by Love Belvin
The room was quiet. Not sure what it was, but I felt like I should move. So, I pushed from my fists and shifted from her, up the bed. Her body curled up, she covered her round tits with her arms, her fists planted on the mattress. When I could, I turned to put my feet on the floor. Closing my eyes, I ran my hands down my head, eyes squeezed tight. My heart galloped at this point, mind clouded with too much.
“I didn’t do that for you to shut down on me aga—”
My head whipped over to her. “I’m not. I won’t.”
Her eyes ballooned. “Then why are you turning away from me?”
“I’m not.” I rolled my head against my open palms, trying to stay here…in this moment with her.
She gritted, “I can’t keep doing this with yo—”
“In the house…” I licked my lips. “My grandmother’s house. A few people complained about being messed with.” My hands gripped my head, elbows on my knees. “Consent’s always been a big deal for me. I don’t wanna take advantage of you.”
The room got quiet. So quiet, I had to finally man up and look at her from over my shoulder. Wynter was frozen again, her mouth forming an “O.” Her eyes skirted around the room and she nodded. It took her a while to speak.
“O—okay.” She swallowed then nodded hard. “I wanted to do that. I wanted to taste you. You do know that. Right?” she whispered.
She was trying again. Trying to get me. She saw the ugly in me. The freakish shit. But in my gut, I knew she liked what she did. So, I nodded.
“We can do it again.” Her words flowed with sharp clarity. “Whenever you want.”
Snap out of it…
C’mon, man!
I pulled my boxers up as I stood. “We can kick it about that later. Now we gotta pack.” I started for the bathroom, needing the distance.
“Pack for what?”
“Minnesota.”
“What’s in Minnesota?”
Stop, and talk to her…
Taking a deep breath, I faced her.
“The Super Bowl’s tomorrow.” I put my hands on my waist.
“Didn’t know we were going anywhere.” She bit her lip again. “Who’s playing?”
Wynter was trying to gauge if I was still “with” her. She wanted to know if I was running away, being a little bitch like a few days ago. I didn’t want to.
“My Kings gonna kill the Kansas City Chiefs.”
Her face folded. “The Kansas City Chiefs? I know the Kings are in Connecticut. Why the hell are we going to Minnesota?”
I couldn’t help my laugh, but I kept it small. I scratched my nose. “Super Bowl’s never in the teams’ hometowns.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the bed. “Okay.”
That quickly, this turned weird.
“A’ight?”
She nodded and backed off the bed on her knees. A second later, I started for the bathroom again.
“How long will we be away?”
I turned to find her at the door of the walk-in closet. Wynter looked…tempting. Deliciously naked. Fresh morning face. And she was okay. She was good. We were good.
A smile broke out in my heart—maybe my face, too. “Just two nights.”
“Cool.” She smiled and her eyes seemed to sparkle.
I turned for the bathroom and realized my dick was hard again.
“Nah. Not that way.” I stopped at the sound of his voice a few feet away from me. Hopping down the steps, his hands were filled with luggage and a Louis Vuitton book bag strapped to one of his shoulders. He swung his chin to gesture toward the back of the house. “We’re out back.”
Oh…
Since when did cars pull up on the lawn? I was confused by that, but I couldn’t pretend to know everything about this colossal place. I quickly decided to wait for Raj to get his coat from the closet as I’d just done, and I would follow him. The house was quiet, pretty eventless at this early afternoon hour. I wondered where everyone was. I’d seen Earl when I came down earlier for my shake, then again for lunch, after my work out. I’d seen Josh, too, this morning. He and Raj sparred in the gym while I went out running. When I got back to lift weights in there, they were gone. After lunch, I finished packing and showered so I could be ready in time for our flight.
“C’mon,” Raj murmured, heading toward the back of the house.
His legs looked good in jeans. They weren’t fitted and neither could I see his ass underneath the thick navy blue peacoat. But I knew the length and shape of those bowed legs. I’d just squatted between them hours ago, trying not to gag on his pulsing dick. Mentally, I shrugged the erotic memory off. I now want Raj so bad it was sickening.
