by S. Ann Cole
His fingers paused momentarily, then resumed. “You don’t like it.”
“It’s not for me to like. Next foot,” I ordered.
Subserviently, he picked up my right foot and granted it similar treatment as the left.
He seemed to enjoy doing this. And I wondered what else I could get him to do before he slipped back into complexity.
“Have sex with me tonight,” I tried.
“No.”
Whamp, whamp, whamp. Failure.
“Why not?”
“Because I refuse to have sex with you in the manner you prefer.”
So much for com-mu-ni-cat-ing. Pulling my foot from his grasp, I pressed it gently on his chest, while setting my wineglass on the floor. Natalio looked at me quizzically, but I gave him no time to think. Applying pressure to my foot on his chest, in one thrust, I pushed hard so that he fell backward onto the pelt. Before he could move, I leapt from the bubble chair and sat astride him.
“You want to play, Mr. Nelson? Let’s play,” I sweltered. Leaning down, I ran my tongue along his jaw.
Natalio gazed at me with impassivity for a moment, then his mouth twisted in amusement, his blue eyes gleaming sinisterly. And I momentarily cowered.
Oh hell no, Natalio. I want you tonight and I’m going to get you by all means. Game on.
He folded his arms behind his head in a relaxed position and gave me an impish smile. “What are going to do with me, seductress?”
Holding his gaze, I grasped the hem of my dress and inched it up, up, up, slowly. If he broke eye contact, then I’d know I could win tonight. I edged my velvet dress farther and farther up my thighs and he still didn’t look away. Damn, he’s got more control than I thought.
Reaching behind my back, I struggled to get my zipper down.
Natalio chuckled. “Now that’s something you’ll need a hand with. Too bad my hands are busy pillowing my head.”
“I didn’t need help zipping it up. So I don’t need help zipping it down,” I sassed. Then finally, after an eternal struggle, I got it unzipped and I smirked at him. “Now, Mr. Nelson.” I slid my dress down and stopped halfway over my breasts. Natalio drew a sharp breath, but his eyes still didn’t leave mine. “If your dick so much as twitches beneath me,” I warned. “Then I get what want.”
He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, with a you-really-think-you-can-call-the-shots expression. I ignored it and released my dress, allowing it to fall down to my waist. My nipples hardened as the cool air whispered around them.
Natalio released a long shuddering breath that, unbeknownst to me, he was holding. Warmth settled at my center as I felt his erection pressing between my thighs.
A smug smile tugged up my lips. “I guess I win.”
He remained silent, and I leaned forward and ran my tongue from the base of his neck up to his chin. He tasted divine. A low groan rumbled in his throat as I bit his bottom lip, then ran my tongue across it. Still, he made no move to touch me. Pressing my lips down on his, I kissed him. Hard. Because that’s how I wanted it. My tongue forced its way inside his mouth but he didn’t reciprocate. Kissed him I did, asking him to open up, but he didn’t.
In a flash, he grabbed my wrists and in one move spun me onto my back so he was on top.
“It’s what I say, Miss Francé,” he hissed peremptorily. “Slow or no.”
Natalio brought his lips to mine and kissed me soft and tender, brushing his lips against my quivering plumps. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my ears and it felt so good and so familiar, I wanted to weep.
“Please, no,” I begged him. “Don’t be gentle. Don’t be slow.”
“Slow or no,” he repeated as he released his hold on my wrists and brushed his knuckles along my cheek. “Sweet, sweet Sadie,” he whispered, and edged down my neck. “I could never forget…” He pressed soft kisses on my neck and ran his nose along my neckline. “My neck. I christened it. You have always been mine.”
Hot and bothered, I thrashed my head from side to side. In love with the way he was touching me, but I also hated it. Wanted him to touch me, but not like this. Lacing my hands around his neck, I implored him to kiss me. He did, and seeing that he was now vulnerable, I dragged my hands sinuously down his shoulders, down to his firm sternum, and then pushed, hard, so that he was on his back again. Faster than a cheetah, I was once more astride him.
