The Come Up

by Nia Forrester

  Walking up behind him at the stove, she wrapped his arms about his waist and hugged him from behind. He leaned back into it and tilted his head back so it touched the top of hers.

  “You got potatoes with that?” Nana asked from the door.

  “Yeah Grandma, they’re in the oven,” Devin said. He’d always called her ‘grandma’ as though he wanted to signal that he knew she wasn’t his ‘Nana’ like she was to Makayla, but still, was as close as family.

  “In the oven?” She sounded outraged. “You s’posed to deep-fry the potatoes!”

  “You can’t have deep-fried anything, Grandma.”

  The old woman sucked her teeth and left the room, mumbling about “chil’ren tellin’ me what I can and can’t eat”.

  “Hand me a couple paper towels on a plate,” Devin instructed.

  Makayla released him and went to do as he asked, watching as he took the burgers out of the grease and let them drain onto the paper towel.

  “So how’s she doing?” he asked.

  “Okay. Some days good, some days not so good.” Makayla sat at the kitchen table and watched Devin get all the fixings for their burgers, including the white bread.

  “And her pressure …”

  “Still high. Doesn’t seem to matter what we do, it stays high. How’s Claudine?”

  “Claudine is … Claudine,” Devin said cryptically.

  His mother, who had made many blameworthy choices while he was growing up, Devin never seemed able to blame for anything. And so Makayla did it for him. She’d never warmed to Claudine, knowing all too well the assorted dangers she had exposed her son to; and the dire consequences that had ensued. She asked about her to be polite, but the truth was, she wouldn’t have cared if the woman lived or died, except for the pain it would cause Devin. And he sensed that, so they didn’t talk about his mother very much or at length anymore. There used to be a time when that was different, when all they seemed to talk about was Claudine, and her acts and omissions as a mother.

  “But let’s talk about you and ol’ boy,” Devin said. “That’s still going, huh?”

  “Yeah. Still going. Despite your little performance this afternoon. I know you’d like to wish it away, Devin, but Jamal and I are in a relationship, so …”

  “Are you, though?” Devin probed. “I mean, does he take you out to all those high-profile events? Does he introduce you to his friends? Do your co-workers know?”

  Makayla swallowed. Leave it to Devin to go straight to what made her insecure about this whole thing.

  “Look, I ain’ tryin’ to rain on your parade, Kay, but don’t be stupid about this. Dude has a string of women in his past … and hell, who knows? Maybe even his present. Havin’ some fun is one thing, but calling it a ‘relationship’?” Devin shook his head. And then because she said nothing, he turned to look at her. “I’m not tryin’ to hurt your feelings or nothin’ …”

  “Really? Because you did.” Makayla said folding her arms.

  “Kay …”

  “I don’t know if you can be objective where Jamal is concerned.”

  Devin gave a bark of laughter. “And you can? Kay, the second you met that nigga, he had your nose wide open.”

  “My wide-open nose can smell the fries,” she said, wanting to change the subject.

  Devin grabbed a mitt and opened the oven, pulling out the cookie sheet on which he’d laid some potato wedges. Setting that aside, he began plating their meals.

  “Is he going to become the one subject we can’t talk about?” Devin asked as he worked.

  “No. But don’t pretend you’re coming from a place of trying to look out for me, either. Because this is just about you being in a constant pissing contest with Jamal, and …”

  “Hold up.” Devin turned to look at her again, and this time his face was hard, his eyes angry. “I’m always coming from a place of tryin’ to look out for you. Always. Even if I’m jealous, or want more of your time, I’m always going to come from that place.”

  “And just like sometimes you disregard …. no, not sometimes, most of the time. Since most of the time you ignore my advice, you’re just going to have to give me some room to ignore yours this time.”

  For a few long moments they stared at each other, neither of them willing to look away first.

  “I don’t care what you say,” Devin said finally. “Until he’s ready to come out and say you’re his woman, whatever the hell y’all got goin’ on ain’t worth shit.”