En route, he hummed a few melodies, nothing out of the ordinary for Ragee, the renowned balladeer. Just before we made it to the door I was able to make out, “We had a chance to find true love and make it last forever. From the first dance, I knew it was just you and me together…”
The lyrics didn’t sound particularly familiar, but Raj’s rich baritone vocals made everything sound intriguing. His phone rang somewhere on his person, but with his hands full, he wasn’t in a rush to answer. If I knew him, Ragee was in a zone that included only him and music. By that time we’d trekked down the steps of the back patio. Just beyond the landing was a golf cart, similar to the one Arnie had on the ranch. He loaded the luggage on the back and helped me on. I remained muted as he started the engine and we pulled off, making a sharp U-turn, and going east on the property. We drove quite a distance, but stayed on manicured pastures. After a while, I could detect the sound of a loud, monstrous motor. Once rounding a few trees, a wide and flat stretch of land came into view. On it was a damn…
“Plane?” I blurted. Raj threw me a curious glance. “Is that a plane?”
His face lifted in a cynical smirk. “I ‘on’t know how to answer that. How many things look like a plane, but ain’t a plane?”
He wasn’t being sarcastic, exactly. But I was still baffled. I turned to face the rear of the cart, seeing the fumes hit the cold air.
“But we’re in your damn back yard!”
Raj shrugged, his eyes ahead as he leaned to the side, working the steering wheel with one hand. “I had the space to build a landing strip. It’s hella convenient when I need to get in and outta dodge from Sparta instead of Jersey City.”
My shoulders dropped at his casual explanation. “Okay.”
He peered over to me from the right corners of his eyes as he laughed. I was sure it was at my expense.
I scoffed, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not conversant with wealth.”
He looked over to me with one eye closed and the other squinted from the sun. “You’re learning.”
The closer we got to the plane, I saw several bodies and wondered who was flying with us. We stopped a few yards away from the running aircraft. The familiar face of a groundsman took over at the wheel when Raj stepped out. Another helped Raj with the luggage he brought from the bedroom while Raj himself waved me on to board the plane. It all happened so fast, I could tell I was the only novice to this.
Raj exchanged a few words with two men dressed in pilot’s gear with ties and stripes on their coatless shoulders. Do they all dress that way? I always thought that was only for television.
The plane was clean and smelled like new leather. The seats were a cream leather and the windows were small and circular. The carpet was tan hued with a paisley print. On the television screens posted throughout from my vantage point, I saw the infamous Ragee logo running across each. I stood frozen like a deer in headlights, stuck at the grandeur of this piece of luxury.
I felt a hand at my lower back. “You can grab any seat. We’re traveling light today.”
It was Raj, trying to get past me. But I couldn’t move.
“Is this yours?” I asked as he did move past me and tossed his book bag on a table.
Raj paused his movements, his brows pinched and eyes circled. “I hope so.”
The crisp duh in his t
one kicked me into gear and I moved to take a seat across from him. I was shrinking, lost in a universe I only saw posted on IG. Jashon, one of Myisha’s assistants, boarded the plane. After him was Tina, Raj’s wardrobe assistant, barber, and apparently, my makeup artist, per Myisha. They both spoke politely as they waltzed on, just as experienced as their boss.
I sat, rolling my phone over in my hand as I tried to get myself together. I wasn’t used to doing or seeing anything outside of my norm. That norm used to be going to work, providing hope to convicts and going home to a one bedroom apartment I shared with my aunt and baby cousin. Then my norm became living in a mansion and being Mrs. Ragee. Now…this?
“It’s a Gulfstream G550.” Raj spoke at a volume that made it clear his words were exclusively for me. “Been locked in a deal for it for a couple of years now. I bought it used, but gotta good deal. Don’t trip.”
Raj was trying to comfort me. He must have picked up on my unease. “Boy, ain’t nobody trippin’.” I sucked my teeth. “I was just thinking how I didn’t say goodbye to Pastor McKinnon.”
He unraveled earbuds. “Oh, she ain’t here no way.”