Natalio was fleetingly wide-eyed, obviously taken by surprise. Then he chuckled, long and hard. “I can tell it’s going to be a very long night.”
“Not if you give me what I ask for,” I seethed.
He stared at me impregnably, his blue eyes steady. “Do you want me, Sadie? Or do you just want my cock?”
“Let me feel it first—if it’s a worthy size capable of doing enough internal damage. Then I’ll get back to you on that.”
Due to his resistance, it was a struggle to remove his jacket. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, I yanked it over his head.
Oh good lord. The man’s got a glorious build!
“Like what you see?” he smirked.
“Nah. I think you should up your pounds in weightlifting. Too much flab and no abs,” I teased.
Natalio laughed and I dove my tongue inside his mouth, kissing him how I wanted to be kissed. Aggressive and harsh. “That’s how I want you to kiss me.”
“No.”
“You kissed me like that back at my apartment earlier, remember?”
“You were mad at me, and I didn’t know what to do. I knew you’d like that, so that’s why I did it,” he confessed.
“Well, I’m very mad at you right now because you won’t give me what I want.”
“You’re already in my house.” His voice was a warm blanket wrapping around me.
“I could leave, you know.” Ha! As if I would.
“I won’t let you.”
Growing exasperated, I shrugged. “We’re incongruent.”
What’s the point? He’s been withholding with everything, and now sex? My vice? This I could not tolerate.
“Because you want us to be,” he snapped.
“I know what I want, Natalio.”
“You think you know what you want. I know what you want. I know you,” he whipped, his words pronounced with clarity, his T’s snapping with a sharp edge.
I could see his anger approaching on a mighty black horse, galloping fiercely on red-hot coals. But then, I didn’t give a heck. Anger was befalling me, too.
My words were firm, leaving no room for disputation when I said, “Hard. Fast. Or no.” Before I knew it, I was on my back again, pinioned beneath him. “Slow or no.”
“Fine, then,” I pouted. “No sex tonight. No sex with you ever. Take me home.”
“No. You’re staying here tonight.”
“I want to go, Natalio.” Liar. Not even the warriors of heaven could take me away from this man.
Natalio was adamant. “You wanted to come here. I took you here. And you’re staying.”
“You can’t make me,” I challenged.
“Really now?” he dragged, as he slid his hand up my thigh. He lowered his head and closed his warm mouth over my hardened nipple, flicking his tongue around it.
“Hmm…” I couldn’t help it.
“You’ve had four glasses of red wine tonight,” he started, his voice reverberating through my body. His fingers walked slowly up my inner thighs. “Red wine. A known aphrodisiac.” He then trailed his fingers around the edges of my panties, making me squirm.
“You’ve been wet and wanting since you felt my erection. Maybe even before that,” he continued. Next, his hand was inside my panties finding that I was already wet, a finger scarcely brushed against my bud and I mewled.
“Na..Natal…no…”
“You see that?” he whispered, nibbling on my earlobe. “That’s because you’ve been needy for so long. And I keep denying you what you want.” Natalio pressed down on my bud with his thumb and I moaned again. Loud. What’s happening? Sadie Francé
didn’t make noise during sexy time. Ever. I was a quiet lover.
“Now, Sadie, you’re intensely aroused, bothered and highly frustrated,” he continued to torture. “So when I do this, you’ll writhe.” He took my bud between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed, once, then twice. Unable to control my movements, I writhed with a moan. “And when I do this, you’ll arch.” He slid a finger inside me, then another. And I arched into him and mewled helplessly. “Now I’m gonna make you come. And, because of the wine and frustration from sex denial, you’re gonna come so long and hard that your body will be enervated, and will push you instantly into a sound sleep.”
Natalio moved his fingers inside me, in and out repeatedly before saying, “Get ready, baby.”
He held my bud between his thumb and forefinger again, then squeezed. And I cried out. Oh shit, the sensation. It’s…heaven.
