by Tiana Laveen
“Who spends $9,701 dollars on flowers for a bitch and they aren’t interested in more? And I’m not calling you a bitch but you know what the fuck I mean…” He narrowed his gaze on her. “That doesn’t make one lick of damn sense! I bought the fucking flowers because I knew you loved them, not to invest in you so I could try to sell your ass. I’ve watched you like a hawk because I fucking want to…because I like looking at you, studying you. You’re interesting to me, or at least, you were. The bigger point here is,” he said, slicking his tongue over his upper lip, “I have no desire to sell some ass that I want for my own goddamn self. Your head is so far up your butt due to being hurt and paranoid that you see us all the same. I’m a pimp, goddamn it, but I am a good one, some would say great, and part of the reason is because I don’t think like the average motherfuckers out here trying to peddle pussy. I know what the fuck I’m doing. I was born unknowingly into the game, it’s in my blood, it’s in yours too, and no one in this goddamn world understands a pimp and a whore, like a pimp and a whore!”
Pissed off, he turned around, looking for the waiter.
“What are you doing?” she asked almost timidly.
“I’m looking for the motherfucker who took our order,” he stated calmly. “I want the damn check so I can take your ass home.” And he wasn’t playing.
“Are you serious?!” she squealed.
“Hell, yes! I am completely serious! Your attitude fucking stinks. I’ve put up with all sorts of shit from you. You’re not the only woman in the whole goddamn world. Smoke signals baby, the block is hot. It’s time to bail.”
His heart didn’t agree. His heart wanted her and only her, but his pride refused to let her do this shit to him…
“Now, wait a minute…” she said coyly, as if he were pulling her leg.
“Wait a minute, nothing. I’ve waited more minutes for you to get your shit together than I’d like to even admit. I’ve done way more for you in the last few weeks than I’ve done for anyone else in my life and you still are acting up. Fuck this shit.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, her mouth twisted and tight, adding an annoyed flair. “Smoke, buying me flowers is supposed to buy my affections, huh?” she said flippantly. “It was a lot of damn flowers, but that was no guarantee!”
“Nah, baby.” He simmered down, getting a hold of myself. “Let me tell you what the hell I’ve done,” he growled, and counted off his fingers—“I’ve turned two of your hos down that propositioned me, told their ass to go back home. One of them was actually worth taking.”
He watched her face crack like an egg in shock. He enjoyed it…
“I stopped a john from trying to double back inside of your ho house one night when I was leaving my own. I don’t know what he had in mind, but let’s just agree that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. That lazy ass bodyguard of yours doesn’t do a damn thing but stand there looking like a light fixture and playing on his phone. He wouldn’t have been able to stop shit until it was too late. You should have never hired him. Your other security guard was much better… And I looked into getting you hooked up with one of my guys. He was to call you tomorrow, actually. Never mind that, let me move on here.
“I bought you flowers, we covered that, and I made sure to get some of the rarer ones you could actually plant. Why? Because I listen and watch. A fly can’t buzz past me this damn second and I not see it coming, where it lands, and where it takes off after that. I knew you liked to garden, get your hands dirty. All of those damn flowers are supposed to be placed not only in your house to look pretty and smell good, baby, but to be planted in your front and back yard so that you can get a return on my investment! I don’t waste money! And each damn flower represented a day for how long you’ve been in the game! That’s why you were sent all of those. You’ve been doing this shit for exactly 2,557 days. That’s how long you’ve been a Madam but if you would have been quiet for a goddamn moment, I would have offered you all of that information tonight!”
He was not for certain, but he could have sworn the cold hearted woman’s eyes glassed up a bit before she blinked away the evidence.