My face dropped and eyes bugged. “Huhn?”
“She left last night. Had business to take care of the next few days.” He kept unpacking his book bag, taking out his phone.
“She’s not coming back?”
“She said she is.”
“When?”
He shrugged. “She said she’ll check in, in a few days.” His words were casual, delivery was indifferent. My mind raced with what that meant. “Take off your coat and get comfortable. Got about three hours on here.”
Taking a deep breath, I lay my phone on the table next to me and stood to remove my heavy coat. By the time I was done, a man dressed in a shirt and vest was there to take it from me. He offered me a beverage, which I declined. Pastor McKinnon was gone. Why did that sadden me?
My phone buzzed on the table.
Gee-Gee: Don’t sweat it. Ain’t nothing changing.
My eyes shot over to find his chin to his lap, but his eyes on me. I found myself biting my bottom lip as I nodded. He’d just read my mind.
“You good?”
My head swung up. Raj already had his coat on. The hair on his face was freshly trimmed as was his head. I could perceive the coat of Chapstick on his full lips as my brain hiccupped at his presence. My eyes fell back down to my thighs and feet. The black fitted mini was heavy and glued to my skin.
The bodice had a cut out from the center of my chest, down to just above my belly button. I was concerned about the elastic of my pantyhose showing through the cut out. And there was a zipper on the back from my neck to the bottom of my ass cheeks. It was how I put it on and would take it off later.
“You look fine.” Those thick vocals had my head shooting up again. His forehead jumped. “Fine as hell, actually.” Raj’s eyes narrowed.
I peeked over my shoulder where Tina stood with a smile. She’d just finished my hair and makeup. I swallowed, going back to Raj.
“I just hope my dress don’t rise when I walk—”
“It’s an Alex Perry. That material’ll stay in place. Trust me.”
My face went tight with confusion. “How’d you…”
Raj mocked me by mimicking my expression. That relaxed me. “I picked it.” He shrugged. “Sure, I know.”
“Whoa!” I scoffed. “You picked this?” My eyes fell to my thighs again. “I seriously doubt Pastor McKinnon would approve of all this meat hanging out.”
“You’re nice and toned,” his vocals turned throaty. “You’re killing in the dress and heels.” My eyes rolled up to his face. “Trust me.” He rolled his neck as though uncomfortable. “We gotta go.”
I nodded, remembering we had an appearance somewhere. I turned back for the second bedroom in the suite for my coat and clutch I couldn’t fit much in. The news of Raj picking out my clothes was hard to digest, I brushed it off and decided to get on with the night. I had a job to do—wherever it so happened to be.
At the elevator, as we stood in between his security, Raj’s scent enveloped me. It was so alluring and thick, I swallowed it. As usual, I fought the desire to look at him freely. It was stupid. We were married and they knew it. He was so big next to me, poised so well, though in his own zone, probably forgetting I was there.
I cleared my throat. “You ummmm…” I swallowed, my eyes circling from the floor to the ceiling. “You look good as shit, Mr. McKinnon.” Internally, I shrunk the moment the words left my mouth. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Raj turn to me with shocked humor. My face dropped as I laughed at myself. His security cracked the hell up. The humor didn’t make it less embarrassing, though. “Fuck,” I whispered then hissed, “I don’t know how to flirt with my own damn husband.”
The whole small hallway seemed to have been lit with masculine rumblings of laughter, Raj’s included. All I could do was shake my head. I was grateful to hear the elevator ping.
Raj took me at the shoulder, making me feel even smaller. “Practice makes perfect, boo-boo.”
The music was mellow, the volume faint compared to the chatter ringing around the room. Black was the color of the evening it seemed. In the past twenty-five minutes or so we’d been in the gallery, I only counted two people who didn’t wear the distinct color from head to toe, Raj being one. But it was clear by my ensemble, he knew the code.
Yeah. Now that I know he chose this dress…
And that… As I strolled around the open room covered with wall-sized art, my heavy and fully lined dress didn’t shift at all. The same with the Valentino Garavani boots. Myisha had scolded me several times about not only knowing the names of the designers I wore, but the names of the pieces of theirs, too. It was all too much! But worth it, considering the padding in the boots made them so comfortable.
