Decadent Dreams (The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love)

by Arthur, A. C.

  Wow, she thought in her mind but wisely did not say. “You’re right, I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

  “Do you want to know more about me?” he asked her.

  “We work together, spend a lot of time together, I guess it makes sense that I know who I’m elbow to elbow with on some days,” she replied lightly.

  “Come on, you can do better than that. Give me a straight answer. Would you like to get to know me better?”

  He stood up straight, grabbed a bowl of icing for his sugar and spice cookies that he topped with sweet buttercream in an array of bright colors.

  He looked at her seriously, expectantly. It made her a little nervous, but she’d be damned if she showed him that. Squaring her shoulders and folding her arms over her chest, she replied, “Yes, I would.”

  Malik nodded, then returned his attention to the cookies. For what seemed like forever she watched him work, his large hands maneuvering the spatula with ease, leaving a light and airy twist to the icing on each cookie. He’d done a complete sheet in a pretty pink shade before she finally spoke up.

  “So you’ll play ball all day and then the teams will fill up on brownies and cookies?” She tried to make the question seem light and not too probing even though she found herself extremely interested in this program he’d instituted.

  “Different teams from around the city will play each other until there’s only one left standing. Even cheerleaders attend and hold their own competition. There’ll be lots of vendors from around the city, all of whom do something relating to children. That’s the focus—the youth, because they’re our future. There’s a local deli that donates sandwiches and chips and hot dogs. Some of the parents—the ones who are active in their children’s lives—also bring dishes. But I always bring the desserts. It’s a fun and eventful day. You should join me.”

  “Me? I don’t know what I’d do at an event like this.” Sort of like she never had any idea what to do at the NAACP fund-raiser her mother produced every year, yet she went anyway.

  “You could sit on the bench and cheer when my team wins,” he said with a teasing grin that had her wrapping her arms even tighter around her chest. Her breasts were having one wicked reaction to this man and his smiles.

  “Or you could help serve the desserts.” He came back with a follow-up.

  “What time is it and where?”

  He looked up so fast Belinda thought he would drop the spatula. “You serious?”

  She nodded. “Sure. I’m not doing anything else tomorrow. And you’ve baked enough to feed a small army,” she said, looking around the kitchen. “I’m sure it’ll be hard for you to coach a team and distribute the desserts.”

  “Some of the parents usually help. But I’d love to have you there.”

  His words seemed so sincere and Belinda was just hungry enough for true sincerity she lapped them up quickly with her own smile. “Then it’s a date,” she said happily. “I mean, I’ll be there.”

  “It’s a date,” he corrected her, and stared at her so long she almost ran across the room, jumped on him and kissed him.

  That would have taken them both by surprise. So much so she had to laugh it off as she turned away from him and took a deep, steadying breath.

  On the opposite table from where Malik worked, there were five boxes, white with the pink swirling logo of Lillian’s. They each held two dozen cookies. Belinda walked the length of the table, peeking inside each box. She stopped in front of the one at the end.

  “Go ahead and take one. You know you want to,” she heard him say.

  Belinda looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t say I wanted one of your cookies.”

  Malik chuckled and came over to stand beside her. “You don’t have to. I know you love the Turtles.”

  Of course he was right but she didn’t want to admit it, so she didn’t reach for a cookie. It didn’t seem to matter, because in the next moment Malik was taking a cookie out of the box and stepping closer to her.

  “I know what you want, Belinda,” he said, bringing the cookie to her lips.

  He was close enough to touch, close enough that her nipples had instantly grown hard. He said he knew what she wanted, but she was afraid Malik had absolutely no idea.

  She opened her mouth to accept the cookie, took a bite of the soft, gooey sweetness and moaned as she chewed. She couldn’t help herself. “I don’t know what you put in these cookies but I swear I’ve never tasted anything like this before.” She talked as she finished chewing then licked her lips.

  When she looked up at him again it was to see that his eyes had grown darker, his face a little more intense than it had looked just seconds ago.

  “They’re really good,” she said, standing a little straighter.

  Malik took the remaining half of the cookie into his mouth and chewed, then licked his lips just as she had. Something swirled in the pit of her stomach, settling in a heated ball right between her legs.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice a timbre lower than it had been before. He moved a little closer. “You missed a bit of caramel.”

  Her fingers immediately went to her lips. “Where?”

  He grabbed her wrist, pulling away her hand from her mouth. “Here,” he said, dipping his head lower to lick the caramel from the corner of her mouth. “And here.” He licked the other corner.

  She wanted to close her legs, tight. No, she wanted her pillow. It had offered her plenty of comfort in the previous nights.

  “I think you missed a spot, too,” she heard herself whispering, and traced her tongue over his bottom lip.

  She was overwhelmed with boldness. First, volunteering to spend the day with him, then licking his lips like she’d been forever his lover. This was not the norm for her and yet it felt good, wildly, excitingly good.

