He Who Is a Friend (Sadik Book 1)

by Love Belvin

  I thought this stuff only happened in movies...

  “Why is coffee on the east veranda this morning instead of the usual north?” a woman asked. I turned to find Monica dressed in a fitted sweat suit with her voluminous dark hair now down and blown out. Her eyes met mine, then swung over to Earl’s. “Dad, you can’t do this.”

  “Do what, baby?”

  Monica came my way almost in a rush. “You cannot intimidate her like this. Does Sadik even know you’re here with her?”

  Earl blew air from his mouth, hand stretching into the air toward the garden. “I came out here for the magnificent view. I don’t know where my son is now,” his voice with child-like innocence.

  “Come on, Bilan.” Monica brushed my shoulder affectionately. “I’ll walk you down to breakfast. Irene should be done soon.”

  I stood to my feet, nearly stumbling over them, and followed her back into the house.

  “I’m so sorry about that?” She cried.

  My breathing was erratic as I paced the marble floors with her. “I thought men were supposed to get threatened and bullied when meeting the family.” The joke felt right at the moment.

  “You’ll soon learn two-thirds of the Ellis men in this family believe control is the only way to get along with people. I was relieved to see the youngest of them had some reasoning to him.” She sucked her teeth. “Irene would have his head if she knew this.”

  “Did Earl do this to you?” I asked, my body still pumping adrenaline.

  She didn’t answer right away as we stopped at an elevator. An elevator! Monica pressed the button for a call.

  “My introduction to this family was way different from yours. I’m from Newark. My father and Earl knew each other before I was born. He worked for my father-in-law for years. I didn’t meet Iban until I was nineteen. I didn’t even make the connection, but he knew me.” She shook her head as the elevator door opened. “We were just one of those things that got ahead of me and twelve years and three kids—” She rubbed her almost not there bump. “—and a string of liquor stores later, we’re here.”

  We stepped onto the elevator that had the nerve to be playing Muzak.

  “Look, Bilan, you seem to be a sweet girl. I’m sure to you, these people are either scary or crazy.”

  “Try both,” I mumbled, pulse still racing.

  “If Sadik brought you home, you’re likely the real deal to him. Lucky for you, he may be the younger male Ellis, but he’s the most influential to senior.” Her wry smile expressed a million things. We stepped off the elevator and began down familiar hallways I’d seen last night. This place definitely felt cathedral-like in prestige and size. “You’re the first woman Sadik has brought home. He’s almost forty, and hadn’t mentioned being interested in anyone.” She tried to chuckle and brought her arm around my shoulder. “You must have his damn nose wide open, girl!”

  “Then who is Tiff?”

  Monica stumbled. “Girl, another heap of bullshit.”

  We turned a corner, sauntering into a commercial-sized kitchen with quaint home personality. It was beautiful with an open floorplan and half a dozen people working and scurrying about.

  “Bilan, Monica,” Irene sang from over a huge ceramic pot as she stirred. She banged the spoon on the edge before placing it on a utensil trivet. “Good morning!” She headed our way, arms outstretched for Monica.

  “Morning, Irene,” Monica greeted in her arms.

  I noticed she called Earl Dad, but Irene by her first name. That was strange.

  “Is it okay that I hug you?” a cheery Irene asked when she approached me. “You don’t look well. Everything okay, miss?”

  I forged a smile and nodded softly. “I hug,” I lied, not really knowing what I “did.”

  She wrapped her arms around me. “Oh, you feel so tense. I know everything isn’t okay, but I’m not the type of mother-in-law to pry. Isn’t that right, Monica?”

  “At all, although I am married to your oldest child,” she joked.

  Irene rolled her eyes and sighed, “This is true. I was so ready for that guy to get a partner. You have no idea!” They laughed. “Bilan, do you know how to make grits? It’s a must for my Deeki.” She waved me over to the stove she once manned. “My advice is to use Country Crock instead of any other butter, and definitely not margarine. I tried that when they were small and the little guy barely ate half his bowl. Oh! And he likes his in a bowl when it’s good. When he’s cutting back, he’ll have it on the plate with the rest of his breakfast, just not as much as he does in the bowl.”

