by iiKane
“The white gold? Thirty five hundred.”
He tried it on. It fit.
“This, too.”
“Don’t you want a sizing for this one? What if it doesn’t fit?”
“Then I’ll definitely be back. No, no boxes. Just gimme the rings. I’m in a hurry,” he urged.
She shook her head.
When he left the gift shop, he was just stuffing the rings in his pocket when Niia approached. She kissed him gently and handed him the key. “The Presidential Suite,” she remarked.
He took her by the hand and twirled her around as if they were dancing and replied, “That’s for the honeymoon; first let me put these papers on you before a man prettier than me steals you away. Oh, I forgot, shiiiit, we can walk slow then,” he chuckled cockily, making her giggle.
The Chapel of Love—or Love’s Chapel—was a small room, squeezed in between a tattoo parlor and a sawdust casino. It seemed to be a family-owned business because the officiator—a tall, grey-haired Wayne Newton lookalike—kept referring to the organist, who looked like Edith Bunker as ‘honey’. The rice-thrower resembled them both, but was a midget. Giorgio laughed to himself, imagining that they were probably from West Virginia.
The officiator cleared his throat.
“We are gathered here today to wed this man—” he looked at his notes, “Georgie Mills and—” he squinted, waiting for some help.
“Nigh – e – ya,” Georgie pronounced, giving Niia a reassuring wink to assuage her nervous expression.
“Nigh – e – ya,” the officiator articulated slowly, then having gotten the hang of it, continued. “And this woman, Niia Akimbe…As you know, marriage is a wonderful insti—”
Georgie cut him off.
“Ay yo, Rev? Yeah, we’re kinda in a hurry, so you wanna cut to the chase?”
“Fine, fine. Do you have the rings?
“Oh, we don’t have any…” Niia started to say, until the sparkle accompanying the rings that Georgie pulled from his pockets caught the chapel’s light and took her breath away.
He smiled and shrugged.
“I just happened to have a lil’ sumptin’ sumptin’ in my pocket, just in case I ran into a pretty girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
The tear in the corner of her eye looked like a diamond about to fall. Georgie wiped it away with his thumb, tasted it, and then turned to Wayne.
“We’re gonna say our vows.”
Wayne nodded. Georgie handed her his band and she slid it on his finger. Niia took a deep breath, looked in his eyes and began, “I have never done anything like zees in my life, but it just feels right, no, Georgie?”
“Keep saying Giorgio. I love the way you make it sound.”
She smiled.
“Giorgio, you have a beautiful, but complicated heart. I want to thank you for letting me in.”
Georgie slid the ring on her finger, looked in her eyes and said, “You’re all the proof I need that fairy tales do come true. Standing here, looking at you, my heart is beating a mile a minute, letting me know this…this condition I got is crucial. You can say that I’m a terminal case. Do what you want with me baby. Burn up my clothes, smash up my ride…”
“Well maybe not my ride,” they both then said in unison, breaking up a fit of giggles.
The officiator looked at his wife. She shrugged. Georgie continued.
“But I’ve got to have your face all up in the place; I like to think that I’m a man of exquisite taste. Hundred percent Italian silk, imported Egyptian lace, but nothing, baby, nothing can compare to your lovely face. Do you know what I’m tryin’ to say? I’m just tryin’ to say that, until the end of time, I’ll be there for you.”
He didn’t sing it, but she knew it was a song. She knew it was Prince. But hearing those words drip from his lips had her dripping from hers.
“I love you,” she breathed, breathlessly.
His answer was a kiss…a kiss that lasted off and on through the last of the ceremony, in the limo on the way to the hotel, in the elevator on the way to the room, and in the hallway as they reached for the key. Their lips didn’t stop touching, teasing, tasting and tantalizingly torturing one another until they stood in the middle of the luxuriously decorated suite. But it may as well have simply been a big old empty room, because all that mattered was them, naked staring each other down.
