“Cocky,” I said, softly nibbling the back of her ear, softly pumping my member into the plushness of her mounds.
“Cocky?” she said, wriggling her ass against my growing erection. “That thing there that’s poking me . . . is cocky. Me, I’m just stating facts. I tried to give you the highest dosage of my best sleeping aide.”
“And you did. Trust me, baby—you did.”
“Well, what is it you need from me right now?” she asked. “To put you back to sleep?” She let out a light chuckle. “Because I will. Whatever you need, I got you.”
“I just need you,” I said to her.
“That’s a forever thing. I’m going nowhere. I’m where you are—always.”
“I love you, Chanel Caivano.”
“Ohh… my heart,” she purred. “It just skipped a few beats! I love the sound of that! Soon enough. I love you, Dario.”
She maneuvered her body, then turned around and snuggled tightly against me, her nose and lips deep in the crook of my neck. She made a trail of soft, seductive kisses that felt as soft as feathers. I didn’t know what it was like to find a love like the love she gave me. I was prepared to go through life as a serial dater with no real intentions on settling down. But when I got with Chanel, it almost hurt to realize what I would’ve missed out on.
Luckily, I never had to worry about that because I had every woman—in her. Beauty, intellect, a genuinely good person, great mother, and fully equipped with all it took to be the perfect woman. She knew how to make her man feel like a man. I had gotten the best, without even looking for it.
The softness of her hand beneath the sheets caught me by surprise. As far as I knew, I had her locked in my arms, with no real room to move. However, when a thick, labored huff of air escaped from between my lips, it was clear that she had plenty of space to navigate her way around.
My dick jerked and bobbed at the soothing glide of Chanel’s skilled hand, ironing out the aching throb. I swear, in that one breath, all my stress left and whatever had been holding my brain captive was shut all the way down . . . as Chanel made her way down.
“Baby . . . wait,” I told her, before she could descend all the way to her destination.
“Dariooo . . .” she whined, her face buried into my stomach, softly biting a small piece of flesh. “Baby, whyyy?”
But when I instructed her to, “Sit on my face. We can get double the pleasure,” she smiled at me and quickly complied.
Seconds later, my eyes met with the beautiful, weeping hole that I had the privilege of entering so many times. Pink, plush, and slippery wet. It was something to be admired, for sure. And while I was mesmerized by my view, Chanel wasted no time getting down to business.
“Mmmph!” I moaned, as she locked on my rod and went to work. “Mmmph!”
The sensation that jetted through my tip triggered a magnetic pull that brought my mouth crashing into her slick opening.
I locked my palms around her thighs and brought her all the way down onto my face. I sucked at her nectar, its sweetness layering my lips, nose, my chin, and doing a slow weep onto my tongue. I ate her blindly, letting her sweet aroma, guide me. I tore at her hungrily, savoring every drop, as though she was my first and last meal—of life.
“Ohhhh my god,” Chanel groaned, animatedly. She lay facing me on her side, one leg swept over my waist. “Boy, oh, boy! You . . . just . . . Ohhh . . . Myyy.”
Smiles were plastered across both of our faces like permanent fixtures. We were satiated, depleted. We had worked up more than just a sweat; we had managed to give birth to even more emotion than we’d gone in with. For me, it was that this woman could make me feel the way she did with just her touch, her concern, and with just being her authentic self. I found myself thinking how much Lucas would have liked her, had he been here to meet her. But this moment, and a few other pivotal ones, made me absolutely sure that Lucas, himself, had sent Chanel to me.
“You shouldn’t feel so damn good, baby,” I told her, taking her bottom lip into my mouth. “Every damn time you feel like velvet wrapped around me. Every time.”
“That’s just how it goes with us, Papa. You feel sooo . . . like I can still feel you inside of me right now and . . . yeah . . .” she purred, her full lips slightly poked out. “You love me?” she asked.