  “And not ‘quick’ either,” Monica amended.

  “Oh, no! My king doesn’t eat quick style grits or packaged ones either.” She turned her nose up, stirring the pot of white grains. I believed I’d tasted grits before at a friend’s, but had not actually eaten them. “He’ll do quick steel cut oatmeal, though.”

  They spoke at the same time, “But only from the round box.” Both women giggled.

  God, I was expected to keep him sexed and fed on food I didn’t eat? It was overwhelming.

  “Yeah,” Irene shared. “He won’t eat packaged oatmeal either, only the dry ones from the cylinder box. The one you have to add sugar to. I got up early to make cheesecake for him.” She shook her head. “The things you do for your loves.” She sighed.

  Monica smiled, nodding in agreement. “That man loves to eat.”

  I took a deep breath, rocking on the balls of my feet. “Yeah,” I murmured. “That he does.”

  More than you two possibly know…

  Their narrowed eyes landed on me at the same time.

  At the breakfast table, there were no lovers. Only the Ellis family proper were seated or taking to a seat, including me. The seat to the right of me was empty, but little Iesha was sure to take the one to my left.

  “Nana and the cooks made me confetti pancakes with strawberries,” she whispered to me. “They’re delicious!”

  If I wasn’t so preoccupied, I would’ve hooted at the table. She was so adorable, sitting with her little hands crossed on her lap. But no. My mind was on her father, sitting across from us and her grandfather, finally taking his rightful place at the head of the breakfast table. He walked in with Taaliba in his arms before she went to sit close to her mother at the other end. This room wasn’t the one we had dinner in last night. Monica said this was Irene’s breakfast room. It was smaller and had a skylight ceiling.

  “Where’s Sadik?” Irene asked.

  All eyes flew to me. It felt like hours since I’d last been in his protective company. I shrugged, going for the glass of water belonging to my place setting.

  “Here he is!” Ivana shrieked. “Sit next to me, Uncle Deek!”

  Sadik came trudging through the archway in a heather gray t-shirt with the royal blue Blakewood University logo, white and black sweats, black socks, and Gucci slide slippers. His stride made me squirm in my seat, my body excited, my mind overwhelmed. Gorgeous brows a bushy mess, his kaleidoscope-hued eyes dark and searing on my face, and full lips pursed. My heart galloped as he neared, mouth went dry.

  “Can I speak with you alone, Bilan,” his tone soft and frightening.

  My eyes inadvertently swept the table. Most regards were on us.

  “Can it wait?” I wheezed, hardly squeezing out the words.

  “Abso-fuckin’-lutely not,” he grated almost as low.

  Stiffly, I stood from my chair. Sadik began the way out of the shushed room, and I followed. We walked a short ways into the kitchen before his body swung to face me, arm pushed above my head, palm planted into the wall as he bent to get eye level with me. I shrunk immediately.

  “I gave you two rules of intimacy with me. The first is no clothes in my bed. The second is to never leave my bed without relieving me or being dismissed. Why the fuck did I wake up and you weren’t there?”

  I recoiled beneath his seething gaze.

  Piping fucking hot.

  When I got out of bed this morning to sear
ch all of the eight hundred-plus square feet of my bedroom and in-suite bathroom with heavy sacs and a throbbing cock, and had not found her, it fucked up my disposition. For a minute, I thought finally revealing my feelings and plans for her hadn’t happened last night, and I had to continue to live in the torture of wait again. Bilan may have lived inside her head, but she was undoubtedly an independent thinker and a strong woman. I hated the idea of her disobeying two simple rules.

  Now, peering down on her caramel, peppered face and full satin balm lips, I saw something other than the reaction to being accosted by me. I saw palpable fear. And not the type I’m capable of ensuing on her. There was something scaring her. My eyes closed, and I sucked in a deep breath through my nostrils. My next set of words and actions had to be measured. Beneath her pliant presentation was a reactionary woman. I hadn’t forgotten that.

  My forehead dropped to hers and I breathed. “I’m sorry.”

  Almost immediately, her little hands gathered my shirt at the hem. “I forgot. I’m still learning.”

  My heart warmed at her realization. Acceptance.

