The Satyr

by Tiana Laveen

  “So… what would you like to do about this situation?” he asked before placing another lustful kiss on her skin.

  “I can’t talk about it anymore right now. I just need to be still. Breathe.” He nodded in agreement, though he didn’t actually agree. Taking the bottle she’d drunk from, he tipped it to his mouth. The smooth liquid flowed down his throat and hit him just right. He placed it back inside of the chiller, his mind weaving ideas.

  “Go into my bedroom bathroom and take a long, hot shower. You’ll find a towel, loofah sponge, wash cloth, and your favorite liquid soap. Time for you to relax.”

  She nodded and drifted away, like a well-dressed ghost. When he was alone, he faced his own rage. He had a knack for picking up her emotions before even setting eyes on her. His anger was predicated, however, by worry. He’d called her at least three times earlier that day and she’d never answered the phone. So unlike her – not even a text back. In the very depths of his core, he knew something was terribly amiss. She’d planned a meeting with her boss and several other attorneys in the firm that day, and once he hadn’t heard back from her, a sense of dread had sat upon him like a thick fog, blocking his view of any possible good outcome. He’d even contemplated calling Goldie to see if she’d heard from Yasmine. But then, right before he’d taken matters into his own hands, she’d called him…

  In a calm tone, she’d relayed that she was sitting in her office, typing up some information, and would be leaving right at 5:00 P.M. He’d already made it home, so he’d insisted she come by as soon as she was finished.

  And now, here she was. A raging lion out for blood.

  He opened up the refrigerator and picked up a red and white striped can of whipped cream and a bottle of dark chocolate syrup. When he went to the bedroom, he heard the water running. Turning on some music, he selected a sexy playlist he’d put together on his laptop. Let’s see here… Here it is. Yeah, this will do.

  ‘Streetcar’ by Daniel Caesar started to play, the sounds suave and soothing. He lit a couple of Yankee jasmine and vanilla scented candles and a stick of dragon blood incense, then made his way into the bathroom. When he opened the door, his eyes landed on the woman whose body reminded him of a cello… Fucking beautiful.

  He slipped out of his robe, draped it over the door hook and approached the shower as quietly as possible. Water saturated her thick hair as she massaged her scalp in slow, long strokes. She turned her head slightly to the side and he could see that her eyes were closed, and she must’ve been enjoying the music, for she was swaying ever so slowly to the beat. He placed his hand on the shower door, leaned in close, and simply watched her as if she were a ballerina figurine atop a jewelry box. After getting an eyeful, he stepped inside, joining her. She shuddered when he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close.

  They said nothing with their mouths, but communicated perfectly with their hearts, bodies, and minds. With a gentle push, he forced her into the corner of the stall. The water bounced off their bodies, aquatic bullets ricocheting off their skin as he rested against her back—a much needed reprieve. Her hands were raised above her head as if she were about to be frisked, palms against the white and clear tiles… fingers spread far apart. He looked at those fingers more closely now. How lovely they were, long and manicured, and she wore a small gold band on her pinky. When he coaxed her legs open and stroked her pussy, she purred like a kitten. He kept a rhythm, from front to back, back and forth with a measured hand.

  He took in the entire canvas of her beauty. Her skin glistened like fragmented jewels scattered along black water. As he stroked her lower lips, moisture building along his digits at each pass, he nestled his chin in the crevice of her shoulder and grinded slowly against her body. He reached upward, intertwining their fingers, and pinned her hand to the tiles above her head, providing soft kisses all along her cheek and neck. Wet, heavy strands of her soft hair touched his face like silky ropes as he melted against her. Nao’s ‘Another Lifetime’ played throughout the surround sound speakers, making his desire burst right out of him.

  With a guttural groan, he cupped her pussy with one hand and lifted her feet off the floor of the shower. Her head dipped further into the stream of water, and she beat her fist against the wall as he lifted her higher – reminding her that she was royalty in his eyes.

  He brought her slowly back down and whispered in her ear, “What’s between your legs hooked me. What’s between your ears kept me. Surrender to me… Your Satyr will make everything all right.”