  On the last stroke of her tongue over his lip, Malik’s arms came roughly around her waist, pulling her until her body was flush against his. Belinda went willingly, loving the sting of dominance and the exhilaration of arousal that swept over her. His mouth took hers then in a fevered rush of dueling tongues and muted moans. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him closer, her hands flattening on his shoulders, fingers clenching, gripping. She wanted something she couldn’t explain, something she’d never wanted before, and Malik seemed like he was game to give it to her.

  He walked her backward until she was against one of the Sub-Zero refrigerators. Momentarily he pulled his lips from hers. “You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured. “You’ve always driven me crazy.” Then there were no more words, just his mouth blazing a scorching path from her lips, over her cheek, down her neck.

  His strong hands had gripped her bottom, squeezing each side until her knees threatened to give out. Then he ran his hands along her thighs and Belinda didn’t know what else to do but lift one of her legs. Malik groaned, pulling her leg and wrapping it around his waist. He thrust forward, his erection rubbing flush against her heated center. She sighed, bit her bottom lip to hold back a scream and let her head fall back until it rapped against the refrigerator door.

  Malik kept going, his mouth touching every inch of her bared skin he could find. When there was no more skin, he settled for the material-covered mound of her breasts and nibbled there. Wanting her was an understatement. He was actually so hard that he’d surpassed the need phase and was coming up on sheer desperation. He moved his hand from her leg, tracing the inside of her thigh until he cupped her center. She hissed and made some other sound that was close to a purr and by far the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

  Bing!

  The timer sounded and both of them froze. It took about three seconds for Belinda to flatten her hands on his chest and start to push him away. And another five seconds for his lust-riddled brain to figure out what was going on and ease away from her slowly.

  Her usually neat-as-a-pin hair was ruffled, her eyes darker, like the raging sea. She was breathing as heavily as he was, her lips swollen from his rou
gh kisses, the skin along her neck slightly bruised from his suckling and licking. In short, looking at her now made him feel like an ass. A very needy ass, but still.

  “I apologize,” he said immediately. “That was way out of line.”

  She’d begun to shake her head, then closed her eyes. As she took a deep breath Malik damned himself to hell by staring at the rise and fall of her full breasts, the curve of her hips and the juncture between her legs he’d just touched.

  “Your brownies,” she said finally.

  He’d had to tear away his gaze from her body to look her in the eye. “What?”

  She pointed to the oven. “Your brownies are going to burn. The time is up.”

  He cursed under his breath, turning away from her and finding an oven mitt so he could pull out the two trays. Placing each tray on the table, he sighed heavily.

  “They don’t look like they burned,” Belinda said as she looked them over.

  Malik shook his head. “They’ll be too dry. The Belgian chocolate center should ooze when you bite into it. Cooking it past twenty-five minutes cooks it to a cakelike consistency.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

  Malik had to smile. “I’ll take your interruption over brownies any day.”

  He was rewarded with her smile in return. “I’ll just have to start over.”

  “I can help,” she volunteered and again her words were like music to his ears. He hadn’t wanted her to leave, even though he still had a lot of baking to do. And now she’d offered to stay so he wouldn’t seem like the desperate sap he was sure he was becoming over this woman.

  “That’d be great,” he replied and watched as she moved to the cabinets near the door and retrieved her apron.

  Betty Boop was looking even sexier now that he’d gotten his hands on the body beneath.

  * * *

  The Charleston Baynor-Hill Recreation Center in Englewood wasn’t a building Belinda was familiar with. And while she’d lived in Chicago all her life, she’d never been to this south Chicago neighborhood. Not until this morning when she’d come in behind Malik, carrying all the cookies and brownies they’d stayed at the bakery until well after midnight baking. The main foyer was decorated with flyers about all their upcoming events and pictures of the basketball team, swim team, cheerleaders, youth leaders and more, all smiling happily. It was a contrast to what Malik had told her to expect.

  “These kids didn’t grow up like you did, Belinda. They’ve never been on an estate like the one you lived in with Lillian and your parents. Hell, they’ll probably never see an estate in their lifetime. Life’s been pretty rough for them, and in most cases still is. I just don’t want you experiencing a culture shock.”

  She’d taken offense to that remark and replied with, “I’m not some diva on her high horse, Malik. I know that I was blessed to have the upbringing I did and I don’t look down on anyone who didn’t.”

  He’d apologized profusely and Belinda had decided to let it go. The old Belinda would have cursed him all around Hyde Park and back, then got out of the truck and went home. She figured that’s probably why he’d made the comment in the first place. Malik knew all about the old Belinda. He just didn’t know how she’d committed to making changes in her life.

  After she’d been there for about an hour, Belinda found herself enjoying the event. They were still in the setup stage, but already a few of the kids were arriving.

  “Each coach needs to sign in their team when they get here. That goes for the cheerleaders, too,” Malik was telling a tall woman with ebony hair cascading silkily down her back. She looked like she could be of African-American and Asian mixture, then again, those eyes could be a great job done with eyeliner.

  “I’ll take care of it, Malik. You know I know how this works. This is my third year working with you,” she’d said, her long—too long to be real—lashes fluttering wildly.

