Andreas, the new Don that took over after my dad had the pleasure of blowing the old Don’s head off, tried to do his best by my dad. My old man had gone through some shit while the old Don, Russell, was running his slice of the Miami pie. Hell, we all carried our scars from that time, Ma, Dad, and surely, me, but thank God my little sister was spared. Even still, I can’t blame Andreas for stopping dumping money into a lost cause. Guilt is a strong cancer, and what my old man has is beyond stage 5. You would have thought that the bullet to Russell’s brain would have brought some form of closure. Instead, it just added to the gaping, festering wound by giving the demons torturing my dad something new to add to the list.
I honestly think my dad wants to die. He’s just too religious, and the fear of hell by doing it himself is why he hasn’t. Instead, he’s always fuckin’ with the wrong people, getting himself into trouble in hopes that one of them will take him out back to put him down. Thing is, the word has been put out by the five Don’s and their people to leave the man alone. That still don’t mean that when he fucks up, those people don’t expect to be paid a fee for clearing his debts or be paid for gifting him with a get-out-of-the-grave card. Thing is these people promise not to kill him, but that leaves a lot of other shit on the table.
Now, you get it, huh? The latest shit is costing my ma, which means it’s costing me. The dumb, drunk-in-love woman is taking money that Andreas gives her to keep her in the gated, guarded lap of luxury to keep my dad out of the hospital. This never-ending cycle has forced me back into the clubs that I had thought Chadli had freed me from. Psych, huh? So, I’ve killed another person, and a new identity is taken to stay hidden in the shadows for a little longer.
The tap came late at night. Well, early morning. Although he has a key, the extra deadbolt and chain I installed made it impossible for him to sneak up on me. All right, I have a confession to make. It’s one that I’ve come to grips with, but I’ve yet to voice it or share it. As I roll out of bed, I know I have to admit it if I’m going to survive seeing Chadli again. I like this man. You know, not as a friend, but so much more. Funny thing is I always thought growing up that I needed to see the guy I was dating. In school, I would meet my boyfriends in the cafeteria in the morning. Then we would meet up by the lockers after every class. It was torture, at least I thought it was, to have to be apart during classes. I would pout and do silly shit to get and keep him in my face because I thought that was needed to make a guy like and want you.
Boy, was I wrong. I haven’t laid eyes on Chadli for a year, but by the fourth month of talking at least once a day on the phone, I was already catching feelings. On those days that he didn’t call, I was fuckin’ pissed. I mean my whole day was shit till we reconnected. Never in the background did I pick up on another female, but I’m not dumb. The man was getting his nuts from somewhere. I try not to think about it too much. The fact that he made sure to talk to me on the regular soothed that worry a bit. It made me feel I’m important to him on some kinda level, at least.
Ain’t that some shit, though? He’s never kissed me. All he’s done is beat his meat to me in the shower, and once in a blue moon, our phone talks would turn into phone sex, but never any physical contact. Although I know I could have been fuckin’ around, but I just don’t wanna. I’m lovesick for a man who seems to only want to be friends that flirt. I’ve had a few of those, mainly at work. They are guys I’ll tease but know damn well I’m never going to fuck because they have a chick or it was just more exciting to tease than to do the actual act.
I know I have to get my shit together. You never want to be the first to show signs of falling, right? Although, I have to admit that he’s had me wondering if he’s starting to feel the same from the change in his tone lately. Call me crazy, I probably am, but Chadli has been rockin’ a little game lately. In his tone over the phone, has been a deep, newfound smoothness that’s had me chinning like a fool on the other end of our calls for months now. His questions have been more personal to lead me out of my shell to reveal more of myself to him. So much so, that he could tell when I was worked up without me even telling him. Long after our calls were over, I would toss his comments and suggests around in my mind. Then he flipped me on my ass when he called a week ago.
“Chione, what would you say we’re doing?”
Confused, it took me a second to understand his question.
“We’re friends with very mild, yet good benefits,” I replied at last.
