Private Property

by La Jill Hunt

  After that incident, it didn’t take much more convincing. Lisa finally got Marcus to see the light. He agreed that they had to move somewhere far away and do it discreetly. She had always wanted to live in California ever since she heard the R&B group Tony! Toni! Toné! sing about how it never rained there. She began researching new developments and came across Harrington Point. She and Marcus flew out and met with the developer. After touring the properties and seeing the beautiful land, she knew that it was where they needed to be. Somewhere new, different, quiet, and peaceful.

  Moving across the country with her family into their custom-built, multimillion-dollar home was exciting to Lisa. Since moving in eight months prior, most of her time was spent furnishing their house and getting settled in. The kids were enrolled in a private school nearby and her days were filled with meeting designers and decorators, ordering and purchasing home decor, and shopping. At first it was all fun. But more and more these days, she found herself getting a bit bored and wanting to do something more.

  “Damn, whatever that is smells good, boo!”

  Lisa nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard her husband’s voice, and then she felt his arms around her. “Boy, you almost scared me to death!”

  “Why? You must be down here doing something you ain’t got no business doing.” Marcus hugged her close.

  “Down here baking this cobbler. That’s about it,” Lisa said.

  “At two in the damn morning? That’s a shame,” he told her, shaking his head.

  “What’s a shame? Those barking dogs woke me up. I can’t believe you didn’t hear them. So I came down here and made the recipe I dreamed about,” she explained.

  “And that’s what’s a damn shame. I can think of something else you could be dreaming about and coulda woken up and made.” He gave her a seductive look, and she couldn’t help but smile.

  “Like what?” Lisa put her arms around his neck.

  “Come here and let me show you,” he said and kissed her.

  Lisa felt herself being lifted off the floor and placed on top of the island located in the center of the kitchen. She wrapped her legs around Marcus’s body and leaned her head back as she felt his lips on her neck, working their way down her collarbone. She fumbled to take his shirt off and reached for the string of the pajama pants he wore. They fell to the floor, and his hands cupped her ass as she arched her back. He eased off the lace panties she was wearing and spread her legs, not even bothering to take off the T-shirt or the apron she was wearing. She didn’t know if it was the coolness of the countertop or the softness of Marcus’s tongue as he kissed her inner thigh that caused the shiver to go down her spine. She braced herself by gripping the edge so she wouldn’t slip off.

  “I’m gonna fall,” she moaned just as Marcus began to taste her dripping wetness.

  He didn’t answer her. Instead, his tongue went deeper into her center, causing her to gasp. She wanted to grab his head, but she was afraid that if she did, she would slide off and cause both of them to fall. Over and over his tongue entered her, teasing and pleasuring her, blowing softly and tasting, causing her center to throb.

  “Marcus,” she whispered, gripping tighter and tighter. “You’ve gotta stop.”

  Marcus continued to ignore her, devouring her as she slid down a little farther so his tongue could hit the spot she knew he was aiming for. The sound of him groaning as he devoured her turned her on even more, and she tensed up in an effort not to climax.

  “Not like this, Marcus,” she panted and tried to move. His grip tightened on her hips, and he pulled her down farther. She tried telling him again, “I don’t . . . I don’t wanna cum like this.”

  Marcus swiftly slid her off the counter and turned her around, bending her over so that he could enter from behind. Her favorite position.

  “Tell me you want it,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I do.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You know I do,” Lisa said, smiling over her shoulder.

  “Naw,” Marcus said. “Tell me!”

  “I want it, Marcus.” Lisa spread her legs just wide enough to give him access and gasped when the tip of him met her melting center. Marcus held on to her thick waist as his manhood slid in and out of her in rhythmic pleasure. Lisa bit her bottom lip in an effort not to scream and reached across the counter to hold on. Faster and faster, Marcus penetrated her dripping core, driving her into a state of passion that she hadn’t felt in a long time. They made love on the regular, but it was routine and typical, always in the safety of their bedroom. This was spontaneous and thrilling. As much as Lisa didn’t want it to end, she could feel Marcus getting to the point of no return.