“Another?” a waiter holding a tray stacked with champagne flutes asked.
One glance at my empty glass reminded me I was done with it. We exchanged flutes as Raj at the other side of the room, laughing heartily with a small group of women, caught my attention. His head tossed back as he hooted, and although he hadn’t exactly done that with me yet, it reminded me of his laugh at the elevator back at the hotel. Raj had begun sharing humor with me—or accepting mine. That thought weighed on me as I walked in the opposite direction with my one arm across my belly and hand gripping my waist.
This was nice. Coming to cultured places like this was a nice trip from my reality. It wasn’t until we pulled up that I learned we were attending a Francesco Basso exhibit. Fucking Basso! Basso was a famed Italian artist. I knew nothing about art, but was a pop culture junkie. My first time hearing about Franco Basso, as the in-crowd called him, was a few years ago when he started partying with Puff Daddy, Jay Z, Ryan Gosling, Swizz Beats, Justin Timberlake, Gayle King, and the like. He was photo’d at both Obama inaugurations and even hung out with the Queen of England.
And I’m here, at his Super Bowl LII exhibit…
I sighed, still feeling I was living someone else’s life. A striking piece caught my attention and had my heels clacking at a faster pace. It was a black man. A charcoal-appearing brother against a black backdrop. He was fully unclothed and stretched almost horizontally on a barstool. One conversation in the piece was his strength. A black man with both legs extended in the air and his back flat, horizontal to the stool-top. One big hand protected the jewels between his thick columnar legs and the other hid his face. The one on his face held a ring on his ring finger. It was a metal piece of Christ’s crying face, bloodied at the crown of his head.
That’s a statement…
There was something sensually familiar with his frame. It was possibly the deep grooves in his abdomen that were skewed to face the viewer. In fact, every muscle in his body was captured and pronounced. Maybe the beauty mark on his inner right thigh that faced the viewer. That discovery had me instantly turned on. The muscle beneath his right arm, reaching for his
pelvis—his tricep. My jaw dropped. Goddamn… It was thick and coiled. I had no idea why a simple and common muscle aroused me, but this one did. The whole damn body had a zing running down my spine.
A delicious sight and all, but the subject hid his face from the viewer. That was the other conversation in the piece. He couldn’t hide his conspicuously robust presence. His was unmistakably black in the stark finishing of the canvas. He couldn’t escape his blazing virility, though it appeared he wanted to. He looked helpless, though his brawny frame would tell you he was anything but. This was it. This was my interpretation of statement art.
An abrupt grabbing of my shoulder, so strong it broke my balance, couldn’t even steal my attention away from this piece. Not even his delectable scent.
“This is you.” My eyes were still stapled to strides and cuts in his legs and chest.
“Yeah. It’s old though,” he shared with indifference. I heard him take a sip of his drink. “This was…years ago.”
“You lay still all that time while he painted?”
“Hell no. I lay nowhere,” he shrieked, but not loud enough to alarm anyone. “Someone took this pic and I had it sent to him.” He snorted. “Dude woulda loved that. He wanted to work with me, and I was cool with it until he said nudity.” He pointed to the oversized painting. “This was us meeting in the middle.”
I finally peered up to him. “Who took the picture?”
Raj took another sip of champagne and held the sweet liquid in his mouth a while before swallowing. He lowered his chin and gazed into my eyes. I held patiently, because I knew he didn’t want to share.
“Oh, my god. He’s here!” A sharply effeminate voice exclaimed behind Raj’s tall frame blocking it.
Raj eventually turned, and coming into view was a man so short and thin he resembled a young boy.
“Yurp, B,” Raj greeted playfully.
The guy was surrounded by several people, some with cameras, clipboards, and tablets. He wore black and white striped parachute pants, a black v-neck t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. I couldn’t name the type of shoes he wore because I wasn’t familiar with them, but they were old and haggard-looking.