“Friends?”
“Why you say it like that?”
“Maybe because I thought we had become more that…friends.”
Now, my heart was in my throat. Should I test this? I hate when people beat around the bush instead of just saying what they mean. I’m no mind reader, shit.
“Okay, well, if not friends, what are we, then?” I asked.
See, that was a good comeback. I put the ball in his court for him to take his shot.
“Very soon, I want to explore our options,” he remarked.
Lord, I had been so excited at the end of that conversation. Yeah, I know Chadli could’ve just been setting me up to finally fuck me on this visit, but it was still a start to something more. Then my head caught up with my heart to remind me of all the bullshit I had going on in my life.
“I’m coming!” Heavy-hearted, I call out, Jesus, I wish I would be after getting Chadli across that threshold, but I know it won’t be my case. I’ve been labeled as something else for a different purpose.
Pausing by the door, I take a deep breath. All the mental talking I’ve been doing didn’t do shit when the door opens. My heart lurches in my chest in the direction of the man I’m in love with. Fuck, he’s even gotten better looking. He’s packed on a few more pounds of muscle, which causes him to fill the doorway. His hair is longer too. Unlike the last time, the top portion is so long that it’s covering his eyes.
“You can gawk after I’m inside.”
I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a sexual way, but I doubt my body understands that by the way it gushes to wet my panties.
“Oh, yeah, sure, you woke me up and…” I rush to say to cover up my first reaction.
I hold my breath as he surveys the entryway and every room I lead him into.
“You look run over.”
“Thank you, Chione. You look delish by the way,” he grumbles.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t stop by your house?”
His cologne slaps me in the face when he plops down on the couch. “I wanted to see you.” He yawns, rubbing his eyes.
That admission makes me want to showcase the silly grin I’m feeling.
“Let me see you,” he whispers with a come-hither motion of his finger.
My normal dress for bed is a T-shirt, but for Chadli, I’m really putting it on. I blink when he clicks on the table lamp next to his head to bathe the room in light. I can feel his red-rimmed gaze examining me from my manicured toes, to my thighs, over the coral, satin nightgown, up to my messy bun.
“Your hair?”
“Not a wig. I got a blowout.” I roll my eyes. “Why am I talking like you know what that means?”
Tilting his head, he makes another visual pass over my body. “It’s a combination of a shampoo and conditioning before heat is applied with a dryer followed by a flat iron. Should last about four weeks if you don’t get it wet,” he rattles off.
I mask my anger at his knowledge. “I didn’t know I wasn’t the only black girl you’ve been kicking it with.”
I use the term that has deep meaning between us.
“Nothing like that. I promise you.” He grimaces. “But, no, you aren’t the only black beauty in my life.” He smirks.
I open my mouth to press, only to be stopped.
“Fix your crown, Chione. No other will ever take it from you.” Pausing, he leans forward to place his elbows on his knees. “I’m hungry.”
Fuck! Why does he talk this way? His tone, the look on his face, even the way he licked his lips
has me thinking of shit that’s got nothing to do with food and everything to do with him eating my pussy. Then again, this is Chadli I’m dealing with. It’s the temptation and the tease that he gets off on. At least, when it comes to me. I’m sure his bitches he keeps elsewhere gets the pipe laid. Suddenly, the excitement I felt over seeing him is replaced with anger. Why the hell should I jump through hoops to make him feel like a sultan? I mean, this asshole has been gone for a fuckin’ year. Now, for the last month, I’ve been worrying myself over making shit right to see him again. He’s been off doing his thang, right? I’m being stupid. We’re nothing more than friends with the benefit of him paying my bills. So, what if he stops swiping his charge card? I haven’t gone that soft. I can make it without his money and this place, but school would be a bummer. But I think I got enough saved to carry me for a little minute to finish with at least an associate’s degree. That’s enough for a decent, entry-level position somewhere. So, what would I be losing? Fuckin’ daily phone calls like he’s checking in with his bitch to make sure I’m still behaving?