  _______________

  Makayla set her overnight bag on the floor next to Jamal’s bed. It looked incongruous, so she picked it up again and walked into his closet, leaving it there instead. The closet was big enough to be occupied with a twin-bed and a small dresser. It was almost the size of her entire bedroom. On the left, Jamal had his earth tone clothing; on the right he had colors, lined up according to shade. And his shoe collection was significant as well, precisely arranged and neat. For someone with such a casual attitude, his space was surprisingly well-ordered.

  If he ever really let her into his head, Makayla suspected she would see more of this Jamal—the disciplined one, the serious one. Recalling when she spotted him running on the treadmill all that time ago when they were on the road, his face somber and determined, she’d gotten a strange feeling like looking into someone’s journal and reading things about them they wouldn’t have shared otherwise. Silly, funny Jamal was just one part of him—the surface part; she wanted to go much, much deeper. But what were the chances of that ever happening when, as Devin pointed out, their relationship was pretty much non-existent as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

  “Hey! You want to grab something light to eat before we go?”

  Jamal’s voice roused her, and Makayla emerged from the closet and went to join him in the kitchen. He was standing in front of the open refrigerator, surveying its contents. His back and shoulders were broad, his waist trim, and his butt tight. Makayla had the urge to walk up to him and wrap her arms about him, the way she’d done with Devin just the evening before, but held back.

  When they had sex, Jamal was still the one to initiate it every time. Not that she didn’t want to, she just still felt a little shy about … claiming him. Jamal being the man she was involved with didn’t feel completely real just yet. It felt dreamlike and temporary. Maybe Devin was right.

  “So … you want anything?” Jamal looked over his shoulder because she hadn’t spoken.

  “No,” Makayla said swallowing. “I mean, nothing to eat anyway.”

  Jamal did a double-take and grinned at her, shutting the fridge door. “Oh yeah? So you want something else?”

  Makayla nodded slowly as he advanced toward her.

  “Something to drink, then?”

  Makayla shook her head. She couldn’t say it aloud but from the look in his eyes, he knew anyway.

  “Hmm …” Jamal pretended to be thinking. “Nothing to eat … nothing to drink … How about a hot shower? It was a long day at work.” He let the word ‘long’ drag on for a couple beats.

  “A hot shower sounds good,” Makayla said, just as his chest collided with hers.

  “How hot?” Jamal’s head bowed as he took the soft flesh of her earlobe between his lips.

  Shivering involuntarily, Makayla exhaled. “As hot as you can make it.”

  “Good,” Jamal said against her neck. “That’s how I like my showers, too.”

  Then before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed her about the thighs, hoisted her up and over his shoulder, while she shrieked, carrying her out of the kitchen and toward the master bathroom.

  The shower was very hot as a matter of fact. With a built in steam feature and jets all around, it was quite possibly the best shower Makayla had ever had. The water was so hot it almost stung when they first got in, which was a welcome distraction from the sight of Jamal’s dark, slick, awe-inspiring body.

  At first they were all business, getting soapy and clean with their backs
to each other most of the time. It was a new experience for Makayla taking care of, er, feminine hygiene with a man just feet away, and the fact that that man happened to be Jamal made it seem more like self-pleasuring than anything else. While she washed, she glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her, a smirk on his face.

  “Need some help with that?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve got it,” she said. “I’ve been maintaining this particular part of my anatomy for a long time, so I’m pretty sure I know what needs to be done.”

  “No doubt, but is that any reason to deprive me?”

  She was still covered in soap, and preparing to step under one of the jets to rinse when Jamal apparently thought of a better idea. Pulling one of the handhelds off the wall, he came closer, holding it against her skin, changing the setting so it massaged her as it washed the soap away. Makayla shut her eyes and let herself feel without thinking, enjoying the uncertainty of not knowing where Jamal would next direct the pulsating jets of water.

