by Imani King
I could do this for hours. She is worth it—she is perfection in a woman—her silky and voluptuous shape, her mind, her spirit. But it's not a chore—it’s a pleasure to feel her coming into herself, as I slide in and out of her wetness.
She's about to come. She stiffens and her allows me in further. I press harder inside her as I continue to lick and suck her clit. Suddenly, she erupts on my hand, convulsion after convulsion claiming her, and I keep her coming and coming.
“Oh my God, Griff,” she's nearly screaming. “What are you doing to me? It's incredible...”
I don't let up. I keep her orgasm going as long as she can stand it. And then I know she can take me in fully, so I pick her up and I carry her over to her bed, and lean in to kiss her enticing pussy. But instead, she pulls me up toward her and says, “Griff, come inside me, I need to feel you.”
I don't have to be asked twice. She's the wettest and juiciest thing I could ever be inside of and I slip in one stroke, seeing her face contort in pleasure as I do. She takes me in fully as I balance the backs of her legs on my shoulders, opening her wider as I plunge inside. Seeing her body laid out in front of me; the brown skin and dusky nipples, the breasts bouncing as I slap against her pussy—it nearly takes all my control not to let myself go off immediately inside her, but the feeling of fucking her is so utterly perfect I want it to last forever.
Her eyes rolling back, she digs her fingernails into my back as I take her, making her mine over and over as I dominate her body and surrender myself to her at the same time.
“Odell, you're the best,” I breathe. “You're so fucking sexy, goddamn it.” Her body is soft and beautiful, and it fits mine perfectly. Her tight little pussy drives me into a frenzy. When I feel her starting to come on my cock, I can't take it any longer—I have to come too. We're both crying out now, as I jet inside her. I'm pushing in as far as I can go, her slick softness enveloping me as I send every inch of myself inside.
When it finally ends, I roll over beside her, holding her with one arm as she rests her head on my chest. I'm still breathing heavily and my heart still pounding wildly. But it feels great just to be with her. If this is all it is, then I'm going to take every moment I can.
She snuggles in a little closer to me and kisses my cheek. We drift off to sleep for a bit but then when I wake up and feel her beside me I’m overcome with lust again. She gradually awakens as I kiss her, and when she sees me next to her, she kisses me back with a wild ferocity.
“Behave, little girl,” I growl, pushing her against the mattress and pressing the length of my body against her own. I wrap my leg around her, pulling her closer, trying to subsume myself into her. I press my bulging cock against the thin fabric of her panties.
“You're so sexy,” she starts to say, but I muffle her words with my kisses.
“Shh,” I murmur, pulling her legs apart and freeing my cock. I don’t bother to remove her panties, rather I just push them aside, finding her already dripping wet for me. I caress the head of my cock in circles around her clit tantalizingly before spinning her body around, cheek against the bedspread. She moans as I enter her from behind, one hand playing with her swollen clit and the other clutching her breast as I slide slowly in and out.
“Fuck yeah, you feel so good,” she moans, as I thrust into her slowly, rhythmically.
“You. Feel. Amazing,” I answer. She sticks her ass out and tilts her hips to let me push in deeper, and I can feel her pussy pulsing around me.
“Uhhh,” is all I can get out, barely a word, just a moan as I bury my cock in her again and again. I am addicted to this body of hers, to her mind, to her whole being—to the relief that only she can provide. Without me pushing into her I am nothing, just a footballer, just a jock. With her, I am untold waves of pleasure, the thrill of release, and the cycle of need and satisfaction that I can ride over and over again, as she rides me. I am love. The tension builds as my fingers caress her clit and I go deep, stretching her open. My legs are tensing, ass held high. At the moment she’s ready to come, I push my other thumb into her ass, making her squeal and scream, eyes wide, shocked and filled fully, as she ripples her undulating pleasure all over my dick. My fingers fill her as I penetrate and rub her to multiple orgasms, each one more rippling and more powerful than the last, as I grind her body into the mattress. When I finally fill her with streams of seed, she trembles and turns over.
“Fuck Gryphon, that was amazing,” she says, and we lay together in a haze, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling fan as it whirls.
In the morning, when we wake up, the mood is strangely somber. I try to suggest going out for breakfast, but Odell’s lack of interest is obvious.
I want to be there for her if she’s going through something, but she won't talk despite the fact that she listens to me. Well, fine, don’t trust me, I think. Her head is in her hand.
“Odell, I'm going to take off then,” I finally say.
“Ok, Griff, we’ll chat later,” she says. She gives me a halfhearted hug and then turns away.
“Hey,” I finally say. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I just haven't been feeling too good in the mornings lately.” It's true—she does look a little queasy.
“You drinking too much, Odell?” I kid.
“Nah, I've been laying off for the most part. It's mostly the stress of the new job I think.”
“They're lucky you're even showing up!” I tell her, trying to give her another hug and kiss, but she brushes me off.
“Sorry Griff, but I think I'm going to hu—” And with that, she runs past me and into the bathroom.
I hesitate, but with the sounds coming from the bathroom, I imagine she wants privacy anyway. “Ok, bye babe,” I yell, going to the door. “Talk later. Call me if you need anything.”