“I can cook,” I offer.
Why is he looking like that? He’s hungry. I offered food. So, what’s that expression I catch briefly across his face all about? Was I supposed to say, “Fuck you, there’s a 24 hour Micky D’s down the road?”
SHAHID
Food?! I’ve come straight to Chione’s condo after flying seven hours from Dubai to London, a two-hour layover to refuel, and then other nine-plus hours from London to Miami all for a fuckin’ snack. No, I want to bury myself between her legs. I want to be smothered while she rides my face. I want to bump uglies. I want to dislocate her guts by fuckin’ them into the next room. I want to blow my back out fuckin’ that poorly concealed, sour expression off your face. No, Chione! I don’t want you to cook for me. I want to finally get a taste of the fruits of your body before I reveal to you how much I want you in my life, by my side.
“What can you make?” I ask instead as calmly as I can.
“Breakfast? I could cook blueberry waffles, eggs, turkey bacon,” she stresses.
“That sounds good.” I smile.
My mask falls. I stretch out my hand towards her after she’s turned to walk away. I don’t know how many months I’ve practiced this day. What I was going to say when I saw her again. How I was going to change the tone of this self-proclaimed friendship that I had created? A friendship that I want out of. I don’t know what I was hoping would happen coming over here. All I know is once my private jet landed, I had to see her. No, that’s not entirely true. I dreamed for Chione to answer the door, invite me in, and by now, be two fingers deep while I tested the tightness of her wet cunt.
Glancing down at my fingers, I could almost envision them coated with her thick, moist juices. Leaning back, I’m too exhausted to stop the dream from taking over as it has done many times while I played in the cunts of the other women I’ve fucked during the months away. Even still, they did nothing to quench the thirst that had me keep with a strict schedule to allow me call time with Chione on a daily basis. I didn’t give a damn what was going on, all gears came to a halt to give me an hour with her.
Never once did she ask where I was or when I would be back. I can’t lie. That fucked with my head. It bugged me that I had willingly offered up lies to sell her the story, but if I hadn’t, I knew she would never have pressed me. I never do shit for the hell of it.
Getting to my feet, I switch into detective mode. I could have hired eyes to keep up with her or had my brother do a drive-by to check on her. Of course, I dismissed those options. Although Chadli is my right hand, I wanted to keep Chione for me alone.
“Any exciting cases?” She shouts from the kitchen.
“Nothing more than the overly entitled asshole that wants the world to kiss his ass,” I reply.
The one-bedroom, one -and-a-half-bath unit was spacious. Fuckin’ better be for the price.
The entire time, I’m working the room. Scanning the pictures on the wall, I find nothing out of the ordinary. Lifting each cushion and pillow, I come up with nothing. I pause in the middle of the living room. My eyes touching everything, I gravitate to the bookshelf built into the wall. There’s nothing odd about the place being free of dust. Chione always struck me as a clean person.
“Plain toast, strawberry or grape jelly?” She asks.
“Jelly? Um, I’ll do strawberry or grape,” I reply mindlessly as I lean close to read the titles.
I get lost in the list of the fictional heavy weights until I pick up a scent. Sniffing the air, I press the tip of my nose to the spine of one of the books. Removing the thick novel from the shelf, I frown while I flip through it. Nothing turns up within the pages, but I know I smell it. Suddenly, I press the book to my chest as I narrow my eyes to glance into the dark vacant spot the novel left. Yeah, I catch the smell again. Tossing the book to the floor, the one on the shelf next to it follows to the floor.
“What’s this?” I wonder while I pull out the hidden object in the dark hole.
A smirk spreads on my lips at the sight of a half-chewed cigar. I cut my eyes at the archway that leads to the hallway. There’s no reason to ask Chione if it belongs to her. Not once have I ever seen her smoke anything other than my hookah. Plus, the hand-rolled cigar was too damn thick to be something she would even attempt to smoke if she was willing.