  “Oh, shit,” he said.

  “Wait, Marcus, not yet,” Lisa pleaded.

  “What the hell?”

  “Marcus, please, baby, just a little while longer.”

  Suddenly, Marcus stopped, and she gasped as he eased out of her. She turned around to see what he was doing. “Marcus, you better not try and stick that thing in my—”

  Marcus was pulling his pants up and had a strange look on his face. “Stay here.”

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa asked, wondering what had her husband so spooked to the point that he stopped in the middle of the best sex they’d had since being married. She searched around the kitchen floor, wondering where her panties disappeared to.

  “Listen,” he said. “What is that?”

  “I told you those dogs have been barking nonstop.”

  “I know, but there’s something else going on out there.”

  Lisa found her panties in front of the stove. She started to open it and check on her cobbler, but then thought about it and quickly washed her hands as Marcus walked over to the kitchen door and opened it. Just as she was about to wipe any residue of their lovemaking off the countertop, she heard him yelling, “Fire! Fire! Oh, my God!”

  Chapter 7

  Malachi Burke

  Malachi sat up, not knowing where he was. Nothing looked familiar. Not the king-sized bed he was lying across, not the seventy-inch TV he was staring at, not the dresser covered in bottles of cologne and watches, and definitely not the mirrored ceiling he saw when he glanced up. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how he even got there. One thing was for certain, he wasn’t in jail, and that was the most important thing.

  Hours earlier, he’d been released and walked out of the penitentiary, wearing his khaki pants, shirt, and kung-fu shoes, and in need of a haircut. Since he didn’t have anyone to pick him up, the jail had given him $25 cash and a bus ticket. In his pocket was his ID and also a check for over $3,000, which was the money he had remaining on his books. His father and brother made monthly deposits into his account, but he had refused to touch the money. He thought about leaving it there but decided to use it to celebrate his release.

  Once Malachi had gotten into town, he went straight to the bank, cashed the check, and went to the mall. After purchasing underwear, socks, toiletries, a couple pair of jeans, designer tees, and a pair of Tims and Nikes, he still had enough money left over to purchase a cell phone and check into the Hyatt.

  Opening his eyes, now Malichi remembered it all. Last night after checking in, taking a long, hot bath, and having a late supper consisting of a medium-well steak, baked potato, broccoli, and an ice cream sundae, he’d lain down on the bed and had the best sleep he’d had in a long time.

  Now, with just a glance at the clock, he could see that it was almost noon. His newly purchased phone was ringing. He had texted only one person since purchasing the phone, because not only was it the only number he knew by heart, other than his mother’s, but also because it was the only person he wanted to talk to.

  “What up?” he said, rolling over and reaching for the remote.

  “Nigga, is this really you?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Man, I thought someone was playing a cruel joke on me. When the hell did you get h
ome? Where you at? When you coming through?”

  “Damn, Trey, you acting like you my chick with all them damn questions!” Malachi laughed. “Let me find out you getting soft on a brother!”

  “Naw, never that and you know it! Damn, I ain’t never been so glad to get a text in my life. What’s the deal? You at your parents’ crib? I gotta drive way out to no-man’s-land and scoop you up from the mansion?”

  “Hell no. I’m downtown at the Hyatt. My peoples don’t even know I’m out, and I don’t plan on telling them.”

  “Why you . . . You know what? Never mind. A’ight, I’m coming through. We got a lot to talk about. See you in an hour!” Trey hung up the phone.

  Malachi enjoyed the comfort of the soft bed and the pleasure of SportsCenter for another twenty minutes before getting up and getting dressed. He had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the phone ringing again.

  “What room number?” Trey demanded.

  “2719.”

  Within minutes, there was a knock at the door, and Malachi opened it. Trey stood in the doorway, shaking his head at the white terrycloth robe Malachi wore.

  “You ain’t dressed?” Trey said, slapping Malachi’s hand and giving him a semi-hug in true manly fashion.