Closing the door behind me, I hope she doesn't have the flu. I can't be sick right now, especially since I've just got coach back on my side. Since she seems to want things casual, I probably should just give her some space. She won't mind if I don't hang around, I figure, shutting the door behind me.
19
Odell
Despite my nausea, I’m dressed to the nines, and as ready as I’ll ever be for yet another difficult meeting. I have the recording of what Carlton was saying in my back pocket just in case I need it. I'm still not sure if it’ll be to my benefit because I don't want to make it look like I am vindictive or unprofessional, but at the same time, it would be stupid to let him get away with his stone age attitudes towards women if he tries to bring me down.
It's hard to believe that this was the job I was so excited about getting when it's all turned out the way it has, but I suppose nothing seems quite as good as it does in the beginning. Same with Griff, I thought that he and I had something worth pursuing after we figured out that it wasn't just going to be a one-time thing, but he's a player. His job is to be a player. His job is to win, not to build a lasting relationship they way a lawyer does with a client over many years. Just play a game and win.
I suppose I should have listened to those football wives when they told me that he wasn't exactly boyfriend or husband material. But then again, what was all that, ‘do you just see me as a fuck?’ stuff he was saying?
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
Whatever. The last thing I need to be thinking about now is the relationship between Griff and I continuing in any fashion. As explosive as it may be. I'm sure they're going to spend half the meeting telling me to break it off with him anyway, as a condition of keeping my employment at the firm. Whether that's legal or not. It will never cease to amaze me how a law firm will stretch and bend the law to their own benefit.
I'm not sure what I'll do if they request something like that, but I guess I will cross that bridge when I come to it—which should be in about ten minutes.
I grab a coffee and go to my office and wait, but I can't seem to stomach it. I wonder if they got a new supplier because it doesn't seem to be as appealing
as it used to be. The fact is, nothing does. My stomach's been pretty nasty lately. Must be all the stress.
Getting up, I decide to check and see if there's a different coffee I can make. This is Seattle after all, and we should have the best coffee in our cupboards for clients. I pull open the door and go through the selections. Sumatra, Nighttime Dreams, Janen's Decaf, Baby's Best.
That's a weird name for a coffee. Baby's Best.
Suddenly it hits me. Baby.
Baby! How could I have been so stupid? That's why I'm sick in the morning. Is it possible that I could be pregnant? I'm on the implant, it's good for three years, and I got it ... I open my phone's calendar and frantically search the entries. I got it three and a half years ago…when I had my last boyfriend. My heart sinks. My stomach continues its wild ride for the day, dropping into my shoes.
Panicking, I realize that I can't go into this meeting not knowing if I'm having a baby or not. I just can't! I run out the door just as the receptionist is calling my name. “Miss Williams!”
“I'll be right back,” I call to her. I don't look back. I have to get to the drugstore and pick up a pregnancy test on the double.
Holy shit, holy shit, I repeat to myself as I run as fast as I can in my Jimmy Choos, but these heels are not made for walking. I pull them off and run, vowing to buy new hose in the drugstore.
Before long I'm in the firm bathroom with my prize. The box promises 98% accuracy, and that I'll know my fate in three minutes. But what it doesn't say is that they'll be three of the longest minutes I have ever spent in my life.
A knock on the door. “Miss Williams!” It's the receptionist. “I'm glad I found you! Where were you? They're waiting for you in the boardroom. Are you going to the meeting?” I can hear her tapping her foot.
“Of course, I am!” I say with false brightness in my voice. “Tell them I'll just be a minute. Tell them it's ... uh ... female troubles. Wait, don't say that! Uhhh ... Tell them I'm on a call with a client and we're just wrapping up. Just put them off somehow, ok Madeleine? I'll be there in three minutes!”
“Ok, I will,” she says, doubt filling her voice. “Are you ok, Odell?”
“I think so!” I will the test to show the line. Just one line. Just one, not two. One pink line. “I'll be out soon, don't worry.”
“If you’re sure,” she says uncertainly.
I hear the clack of her heels as she walks out of the bathroom. I stare at my phone, counting down the seconds, trying to put everything else out of my mind.
But I can see it in my mind, Griff and a baby. A little tiny baby, in his huge arms. Griff holding him close, gently moving a corner of blanket away from the baby's little face. Griff, throwing a soft toy football to a little boy, showing him how to hold it, how to catch it. Griff taking him to a game, in his little jersey.
Meeting my parents with the baby, and Griff ... my parents giving the side-eye to his tattoos, and wondering about his past. Still, they have to be impressed with what he’s achieved, don’t they?
Why are all these thoughts so strong? I can't have a baby right now. I should be imagining going to the clinic, taking a pill, and holding a heating pad to my stomach while I bleed for a few days. Eating ice cream alone, while I wait for the pain to subside. I learned a long time ago not to tell my folks a single thing about my life whenever I can avoid it. Especially not something like this.
Two lines means pregnant, the box says.
One line means you didn't mess up your life.
“Sorry everyone, I was held up. I had some urgent business to attend to,” I say, not taking the bait. “But now I'm here and ready to talk.”