Georgie eyed her from her tiny doll feet with delectable, perfectly pedicured toes to her long, shapely legs that blossomed into curves so deep, there should’ve been danger signs on her thighs. Her breasts, heaving with nervous anticipation, stood out, full and firm. Her chocolate chip nipples stuck out like elevator buttons. Her whole body quivered because his gaze felt like a tongue giving her a full body massage.
“You are so beautiful,” Georgie whispered.
“I’m…not,” she answered, eyes downcast, speaking barely audibly.
Life had been so ugly for so long, it had seeped into her pores.
Georgie turned her to the mirror, stood behind her, and caressed her shoulders.
“No…you are,” he corrected her.
Instead of looking at the reflection in the mirror, she slipped into the reflection of the reflection in his mirror-colored eyes, and in them would rediscover her beauty. His reflections slowly disappeared from the mirror, like the sun setting over her shoulder, sinking lower and lower… and lower, with his tongue leaving a trail of wet kisses. She looked at herself as passion, and lust enflamed her. She took a sharp breath as she felt his tongue licking along the crack of her ass, never stopping until he was under her soft, juicy pussy.
Niia couldn’t take her eyes off herself, watching, riding his tongue like it was a dick, gripping handfuls of his curly hair, sucking in her breath, sizzling, ready to explode, her whole body trembling.
“Oh my…” was all she go out, before she came so hard, she used both hands to try and push him away, but he lifted her hips, sucking her dry. She fell over and curled up on her side.
Georgie scooped her up and laid her on the bed, on her side, lifting her legs and sliding into her hot, tight pussy. The length of his dick seemed to rise right up her spine. The way she clawed the sheets, if her nails had been much longer, she would have ripped them to shreds.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby; don’t hold back. Give me all of you,” Georgie urged, long-dicking her steadily.
Whatever she said, he didn’t understand, because it was tongues mixed with French, but her body language was easy to read. She started bucking, biting her bottom lip, throwing that pussy like her body had a mind of its own. He maneuvered her body, turning her on her stomach, then pulling her up on her knees. The sight of her soft, voluptuous ass brought the animal out of Georgie and he began to pound her stroke for stroke. Their bodies were exploding in ecstasies unreal; she was as soft as a pillow and he was hard as steel.
“You…are sooooo deep,” she cooed.
“So fuckin’ good,” he grunted in broken sentences.
When they came, her squeal sounded like the squeal of tires right before a crash, and then they did, all over his dick, and her all over her walls, until they both fell on the bed, breathless.
“I can’t stop my legs from shaking,” Niia said, running her hand through her hair.
Georgie pulled her on top of him, massaging her ass.
“Goddamn, Niia, what are you made of? Your ass is so soft; what is this, velvet?!” he joked.
She laughed hard.
“You are so silly, Giorgio. I feel like I could sleep for days.”
“But you can’t,” he replied, thinking of Skye. He kissed the top of her head. “We’ve got a return flight in an hour.”
She groaned and pouted, like a little girl who didn’t want to get up for school.
“Okayyyy,” she whined, rolling off of him, “I’m going to take a shower.”
Niia got up and walked to the bathroom with that languid sensuality that women display when they have been fucked royall
y. Her ass was bouncing, jiggling. Not a lot, but enough to make Georgie’s dick jump with every jiggle.
Man, we can’t miss that fight, the sane side of him stressed, but he said, “God…damn Ma, hol’ up; I’m comin,’” he announced, as he jumped off the bed.
The second round made him miss the first flight.
“Okay, take the car and go to Yvette’s boutique. It’s on Grand Avenue; you can’t miss it. She’s gonna help us find an apartment. Until then, get a room at the L’Ermitage Beverly Hills, okay?” Georgie explained, handing Niia the keys to the Maserati.
They were in the long-term parking lot at LAX.
“Yes. But what about all my clothes? They are at Alphonse’s apartment,” Niia told him.
“What clothes? All your clothes are on Rodeo Drive, waiting for you to pick ‘em out,” Georgie smirked, holding out his credit card.
Her eyes swelled with wonder and excitement. She reached. He pulled it back.