  “You said an hour. It’s only been like forty minutes,” Malachi said. He was glad to see his friend and confidante, whom he’d met when they were 15 years old and pursuing the same girl, Pamela Jones. She was a thick caramel cutie with the biggest breasts Malachi had ever seen. For nearly a month he pursued Pam. He rode his bike all the way across town to see her and sneaked on the phone late at night to talk to her about TV shows and rap music. He even took her to the movies to see some chick flick he had no interest in whatsoever in hopes that she would allow him to cop a feel or rub those nipples he had been having wet dreams about.

  One day, he headed to Pam’s house and was surprised to see a guy standing outside the fence just as he rounded the corner. He stared at the guy who was staring at Pam’s house. They both then stared at Pam, who was standing on her porch, kissing another guy. That was the day Malachi got his first heartbreak. It was also the day he met Ronald Randall Richardson, who demanded that everyone call him Trey because he hated his entire name. The two of them struck up a conversation about being played by a girl who was clearly a ho.

  They walked around the block, shared a joint, and ultimately became friends. Trey was a talented artist who loved writing music and pursued it with a passion. Trey’s home life was the total opposite of Malachi’s. He grew up in a two-bedroom home with his mom and alcoholic uncle, who sold drugs. The only time Trey saw the inside of a church was when he was meeting Malachi, who was usually sneaking out to meet him.

  Trey was a good guy who normally didn’t get into trouble unless he was with Malachi. Whereas Malachi stayed high and loved to drink, Trey only smoked when he was stressed. Malachi loved having multiple women to sleep with. Trey was shy, and it took him time to even warm up to talk to a woman. They were even different in looks. Malachi was tall, dark, and athletic. Trey was light, of average height, and stocky. In addition to his gift of songwriting, Trey also had what Malachi called his “instant panty catcher,” which he rarely used: his green eyes and curly hair. Despite their differences, the two were closer than brothers and thick as thieves.

  Trey looked around the hotel room, which was strewn with boxes, bags, and the remains of the dinner Malachi had the night before.

  “Damn, somebody went shopping,” Trey said, moving the bags out of a chair and plopping down. “I can’t believe you’re home. I thought you had like eight more months to do.”

  “Early release for good behavior or something. I don’t know. I’m just glad to be out that bitch,” Malachi told him. “The fact that I was in there period was some bullshit, but that’s neither here nor there. I see you been eating good.”

  Trey nodded and rubbed his stomach. “I bulked up a little, but I’m about to start back hitting the gym. Damn, man, you trying to grow dreads?”

  Malachi rubbed his hand across his thick, wavy hair, which he’d decided to let grow out once he found out he was going to be released early. “I waited to come home and get a cut from Dre. That’s next on my list.”

  “You gonna be waiting a long time and driving a long ways then, because Dre ain’t at the shop no more.”

  “What? Stop lying. Where he at?”

  “He met some chick and moved to Florida. He down there now,” Trey said.

  “Florida with a chick? What about that crazy baby mama of his?”

  “I think that’s probably why he moved.”

  “Damn, I need a cut.” Malachi shook his head.

  “I got a guy I can call, and he will come and hook you up.”

  “Where’s his shop at?”

  “He doesn’t work in a shop. He’s a personal barber. He comes where you want him.”

  “Damn, you got it like that now, Trey? Life must be good for real.”

  “Man, life is crazy, I’m telling you,” Trey said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper, and handing it to Malachi. “This is for you.”

  Malachi opened the paper. His eyes damn near bulged when he saw a check written to him in the amount of $30,000. “What the hell? Where did this come from? Who the hell is Triple Threat Entertainment?”

  “That’s the name of my company. Remember that song I was working on right before you left? The one you helped me with the arrangement on?”

  “Yeah.” Malachi nodded, vaguely remembering. Trey stayed in the studio working on stuff so much that Malachi couldn’t exactly pinpoint what he was talking about.

