“You’re a helluva kisser,” Rock told me after our third date.
As I press into Stone’s lips, a small, silly hope that he’ll also like the way I kiss unfurls inside of me. I cup my hand around his bristled head, moving my mouth over his as I push in my tongue.
He lets me, opens his mouth slightly, but other than that, nothing. I realize after a few seconds of one-sided kissing. Nothing at all. Except for a slight shift of his body as he moves everything below his neck away from me.
Wow…I break off the kiss, cheeks hot with the hit to my pride. I’d obviously read more into his response than there actually was.
“You need wifeing?” he asks when I pull back.
“No,” I answer quickly, trying to mask how stupid I feel right now.
This marriage is only about Stone’s notion of personal duty, I remind myself. Passion and affection definitely not included. Just like the batteries in the light-up cube I bought for Garnet.
Speaking of which…
“I should get up. It’s Christmas morning, and I want to be there when Talia and Cami open their gifts.”
Stone doesn’t answer, and I take that as my cue to awkwardly roll back to my side of the bed and climb out.
I can feel his dark eyes on my back as I escape to the bathroom. But this time I don’t case file. This time I don’t misinterpret. Just turn the shower knob on a colder setting and remind my overheated body how he hasn’t shown even an ounce of desire for me. Like, ever.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Luckily, he’s not there when I come out of the shower. He probably decided to get in a gym session before breakfast. He does that sometimes. Not just sometimes, usually, I note. He’s usually long gone by the time I wake up. Today was a fluke.
Stop hoping, Almonte, I chide myself. The pills change nothing. It will always, always be the same.
He eventually appears about an hour later, just as I’m feeding Garnet mashed plantains in her high chair and explaining to Cami and Talia that some of the many more presents that appeared under the Christmas tree after they went to bed last night are actually from Santa. Ho, ho, ho!
“I don’t believe in Santa. He doesn’t really make sense,” Talia tells me, eight going on eighty.
At the same time Cami asks, “Why would you do that? You shouldn’t have gotten us gifts.”
“Cami,” I answer, laughing. “Seriously, it’s no big deal.”
“Yes, it is a big deal,” Cami says her eyes flaring with conflicted pride. “You’ve already done too much for us. And there’s no way for us to ever pay you back.”
“Well, she likes doing too much for you, me and everybody else,” a voice says before I can respond. Stone enters the kitchen, dressed in the New York Knicks Christmas sweater, I put under the tree for him.
”You might well get to opening all your gifts.” He drops two rectangular packages I didn’t wrap on the table in front of them, “Mine, too.”
The presents are beautifully wrapped in the kind of heavy gold paper, I only ever see in department stores and in the suggestion column on Etsy.
But Talia suspiciously eyes the gift, as if Stone’s set a radioactive bomb in front of her. “What do I have to do to open this?” she asks.
Dead silence.
And Aunt Mari shakes her head confused. “What do you mean what do you have to do, mija?” she asks her partner in watching telenovela crimes. “It’s a present. Haven’t you ever gotten a present before?”
Yes, she had. That was the problem. I curse myself in that moment for not anticipating this.
Presents must have been part of Talia’s grooming. A transactional exchange designed to get the little girl to do things she didn’t want to with her father.
Disgust fills my stomach as I realize how she must be interpreting Stone’s gift. One day I might feel some regret for helping Cami cover up that creep’s death after she killed him, but it isn’t today.
“Talia…” I start to say.
But Stone rolls right on over my carefully crafted response to tell her, “If you like it, say thank you. But other than that, you don’t owe me shit.”
I cringe at his still way-too-foul for children language.
But Talia begins to tentatively open the present, like she doesn’t quite believe Stone’s words. And her expression doesn’t change much when she sees the top-of-the-line tablet inside.
“I don’t want it,” she says, shoving it away.
“Talia!” Aunt Mari gasp. Then she lets loose with a stream of Spanish about ungrateful children.
“Titi, don’t,” I say, standing up.
But Garnet, whose been going through a clingy stage, begins to cry.
“It’s okay,” Cami switches from prideful to desperate to please as she picks up her own gift. “Thank you, Stone! I appreciate it. We both do!”
Cami tears open her own package to reveal another tablet inside. “See Tally, we match! I can use this for school, and you can, too. Stone was only trying to be nice.”
Talia doesn’t answer. And her face has gone bright red, like she’s trying not to explode. Or cry like Garnet.
“If you don’t want it, I can give it to any of my grandkids,” Aunt Mari offers, glaring at the little girl. “They love i-Anything, and they know how to be grateful. Even the two-year-old knows how to say gracias when somebody gives you a nice gift.”
Talia erupts from the chair and runs from the room.
“Talia!” Cami calls.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she says to Stone. “She’s just not ready for…that.”
She throws us all another apologetic look before running after her traumatized sister.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Norman Rockwell Christmas it is not. It takes over an hour of both Cami and me talking to her, before Talia agrees to come out of the room and open the rest of the presents.
Too soon after that, relatives begin to arrive for the Christmas dinner, which Aunt Mari insisted could only be hosted here, since no one else’s house was big enough.
