“Yes, Shianne,” she said listlessly. “Yeah, you had questions. Um,” Xenia ran her fingers through her flat-ironed hair, “my last name is spelled, A.K.N.A.T.E.N. and you had questions about the dressing room, right?”
“Yes.” The woman jotted the name on her clipboard, placed it under her arm and then scrolled through her phone. “What type of flowers do you want in there each morning, what beverages and snacks do you like…and the on-set stylist feels that even though you like the color purple, you look better in green, so many of your shirts will reflect that. I will send you an email of different shirts you can pair up with black pants or skirts.”
Xenia rubbed her forehead, “Um, okay…yeah, well, I like calla lilies. Water, coffee and tea are fine.”
She caught Sinclair staring at her from across the room, his brows furrowed and a look of pure hatred on his face.
You can go straight to Hell, Sinclair.
She looked back at Shianne.
“Are you okay? You seem a bit…distracted. We can talk later if need be,” the young lady offered sincerely.
Xenia immediately threw on a fake wide grin. “Oh, no, you are fine, Shianne. I’m just a little tired is all.”
“Alright, well do you like your coffee black? Sugar and cream?” Xenia watched the woman type away into her phone.
“Um, black is fine. Now, about the green, I like green and don’t want to be argumentative, but please let Roberta know I will not be wearing green shirts every day. Not to mention, she obviously didn’t consider the green backdrop that we use for some of the sets, which will basically make me look as if I have on no shirt at all!” Xenia laughed, forcing Shianne to do the same.
“Oh my God, you’re right, Xenia. I hadn’t even thought about that.” Her fingertips grazed her glossy top lip as her complexion reddened. “For someone not in television, you caught something that could’ve been a disaster. I have no idea what Roberta was thinking.” Shianne sighed, rolled her head and closed her eyes in exasperation. “It’s been a long day, and it isn’t even noon yet. Maybe the heat is getting to everyone.”
“It could be and yeah, it has been a crazy day—lots of work and things that need to be taken care of. A lot goes into this ahead of time, but I’m glad we are getting in gear early.”
Shianne nodded in agreement and slid her phone back into her purse. “I can tell you have stuff to do, so I can get the other information from you later. Thanks.” She turned to walk away.
“Look.” Xenia noticed the timer on one of the nearby recording devices and could no longer ignore her growling stomach. “It’s almost lunch time.” Shianne turned back in her direction. “Would you like to discuss the rest over a bite to eat? I can answer everything and we can get it all worked out,” Xenia offered as she moved out of Sinclair’s viewpoint but not before meeting eyes with the tyrant, warning him with a look of disdain.
“Oh, I’d love to. I’m famished. I hope this isn’t too forward, but I can’t get enough of your radio show and I think you are sooo pretty!”
“Awww, thank you, Shianne. Let me just grab my purse. My treat. We can leave the set and go over to that new Chinese place.” Xenia entered her dressing room—still a blank canvas with only two pieces of burnt orange furniture, the plastic wrapped around the wooden legs of the chaise and loveseat. At least her dresser was available. It was a shiny oak piece with clear, ornate accessories. The walls were like a ghost’s back—flat and stark white. Shianne followed behind her.
“Wait.” Xenia opened a drawer and removed a black hobo bag. “Do you even like Chinese food? We can go somewhere else. It was just the first thing that popped into my mind.” She hated that she was so damned frazzled. Sinclair had messed up her good mood; her mojo was misaligned and tilted like a slope. This was bad…very bad…
Saint is going to know if I don’t get myself together! Shit! Xenia, just calm down…
“Oh no, that’s fine. I like Chinese food actually, and haven’t had any in a while.”
“Okay, great. Follow me.” The two exited the room and sauntered past Sinclair who was now standing next to another man, an ink pen behind his ear and a curious expression on his face. “What is your degree in, Shianne? Journalism?”
“Actually it is television production. I did take some journalism classes though.”