  “You still have time,” I assured her.

  “I hope so,” she croaked so low my eyes shot open.

  There were no tears, but by the way her lips trembled as her eyes were downcast, I knew for sure my Nalib was shaken. I pulled her chin up by my index finger and placed a light kiss on her cool lips.

  “Come on. I’m hungry.” I let up off her and grabbed her hand to go.

  She sucked in a quick breath. “Sadik…” I glanced over my shoulder at her. “Don’t feed me. Okay?” I didn’t respond at first, growing angry at the scent of her fear. “I’ll have some toast or a few pieces of fruit, but please don’t bring attention to me not eating.”

  I didn’t want to lie to her any more than I’d been withholding from her. It’s not what I wanted for us. I tugged her hand gently.

  “My family’s waiting on us to eat, baby.”

  When I turned to head back to the room, she didn’t hesitate. The room was quiet when we made it back. I pulled out Bilan’s seat and kissed her forehead when she sat in it. Then I took to my own seat.

  “Grace,” I announced with my palms out.

  Seconds later, the room quieted and my father proceeded with prayer. The table echoed ‘Amen’, and the food was served. The cooks brought out serving bowls and special orders. As usual, the family dug in. My first grab was a bowl. My mother’s creamy grits were placed directly in front of me. On a plate, I loaded eggs, sausage, and French Toast I planned to feed my girlfriend.

  Iesha danced in her chair as she forked a piece of her favorite pancake with fresh strawberries. My father cut into his sirloin, and Monica asked me to pass her the serving bowl of grits.

  “The hell took you so long to get out of bed?” Iban asked, biting into fried catfish. “You care to share with the table?”

  “Don’t start, Ib!” Taaliba groaned, recognizing his childish antagonism.

  My eyes were on my plate as I cut the slices of French Toast.

  “Nah.” I grabbed the syrup. “But I do think it’s necessary to check whomever addressed Bilan without my permission.” My eyes rolled up to my brother, then my father. Iban’s ‘deer caught in headlights’ stare gave him away. My father’s strong ignore game was his confession. I dropped the glass syrup dispenser onto the table. “Let’s make one thing goddamn clear: she may be new to you, but she’s it to me. As long as she breathes, she’ll never have a reason to fear if I’m walking the earth. And in my family home, she will be safer than a fairy tale princess in a goddamn fortress.” My fist banged the table, temper getting ahead of me, no matter how much I tried to reign it in, in the presence of my nieces.

  “Uncle Deek!” Ivy shot from her seat and ran to me.

  On her way, her mother grabbed her, whispering something in her ear.

  “All this necessary?” Iban asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing about speaking to my girl!” I was two seconds off his ass. “What the fu—what made you think it was okay to say anything other than ‘good morning’ to her?” Iban’s face was tight as he stabbed his fork into plate. “Do I ever address your wife in an abrasive manner? Or you.” I shot my heated regard down to my father as Monica ushered the girls out of the room. “Have I said anything other than ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ to your bedroom evangelists?”

  My father cleared his throat, sitting back in his chair, bringing his hand to his chin. Iban pouted like a big ass fucking kid, a palm cupping his fist over his breakfast.

  “Then fuckin’ respect my space! This will be the last time I’ll have to address this shit or, so fuckin’ help me, the usual interfacing in this family is about to fuckin’ change!”

  I eyed the two intently, waiting for a rebuttal. Iban would have been dealt with one way and my father another less aggressive manner, but effective nonetheless.

  “I hear you, Sadik,” my father mumbled, going back to his plate.

  “A’ight, man,” Iban acknowledged, regard to the corner of the room.

  After another deep breath, I forked a piece of French Toast, dipped it into the syrup, and turned to my equally culpable party, for not being forthcoming with this when we spoke privately, and asked, “Now, please try my mother’s French Toast. She bakes the bread herself and the syrup is purchased directly from a company in Vermont.”