  She leaned back against him and they tumbled to their knees. Her head rested against his chest, legs sprawled open… water practically drowning them. With a firm hand, he massaged her soaking wet breasts, the dark, chocolatey nipples extended and hard to the touch. Gripping her around her waist, he lifted her up about a foot into the air, then brought her down right on his cock. She screamed when he viciously pumped his hips, his arms crossed over her stomach. He fucked her deep, until he could go no further, and forced her to ride him under the flow of water on their bodies. Just as she was on the brink of cumming, he pulled out of her. It took all of his strength and he groaned in anger. He got to his feet and exited the shower, leaving her staring in confusion. He returned moments later with a glossy black box, lined with velvet.

  He opened it and removed a set of red leather arm binders, then a beautiful glass vibrator. Her eyes grew wide as he opened the shower door with the items in hand. He set the vibrator down on a built-in shelf but kept hold of the arm restraints.

  “Turn around.”

  In moments, her had her arms restricted behind her back.

  “It’s a little too tight.” He smacked her ass. “Ouch!” She lowered her head, then began to shake ever so subtly, from her head down to her feet, and it wasn’t long before she was begging for more. “Harder, please!” He smacked her ass again, and again, the wet flesh feeling the impact. She released at that moment, cumming so hard… He caught her with one arm around her waist while her orgasm fluttered through her. From the way she writhed about against him, it was a strong one. He spun her around, slammed her against the wall and hoisted her long, gorgeous legs up and around his waist.

  His eyes glued to hers, he reached for the vibrator and placed it against her clit, not yet turned on. Her eyes rolled as he drove himself inside her, so forcefully that she slid up against the wall. He turned the vibrator on, moving it back and forth across her clit as he fucked her. She threw her head back and moaned as if she were high on heroin – her body became his, and his only. Taking her lower lip into his mouth, he sucked and pulled ever so gently.

  “I’m in control. You got that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Whenever you have a problem, you come to me, and I make it better. Is that understood?”

  “Yes!” She screamed and writhed against him as he fucked her with all of his might against the smooth wall of tiles.

  “Ummm!” Harder and harder he went, faster and faster until their moans and pleas for sweet release tumbled over one another’s, echoed in stereo.

  “Baby!” she yelled. “Oh, God! Nix! Yes!”

  She came hard against him, her pussy pulsating, swallowing his dick and pouring nectar all over it. He tossed the vibrator down, grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. Her eyes fluttered and then he kissed her – a hard, ruthless kiss. Wild-eyed, she worked her body against him.

  They made love in the harsh colors of want and need. Desires hit a plateau, and then weathered the storm. The water cascaded along their twisting bodies but it had been on so long, it was growing cold. Depositing her back on her feet, he removed the arm restraints, one by one. He worked quickly to dry off her body, limb by limb. He followed suit and dried himself off, then scanned her from head to toe.

  “Just stand there…”

  Grabbing a small bottle of coconut oil, he rubbed it all over her shoulders, back, the soft globes of her ass, her breasts, thighs, and each and every toe. He took his sweet time, giving h
er the attention she deserved. Then, he wrapped a towel around her hair and another around her body.

  She blinked several times, as if holding back deep-seeded emotions that threatened to spill. Like him, she kept a lot trapped inside. Now her insides were toxic, and she needed help with purifying her heart, releasing the poisonous build-up within. It wasn’t sadness but resentment, and he could tell she was trying with all of her might to suppress it like a bad cough. Taking her by the hand, he led her into his master suite closet. He pulled out a drawer full of some of his favorite over-sized T-shirts and told her to select one of her liking. As she did so, he retreated to the bedroom and turned up the music, switched on the fireplace, and slipped on a pair of loose jogging pants. Cleo Sol’s ‘When I’m in Your Arms’ started to play. Perfect. He got into the bed, reached for a folder on his nightstand, and perused some papers for a client he planned to meet with the following week.