He squeezed again and I stiffened with raw pleasure. I’ve been swept up into a dark whirlwind. Like the painting on the wall. It’s like he was…hypnotizing me. Natalio rubbed his fingers together, my bud trapped in the middle, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My whole body tensed, and then vibrated. My eyes screwed shut as I screamed so loud I could hear my voice echoing throughout the room. Imploded I did, coming hard and long, just like he said. It’s like I’d never before had an orgasm. On and on it went, rippling, my legs wooden.
I remained in the dark place behind my eyes, for my lids were too heavy to open.
The last thing I heard against my ear before I was dragged off into a deep sleep was, “I win.”
Chapter Ten
No one knew, with certainty, his genesis. And he divulged no such details to anyone either, it mattered not who inquired. Somewhere from the west, was the supposition, where the prosperous resides, but definitely not from this neighborhood. He was too polished, too genteel, too decorous, too lettered. His habiliments were what we, people of this neighborhood, only saw in magazines. He possessed all the latest gadgets that were advertised on television. Sometimes, months before a gadget even hit the stores, he already had it.
No one envied, execrated or vilified him. And even the gangsters stayed aloof, keeping their distance, as if warned off. With utter respect and kindness, he handled all.
By a Friday’s end—for he only came around on the weekends—all the girls would be agog of his wonted visit to the neighborhood, and so they’d primp themselves to the extremity, flaunting in the skimpiest of garments their closets housed—all done with the aim of catching the sparkling blue eyes of the mysterious rich boy from the west.
Automatically, he was crowned the clique leader by the guys from the Nine Life Clique. Like him they all aspired to be—even though they didn’t know him. But indeed, he was an exemplary leader. Soon, through his generosity, all the guys of Nine Life Clique were sporting the latest footwear, True Religion and LRG jeans, Christian Audigier shirts, Ralph Lauren and the like, for he would take them shopping regularly, and ensured they needed naught. You name it, the Nine Life Clique had it. Yes, he took good care of his boys.
When he was around, it wasn’t hard to tell. For the air was sprite and animated. The vicinity would hold encouraging springiness and vivacity. And I wasn’t sure why. ‘He’s just human’, I always mumbled to myself. Could one person bring such hopeful smiles to the life of so many? Or were they just awe-inspired? He was just freakin’ human! A moneyed human.
It was Saturday, and mom and dad were fighting, again, about the floozy blonde down the street that dad slept out with last night. Dad had mom pinioned on the ground, pummeling her face, warning her never to argue with him again. About anything. With tears strolling down my face, I forced myself betwixt, trying to stop them. Trying to end the horribleness that I would never inured to—as often as it happened. But then Dad turned and back-handed me hard across my face, yelling for me to get out. To get my ‘despicable’ self out of his house, out of his sight.
With my hand to my throbbing cheek, I snatched my sketch pad off the kitchen counter, tucked it into my messenger bag and compliantly obeyed my father’s command to leave the house. I would return a couple of hours later when Dad’s anger quelled. Calling the cops was out of the question, because mom would be pissed at me. I’d done so twice and she’d cursed at me, telling me I was making people of the neighborhood talk about her. And worse, it’d rendered me torturous beatings from Dad. But I’d gotten immune to pain, for he’d hit me so often, I’d grown indurate to his abuses. My concerns and tears were mostly shed for my mother, but her warnings never to get myself or anyone else involved were resounding. Therefore, I never called the cops anymore whenever Dad hit her. For the one thing I never wanted to do was upset her. I loved her too much.
Slinging my messenger bag across my shoulders, I loped through the gate of our small, termite-infested bungalow home, and commenced my promenade to the park. I ignored the blue-eyed clique leader who nodded at me from across the street, with his crew members scattered around him, laughing and jesting and flirting with voluptuous gals. The mysterious rich boy from the west was perched on the hood of his sleek white Chrysler that glistened under the glaring sunlight, while reggae, Buju Banton’s Wanna Be Loved, blared from its stereo.
No, I’m not delusional, but sometimes I think he deliberately dawdles in my proximity—when he’s around, that is—waiting for me to leave my house so he can resume his annoyance.