“Awesome.” Xenia grabbed her sunglasses, placed them over her dry eyes and swiftly made her way outside to her gun metal silver Bentley Continental convertible—another gift from her beloved. “Shianne, let me tell you something. You have a great look about you. You’re upbeat and bubbly, and with the right influence and push, you could really go far in this business.” Her companion blushed at the compliment.
“Thank you so much.”
“I’m being for real. I like to help young women, especially black women, Shianne, so whatever I can do to assist you regarding advice, coaching, you name it, please let me know.”
“Xenia, I have never met anyone like you.” The woman stopped at the passenger’s side of her car. “I kept saying your last name wrong, and instead of snapping at me, you told me just to call you ‘Xenia’ the first time we met. You’ve been so nice to me and sometimes I just can’t believe I get to work with you. I know it seems like I’m brown-nosing, but I’m just really impressed and I guess a little star struck.”
Xenia looked over at the attractive young woman, her dark eyes hidden behind a pair of classy pink pearl glasses and her small gold hoop earrings shining in the California sunlight. Xenia could see the potential, and there was something about Shianne that made her want to take the young lady under her wing. She envisioned Isis being similar as she grew up—intelligent, a go-getter, out to help.
“Well, thank you, Shianne, but there isn’t any need to be.” They both got inside of the car. Xenia started up the engine and turned on the air conditioning. “I know how these Hollywood types are. I’m not born from that, and I never forget where I came from. It made me appreciate what I have, not take it for granted. Now, let’s get something to eat, and I want you to tell me all about yourself.”
And with that, they were off, driving down the road. Sinclair wasn’t a thought on Xenia’s mind. Her mood was warm, her body relaxed, and she had Shianne to thank for it…
~***~
CHAPTER FIVE
Saint clutched the blackened front door of the red, glowing bar. The odor of stale cigarettes and torched cigars permeated the stagnant air. He looked to his right, taking notice of an old-fashioned jukebox which belted out the voices of Cherrelle and Alexander O’Neal, ‘Saturday Love.’ He snapped his fingers a few times to the music as the hook caught hold to his heart, making him journey down memory lane. Ahhh, the oldies, they had a way of making the soul dance.
He took out a slender leather case from his jeans pocket and removed a vintage Montecristo white cigar. His eyes narrowed to slits as he brought it to his lips and lit it with a silver skull shaped lighter, watched it glow and felt it heat between his fingers. Silvery smoke rings twirled out from the side of his mouth as he blew them away like drab, inconsequential memories. He approached the bar counter, which was littered with chilled half empty beer bottles on cheap napkins, glass ashtrays spilling fourth with dark smudges and chalky powder. Alcohol infused olives soaked in some of the half-empty martini glasses scattered about. Sitting down on an off-black wobbly bar stool, he shot a woman at the end of the bar a flirtatious glance. He offered a gentle wave and winked at her.
Fine as fuck…
She swiftly turned away and focused on stirring her cosmopolitan with a plastic yellow sword toothpick. Suddenly Shalamar came on, singing, ‘A Night To Remember.’
Saint kept his gaze on her. She made his temperature soar, his gut twisted as lust reached a fever pitch inside of him. His body did not want to wait for introductions or preliminaries. He ignored his weak flesh, silently promising his body its desired delights in due time…
“What can I get you?” came a gruff voice, one obvio
usly laced with frequent cigarette use and respiratory issues. A bald bartender approached him, his big, meaty hands wrapped around an empty wine glass that he was drying with a light blue dish rag. His delicate motions contrasted wildly with his ‘take no shit’ bodyguard image.
“Let me get a Bourbon Ale, Dark Lord.” He looked down at the woman at the end of the bar as the ‘Lord’ left his mouth.
“You got it.”
Saint smiled, tilting his chin high in the air as another cloud of smoke escaped his curled lips. He puckered, blowing rings, putting on a show that he was certain she saw out the corner of her big, pretty brown eyes. His dick thickened as the woman wrapped her full glossy lips around the edge of her glass, swallowed the contents and deposited dark red lipstick around the rim…
I bet they’d look even better wrapped around my cock…
The bartender handed him the frosty bottle of one of his favorite ales. He placed it on the bar counter, holding the cigar in one hand while he dug in his pocket with the other. He looked back at the lady. Now he was certain she was pretending not to notice. The half-smile on her face gave her away…
Placing his cigar in an ashtray, he peeled off a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the man. “Keep the change.”