“I kissed your damn ass; that is new for me, baby!” He gave a dark chuckle. “I had a chat with your limo driver the other day, explained the importance of being on time to pick you up, since he’s always late. Explained that he was fuckin’ with your money. The one thing you don’t do is mess with a pimp or madam’s money. We spoke man-to-man, have an understanding now. And last but not least, I conceded to the idea that whatever the fuck you want, I was going to try to give you, make sure you had it because I wanted you, I wanted you bad!” He tossed his napkin angrily onto the table, as if it, too, had been a part of this entire situation.
“…And now you don’t?” She raised her chin and glared at him. Her tone sounded even, almost uncaring.
“It doesn’t matter, Paris. I won’t allow you to get me like this again, or anyone else for that matter. This is the last time you will ever hear me elevate my voice in this manner. Now, if you don’t mind, finish your glass of wine. We’re leaving.”
“No, we’re not,” she said calmly, looking away from him as if he were some child she was dismissing from a classroom. “We’re staying right here, and enjoy our dinner.” She looked down at the table, her gaze indifferent, as if looking for a lost earring that had fallen from her lobe.
He couldn’t help but burst out laughing and slap his knee, completely in disbelief.
“I’m serious! Finish ya shit!” He pointed to the glass, doing his utmost to curb his temper.
“Do you want to fuck me, Smoke?” she asked matter-of-factly. A devious half smile split her face.
“Not anymore.”
“That’s a damn lie.” She chuckled.
He tried to hold it in, but his laughter soon followed as well. “Alright. Yes, I lied, but it doesn’t even matter now. I don’t have time for this,” he said calmly, not willing to lose his cool anymore. That was completely out of character, but the passion within him had burst through in an angry outpouring, pushing him to the edge. He saw what he wanted slipping away, bucking up, fighting, making a struggle where one never existed. He had no room for that in his life, and it hurt that he realized he would have to release her from her role as his newfound obsession, but he just didn’t have any more to give.
She sipped her wine so slowly, he was certain that a snail fucking a turtle would have humped a hell of a lot faster. He was tempted to grab his keys, haul ass and leave her there as she played her little game, but the shit was so funny, all he could do was sit there and stare at her. To make it even worse, she was making funny faces as she drank, rolling her eyes around all big in her head, and making fishy lips after each skimpy taste. The little manipulator grinned from ear to ear while their food was brought out and placed before them. The place got so crowded, it was impossible to even wave anyone down. Lord knew he tried. Sighing, he looked at his plate and made a decision. He was going to eat his damn food. He was hungry, it smelled delicious, and he’d earned it.
Taking his time, he picked up his napkin and placed it back across his lap, then took hold of his fork and knife. As he dug into his plate, he felt her eyes on him.
“Aren’t you going to say grace before you eat?” she said in a low voice.
“No.” He snatched a piece of bread and dipped it in the tomato sauce lining the plate.
“Why not?”
“Because I may as well be praying to Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Pass the pepper, please.” She picked it up and handed it to him, a cute little smirk on her face.
“You’re a non-believer. Hmm, I’ll talk to you about this later.”
“No, we will not talk it about it later. Who are you? Reverend Raven from the Tabernacle of Tempting Titties? You must be an expert at fucking up a date. First, you showed your ass, now you want to discuss religion. If you got paid for popping off at the mouth, you’d make double what you do now. If that ever happens, remind
me to ask you for some cash.” He worked a piece of bread around his fingers, then stuffed it unceremoniously into his mouth.
“That’s hilarious! Tabernacle of Tempting Titties!”
Her head fell back while she laughed from the gut, exposing her long, elegant neck. Just like that, he was being sucked back into her web, imagining his lips and tongue running down her flex, their naked bodies intertwined on a soft rug in front of a roaring fire.
Look at her…I bet she has some good ass pussy…but damn, is it worth all of this?