  Yasmine emerged from his closet sporting a dark blue and white Chicago Bears T-shirt. It hit right mid-thigh on her. Placing one beautiful foot in front of the other, she rounded the bed and slid between the sheets. He lay on his back, allowing her full access to him as she maneuvered around, then wrapped herself around his frame like a ribbon in a braid. He held onto her, closing his eyes as her sweet kisses dotted his face. ‘Why iii Love The Moon’ by Phony PPL set the mood. He raised one leg and moved his foot to the beat of the music as he caressed her arm. That’s when he noticed their heart rates matched, their breathing in sync. He didn’t know if he believed in soulmates until right at that moment.

  She moved away suddenly and left the bedroom. Perhaps she needed food or something to drink. A couple minutes later she was back with that same gold bottle of wine they’d been drinking in one hand, and her journal in the other. She plopped down beside him, and he caught a glimpse of her ass and pussy lips before she sat cross-legged. Taking a swig of the wine, she set the bottle on the nightstand then flipped through the journal. He turned the music to low volume and crossed his arms, giving her space and his full attention. She took a couple deep breaths, then began to read aloud:

  “…I sit in my office thinking about my life right now. I am with a man who understands and knows me in a way that no other ever has, but he can’t fully get how I feel right now because he’s not in my shoes. I wish that he could. I am running away to his house once I leave here. A part of me feels like I’m in foreign territory, as if this environment is no longer my own. I feel like the black sheep. Black. That’s the crux of this issue. Nixon is not Black, and that affords him advantages in this insane world that I can only dream of. Nixon walks into a courtroom and everyone stops, looks, and listens. He’s a tall White man with a killer smile and money.

  “Once someone gets to know him, they discover he possesses even more power that extends beyond his race and financial status. He is boiling over with buoyancy and conviction. Of course, we all have our insecurities, but Nixon’s are not easily seen. He’s never experienced walking into a place and feeling invisible based on his race and gender. I doubt he’s ever been followed around a store, and I’m certain he’s never been called a derogatory name based on his race where the main purpose was to attempt to make him feel inferior.

  “That is how I feel right now as I sit in my office, fighting tears. These are not tears of sadness. I am not depressed. I am enraged. I am being made to feel inferior to a man who cannot hold a candle to me. Isn’t anger just a disguise? That’s what Nixon told me once. He said anger is a costume to hide fear. So, I had to ask myself right now, after storming out of the meeting with Terrell, what am I afraid of at this moment? I have the answer. I am afraid that everything I worked for all of these years has gone down the drain in a matter of minutes. I am afraid that I have far too much pride to simply bow my head and take this. I could be blackballed if I do or say the wrong thing. I’ve already started a fire and flaunted the match in my possession. I have no intentions of putting the blaze out. I need support and love right now, from someone who understands my line of work and my struggle. And so now, I must return to my original question… Does Nixon really understand me?

  “I’m a Black woman working in a male-dominated field. Yes, there are plenty of female attorneys. In fact, today, by gender alone, we outnumber men in this country, in this profession; but when you look at Black women attorneys, we make up less than four percent, and when it comes to female equity in partners, it is like trying to find a magical unicorn with a checkered body and golden hooves. I was shooting for a star, and this case that was stolen from me was my ticket in. I was going to beat the odds. I was going to show little Black girls and boys that they could go into law and succeed. I was doing this for me. I was doing this for my sister, Tamia. Now, that doesn’t feel possible.”

  She tossed the journal down onto the bed, hugged herself, and shook her head as if she were at a crossroads, with no idea which direction to turn.

  Nixon drank some of the wine, then opened his nightstand drawer and retrieved a cigar, lighting it.

  “Let me explain something to you, Yas,” he said after giving it a few puffs. “I get what the fuck you’re sayin’, but you are not going to lie here and play that song.”