An expected moment later, he’d jogged by my side. “Hi, Sadie.”
As always, I ignored him. I just couldn’t fathom why he found it entertaining to annoy me, when there were a multitude of skimpily dressed girls bending over their fences and railings, twisting chewing gums salaciously around their fingers trying at anything, in earnest, to attract his attention. I’ve never given him a breath of kindness, a flutter of my eyelashes or a curve of my lips, and still he wouldn’t relent. Admire his persistence? No, I did not. The guy, to me—for reasons I never want to admit—was a bloody plague.
He stepped in front of me, obstructing my path. Being around six inches taller than me, I had to turn my sullen face up to look into his bright blues. It pained me how beautiful he was. An insidious, pernicious beauty that was detrimental to any weak feminine eyes that ever made the mistake of looking at him. The guy’s beauty was painful.
His raven-dark hair was of unnatural length for a man, passing his shoulders in pigtailed braids. A red ball cap was turned backwards on his head, allowing him to resemble a boorish Indian.
“How much more incitement and exhortation will it take for you to finally take the damn step off the cliff and drown yourself?” I barked at him.
The brightness that was in his eyes mere seconds ago visibly extinguished. “You’ve been crying,” he said in a tender voice. “Your delicate cheek is waled and aggravated.”
“That ain’t got shit to do with you,” I spat, then stepped around him and strode off.
He jogged up to my side again, but this time he didn’t speak. He just walked quietly beside me, eying me closely, assessing me. And when I picked up the pace, he did, too. When I slowed, he did the same, like a puppy sticking to its owner. His eyes were hot on my face in lieu of watching where he walked. Cars streamed up and down the street, and an amalgam of noises came from the clustered houses and rickety apartment buildings we passed as we strolled along the sidewalks. The sounds of crying babies, shouting of frustrated mothers and angry fathers, laughter of romping kids and mixtures of blaring music wasn’t enough to distract me from how warm and weird my body felt when I was close to him, an unexplainable curling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like it.
A tall brunette, dressed in a short white skirt and pink camisole with her breasts full and luscious, bubbling over the curve of her camisole, walked in our path as we passed her house and grabbed his hand, lilting, “Nelly! I’ve missed you. Why haven’t you come to see me?”
Stepping around the rumored couple, I continued my walk to the park. Right.
I’ve never been fond of
Mrs. Forrest’s—the prime community gossiper—daughter, but now, I’ve never been more grateful for her aid in Nelly’s extrication. Because as I much I hate to admit it, I was attracted to him. I do get on fire for him just like the other girls. Nevertheless, although I couldn’t control how I felt, I could control my actions. I didn’t like the way I felt for him, and I was angry that I did, because I didn’t want to feel anything for him.
Especially love.
In the park, I nestled myself at the trunk of a massive oak tree. It was my favorite place to relax when my home was in turmoil; I found solace beneath the giant green fluff of leaves. Opening my pad, I picked up where I’d left off with my design sketches of what I hoped would come to life one day. Even though dad had told me that my dreams were empty and had suffered a brutal death before they were even born. I still dreamed on, nonetheless. What’s life without dreams? Even if they never come true, the most salubrious thing one could do is dream. So I dream. Because dreaming is what keeps me alive.
My bedroom at home was rife with fashion magazines, for I would keep myself abreast of what was currently in style and created my own designs in tune.
This made me smile. Of only this was I passionate. This gave me peace.
The sunlight dimmed as large fluffs of cumulus clouds passed by it. And at the same time, the air shifted, but I kept my eyes to my pad, focused on my sketching and ignored the pair of Timberland boots that stood before me.
Why won’t he leave me alone?
“Now that I know what makes you smile, I’ll know what to get you,” the irritable pestilence of a voice said from about a mile above me.
“I want nothing from you. I’m not one of your boys from the Nine Life Clique. Go pity someone else,” I spat acerbically, my gaze intent on my sketch, my fingers applying enough pressure to break the pencil point.