“Actually, Smoke, unless you count my days of working on the streets, I’ve never been on a date before.” The glimmer in her eyes lessened, and her smile slowly faded as she looked down into her platter, cutting tiny pieces of her pasta. “So you’ll have to excuse my behavior.” She huffed, placed her fork down beside her plate and closed her eyes. Slowly, she opened them again on a ragged exhale, but refused to make eye contact. “I’m going to be honest with you, but first, I want to sincerely apologize to you. Honestly, I do like you Smoke.” She fiddled with her napkin. “I like you a lot, actually, and that is the problem. When my sense of comfort is threatened, I get upset and do things, like push people away. As you can see…” She kept her head down, as if praying. Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she switched from her napkin to the knife on the edge of her plate. “I’m not good at this. I’m trying…really, I am. Please baby, be patient with me…”
His damn cold ass heart dropped. He could tell she was genuine as her voice slightly vibrated. The woman was terrified. She hated herself for liking him, being interested in him—in any man. She hated it especially because she loved the notion so damn much.
I’m trying to be man in the romance novels she said she reads…trying to make one of her favorite ones come true in her own life…she deserves that, but she has to let me in…
“I want to get to know you better, Smoke. There’s just something about you. Something old fashioned, something unpretentious. It’s like you’re older than your years, and kinder than you appear, and you let very few people see that kindness…but, you’re inviting me inside.” She lifted her head, and there it was again, a slight sheen over her eyes.
If he were a betting man, the odds would be that this woman never let anyone see her cry. He swallowed, trying to maintain his poker face.
“I guess it’s only right that I let you observe me, the real me, too.”
He cut into his lasagna and took a generous bite. As he sat there mulling over what she said, he realized that if he wanted her the way he said he did, he should have expected the venture wouldn’t be easy. The woman was messed up. Hell, so was he—a fact found and established like Plymouth Rock. With all she had endured, and never had a man asked her to a nice place and treated her like a lady, it was only normal for her to revert to her tried and true coping mechanisms. He’d have walked out of there, just like he promised, but he couldn’t now, because she was trying…
“Okay, thank you for that, Paris.”
“My legal first name is Paris, that isn’t a stage name or anything like that. My real last name, however, is Ramón. My name is actually Paris Ramón…”
He took another bite of his food and nodded, drifting in deep thought.
“Nice to meet you, Paris Ramón. My legal name is—”
“I already know what it is. It’s Brent Jeremy Patterson the third.”
He wasn’t surprised she’d gotten the goods on him. He rarely disclosed such things, but she’d cared enough to seek out the information on her own, and that meant something to him. It meant a great deal, actually.
“I’ve found out quite a lot about you, Smoke. I’ve watched you…the same way you’ve watched me from your parlor window. And I liked you watching me. It made me feel safe…cared for.”
He said nothing further. The rest of the meal unfolded in a rather somber mood. Not in an uncomfortable or tense way, but both of them needed to take stock of the situation. So it was time for quiet, time for them each to work out their anxieties, reflect and nourish their bodies. Time to think about what was shared, as well as why and how.
It was a time for healing.
After the meal was complete and he paid the check, he rose from his seat and helped her out of her chair. She smiled and nodded appreciatively as he once again wrapped his arm around hers, and led her out of the place. He opened the car door, waited until she was comfortably situated, then made his way around to his driver’s side and slid inside. She ran her hands up and down her arm.
“It’s a nice night,” he said after a few minutes.
“Yes, it is.” He looked at her out the corner of his eye, noting her weak smile.
“Is there a chill in the air tonight, or is it just me?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Well, it does feel like the temperature dropped some.” He rounded the corner as Glass Animals’, ‘Gooey’ played on his music system.
They kept the silence until he arrived at her home, and once again he escorted her out of his vehicle and up the cobblestone walkway. The dark, star-filled sky drifted above them as he made his way to her front door.
“Well, Paris. Thank you for having dinner with me this evening. Be safe and take care.” He was confident he’d talk to her again. When that would be, he wasn’t certain. He surmised the conversation had gotten a bit heavy; she may need some time to decompress.
“But, I said there is a chill in the air …”
He paused, slowly pivoted and faced her again.