“So Odell, let's hear your side of the story,” says my father. He’s keeping a stern face, not letting on any emotion.
“You know, we could go that way, Warren,” says Carlton, “But I think in the interests of saving the time that Odell has already wasted through being late, we should just get to the matter at hand.”
“Very well,” my father says. “What do you have to say, Carlton? I'm sure we're all very much looking forward to it.”
“Odell has worked at the firm a month,” Carlton says. “A mere month. And although she managed to get her case dropped, what she failed to realize were two critical things. First, that the person accusing her client is, in fact, herself the daughter of a big client of our agency. The utterly humiliating way that she treated the client has ensured that one of our biggest patrons, the rock and roll star Bon Grayson, has left the firm. Permanently. While we couldn't expect her to outright lose her first case with the firm, and nobody would have asked that of her, she should have realized that all of our cases are important to us and that she needs to treat all members in every situation with full respect.”
His glare is burning into me, and I glare right back. Goddamn it, he set me up. He never mentioned the entire time that Sabrina Forbes was a client's daughter. And it's not as if they share the same last name. I had spent hours studying the client lists, before starting work at the firm. One word and any or all this could have been avoided. And springing it on me at the meeting, rather than giving me a chance to play the game? I'm fuming.
“Furthermore, in another show of her brazen disrespect,” he continues, “And I'm sorry to say this to you, Warren, as I know that you have been a stellar member of Smith Williams Smith, she has entered a sexual relationship with her client!” He looks around the room. “Her very first client. Who’s next?”
I’m disgusted, but he continues. “They've both been seen entering each other's domiciles late at night, and not leaving until the wee hours of the morning.”
I gasp, shocked that he's been aiming so hard for my downfall that he would have me watched.
“Yes, Odell,” he says triumphantly. “What's good for the goose is good for the gander, is it not? You tell me.” His voice is growing stronger, even. “You sneakily went around and got evidence against the daughter of our biggest client, so why should we not have a closer look at your habits?”
I'm speechless. For once. I would never have guessed that Carlton's hatred of me went this far. To go so far as to spy on me?
“And what would we find if we followed you, Carlton?” I ask. I keep my voice as even as I can. “In fact, we don't even need to follow you to know what you try to hide. Carlton Smith, I understand that you were a founder of this company, but if you want it to survive into the twenty-first century, then you have to move with the times. I hold the cell phone in my hand, finger on the button, knowing that while I would win against Carlton, I would also torpedo my career if I pressed it.
“When Smith Williams Smith hired me, I knew that it was partly because my father,” I gesture in his direction, “is and always has been such an important part of this place. But I naively believed that you would appreciate what I brought to the table as well. Not only would I help you attract younger clients and mirror the progressive attitudes that are a benchmark of the generation to come, I am also a very talented lawyer in my own right. Instead of supporting me, you’re blocking my progress every step of the way! I got the charges on our client dropped— a huge victory for me and for the company—and never heard a word about the accuser being the daughter of another client. If I had ever been made aware of this, I would have instantly changed strategies. But considering that this freely-available knowledge was instead kept from me, by important people in the firm.” I eye Carlton as I say this. “I understand that certain people in this company are more interested in keeping the status quo, rather than building something that can be more powerful and strong than a company that is so demographically challenged. I lean on the desk in a power pose, both fists on the oak.
“I'm sure when my father left,” I again nod at him, “Carlton, you were happy to see a man of color leave, so you could halt the further inroads of color from creeping into your place here. But to go so far as to sabotage me, to the point that we lose an important client? That's on you. I stand up again. “And frankly, I find it
reprehensible.”
I'm unable to control the flow of words coming out of my mouth at this point, and Carlton is looking at me with a stunned expression. “Did you expect I would just cower when you came at me with these accusations? Because if so, you accused the wrong person. And yes, I did start a relationship with Gryphon James, but that happened before I even started working here, and now both the case, and the relationship are over. We did nothing illegal, nothing wrong, and I will not stand here and be berated like some wayward nun because I had sex with a man who turned out to be a client.”
Carlton snorts his displeasure. “We hardly expected you to be a nun, Odell. We just didn’t want to hire a slut, either.”
My father looks at him sharply, but I hold my finger out to stop him. This is my battle, and I am going to fight it myself. “Lastly,” I continue, “I'd like to say that I'm finished with this. I'm done with the sabotage, the thinly-veiled insults, the misogyny, the sexism. And most of all I'm finished with you, Carlton. You don't have to try to fire me, because I quit. And what's more, when you see what I make of myself on my own, without any help from my father, or this firm, you're going to be very sorry you saw me go.
I start to grab my things, but instead warm to my subject. “Furthermore,” I continue, my voice getting quieter and more vehement. “I can't believe that our firm would be so low as to take on a client only to prefer he lose his case and perhaps even go to jail, rather than to lose money. Sabrina Forbes has been proven to be an irresponsible blackmailer! No matter who she is related to, that is a complete injustice! What happened to you?” I ask. “Did you forget about justice? About honor?” I look at each of their faces in turn, even my father's. He's the only one who is smiling. Is he happy I'm losing my job?