  “Well, someone at MTV heard the song, and they bought it. It’s the theme song for some corny reality show, it’s featured on the show’s soundtrack, and it has been downloaded more than any other song on their playlist. It’s a hit with their audience.”

  “Man, for real? I don’t know what song you’re talking about.” Malachi laughed.

  Trey pulled out his iPhone, clicked something, and the familiar tune began playing. The chords and melodic changes Malachi had suggested to Trey when he first played the song were now recognizable. He nodded and enjoyed the music.

  “I’m telling you, this is just the beginning,” Trey said. “For years, I was trying to sell my beats and songs to black rappers. Who knew I had a talent for writing songs for white teenyboppers? Well, we have a talent.”

  “We don’t have nothing. I ain’t no damn song writer. That’s all you.”

  “Man, listen to me, that check is all the proof you need. You have a talent, even more so than I do because your ass can’t read music, don’t even like music, but you play a hell of a lot better than anyone out here. This is what you’re born to do. It’s obvious because of that paper you’re holding in your hand.”

  All Malachi could do was stare at the check.

  Trey said, “Tell me this: now that you’re out, what’s your plan?”

  Malachi really didn’t have a plan other than to do what he had already done, which was to get some clothes, some food, and some sleep. The only real thing he had left on his agenda was a haircut from Dre, which now seemed impossible.

  “Get dressed. We got work to do,” Trey told him.

  “I have an agenda,” Malachi told him. “At least for tonight, and it ain’t got shit to do with music. Believe that.”

  “And what’s on your agenda?”

  “Some loud, a drink, and some ass. I hear what you saying, Trey. But damn, I just got out yesterday. A nigga need to party first!”

  Trey didn’t say anything else about music. After Malachi got dressed, they hit the streets. Later that night they ended up at Vixen’s, one of the hottest strip clubs, where Trey had become a VIP. The club was packed to capacity with men and women as Trey and Malachi made their way to the roped-off section where several familiar celebrities and athletes were enjoying bottle service and lap dances.

  “Whoa, it’s the preacher’s
son!” Hakeem Morgan, an NBA player whom Malachi had partied with, greeted him. “When did they spring you out the joint?”

  “What’s up, Hakeem!’ Malachi laughed. “I just got out.”

  “Jamaica, a bottle of Henny and a special performance for my man over here!” Hakeem yelled.

  “My name is Marley!” The pretty waitress, sporting a bikini top, boy shorts, and double Ds, corrected Hakeem and smiled at Malachi as he took a seat on the white leather sofa, enjoying the scenery. More and more of his friends began to show up, and he realized that Trey must’ve spread the word and invited people to come and celebrate his homecoming. They popped bottles, smoked hookah, and tipped the dancers generously. Even Trey indulged in a few lap dances to Malachi’s surprise.

  “Can I squeeze over here?” a female voice asked as she entered their area.

  Malachi couldn’t help staring. He recognized the woman who was damn near sitting in his lap as she tried to sit on the sofa beside him.

  “Damn, baby, of course you can!” Hakeem said, trying his best to shift his six foot nine frame over so she could have room, though she seemed to be content on Malachi’s lap.

  “Hey, sexy.” She smiled at Malachi, and her hazel eyes and dimpled smile were as perfect as her body. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head, and the tight black dress she wore clung to her like a second skin.

  “Hey, Scorpio,” Malachi said, trying to remain cool and act like he wasn’t fazed by the fact that one of the world’s most famous supermodels was inches from his crotch. Although he had seen her everywhere, from the cover of Sports Illustrated to strutting on the runway of the Victoria’s Secret fashion show, they had never met.

  Being around celebrities was nothing new to him, but Scorpio was in a different league. She was the object of every man’s fantasy, including his. While he was locked up, he heard that she and her husband had separated and were going through a nasty divorce. Both of them were known to be party animals, and most people, including Malachi, were surprised they lasted as long as they had.

  “Can I crash your party?” she asked, her manicured fingertips caressing his face and rubbing his head. He was pissed that he still hadn’t gotten a haircut.