His Pleasures and Pain (Book II) (Allen Trilogy 2)

by Chevelle Allen

  Her silence left his head spinning and his heart breaking. He loved this woman more than he ever thought he could love anyone. She was his light, his harbor and his lover. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Janine Powell, laughing, sparring over current events, and having babies together before spending their last days on an island porch holding hands in their rocking chairs. But for reasons he couldn’t fully comprehend, she was ostensibly ending their relationship. She was walking away after three years of the most intimate relationship and uninhibited lovemaking he had ever experienced. She meant everything to him.

  ”I can’t do this right now. It’s all too…much,” her hesitation confirmed his earlier suspicions.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from? I love you.”

  “God knows I love you too, but I have to go. I can’t…I have to go. Good bye,” she said before he heard the click ending their call.

  He was devastated as he slowly lowered the phone from his ear before slamming it on the table. He found himself pacing back and forth across the floor trying to come to grips with what happened. Steadying himself, he sat on the sofa trying to understand why the love of his life left him. In all things he was composed, calm and patient. But Janine had the capacity to excite his passions, soothe his soul and for the first time, break his heart. Regardless of what his measured behaviors indicated he was hurting and confused.

  The weeks and months that followed were excruciatingly painful for him. He found himself lost and grieving for her, and that reality made compartmentalizing his emotions impossible. To process it all, he once again turned to writing in his journal.

  October 28:

  It’s been almost three months since I’ve heard from her. Tried to call more times than I want to admit, but she doesn’t respond. I keep replaying the last few months in my mind trying to sort the pieces of what went wrong. I never thought she was capable of this. Nothing I can do but move on. It’s done. Hate that I ache for her. Hate that I love her as much as I do. A part of me always will.

  As he sat reading different passages, he reflected the last time he saw her was at their friend Kelly Davis’ wedding two years ago. Even though he was seriously dating Christine Morgan at the time, when he saw her, he was willing to throw it all away just to touch her again. No other woman had ever had that effect on him. EVER. Before Janine, he strongly believed once a relationship was over, it was over. No going back, no second time around—done. But Janine was different. She was the one woman who embraced, loved and cherished all that he was and more. He flipped towards the back pages and there it was:

  June 22:

  Definitely a good time with the crew at Kelly’s wedding! Jamal was crazy as usual; Dave-still my ride or die and of course the ladies. I haven’t spent nearly as much time with them as I want. I’ll fix that.

  Of course, Janine attended. She looked beautiful. Of all the women I’ve known, I don’t understand her hold on me. Why I even allow it. In all cases when I’m done—I’m done. Just seeing her and I realize just how much I miss her after eight years. Makes no sense.

  Making love to her again made me feel a wholeness I didn’t know I missed. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Seriously fucked up things with Christine.

  “It’s late Michael. Where have you been?” Christine asked despite his efforts to come in quietly.

  It was almost three o’clock in the morning. When he left her in their hotel room around nine he told her he was going out for drinks with his friends—which is exactly what he did. Except once they were all gathered at the bar, Janine wasn’t among them. After a few rounds of drinks, he inquired about her. Monica told him “she bailed” because she wasn’t feeling well. The hesitancy in her voice and demeanor let him know it was a lie. He danced with Janine briefly during the rehearsal dinner and he knew she wasn’t sick. Against his better judgment he returned to the hotel to see about her a little after eleven. What followed was three hours of intensely passionate lovemaking.

  Michael didn’t answer Christine right away, so she asked him again.

  “Michael?”

  “I know it’s later than expected, but I told you I was going out with my friends.” Technically he wasn’t lying, but he also knew if she came too close to him, she might smell Janine’s scent on him. He started removing his shirt heading towards the shower. “Why did you stay up? You should have gone to sleep. It’s late,” he said pretending all was normal.

  “It’s not like you to stay out this late, that’s all. I was worried about you,” she said. “Come to bed, Baby.”

  He didn’t want to climb into bed with her so he said, “I want to hop in the shower first. It’s been a long day.”

  Christine got out of the bed and walked towards him saying, “I missed you, Baby. I mean REALLY missed you.” She came in close hugging him from behind rubbing his smooth chiseled chest, down his stomach stroking his penis. Eventually facing him with longing eyes, she began kissing him. But after a few moments she stepped back with a look of horror and disbelief on her face.

  “What did you do?” she screamed.

  “Christine…”

  “Oh my God! I can taste her on your mouth!” she shrieked as she moved further away from him. “How could you do this to me?”

  The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her because he loved her. As thoughts raced through his mind about how best to deescalate the situation, he was having a hard time explaining to himself why he had slept with Janine.

  “You picked up some whore in a bar and you slept with her?”

  “Christine, listen…” he thought about telling her the truth—about who he had been with, but that would only create a bigger problem.

  “No! You didn’t even have the decency to clean yourself up before coming back to me! You sick bastard! I can’t believe the things I let you do to me! I don’t want to see or talk to you right now!”