“Wait, what did you do last Christmas?” I asked when our family members start rolling in by the tens.
Aunt Mari sucked her teeth and answered, “Why you no make yourself useful instead of asking me all these questions?”
Soon after that she put Cami, Talia, and me to work, serving up platters of yucca patties as appetizers to tide everyone over until dinner was served around three or four.
“Is she still mad at me?” Talia asks as we bring the empty trays back to the kitchen.
“She wasn’t necessarily mad,” I answer gently. “She just didn’t understand your response.”
“I don’t want to tell her why,” Talia says, her voice low. “But I don’t want her to be mad at me.”
“You don’t have to tell anyone anything you’re not comfortable with sharing,” I answer. “And Tia Mari’s probably already forgotten about it anyway. Do you see how many people she has to cook for?”
Talia laughs, but the shadows don’t completely clear from her eyes. She looks over to where Stone’s drinking a beer in his favorite chair, watching but not cheering for the basketball game he turned on in the living room. “How about him? I don’t want him to be mad either.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I answer. Then I promise. “Everything will be okay.”
But that promise feels like a lie as soon as it comes out of my mouth.
Everyone else gets more and more relaxed as bottles of rum disappear and plates of food are consumed. However, Stone stays in his seat, barely talking or responding to what’s going on around him, even when my cousins move the couch out of the way and turn the living room into a spontaneous dance floor.
I laughingly hand Garnet off to Aunt Mari and pull Cami and Talia onto the dance floor. With Christmas joy in my heart, I teach them the same moves my blind parents taught me, so that they’ll know what to do the next time one of my Dominican family’s instant dance parties pops off.
I
’m having fun, so much fun. But then the music slows and couples take over the dance floor. Cousins both younger and older than me, aunts and uncles who’ve been together for decades—they all dance, not with their children but with each other, holding each other tight. Even Heaven and her second husband, who Aunt Mari told me last Thanksgiving were on the brink of divorce, have found each other again on the dance floor, eyes closed as they sway rhythmically to the music.
“You should ask Stone to dance,” Talia says, dropping her hands from our dance circle.
Maybe it’s the rum. Maybe it’s all the Christmas spirit. I don’t know.
I cross the room to go to him, and bend to place a hand on his arm as I ask, “Everybody’s dancing. Do you want to dance?”
“Nanh,” he answers. His eyes stayed glued to the basketball game.
I’m deeply aware of all the people side-eyeing our conversation. Relatives who will both happily accept invitations to my house and gossip about how my man refused to dance with me after church this coming Sunday.
“One. Just one dance,” I say, some unnameable emotion clawing like a desperate animal at my chest. “C’mon, Stone, it’s Christmas. Do me this favor, okay?”
“No, you do me a favor.” He unglues his eyes from the game. Looks at my hand on his arm, then up at me. “Stop touching me.”
I withdraw my hand so fast. It’s like I reached out to touch what I thought was a human, and found my palm burned by nitrogen ice.
I can’t bring myself to meet anyone’s eyes as I rush over to Aunt Mari, who’s dancing with Garnet asleep on her chest.
“I need to put the baby down and go to sleep,” I tell her. “Tell everyone it’s time to go home. I don’t want any complaints.”
“But, mija…”
Aunt Mari stops when she see the tears brimming in my eyes. “Okay, you don’t worry about anything. I’ll kick everybody out,” she says, transferring Garnet to my arms without any further protests.
She probably thinks I need the comfort of a sleeping baby more than she does.
And she’s totally right.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Hey, Naima, I need to have a talk with you.”
I turn from putting down Garnet, to find Stone standing in the nursery’s door. He’s changed out of the sweater I gave him into a pair of jogging pants and a white t-shirt. And his face is grim.
But my heart is grim, so I guess we kind of match. I follow him back to the bedroom, wishing I had enough pride not to notice how his white t-shirt clings to his bulky muscles.
After we enter the master suite, he sits down on the settee. I remember how I chose to sit there, too, the night I confronted him about his pill usage.
And I know he’s gearing up for a hard conversation when another expression falls over his face. This one tired, bordering on weary. “We’ve gotta talk about this morning.”
I nod, shame washing over me. “I know. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I crossed a line, which is really ironic, since I’m always trying to get you to respect my boundaries.”
Another aggrieved sigh, and he says, “Naima…”
“I think I should move into the fifth bedroom,” I burst out. “I mean, I know Cami’s in there now, but I’m willing to share. And after what happened this morning and downstairs when I asked you to dance, I think…no actually, I know that’s what I need to do.”
“Da Fuck?” Stone says, his brow lowering into an angry scowl. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work with husbands and wives. I’m trying to be normal.”
I was trying to stay calm, but the word “normal” sets me off. “Then you should divorce me, already, because nothing about this marriage is normal. C’mon, Stone…”
I suddenly feel as tired as he looks. “Our unorthodox sexual dynamic was one thing when you were completely disassociated from our relationship. But it’s been months now, and obviously you don’t want to do more than the bare minimum with me. And you’re right, you are exceedingly excellent with your mouth. But…it’s not enough.”
Stone frowns again. “Is this because of Amber? You wish it was her tonguing you down instead of me?”