My brows furrowed, with the upward curve of my mouth. “That’s rhetorical, right? It has to be. It’s that, or the sex has you all screwy in the head to ask me something like that.”
“So, do you?”
“Chanel, come on.”
“Come on, what? I’m serious.”
I stared at her, blankly, for a few, long seconds, waiting for her to stop the silly shit. When she didn’t cave, I reluctantly obliged. “Okay, I’ll play this ridiculous game. I do love you. Way more than you know—even when you’re acting like ‘special’ people.”
She leaned up and looked at me, with a heavy grin on her face. “I just wanted to see if I could make you do what I wanted.”
“Where have you been throughout the life of this relationship? You’ve always gotten me to do what you wanted.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” she bragged, plopping back down and laughing.
“You have real problems, lady,” I kidded.
“I know,” she admitted, amid laughter. “And for the record, I love you too. Way more than you know.”
“You better.”
“Well, I do. Even without the threat.”
“Cool. So, does that mean that I can keep you in bed with me all day, then?”
“Aww, baby, I wish. But you know I have to go and meet Trace in the city to get this outfit for our party. She took the day off, so I can’t stand her up.” She smiled at me, her eyes lighting up. “I wasn’t as disciplined as you with getting my stuff early.”
“Don’t give me too much credit, baby. It’s like comparing apples and oranges. We don’t shop like you guys do. I tried on my slacks, they measured me and I was set.”
“Tailored slacks on my baby! Hot damn! Boy, you better hope we make it, after I see you in those thangs,” she teased. “Shit, you look good in every damn day jeans and t-shirt, sweats and tanks! You know how weak I am for you in . . . whew! You gettin’ me all hot and bothered, again, and I have to hop in this shower and make this drive.”
“Want me to take you? Me and Lennox can drive you over there and just hang out while you and Tracie do your thing. Then later, I need to go and get Rai, and get him what he needs.”
“That’s so sweet, baby. But that’s okay.” She kissed me on the tip of my nose, and then climbed out of bed. “You and Rai just go ahead, and when I get back, then let’s all do something . . . outside of the bed,” she laughed. “Not that I don’t love it there, but you know.”
I sat up and threw my legs over the side and rolled the kinks out of my neck. “What I know is that you seduced me and now you wanna be talking about doing something outside of the bed. Shit, I’m spoiled.”
“No! You’re silly!” she shrieked, with laughter. “That was a mutual seduction, thank you very much. You poked me in the butt with him, and I just answered the call. Can’t blame a girl. It’s called keeping your man satisfied.”
“You definitely do that!” I shouted behind her.
She looked over her shoulder, on her way to the shower, and blew me a kiss. She knew I was watching her. It was a force of habit. That hourglass shape, that perfect arch right where her lower back and her ass touched, and the natural sway of her hips . . . had me by the balls. Whether she was dressed or not, I couldn’t help it.
Inches from turning out of my line of sight, she offered, “You coming with or no?”
CHAPTER 17
Chanel
♫
Three in the morning, you know I'm horny,
So, why don't you come over my place and put a smile on my face?
Leaving the club, shawty, hurry up!
So we can get this party started and take off our clothes now
&
nbsp; You already know what time it is!
Reach up in that dresser where them condoms is
And, baby, when I get it, I'll never let it go
Gonna take it slowww!
We ain't gon' stop 'til 9 AM!
♫
I was mid-verse, singing to the top of my lungs, my left hand waving against the air . . . feeling the music . . . when my ringing cell phone cut into the music, fading Chris Brown to the background. I rolled my eyes and smacked my lips, but then smiled when I saw it was my mama calling.
“Yes, woman . . .” I greeted her.
“What you doin’, baby?”
“Listening to music and driving across this bridge.”
“Let me guess. Chris Brown, right?”
“Yep,” I blushed. “Exactly right.”
“Psh, that damn delinquent. Does Dario know he’s second choice to that loose cannon?”