“And…” She looked away from him, but only briefly. “I think I’d like you to keep me warm tonight…”
*
Chapter Eight
HE STOOD THERE, in her vast bedroom, looming about like a shadow from the great beyond. It was rather spooky the way he looked inside of her, moved so slowly, observing, taking it all in. Her silver jewelry box with the stars and sun on top seemed to catch his eye the most, as if it took him back somewhere, reminded him of something he held dear. She moved past her black, canopied bed, pulled out a drawer of her cherry wood vanity and removed a long, silky, cranberry gown, then placed it delicately over her arm, as a butler would do a towel.
Extracting a slip of paper from her leather purse, she casually handed it to him. He looked at it inquisitively, then unfolded it. As he was reading, he gently scratched the side of his head. After a while, he handed it back to her, as coolly as he’d received it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper from his wallet, which he offered to her. She read the date—it was current, only one day old—then reviewed the information:
Name: Brent J. Patterson Gender: M
Test Results:
HIV Early Detection– Not detected– Negative
HIV– Non reactive– Negative
Herpes Simplex 1– <.90– Negative
Herpes Simplex 2 <.90– Negative
Chlamydia– Not detected– Negative
Gonorrhea– Not detected– Negative
Syphilis– Non reactive– Negative
Hepatitis B– Non reactive– Negative
Hepatitis C– Non reactive– Negative
She smiled and folded it back, handing it to him. They both were free of all sexually transmitted diseases.
“Please excuse me. I’m going to step into the restroom,” she announced as she removed herself, pointing the way. While inside, she wondered what the attractive, complicated and sexy as hell man was doing. She turned on the shower and took a fast one, then quickly dried off, tickled by the fact that she was a wee bit nervous. And a lot excited. Running the towel along her damp hair, she brushed the ends, slipped on her gown, and dabbed a couple drops of perfume behind her ears, then one above her belly button. She slid on her gown and checked herself in the mirror before opening the door and peeking out. There he was, sitting on the edge of her bed with absolutely nothing on.
Holy hell…
He sat there none the wiser, like a statue. Magnificent man. His limbs were exceptionally sculp
ted and long, the muscles taut against his skin, with room for nothing other than his precious blood. She envisioned running her fingertips through his perfectly coiffed, dark hair. His strong back muscles contorted as he turned and took a look at her, offering a gentle smile.
“Damn. You look beautiful,” he rasped, causing her pussy to playfully pulsate as she drew closer to him. He didn’t say ‘sexy’, didn’t say ‘fuckable’; he said, ‘beautiful.’ She tossed the coal black sheets back, a grin on her face, and slid in them, sandwiched between silky expectancy and satiny yearning. Then he slowly stood, giving her full access to view his ass. Muscular, tight…and just…damn…
She watched his reflection in the mirror while he ran his hand down his face as if thinking of something important, something crucial, monumental… and then, it all stopped abruptly when he entered her bathroom and closed the door softly behind him. Swallowing hard, she leaned over to her nightstand and turned on some music. Tycho’s, ‘Walk’ came on…
Perfect. Chillax…
Sighing, she leaned lazily on her elbow and lit a small dark violet candle. She stared into the flame, drifting into a daydream.
After a few moments, he emerged. She’d taken the liberty during his brief hiatus to light a couple sticks of crème brulee incense, too. It fit the mood, for she was feeling a mixture of emotions that were sweet, and full of smoke…
He rounded the other side of the bed and slicked the sheets back with a gentle hand, gliding inside, snuggling close enough to brush his arm against her skin. Even in a semi-lying position, he looked appetizingly tall. His damn feet almost reached the bottom of her California king-sized bed. Smoke was so tall, like a building, and his very appearance made a woman feel shielded from the whole damn world.
“How tall are—”
“I’m 6’5 and a half.” He cut her off at the pass, offering a tender smile.