“What?” I ask, momentarily flummoxed by his mention of the best friend I left behind. “No, this has nothing to do with Amber. In fact, I am so sick and tired of being a pillow princess. My natural setting is give, and only receiving was nice at first, but it’s beginning to make me feel sick inside. I’d rather have nothing at all than continue on like this with you.”
“I make you feel sick inside?” he asks, as if those were the only words he heard in my entire diatribe.”
“No, just the opposite!” I answer, wishing it weren’t true. “You blackmailed me into this marriage. And up until Rock’s funeral, I was still having nightmares about you dragging me out of my home. You used to be the monster that haunted my dreams. Now you’re the monster I want to…”
I trail off. Not know how to say it. Not knowing how to tell Stone what I’ve secretly been hoping for since he went off the pills. No matter how much my head tells me not to wish.
But Stone doesn’t let me off the hook. “What?” My normally recalcitrant husband finds and holds my gaze as he asks, “I’m the monster you want to what, Naima?”
I shake my head. Not out loud. Not to him. The shame of our mismatched desires rolls over me, clogging the words in my throat.
And eventually, Stone stands back up. “Look, Naima…” he says with an aggrieved sigh.
“I’m… I’m going to pack now,” I decide before he can finish that sentence. Then I turn to go to my dresser drawer.
But he grabs my arm, and keeps me right where I am with his vice like grip. Easily. “This…” he says, his voice low and angry. “This is what I needed to talk with you about.”
Without warning, he plunges his hand down the front of his sweatpants and pulls out…Holy macaroni…is this really what I think it is? Yes, yes, it is.
I answer my own questions as I stare at Stone’s long, thick, and incredibly hard dick.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I double-take. Every drop of water evaporating from my throat. “Is that…”
“Yeah,” he answers, his voice tight. “Been dealing with it since this morning. I tried jacking off in the shower. Then again right after dinner. But it keeps on coming back.”
My eyes probably shouldn’t be as big as saucers now. I’m a professional, with a degree, and years of on-the-job training. But I can’t keep my face or voice neutral as I stare at the unexpected hard piece of flesh in Stone’s hand. “Did you take something? If so, was it prescribed? This looks painful.”
“It is painful,” he assures me. “And no, I didn’t take shit.”
“So then why…?” I start to ask
“Don’t be stupid,” he answers, his eyes blazing hot as he looks down at me .
The realizations hit me like a bird slamming into glass. “Wait, is this…” I shake my head, barely able to believe the supposition that’s about to come out of my mouth. “Is your this for me?”
“Who else would it be for?”
“But I thought you didn’t like me like that. I thought you couldn’t even see what Rock saw in me.”
“Yeah, and I thought you knew I was literally on drugs when I said that. Lots of them. It took me four of the blue-label bottle pills to get through that shit.”
The memory of his face that morning, so cold and blank, comes back to me. “Oh…”
Stone looks away, his uncharacteristic embarrassment obvious. “I wasn’t trying to bother you with this, but…”
He trails off. And I try valiantly not to look, but c’mon…
My eyes drift down to the thing in his hand. God, he’s huge. Rock was big, too. But Stone is something else. His heavily veined cock strains against his skin, as if it’s trying to break out, and I can actually see it pulsing, as it pushes a drop of pre-cum out of its tip.
Suddenly something on me is pulsing, too. Hot and needy between m
y legs. Without thinking, I place a hand on his chest, bracing myself as I lower myself to my knees.
Stone inhales sharp when my mouth closes around the head of his leaking dick.
“Nai…” he breathes. “Fuck, you don’t have to do that…”
But he snakes a large hand around the curve of my neck, guiding my head as I bob my mouth up and down on his dick.
“Stop,” he says after a little while, stepping back and forcibly pulling up to my feet.
“I want to make you come,” I tell him, not bothering to hide my disappointment over him cutting me short. “I want to make you come like you did me.”
“Yeah, and I want to nut inside of you,” he answers, roughly pulling me into him. “Who do you think’s gonna win this argument?”
Before I can answer, his lips come crashing down on mine.
You, I reply mentally, sighing into his kiss. You’re going to win this argument. You win.
This kiss isn’t like the one outside the cemetery. Not exploratory or mean. It’s dominating and full of intent. And it doesn’t stop, even when Stone drops back down on the settee, and pulls me into his lap.
“Fuck I need this. I need you.”
He finally lets go of the kiss to deal with my clothing. Bye-bye frilly green Christmas dress. He rips it down the middle, pushes my panties aside, then lifts me up and plunges me down on his dick.
I gasp, then whimper at the sensation of him filling me up.
I think Stone might feel similarly. He has a look on his face that’s hard to explain. Like suffering and ecstasy at the same time.
“Aw, fuck, you feel good,” he says, his hands finding my butt cheeks and cupping them.
Almost experimentally, he begins to work my hips in short quick movements, basically using me to fellate his dick. Then, he leans back on the settee to watch the slide of my extremely wet core up and down his length. “Fuck you’re wet and tight. Your pussy was made for this fucking right here.”
STONE: Her Ruthless Enforcer: 50 Loving States, North Carolina Page 11