  My tongue pushed into her lax mouth. I moved with patience, swiping, teasing, and ultimately prompting. I kept my hands on either side of her thick thighs, clasping the cement ledge of the pool. I needed her to choose. I didn’t want my greedy need of her to force her hands in this instance. I needed her willingness. Soft strokes, tasting inside of her warm mouth, savoring remnants of the candy the girls shared with her when I found them after breakfast to apologize with Bilan in hand. Gentle sucking of her supple bottom lip as I kept a distance from her body, though I was between her open thighs as she sat on the ledge and I stood inside the pool, was strategic. I wanted her to feel safe and that she had a choice.

  Bilan chose me when her breathing hiked, and she grabbed my shoulder with one palm and squeezed. She joined my echoes of tongue strokes when she began to chase mine with something resembling desperation. My heartrate sped and dick twitched in my trunks. It was mid-afternoon, and after what felt like a long breakfast to get food in to her after my explosion—that wasn’t a real explosion because of the girls being there when I got started—I was able to get her to eat the equivalent of a whole French Toast slice.

  My mother stayed behind with us as the staff cleared the table. She, too, was livid by what they did to Bilan. She offered my girlfriend an apology, which Bilan swore wasn’t necessary. My girl was playing tough, but I knew deep down inside, she was frightened by it all. The one thing I had on my side was she really wanted me. Whether it was just my body to further explore her sexuality or more than that, I knew she tried sticking in there because she didn’t want this to end. After I apologized to my mother, we all left the kitchen area and Bilan and I went to search for Ivy and Iesha. They were on the balcony off their parents’ room having a tea party with Monica, where I apologized to them over tea and candy. My mother bought them real china recently, and they hadn’t tired of the set yet.

  After that, Bilan still seemed in her head, not saying much to me. So, I took her back up to my room and told her to change into one of several bikinis I packed for our impending trip. Lucky for me, she didn’t give much resistance. No slick ass “fetish” comments—something I observed her hurling a lot—and no questions. She stepped into the bathroom while I changed in the closet, then made a furtive call for a few arrangements. Then we came down to one of two indoor pools on the main level of the house. I chose this one because no one would be using it at this hour. My nieces never hung out in here, opting for the other indoor pool with child-friendly slides and such. This one was designed with romance in mind. Gold brass fixtures and blue tiling all around. Candles stretched the length of t
wenty-four by eighty foot, L-shaped lap pool, though none were lit now.

  We took a few laps around the pool before she began to initiate touch by sliding onto my back as I floated in the water, or smiled as I yanked at the knot of her bikini top. Then I asked her to sit on the ledge so we could talk. Talking led to me kissing her, needing a physical connection to calm the insecurity from the detachment.

  So lost in her reception, I didn’t catch Stacy plant the boxes until she was tiptoeing away from us. I pulled back from her busy mouth that went lax as I did. Her eyes opened with disappointment. Bilan was enrapt in passion, too.

  “I’m sorry, Nalib,” I whispered, creating a staccato reverberation around the area.

  She took a deep breath. “Being with you is a lot, Sadik,” she murmured.

  A smile spread across my face. “I can only imagine what being my girlfriend is like.”

  I enjoyed teasing her with the girlfriend bullshit. At my age, I was too old for a girlfriend. Truthfully, I didn’t know what else to call Bilan but mine. In some ways, she didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t run, I’d take that to mean she’d be what I wanted her to be. One thing was for sure, I had to call her something to make sure she knew this thing was exclusive. No more Jason.

  No more Damien…

  “I have something for you.” My smirk was still at play. Those dotted freckles did shit to me.

  She rolled her eyes. “Forcing me to call out for more days isn’t enough? Do you have any idea how impossible it is for a baker to call out of a twenty-three hour diner for one shift, let alone days at a time?”

  She was fussy. I didn’t want her there. So, I gestured to the right of her, where the red boxes were. She followed my line of sight and reached for one.

  “Cartier, Sadik?” she squawked. “I call you out of the blue, I get a MEEHAR gown. I go pick up the gown for our date and get a shopping spree at JAGMisha Boutique. I go away with you as a gift for my graduation and get more designer clothes. I come back from said vacation to get more clothes. I spend the night at your place for the first time and get even more designer goodies. And now, I get the cold shoulder from your father and brother and I get Cartier.” She smiled ruefully. “You gotta stay consistent, bud.”