  She was adamant and her hurt had rapidly turned into seething anger. He knew he deserved every bit of her rage. “Don’t fucking call me, do you understand?”

  He calmly said, “You have every right to be angry. I’m sorry.”

  Her jaw clenched and she said, “But not for what you did!”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing! You need to find someplace else to sleep tonight. I’ll be gone in the morning and you can have your room back.”

  Believing it best not to say anything else, he put his shirt back on and left the room.

  He made his way back to the elevators and went up to the twentieth floor to Janine’s room. He was sure she was asleep but he knocked on her door anyway. Looking through the peephole she opened the door, embracing him as he came in. She stroked the sides of his face while kissing him. He didn’t need to say a word. She knew exactly what happened. Even it were for only a night, they belonged to each other again.

  CHAPTER 4

  Michael placed the journal back in the box along with the others and set it by the front door where the few remaining boxes of personal effects sat. As he looked around the place, he smiled. He had moved into this apartment when he came back to D.C. to start the JD/MBA program after graduating magna cum laude from college. It served him well being much larger and far cheaper than the cramped place he had in Manhattan near the university. It also became his home. Aside from his parent’s house, this was the only other place he lived for any extended period.

  After Janine left for Chicago, he considered moving because memories of her seemed to permeate every surface of the place. From their shared cooking in the kitchen, debates at the dining table to ravenous sex on the couch, in the shower and of course in the bedroom, she was an integral part of why he loved this place. But in time, the pain of her departure eased. Those memories became as much a part of the fabric of the place as any and he cherished them all.

  The only other time he thought of moving was shortly after he resigned his job at the law firm to start his own legal practi
ce. Having made a name for himself in legal circles, he wanted to do more than his previous firm was offering. Against the advice of friends and colleagues he struck out on his own. Once the word got out he was an independent offers from other firms mounted. It would’ve been easy for anyone else to become swept up in the ego-driven maelstrom typical of Washington’s legal and political social scene. But that wasn’t who he was. Instead, he chose to chart his own legal pursuits and remain relatively low-key attending only those events advancing the work he was doing. Michael closely guarded his personal life, valuing his privacy above all.

  He focused his practice on community associations and smaller nonprofits struggling to survive against waves of legislation and a changing economic environment. He was very successful at negotiating contracts and litigating cases for his clients against significant odds and interests. But the reality was many of his clients couldn’t afford the rates he commanded. To address the issue, he devised sliding scale rates allowing clients to pay what their budgets allowed or retaining a portion of their settlements. With that decision, it made sense to stay in the apartment a little while longer to keep his expenses as low as possible.

  Within five years, his firm had grown along with his legal reputation. At thirty-five years old he was among ten people chosen as “Ones to Watch” in a major D.C. publication, making his future even brighter. The additional exposure expanded his client base to those who could pay full rates. The success enabled him to bring on a few more attorneys. Things were going very well for him and he didn’t want any unnecessary drama.

  Taking one last look around the apartment, he was genuinely pleased with this new chapter in his life. But he also knew he had unfinished business. He had to call Nikita. It had been two weeks since he’d seen her; two weeks since they were both in that dark space. While he was capable of compartmentalizing what happened between them, he wasn’t sure she could. He decided to call her.

  The phone rang multiple times before she finally answered, which rarely happened.

  “Yes, Sir. How may I serve you?” she said curtly.

  He could tell she was less than enthusiastic to hear from him.

  “Nikita, it’s M,” he said signaling her they needed to negotiate—to talk.

  “Yes M, I’m listening.”

  “How are you?” he said knowing full well he had left her in a very vulnerable space. His lack of communication with her was something he had never done before. He had violated their pact and he hadn’t dealt with it.

  “How the fuck do you think I am? That shit was foul and you know it, M,” her voice carried all the contempt she was clearly still feeling.

  “I think we need to keep sex out of it moving forward,” he said hoping to save their partnership.

  Nikita was silent. He knew renegotiating to a play only scenario would prove a challenge. What really concerned him most was the fact during her “bratty” play she got familiar. It was a signal she was not just misbehaving but she wanted more from him. He assumed she wanted a relationship and he didn’t want that even though he genuinely liked her.

  “And why is that?” her voice softened considerably.

  “It protects us both,” he said. Even as the thoughts flowed through his mind, he wanted to be sensitive with the words he chose. If she was pushing for a relationship, it protected her from having her heart broken because he couldn’t reciprocate her emotions.

  “I see,“ she paused before saying, “I don’t need protection. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve been in this life for a while now. One thing I know is that even tops can have their limits tested…and yours haven’t been tested in a while.”

  He was taken aback by her response because it was not what he expected at all. “That was a very dangerous game you played with me Nikita. I could’ve hurt you and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

  “I trust you. And I do know the difference between a Dom and a psychotic. But it was very dark for you. We should’ve talked about it afterwards. That’s what we always do. You telling me to leave—that was foul.”