  She turned to him, her brows bunched.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not in the mood for any shit tonight, Nixon. I’ve had—”

  “I honestly don’t give a shit what you’re in the mood for, Yasmine. I’m going to give you what you need, not what you feel like having. They aren’t always the same.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Your ass has climbed up the food chain amongst a bunch of hungry ass sharks. You were a damn guppy, and you outsmarted them all. Only, you were no actual guppy; you were a shark in disguise, because Black skin is a costume to the unsuspecting. Many don’t believe you can beat the odds, that you can outthink them, outwork them, outsmart them. You’ve got a flawless vocational reputation.

  “You’ve looked adversity in the eye over a dozen times probably in the last twelve months alone, and then you’re going to sit here and have the complete audacity to use the journal I gave you to describe me as basically some brainless Ken doll while you’re described as some down and out wench on a pirate ship run by idiots. No.” He shook his head. “You don’t get to do that. I’m not going to let you do that. What’s going on is, you’ve had a bad day. A bad week. A bad month. You know it’s in part based on race, the whole last hired, first fired mantra, but I’m not a member of that club and I never was! I’ve been fucking Black women since I was sixteen, and I—”

  “It’s more than about who you are having sex with, Nixon.”

  “Let me finish! I didn’t interrupt you as you read to me, now did I?” She rolled her eyes and turned away. “I was doing this before it was in style! Before people were celebrating that sort of thing, before it was socially acceptable, and I didn’t give two shits who liked it and who didn’t. I dated who I wanted to date from that early age – so that right there is proof that I’ve been in this a long time, and I do in fact have an understanding of what you are going through because I am part of the problem through birth! I know what men who look like me say about people like you, when they don’t have an inkling of who I am in a relationship with. I have always kept my personal life to myself, so people say anything to me, making assumptions – making jokes they think I’d find funny.”

  She rubbed up and down her arms.

  “You’re not the only Black woman I’ve cared about. You’re not the only Black woman who has come to me upset about an incident that stunk of racism. I’m not going to pretend to be perfect, act like I’ve never stereotyped anyone before, but I can guarantee you, I have never thought I was better than someone because of my race. I think I am better than other people because I am fuckin’ smart! Resourceful! And I know what the hell I am doing more times than not. It’s not fair, what you’re doing. I told you in the shower that you can depend on me. You’re internalizing it and trying to rope me into this,
simply because I’m White and a man, just like your enemies in that office. I have nothing in common with them. I can promise you that.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Yes, you are.” He raised his voice, frustration filling him. “I fuckin’ love you! Do you have any idea how I have bent over backwards to prove to you that I am serious about you, and this is not a game to me? To show how you’re not just another notch on my belt?”

  “I know you love me, baby. I never said you didn’t, but to some degree, we still have completely different perspectives of the world. Those are just the facts.”

  “What? No, we don’t. We are on the same planet, in the same country, in the same state and city. We are cut from the same cloth. We have so much in common, it’s ridiculous, and if you want to focus on the few differences, then I’m not your real problem, now am I? My entire life has changed since I decided to go after you. I gave up The Cage for you!”

  “And I’ve made sacrifices, too! Do you have any idea how high maintenance you can be sometimes, Nixon?!”

  “Oh, you want to talk about high maintenance. Let’s discuss how a couple of weeks ago you kept getting upset with me because I pulled your hair and you said you’d just got it done and began yelling at me about how I messed it up, or how about when we went out to eat and your shrimp was butterflied instead of kept intact, and you had a fit right there in that restaurant.” She quickly turned away, her cheeks reddening. “So, please, let’s not go there. Yasmine, I have had to dissect myself so I would never undermine your feelings. I brought you into my family circle. You met my parents… nobody gets to meet them because to me, that’s serious! Anytime you’ve brought up racism, what have I done?

  “I acknowledged your feelings immediately. And no, I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman, but neither does any man on the planet, including a Black man.” She exhaled loudly. “You’re mad that your boss, who you also considered a friend, fucked you over. I get it! But you don’t get to turn on me and lump me in with him and that other loser just because we all have European ancestors. That’s bullshit and you know it. So you’re wrong. I understand you to your core – taking race and gender out of it. All I care about is the depth of your soul!”