’s true, but that’s not why I said that. There should be a package waiting for us.”

  “What?”

  “Clean clothes.”

  “You called my parents?”

  He smiled at the panic in her voice. “No, I should have said new clothes. I called Rico, and he should have ordered some clothes for us."

  “I said should because Rico hears the beat of a different . . . well I hope it’s a drummer.”

  His mentioning a drummer made her think about the faint drums she heard when with him.

  She seriously doubted that his guy in California would have been able to order clothes for her, but she appreciated the gesture.

  “How would he know my sizes?”

  “I told him how tall you are and about how much you weigh. He gets paid enough to figure it out. But I didn’t ask for a new bra.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it pains me to see perfection harnessed.”

  She felt the blood rise to her cheeks.

  He noticed it and found it curious. This was a woman who, not eight hours ago, made love to his feet! Shy didn’t compute. Such an interesting lady.

  The truth was Ian didn’t order a bra because he didn’t like the feeling he got when he spoke of her breasts to his assistant.

  Rico was having too much fun with Ian’s descriptions. “Bigger than an orange, that’s a C- cup, but bigger than a grapefruit, that’s a D-cup, boss—you lucky dawg!”

  It bothered him greatly to imagine Rico thinking about her that way. He knew it was silly.

  “Never mind about the bra, Rico.”

  “Yeah, I don’t blame you.”

  “Say goodbye, Rico!”

  He called the desk and told them it was all right to send up any packages he might have waiting. Within minutes there was a knock at the door. Three large Lord and Taylor bags were delivered.

  Her reaction thrilled him— she was like a child on Christmas morning.

  Never one to hear what he didn’t want to hear, Rico had included two bras, one black and slutty and one pink and cute. There was a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and two tees, one v neck and one scoop necked.

  There was a full, frilly sundress that would have worked across several sizes, but it was the lightweight Kenneth Cole jacket that really caught her attention.

  “I love this jacket. Rico can shop for me any day. How did he get everything so perfect?”

  “He’s a shopper. I believe he chose these online.”

  Her expression became serious. “He does this for you a lot?”

  “Yes, he buys most of my clothes.”

  “Oh.”

  At first it escaped him why this would make her sad. “But I’ve never asked him to buy for a woman before.”

  She smiled. He could tell it meant a lot to her that she was his first.

  “I’ve never tried skinny jeans before.”

  “You’ll look great.”

  She patted her behind. “Not from behind I won’t.”

  He laughed. “I’m not biting. You know most women would kill for your ass. I’m not playing this game.”

  Her expression became serious again. “Ian, I grew up in Winnetka. I was described as the tall black girl with the big ghetto
booty. I don’t know any such thing.”

  He nodded.

  “My breasts came in late, and for the first few months after the summer they appeared, guys used to say, ‘well, at least you won’t tip over backwards now.’”