  He did her shoulders first, then her back. She felt his hand at her waist as he spun her, moving to and lingering at her butt, running his hands over each cheek—as if he needed to—to get all the soap properly washed away. Then he moved to the backs of her legs, gently pushing her thighs apart to get between them. Her calves were next, and then her feet.

  Moving up the front of her body, Jamal spent some time on her knees, then her thighs again. There was that hand … parting them. Makayla held her breath, waiting for him to direct the water at her mons but he avoided it, instead moving to her stomach which trembled and quivered. Even though the water was hot, the heat between her legs was greater still, and Makayla knew that the moisture there was generated not just by the shower. The nozzle paused at her breasts, teasing her nipples, and she sighed, exhaling a trembling breath when one breast, abandoned by the pressure of the water was instead treated to the gentle suction of a hot mouth.

  Alternating between them, Jamal moved back and forth for a few moments, and it was only then that Makayla opened her eyes, just for a second, just so she could see his head lowered to her chest. Shutting them again, she waited until he moved the nozzle, and his tongue, to her neck, her jaw and finally her chin. By now, she was gulping uneven breaths, unable to mask her excitement. Somewhere along the way, Jamal had changed the setting on the nozzle so the water was a gentle stream. He held it just above Makayla’s forehead, rinsing her face, leaning in and covering her lips with his.

  The water streamed over both their faces, into their mouths, even as their tongues danced and tangoed, and their teeth nipped at lips, playing, yet intent and serious. His breaths were as hot and labored as hers, and now Makayla could feel him pressing into her stomach, a hard, insistent rod. She reached down to touch him, but he grabbed her wrist, directing the hand elsewhere. Jamal was putting her hand down between her own legs, making her stroke herself, guiding her fingers up and down, then further until they were buried inside her.

  All the while, his lips didn’t part from hers, but he moved the shower nozzle, down between them so the water was directed at her clitoris while she pushed her fingers in and out. Makayla groaned into his mouth, partly in pleasure, partly in protest. It felt as though her fingers were not her own, but his. And the hot water, against her unbelievably sensitive skin was almost torture. Inside, her orgasm was building, and it was going to be a big. The sounds she was making grew louder and more intense and Jamal, matched that intensity with his mouth on her mouth and then on her neck where he loved to kiss her, and where she had come to love to be kissed.

  “Let go …” he said, his voice guttural and insistent. “Let it go … I want you to come hard for me, baby. C’mon …”

  “Jamal …” She felt afraid, though she wasn’t sure of what.

  “It’s okay, I got you. C’mon … give it to me …”

  “Jamal, I ca…”

  Without another word, he dropped the nozzle and had fallen to his knees, pushing her back against the shower wall and grabbing her ass, lifting her until she was on the tips of her toes. Then he descended on her, his mouth hungry and eager, his tongue nimble and skillful.

  Makayla came in three seconds flat, her thighs convulsing, her arms extended on either side of her body, trying frantically to get a grip on something, anything that would prevent her from levitating from this earth and drifting far, far away.

  Jamal kept his mouth on her, sucking and drinking, lapping and licking until she came down from the first rush of her climax, and when he stood Makayla’s emotions were a confusing mix of relief—because she wasn’t sure she could take anymore—and bitter disappointment because though nothing had ever felt this good, she was sure nothing ever could again.

  But she was wrong, because as soon as he was upright, Jamal grabbed her by the waist, his fingers digging into her sides because it was difficult to get a firm hold. Hoisting her up against the wall, he ploughed into her, hard and deep, driving her up against the wall again and again. Each time he did, he grunted as though the effort was too much for him, and Makayla slid upward against the smooth surface and then down again, each upward thrust filling her completely, and each downward movement impaling her on him.