The bartender nodded appreciatively and started his trek in the opposite direction.
“Hey, wait a minute, man. Do you know that woman’s name down there?” Saint discreetly nodded his head in her direction as she stared blankly ahead.
The bartender shook his head. “Nope. Never seen her in here before.”
Saint nodded, picked up the bottle and took a hearty gulp. He retrieved his cigar, took another puff and snuffed it out seconds before leisurely navigating the stools on his way down to her.
Enough of this shit. Let me introduce myself…
He stood next to her, assessing the inventory up close and personal. His dick jumped in his pants as he imagined tracing her dark honey inner thighs with the tip of his tongue. She cracked a smile, almost on cue, as if she could read his wayward thoughts, but kept her gaze on her empty glass. He bought time, stared at her, making her permanent in his mind.
Beautiful natural hair…
The woman’s tresses were drawn upward in an afro puff up-do and sparkled ever so slightly, as if sheen spray had been freshly applied. He caught the whiff of coconut, surmising it was her damn hair, and oh how he wanted to play with it. He could envision himself wrapping his nimble fingers around the long, kinky curls, then gently pull the hell out of them as he rode her ass from behind…
He continued to trail down the length of her body with his roving eyes, lingering on the becoming off the shoulder silky white blouse, assessing her inventory. He leaned a bit closer, cataloging the woman’s generous rack, not hiding his appreciation of the twin mounds.
Damn. Nice tits… No silicon, natural. I bet when she takes that bra off, they fall a bit, but they still look superb. I’d like to wrap my mouth around them until she moans...
He stepped back a little to size up her ass. It barely fit on the stool seat. He smacked his lips in approval.
Round and firm. I could jockey that mothafucka all night…
He returned closer to his prize, leaning down so close, his lips were a mere two inches from her ear.
“I couldn’t help but notice you. What are you drinking, Beautiful? It looked like a cosmopolitan before you finished it. Let me get you another one.”
“No thank you, I’m good.” Her smile remained, despite her cold, cut-him-off-at-the-knees statement. She remained looking straight ahead at the finger-smudged mirror above a rack of soiled appetizer plates awaiting the dishwasher.
“Well, I see an empty chair here. Do you mind if I sit down next to you?”
She shrugged and tapped the counter with her long jet-black nails, rhinestones lining the pinky fingers. Saint moved the chair out and took a seat, his body facing hers. He couldn’t help himself—she was a magnet and the pull was so strong, resistance was futile.
“So.” He slicked his tongue over his lip and stared her up and down, eating her up like a six-course gourmet meal with his eyes. “What’s your name?”
She finally turned toward him, her dark eyes glimmering, picking up his reflection.
Look at that…beautiful peepers…black as night, like licorice.
“You don’t care what my name is, you just want to fuck me,” she whispered coyly, a smile on her face. The blunt, nasty words didn’t match the sweet, feminine tone. She turned away and fidgeted with the edge of her napkin.
Saint nodded and took another swig of his beer. “That’s true…” He laughed. “I can’t argue with that. It seemed like the right thing to say but uh,” he ran his thumb down the bottle, feeling the cool condensation, “you’re right. Names don’t mean shit, at least not tonight. I promise you it wouldn’t be something you’d regret if you take me up on my offer.” He fucked her with his eyes. She gave him a direct look, batting her eyelashes; her eyes landed smack dab on his wedding band. She frowned and snorted, a heavy laugh laced with obvious repugnance.
“Your wife wouldn’t like that, now would she? Picking up women at bars and trying to screw them…hmph.” She turned away again, dismissing him with her body language, but he knew it was all a lie. She wanted him, and he planned to give her what she craved.
“Probably not.” He smirked. “But what she don’t know won’t hurt her.” He snapped his fingers, attracting the attention of the bartender. “Hey man, can she have another one of these cosmos she is sippin’ on, and can I get another Dark Lord, please?”