“Remember, you’re French. Less is more,” he quipped, only half jokingly. He handed her the card, knowing the words went in one ear and out the other. She was a woman; she was going to burn up that card and bring it back warped.
She gave him a kiss, jumped into the car, then pulled off. Georgie headed to the nearest payphone to beep Skye. He purposely avoided his phones while he and Niia were on the trip. He paced as he waited for her to call back. He knew this was big. Even though—in his mind—the marriage wasn’t about love, it was about support, he knew it wouldn’t go over well. That’s why he gave Niia the car, so that Skye would have to pick him up. He figured that the best way to tell her was as she was driving a car at 80 mph. Even Skye would have to be calm under those conditions.
The phone rang. He picked it up.
“Hey, baby, how you?” He smiled hard, trying to make his dimples show through the phone.
Skye was having none of it.
“Where are you?”
“LAX. I need you to pick me up.”
Pause.
“I was beginning to think that tomorrow would never come,” she retorted, saucily.
“It didn’t. It’s today, so I’m early, smart ass. Come get me.”
“Mm-hmmm,” she replied, but he could hear the smirk in her tone. He hung up and proceeded to pace.
“Okay, I can do this…Skye, I married Niia…no, too direct.” He chuckled. “Damn, I missed you. If I wasn’t already married, I’d marry you. No, hell no! She might cut me.” Georgie surmised.
People looked at him strangely as he paced and mumbled to himself, half expecting him to blurt out, “The end of the world is near!”
A Black stewardess came up, rolling her wheeled suitcase behind her. She had flicks of grey in her hair that complemented her attractive face. eorgie took the grey as wisdom.
“Excuse me miss, can I speak with you a moment.”
She stopped and smiled graciously.
“Yes.”
“Listen, I know you’re probably in a hurry but I need your advice,” Georgie remarked.
“Okay,” she replied, her body language saying, I’m listening.
“See, a friend of mine was in a tight spot. She’s from another country, but she needed to stay here, so I flew her to Vegas and married her. But my girlfriend doesn’t know and she’s on the way to pick me up. How should I tell her?”
She took a breath, considered it, then asked, “Is your girlfriend Black?”
“Mostly.”
She nodded.
“Very carefully and from outer space,” she replied with a straight face, then turned and walked inside the terminal.
“Take me with you,” Georgie called after her.
Skye arrived about a half an hour later. She pulled up in a red Corvette, top down and sporting temporary plates. She slid over because he went around to the driver’s side. He got behind the wheel, then leaned over and gave her an ‘I miss you’ kiss. She matched it with one of her own. He pulled off.
“Who’s car?” he asked. One of Skye’s tracks was playing on the radio.
“Who do you think?” she grinned.
He looked at her and read her expression. He smiled.
“Ma, I just bought a car,” he chuckled.
“So.”
“I was thinking about you,” she shrugged. “Now where were you?”
“Vegas.”
“Did you win?”
If she only knew…
Georgie glanced at her. “Yeah.”
Skye rolled her eyes, and propped her elbow up on the door. The wind slightly tussled her short cut.
“You know…as soon as I saw her eye, I knew, I just knew you were going to do something. I just knew it! It’s just like your mother told me, you think you’re fuckin’ Captain-Save-A-Hoe, flying to every woman’s rescue…” she shook her head.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing. I mean, forreal, the muhfucka ain’t have no business beating on her!” Georgie fumed.
“If she doesn’t want her ass whooped, then she should leave!” Skye shot back.
“You know why she was with him?”
Skye shot him a look.
“Was?”
Like a boxer, he lowered his shoulder and dipped that one.
“Her whole family Ma, her whole family is countin’ on her. The movie is a chance to get them out of poverty, but if she ain’t a U.S. citizen, she can’t keep workin.’ He was gonna help her become a citizen.”
“Why you keep saying was, Georgie?” Skye asked calmly…too calmly.
Richter scales can only measure so much, but maturity can pick up on the subtlest shifts. Birds from miles around felt it and took flight to higher ground.