  “One more …” Jamal breathed into her open mouth. “One more time. Come for me again, baby …”

  Makayla felt a building pressure, different from her previous orgasms, something that was coming from a place even deeper inside her. Not just from between her legs, but from her abdomen, her diaphragm clenching painfully. She didn’t know what it was but it felt like a torrent, something that she couldn’t afford to release. But Jamal would not be denied, he plunged harder into her, then just as suddenly, slowed, as though he knew what she was feeling and wanted to leave room for it.

  “Yeah,” he said against her ear. “Right there … I feel you. Come for me … you’re right there.”

  Makayla gave it her last shot, trying desperately to prevent the oncoming storm but it was too strong, and now she was weak. Crying out, she came, her scream hoarse and a sound almost like defeat. Vaguely, she felt his climax, deep inside her, but almost irrelevant to what she was experiencing. She folded her arms about Jamal’s neck and could do nothing but succumb when he dropped his head yet again, taking a nipple in his mouth. A shock went through her and she groaned.

  “Stop,” she moaned, “stop …” And from nowhere, there were tears, loud, angry, happy, exultant and overwhelming tears.

  Jamal lifted his head, kissing her face gently. “That’s it, baby,” he said, his voice almost inaudible over the ongoing crash of water behind them. “That’s it. That’s what I wanted.”

  17

  Makayla was staring out the window as they drove, not speaking.

  She hadn’t looked directly at him since their shower. And though it was in his nature to try to draw people out, Jamal decided he would let her process whatever it was that was going through that head of hers, and decide to talk to him when she was ready. When they got out of the shower, she’d twisted her locs at the roots—incredibly fast—pulled a dryer out of her overnight bag and wrapped her head with a silk scarf while she dried them. Jamal decided to forgo his instinct to make a joke about women and their headscarves, recognizing that in her present mood, Makayla might not have found it amusing.

  After the hair routine, she’d dressed in a sage green chiffon dress, strapless and tea-length, with nude high-heeled sandals. Then she did some twisty-thing with her locs, piling them high on her head, as Jamal was learning she preferred to do for dressing up. He watched her put on her makeup, which she generally used little of, and told her she was pretty when she was done.

  At that, Makayla smiled and said ‘thank you’ but she still hadn’t spoken much since.

  Now they were driving and he wondered as they left the city limits and crossed the bridge, whether he should tell her where they were headed, or whether that would only make her nervous. Obviously, the sex had shaken her up a little. If he thought he c
ould put it into words, he would tell her it had … shaken him up, too. But shit, that was an understatement. Only once she was gone, safely home and far away from him would he allow himself to think about it again. All he knew was that it had never felt like that. Not with anyone. But those were dangerous thoughts, and only made him feel a twitch in his crotch so he had to shift in his seat to get comfortable again.

  “We’re going to Jersey?” Makayla’s voice unexpectedly broke the silence.

  “Yup. Not far though.”

  Jamal didn’t want to make a federal case out of it, but they were going to Chris’ house. Chris, who had very pointedly advised him not to like Makayla “too much” was about to find out that he had gone and done just that. Strategically speaking, it could be the shittiest idea to end all shitty ideas, but on the other hand, he and Chris had always had an understanding as men and as friends—some things had nothing to do with business, nor should they. And this was the most direct way that Jamal could think about to let his boss know that Makayla had become one of those things.

  Robyn on the other hand was another matter.

  Even though it had been well over six weeks since he last saw Madison, Jamal knew when he considered taking Makayla to the party that Robyn might well be under the impression that he and Madison were still going strong. And unless Madison had shared the news, his friend would be surprised and even a little annoyed if he sprung an entirely new situation on her without warning. Particularly when she and Madison were friendly. So he’d called Robyn and told her himself, that he and Madison “wanted different things” and parted amicably.

  Oh, is that how you’re spinning it? Robyn asked. Because the way she tells it, you just stopped calling her.

  That was her deal. She said she wanted me to think something over, and if I didn’t get in touch she would know my answer.