“Mama, stop it. First of all, I just left my man, and trust me . . . he absolutely knows that he ain’t second choice to nooo man. Second, Chris is not a loose cannon. He’s just misunderstood. Leave that man alone and let him be great. He’s out here making music . . . that makes me fall in love with him more and more with each verse.” I started to giggle, knowing that my mom probably had her face twisted up.
My mother cut the laughter off seconds later, asking, “So, yeah, ummm. First of all, slowly put the pompoms down and come into the present,” she teased. “And second of all, I could do without hearing about you and Dario’s bedroom business.”
“You know you wanna know, Mama.”
“Uhhh, I really do not. But I do want to know about this trip to the city.”
“Nosy folk. I swear.”
“Call it what you want.”
“I’m actually on my way to meet Tracie.”
“Oh, to get your outfit for the engagement party?”
“Uh huh. I already ordered my stuff, just going to pick it up.”
“Oooh,” she gushed. “And you couldn’t send your mama a link or nothin’?”
“Nope!”
“So wrong. I can’t wait to see it!”
“You won’t see it until the evening of the event.”
“Lies! I’ll be by there tonight to see it.” She started to laugh hard. “Trying to keep secrets and all that.”
“Secrets? Says the person that won’t even tell me where the party is gonna be!”
“Yeah, well, that’s for a good cause.”
“Yeah, okay. Well, let’s see how lucky you are with seeing this outfit, then. I mean, I could be persuaded, if you found it in your heart to at least give me a hint.”
“Nope. They wouldn’t be called ‘surprises’ if they weren’t, uh . . . surprises.”
“Ha ha. Well, they can’t be considered surprises, if the person who’s getting surprised knows about it—which I do! The only thing I don’t know is where; so, technically, it’s not even a surprise anymore. Look, lady, we could go back and forth with your little, weak argument all day long.”
“Oh well. I guess we just killed negotiations, then.”
“We were never in negotiations, Mother Dear. My mind was already made up,” I guffawed, loudly. “Just like your location, my dress—or skirt—or whatever, shall remain a secret.”
“Whatever. Call me later. Love you, bubble head.”
“Love you too!” I shouted, as our lines disconnected and Chris’s vocals began singing to my soul, again.
CHAPTER 18
Wayne
Wayne sat in his home office having a staring contest with the large computer screen in front of him. The last interaction between him and the keyboard had happened about an hour earlier, when he’d typed Dario’s name at the top of the page. That was as far as he got. He saw the anger in Dario’s face when they were talking and knew that Dario was fed up. They had been friends for years and he knew him through and through. But Wayne had no choice. He had to keep pushing. He had to, because they were running out of time, and he didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he knew that it wasn’t good.
When he thought to send an email as a last resort, he thought he had it all figured out. He would tell him the truth about what was going on with Ace Wilder’s team of folks. He was going to be honest about getting mixed up in conversation with Dex, some months back, which he thought was just a situational ‘what-if’. That he never took it seriously, but that they did, and that as a result, now they were in this predicament. A predicament that he didn’t know how to get them out of.
Wayne shook his head, in disbelief, thinking back over all of it. How did I go from casual conversation some months ago, to suited thugs in my house ready to do harm to me? How did that shit happen?!
He didn’t know. What he did know was that he had to do everything he could to rectify matters. It would kill him if these guys were serious and things went further than they already had. He hadn’t wanted to go to Dario and tell him that he’d fucked up, and that now he needed his help. Dario seeing him as incompetent, and making avoidable errors, didn’t sit well with Wayne. But he was there, and it was no time to allow ego into the equation.
Yeah, email is better, Wayne concluded. Electronic communication would allow him to articulate clearer, and without interruption. He needed to clear his conscience, by any means necessary; and in a way, that would make sure everything remained intact—for all involved.
Let me think about how this should look, he thought. Have to think it all the way through! It needs to be right. He squinted at the screen, as though the words would begin to type themselves.