He glanced over at her. It was now or never. He pushed the speedometer to 83.
“Because…she don’t need him no more.
Skye didn’t blink.
“Why?”
“Because…I married her.”
Before volcanoes erupt, the ground usually rumbles. The ground rumbled. But it was California, so he hoped it was only an earthquake.
“What did you say?” she hissed, her voice barely audible above the whistling wind.
“I did it for her family Ma, not for her. If she’s a…”
“Did what? Did what, Georgie? Say it. Say it again.”
He looked at her.
“I married…”
She punched him in the face so hard that he saw stars.
“Skye!”
It wasn’t his words so much that pushed her over the edge; it was the fact that—when he turned the steering wheel to switch lanes—the slight shift made the sun strike the surface of his ring and gleam blindingly in her face. It was as if God himself was flaunting the ring in her grill, and she totally lashed out. She was on him with her cat-like agility, grabbing at his hand—the one he was steering with—causing him to swerve in the lane.
“Take it off! Take it off! No! No! No!” she barked, clawing and punching, crying and screaming. “Can’t you see she using you, you stupid muhfucka!”
Her body was between him and the windshield. He just barely missed hitting a truck.
“Ma, I’m drivin’”
“I don’t give a fuck! Take…it…offfff!” she gritted, digging her nails into his neck.
“Aaarrggh!” Georgie grunted then shoved her hard against the door.
Skye gasped.
“You gonna hit me behind that bitch’s ring!? Huh?! I… will…kill… you!” she spat, kicking him in the side with her sharp stiletto heel. It felt as if she was stabbing him in the ribs. He snatched her shoe off and threw it out of the window, but by the time he did she had the other in his neck.
“Skye, you gonna kill us both!”
“At least you’ll be dead, muthafucka!”
At that moment, Georgie had never been so grateful to hear police sirens as he was then. The cops witnessed them struggling and assumed that it was Georgie attacking her. They quickly gave chase. Before that, Georgie couldn’t get over to the lane
next to the shoulder. He was too busy trying to keep them from having an accident. But with the police behind them, people slowed up or switched lanes, giving Georgie a clear path to the shoulder of the road. Both officers—both black—jumped out, guns aimed.
“Let the woman go now! Hands in the air!” the driver bellowed.
“I ain’t got her, she got me!” Georgie yelled, adding, “Skye! Skye! My nuts, my nuts! Fuck! Officer!”
The two police looked at each other with confused scowls. They carefully approached the car. What they found was Skye, with a spiked heel on Georgie’s neck and her bare heel trying to crush his crotch, with him gripping her ankle.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“No! I’m trying to kill this muhfucka!” she growled, kicking him for emphasis.
Her skirt had slid all the way up and—since she almost never wore panties—the officer couldn’t help but get an eyeful of her shaved pussy. It was so pretty, he got struck. Skye turned on him.
“What the fuck you staring at, you perverted bastard?! You ain’t never seen no pussy before, you piece of shit? Here, get a good look!” she spazzed, cocking her leg up.
The officer looked at his partner, he looked at Georgie, then said, “Just drive safe, man.”
“Don’t you want to see my license and registration?” Georgie asked, his tone practically pleading, please don’t lever me her with this crazy bitch.
“Naw, naw. Just…go,” he replied, then he and his partner returned to their vehicle.
The people in the lobby all paused when they walked in. All conversation stopped. It almost seemed as if all breathing stopped as they watched Georgie and Skye walk by. Georgie held his hand over his crotch and was limping, nose bloody, scratched up face, shirt ripped and untucked, neck looking like he had been attacked by angry birds. Skye—with one spiked heel and one bare foot—stumbled along like a drunken sailor with a peg leg and an attitude, her dress wrinkled and ripped so far up the side that one could see her ass with every other step she took, her mascara running and lip busted. They looked like the last two survivors from the Titanic, and after 80 plus years, had finally made it to shore. The only sound was that of their footsteps—one for Skye—then the ding of the elevator as the door swooped closed.