  Belinda tried hard not to be judgmental. Really, she did. But she had a good idea what was on this woman’s agenda and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with these kids.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll just be over here getting the food organized.”

  “Oh, I can help with that, too, since the coaches aren’t here,” Lash Lady said with a smile.

  “That’s okay. I already have help in that department,” Malik told her and cast a glance over to the booth where Belinda was standing, staring at them like they were the next best thing to a daily soap opera.

  He’d already begun walking away from her and was coming around to her side of the booth when he said, “That’s Mrs. Martin. Her son Jarrod is my star forward. He’s thirteen and plays like he might have a future. I’ve arranged for a couple of great high school coaches to come today and have a look at him. Otherwise, I might be tempted to ask her to leave.”

  “I could ask her to leave if you’d like,” Belinda replied, only half playing. The woman was still looking over at their booth, but this time at her and not Malik. She was giving Belinda the stink-eye and was planning how she could mark her territory—meaning Malik. Belinda almost laughed.

  “No. I’ll need her permission to have the high school coaches talk to Jarrod so I don’t want to piss her off.”

  She nodded. “I see.”

  Malik laughed from behind her. “You know when I’m talking quietly to you about somebody it sort of gives me away if you’re staring them in the face.”

  Belinda shrugged and begrudgingly turned away. “She’s got a pretty face.”

  “Pretty is the face you look at in the mirror every day,” he said, not even bothering to look at her. For the third time since they’d left the bakery he was counting the boxes they’d yet to unpack.

  “Thanks, but pretty’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” was her tight reply. “And I believe we have more than enough desserts.”

  “You never know,” he said, finally turning to her.

  He stepped closer and, with a finger, tilted her chin so she was looking up at him.

  “Pretty is just fine with me.”

  “I’m sure,” she said with a nod toward Mrs. Martin.

  “What? Please, that woman’s crazy with a capital C and I try my best to stay away from Capital C people.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Jealous?” he asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

  No. Or at least she didn’t plan on being very long. Placing her hands on his chest Belinda pushed him away. “You wish,” she said playfully even though she could still feel Mrs. Martin’s heated gaze on her.

  About an hour later the cheerleading competition kicked off with the youngest groups competing first. From the dessert stand Belinda could see the majority of the girls as they huddled with their team then stepped out onto the mats to perform. She watched with just a tinge of envy inside.

  Her mother was adamant that cheerleading was not something Belinda would ever do. There were no social or economic benefits to the sport, her mother had said. When she was young, Belinda hadn’t cared about a benefit. She’d just wanted to join the other girls her age, hoping in this one event they would let her in, let her be a part of their group instead of always ostracizing her because she was smarter and, as her mother said, prettier than them. She’d just wanted to belong. But that never happened. Daisy was adamant and her grandmother came up with the idea of Belinda spending her free time at the bakery with her instead. So much for her having a say in her personal life then and even now.

  As the teams competed, Belinda watched the

  mothers on the sidelines. Wearing shirts in matching team colors, they cheered on their girls. How wonderful it must feel to have that type of support, Belinda thought, to know that your mother was just as excited by this sport as you were. One little girl stood out. Or rather she sat out, on the end of the bottom bleacher all alone.

  Belinda watched her for a few minutes just to be sure she was by herself. She didn’t know why it mattered or what she could even do to help, but before she cou
ld stop herself Belinda was headed toward the bleachers. The second competition for an older group was just getting under way when she sat on the bleacher beside the girl.

  “Wow, how do they do that?” she asked by way of breaking the ice.

  “It takes a lot of practice. I practice all the time,” the girl said.

  “I bet you’re really good.”

  She shrugged. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and there were silver stud earrings in her ears. Belinda had noticed the other girls had sparkly stuff in their hair, headbands and scrunchies. This little girl didn’t.

  “You practice every day after school?” Belinda asked.

  She nodded again. “And on the weekends. Whenever I come here to the rec, I can practice flips and stuff. I do that a lot, too.”

  Which meant she spent a lot of time away from home.

  “I’ll bet your mother’s really proud.”

  Another shrug of the shoulders. “She works a lot, so she doesn’t really know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh,” Belinda said as if she understood. But she didn’t, not at all.

  Each day when Belinda came home from school, her mother had been there. Her father would be at work and she’d see him later that evening at dinner. And when they’d lived on the estate with her grandparents, her grandfather was always there to greet her. After homework she’d play with Shari and Drake and Carter if he was there. Monica was younger so they didn’t play with her as often. But the point was there was never a time Belinda could actually say she was alone, or alone enough to make a decision on her own about how she’d spend her time.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, suddenly wanting to know more about this little girl and her life.

  “Kayla Washington,” was her reply. “Are you a recruiter?” she asked, her eyes perking up a little more.

  “No,” Belinda responded with her own measure of disappointment. Clearly this little girl was looking for a way out of her situation, whatever that situation was. “But I’d love to see you perform,” she told her.