“You got it.” The man grinned in understanding of what was going on. He’d surely seen it a million times before. Man walks into a bar, looking for a woman to screw for the night. The woman struggles a bit, denying her natural attraction to the fiend, then she surrenders to his advances as if he were a flame and she a scrap of paper. Then, like Cinderella, she is carted away before the clock strikes twelve; in this case, one a.m.
The Isley Brothers crooned, “In between the Sheets.”
“So, you want to get me drunk and have your way with me, right?” She smirked, her innocent face now coming alive with womanly maturity.
“Nah.” Saint grinned. “I don’t like a drunk partner. I want you to be fully alert. Drunk sex isn’t sexy…it’s clumsy and fucks up your climax. A drink or two does just enough to relax you though, lower your inhibitions ever so slightly. Nah beautiful,” he took a slow sip from his bottle and placed it back down, “I want you to remember each and every thrust, every orgasm I give you.” He leaned in closer, and whispered seductively in her ear. “Every stroke of my long, wet tongue sliding across, up and down and in and out of your mouth-watering pussy.” He smirked as a small smile formed on her face. “I want to shower you with affection. My kisses all over your neck and breasts and my big dick sliding in… and… out of you until you beg me to stop. Baby, I need you to recall all of it, every goddamn minute of it.”
“Oh, so you are trying to say you have a big dick? I’ve heard that before.” She raised her pinky finger, taunting him, engaging him further.
“Well, there is only one way for you to find out.” He winked at her as he ran his fingers up and down her spine.
The bartender handed them their drinks and left them alone. Saint took one sip from the bottle then pushed it aside.
“Hmmm, I don’t know about you…about this. You’re a bit too cocky for my taste,” she said shyly, a twinkle in her eye.
“I can back it up, sweetness.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold wrapped magnum. “There are several more of these in my car. I don’t ever visit a pussy palace only once. Be prepared for a work out.”
“Oh really?” She chuckled lightly as she ran her finger seductively over the edge of her glass.
“I’d rather show you instead of sitting here, hamming it up for no reason. Come on,” he nodded toward the front door of the establishment, “let’s go so I can give you
what you came here for.”
The woman burst out laughing, as if a joke had been told. She gripped her glass, and took an unlady like gulp while One Way sang, ‘Cutie Pie.’
“Well, I’m feeling a little frisky tonight.” She grabbed her purse; Saint helped her step down from her chair, slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and led her out the front door to his ride…
“So, what’s your name?”
Saint shot her a look and grabbed her tightly by her wrist as they walked briskly to the small parking lot.
“I thought we weren’t doing names? Let’s just keep things like they are, simple.” He sunk his teeth in his bottom lip and swayed back to watch her ample ass covered in skintight jeans and her white, six-inch stiletto heels shine under the streetlights.
“All right then,” she said quietly, looking at him with doe eyes—but he knew better. He opened the passenger door to his Escalade and helped her inside. The jaunt to the hotel was quiet, minus the sounds of Saint’s mp3 player blasting soft tunes to get the woman in the mood to bend and move to his every sexual whim. Norman Connors sung, “Starship.”
With a sly grin, he maneuvered them into the easy late Saturday night traffic.
“You know this is one of my favorite songs, right? You like old school, too, huh?”
Saint nodded and tapped the steering wheel to the mellow beat.
“So, you’re all about business now, huh? No conversation? You had so much to say in the bar…You’re starting to scare me.” She gripped her purse and reached for the door handle, as if she were planning to jump out at the next red light. Saint suddenly swerved to the side of the road, causing her to scream and cover her mouth while his tires squealed and scratched the pavement. Norman continued to serenade them—take me up tonight, and don’t be laaaaate…
Saint pulled her roughly to him, his breathing labored. She gulped, her eyes wide and etched in fear. He dug his fingers in the back of her hair, unraveling her style as he brought her full, soft lips to his. Their moans tangled like wet sheets as he slipped his tongue inside her hot mouth and laid a kiss on her that would make her legs shake.
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 14