“Your last semester was really good, huh?”
I need to gauge her position in the condo. Asking about school will keep her babbling. Quickly, I check to see what else is hidden on the shelf. Nothing. Annoyed, it’s when I lean down to grab the books that I notice the slight moisture of the carpet. I run my hand over a patch to feel a damp spot here and there. She’s had the carpets shampooed. No doubt to clear the place of the smoking smells, which means a lot of that has been going on.
By the time I’ve fixed the room and strolled into the kitchen, my mask was back in place.
“Made any friends on campus?”
Chione scoffs. “Nah. I’m doing things differently this time around.”
Biting my bottom lip, I nod. “Well, it’s good to network. One of those people could help you get in once you graduate.”
“True.” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiles. “I could be missing out on my husband.”
I want to slap the shit out of her. Instead, hide my anger under a smile as I ask, “The bathroom?”
I’m already walking backward while she gives me the directions. To hell with that. Chione pointed out the spare. I don’t even look that way when I walk out of the kitchen. No, I want to use her bathroom. I don’t waste my time looking over her bedroom. If she cleaned the carpets, I know she was smart enough to straighten up the room. Once the bathroom door closes, I’m searching. The thing is people are so smart to take care of the obvious when covering their tracks. I, however, have been trained to see beyond that. As sheikh, I always have to deal with motherfuckers trying to steal and get over on me. It’s a cat-and-mouse game of chess every damn day of my life. I have people trying to overthrow me. Others want to kill me while others want to hemorrhage millions out of my accounts. Each group is comprised of the same fuckers that break bread with me as they praise me.
What I’m saying is a person can think so hard of every move to make but lose the game by forgetting something as simple as….
“Jesus, Chione,” I grumble.
I take note that everything in the medicine cabinet is brand-new. Impossible for the mouthwash, toothpaste, and hand soap to all be in need of replacing at the same time. To get new just because I’m coming over makes no sense. Glancing in the closet, I touch the towels to find that they are new too. Now, the place I know she didn’t touch.
I make quick work of dropping to my knees to look under the sink cabinet. In seconds, I have the pipe underneath unscrewed. Standing over the toilet, I tip it out, slowly to make the sound of piss going in. Mixed in the water is a bit of weed. What comes next causes my eyebrow to notch. Strains of r
ed and blonde hair in different lengths.
Stepping back, I look around the bathroom with new eyes. Now, I know why the place is spotless and smells so fresh and it has nothing to do with my visit. I can feel a headache coming on from the way I’m grinding my teeth.
“Are you all right?”
I might not have caught the flash of nervousness before, but I see it as I tower over her. Shifting, she peeks around me to glance into the righted bathroom.
“You have to go?” I ask, stepping to the side to make room for her to pass into the bathroom.
“Nah, no,” she corrects. “It was kinda quiet, so I thought you were in trouble,” she teases.
“No, just a bit slow, but I’m eyes wide now.” I smirk. “The food?”
“On the table.”
The breakfast of hard fried eggs, crispy edges from the microwavable waffles, and limp-ass bacon is the furthest thing from my mind. I watch her mouth move as she keeps up the chatter. I can almost visualize the lies. All I do is smile, knowing damn well she’s full of shit. Fuck, so am I, but I’m pissed at her, not me.
“Are the neighbors nice?”
Her mouth hangs open for a second too long.
“I…I really—”
“I’ll invite them over for drinks. Nothing wrong with minding your business, but you should make yourself friendly with one or two, so they can watch out for you,” I point out.
Chione’s face cracks, but she recovers quickly.
“I like things the way they are, so don’t start fuckin’ with how I operate. Anyway, we won’t be back in time.”
Shoving the plate away, I tilt my head in thought,“Back from where?” I wonder.
Damn, her dramatics is on point. She sighs, glimpses to the side like she’s debating on telling me. When I don’t beg, she gives it up.
A Desert King's Obsession Page 6