  “I’m sorry about that, “ he said.

  “Yeah well…we can work this out, in spite of what happened. You’re the best I’ve ever had,” she said with greater tenderness. “You’ve always taken such good care of me. You’re so loving and attentive…after playing with me. I want to stay with you.”

  He knew she wasn’t just talking about the dominance. Their emotional attachment was undeniable. He was deeply concerned her affections towards him were growing far deeper than he realized.

  “Staying means no sex, Nikita. And you can’t be familiar with me ever again. Do you understand? This is now a hard limit.”

  She was quiet for a moment and said, “I understand. But you realize that’s bullshit, right? This has nothing to do with us having sex.” She was calm and concise.

  “Excuse me?” he said somewhat befuddled.

  “You didn’t like being pushed as far as we went and you don’t know how to deal with it. That’s what’s really going on here. Just admit it, Michael.“

  He was beyond uncomfortable not only with her assessment of what happened between them, but with her knowing and using his name so freely.

  “No, I didn’t like it. And how do you know my name?”

  “You’re kidding right? I’ve known your name for a while—I’m not stupid. And if I didn’t, I would have found out. Nice spread in the magazine by the way. You looked fucking hot. Pussies all over D.C. are wet because of that picture. What’s crazy is you are far more handsome than that picture.”

  “Fuck!” He was completely exasperated and all he wanted to do was end the call as well as this partnership. On so many levels, he didn’t like the exposure.

  “Calm the fuck down. Listen, I know you like keeping things separate—your play and your life. But here’s the thing…it’s all you. And just so you feel a little better about all of this—my name is actually Nikita. Nikita Jones.” She paused for a moment letting him catch up to all she was saying to him.

  All the things attracting him to her when they first met—her intelligence, a fiery yet playful personality that made their play exciting—had now become prickly. Nikita had shifted the dynamics.

  “This isn’t going to work for me anymore,” he said flatly. “I need to end this.”

  “Fine. That’s on you. But before you hang up—here’s the thing. I’ve been where you are, finding out you like something darker…that’s more than just a little vanilla kinky. But you know what? I’m good with it all, who I am and what I like. I like playing with you. But I’d like it more if we’re both in it to fully explore our limits. One-sided doesn’t work for me. And it’s been one-sided for too long. So if you want to end this…fine. But I hope you’ll reconsider.”

  Michael listened carefully to everything she said and took a long deep breath before saying, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay. Think about it and then call me. We can do this.”

  This had already become far too complicated for his tastes. But he appreciated her candor and subsequently her willingness to move forward. He also had to admit he misread her. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. And the sex—yeah, I definitely want to keep that shit!” she giggled.

  “I’ll be in touch in a week or so, Nikita Jones.”

  “I look forward to serving you again, Michael Josey,” she said.

  This might work, he thought as he hung up.

  CHAPTER 5

  One by one, he carried the remaining boxes and personal items down to his car. The move to his new condominium was fairly simple. Movers had already taken his clothes, the volumes of books and other personal effects he wanted to keep. All of his old furniture and household items had been donated to charity. He was starting fresh and hired an interior designer to create the sanctuary he needed while ensuring his more eclectic tastes were met. With the last box loaded, he pulled out of the apartment complex and headed toward
s the heart of downtown.

  In a little under twenty minutes, he pulled into the valet circle in front of his new building. Getting out of the car he began retrieving boxes from the trunk. A tall and fairly rotund doorman greeted him.

  “Good afternoon, sir!” the doorman said. “How may I help you?”

  “I’m moving in today…eighth floor,” Michael said as he extended his hand to doorman.

  “Then you must be Mr. Josey. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Henry Willis. I’m here from three to eleven Tuesdays through Saturdays. Anything you need, I’m here to help,” he said cheerfully.

  “Thank you, Mr. Willis. I appreciate that,” Michael said.

  “Just call me Henry—everybody else does.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’d prefer to call you Mr. Willis. I’m a little old school about things like that.”

  The older man smiled broadly and said, “I’ll get you a cart to help unload your car. If you’d like, I can take them to your unit while you park in the garage.”

  “Thank you. A cart would be very helpful. If you’ll keep an eye on my things while I park, I can take them up myself.”

  “I’d be happy to Mr. Josey,” he replied.

  Disappearing into the storage area adjacent to the doorman’s counter, Mr. Willis retrieved the cart for him. Michael unloaded his car but kept two duffle bags filled with his more personal items with him. Once complete, he moved his car to the garage and found his marked space. Taking the elevator up to the lobby, he again found Mr. Willis waiting for him with the cart.

  “You sure I can’t help you with your things?” he asked.

  “No, I think I got it. I’ll bring the cart back down when I’m finished with it, okay?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. Just buzz me on the intercom and I’ll come up or send one of the attendants to get it. I’m sure you want to get settled in your new place.”