“Fuck . . .” he sighed, after a few more minutes.
Anger filled him, as he pushed his chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. He walked over to the window and looked down his long driveway and out into his neighborhood. He’d made it a long way from the kid that all his teachers said wouldn’t amount to shit. He never knew why they’d said it because he tried his best to excel. The business side of him, even as a child, had him looking at things analytically, asking all the questions nobody wanted to answer. So, it was probably more him getting on their nerves than anything that made them say the shit they said to him. But his home life was anything but peachy, which was probably why he was so aggressive away from home. Both his parents acted like he was poison. He figured out later that their disdain for each other made them despise anything they created as a union. Twisted, but it was the case. So, it made sense that when they split and went on to other relationships, those half-siblings of Wayne’s couldn’t relate to even a miniature amount of the abuse and neglect that he had endured.
By all accounts, Wayne wasn’t supposed to amount to much. He wasn’t supposed to break through the tax bracket that both his parents were stuck in. But just because they didn’t think he would go any further in life than wherever the 12th grade dropped him off, Wayne had to prove them wrong. And he did. He’d shown them all, when he far surpassed the boundaries set forth by any of them.
He graduated high school at 16, and entered Job Corps. There, he met his mentor, Alton Cooper. His entire life changed—for the better.
Alton Cooper was one of a few professionals who lent their time to the youth at Job Corps, teaching them pieces of their expertise to take out into the world with them. A young Wayne would act as a sponge, whenever Alton was around, and his enthusiasm didn’t go unnoticed. When graduation rolled around, Alton was right there to celebrate with Wayne and offer him a new home life, and the opportunity at an apprenticeship.
Wayne smiled, as he stood at the window, thinking about Alton and all that he’d given him. He was literally the only father that Wayne had ever known. One of the main things Alton told him over and over, from a teenager, until now, was that as long as he knew how to effectively communicate and knew how to collectively use his street and common sense, he could make it in any arena. Those words had gotten Wayne through some of his toughest negotiations. However, his fear of failing wasn’t allowing the formula to work with th
is particular situation. Maybe because it involved somebody so close to him, somebody that he cared for like a brother.
“Alton . . .” He’ll know how to help me, Wayne thought, as he turned away from the window and made his way to his phone to call Alton. Should’ve thought to do that sooner.
He knew that if there was anybody that could get him over the hump, it was his Godfather. With his cordless phone in hand, Wayne began punching in the 10-digit number to Alton’s cell. But in the middle of dialing, his device scooting across the top of his desk caught his attention.
“This is Wayne,” he said, into the mouthpiece.
He was slightly agitated that he didn’t recognize the number, and that whoever it was cut into his plan to call Alton.
“Wayne, you’re a hard man to get in touch with,” the caller stated. “I went through hoops to—”
“Who is this?” Wayne spat, uninterested in the small talk.
“Somebody with a proposition, who really . . . I mean, really, needs your help.”
“I’m not in the business of helping people.”
“Now, Wayne . . . we both know that’s not true. You sound a little tense, like I interrupted something. If you’d just let me speak my piece, you can see that—”
“What piece? What is it that you want? And, once again, who is this?”
The pause on the other end of the line was causing Wayne further irritation. Unbeknownst to the caller, Wayne was doing a slow countdown from 10, before hanging up.
“I’m very busy. You got—”
“It’s Shane,” he finally spoke up. “Shane Michaels. Before you hang up, I know that news has travelled about me going to jail.”
“On rape . . .” Wayne stated, pushing the envelope.
“False rape charges. I’m out on bail, and can’t leave New York yet, but I expect to be fully exonerated. Thing is, I’m on the verge of losing everything, Wayne. I’ve worked hard as fuck for all I got. Hard as fuck. My wife left. She’s done. I expected that shit when the story broke. Just got major endorsements. Snatched away. My manager . . . fake-ass manager . . . all gone. I need your help . . .”
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