In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2)

by Belvin, Love

  I soon learned leaving Alexis to her own devices regarding her father could prove beneficial. The morning of Thanksgiving, Alexis went to spend a few hours with Rasul to celebrate. She had been gone well past noon. We invited Trent Bailey, my assistant pastor, John Weaver, and his wife, Tiffany, over for dinner, leaving me to receive them on my own. It was awkward to say the least as I was unaccustomed to having guests in my home. I tried my hand at small talk, but was boiling infernally with anxiety on the inside. Let’s not forget Alexis’ blunder last summer, just after Kamigu with Bishop Jones. I could have called her hours ago to remind her of our joint duty as hosts, but I digressed.

  Perhaps I should have.

  Just when I began to regret my lack of foresight, she blustered into the house, picking up with hosting and serving dinner seamlessly. It took an hour or two for my anger to ebb, deliquescing into pure lust at how well she performed with engaging the room. I rewarded her past losing her voice from screaming at the top of her lungs in the sandbox after our guests left for the night. I had my kitten hoisted from the ceiling, her long limbs extended as I feasted from her weeping pussy. She nearly lost lucidity and I lost count of how many orgasms I’d given her in the air.

  I took Alexis to her first Broadway show: The Book of Mormon. I’d seen it several times before, but seeing it through her eyes was an amazing experience. She stayed rapt, wide-eyed as she followed the performances. During intermission she excused herself for the bathroom and didn’t say much before the second act. It was a strange contrast to her quite social tone during dinner before the show. When the show concluded and we made it to our waiting limousine and I was just about to ask her what she thought of the show, Alexis turned the knob on the stereo panel to a volume impossible for verbal exchange. Then she shuffled to her knees, arranging her clothing so she could plant herself between my legs. My heart beat painfully at her perceived attempt, but I didn’t stop her. My kitten pleasured me with her mouth until my spine quaked and I met my release down her throat. That was a long Friday night, and coincidentally the first time we slept in the sandbox.

  Christmas trundled around and Alexis expressed a desire for a traditional, idyllic experience for the holiday. I didn’t share the same desire. Christmas was one of the busiest times of the year for me as a pastor. I was expected to be at countless events, providing a wide range of clergy duties. I arrived home sparing just minutes of the big day and wrapped myself around Alexis’ warm and yielding sleeping frame. I struggled with my inclination to wake and carry her down to the sandbox to reacclimatize our bodies and sync our dom/sub dynamic—had it not been for the long day I would have awakened her for sensual torture. However, I decided to cool my barbaric—and some would argue, sinister—alter ego and get a few hours of rest. I did, however, take her in the shower, from the back with wobbly legs until she begged with tears for a release.

  Later that morning, Alexis insisted we all meet around the tree to open gifts. Ms. Remah and I complied with visible and audible hesitation. Alexis insisted Ms. Remah go first. She opened several gifts from Alexis and me. She didn’t utter a reaction until after opening the last of at least a dozen gifts. Her response was a simple grunt and, “Thenk yuh.” If I were a humorous man, I would have allowed the bubbling laughter in my belly to burst from my lips. Alexis smiled from ear-to-ear, unable to hide her excitement at ‘traditionalism.’

  Alexis was adamant about me going next. I had quite a few gifts under the tree, and I refused to show an ounce of the warmth that spread through me at the prospect. It had been years since I’d awakened to gifts under the tree meant for my amazement. I discovered ties, cufflinks, lounge sets, underwear—from Alexis, of course—gift cards to book stores, and socks. All of the apparel were designer, causing me to question my kitten’s perception of me.

  Ms. Remah left the room to check on her white hard dough bread that I found myself partial to. Alexis sat on her crossed legs, next to the tree holding up a box in the air.

  “Hurry,” she murmured. “Open.”

  Bemused, I accepted the box, opened it to find a purple monogramed leather flogger. Once I could process the gist of it, my chest tightened. I could say the cause was pride, but I’d experienced pride with my beloved and it came with a different physiological response. This was something else, unidentified. The monogram was not just of my initials, it was of ours: E&LCarmichael.

  “Covenant,” I read underneath our initials.

  My eyes skirted over to her. Alexis on her knees, represented submission as she smiled with more behind her eyes than yuletide.

  I waved her over with my upturned hand. She crawled over to me until her shoulders met my knees.

  “Stay right here and close your eyes,” I ordered before going to the tree and retrieving one of the gifts I had for her. I returned, handing her a box. “Open, kitten.”

  She opened the small box finding the content; an envelope with the City’s emblem. Inside was a notification regarding potter’s field cemetery on Hart Island. It was the location of her mother’s burial site and information about her burial place. Hart Island is New York City’s potter’s field, the resting grounds where thousands of the city’s anonymous, impoverished, and disremembered have been buried. Alexis’ mother was of the masses.

  “We can pay to have her exhumed and transferred,” I offered hoarsely, understanding the potential hazardous emotions I could be unscabbing.

  Alexis shared with me a few months ago how she didn’t know where her mother was buried in the potter’s field and therefore had never visited her remains. Rasul had been incarcerated at the time of her mother’s death, and was unable to come up with the needed funds to provide a formal burial. The conversation manifested so randomly over dinner with just the two of us discussing a viral video of a male school police officer in Columbia, South Carolina slamming a student to the ground and tossing her several feet. I thought his actions to be reprehensible, and questioned what could the young girl have possibly done to have required a police officer in the classroom. Alexis went on to share the rumors of the girl having recently lost her mother, and how if that were true, she could relate. She shared her story of losing her mother when Rasul was incarcerated and unable to assist in her funeral arrangements. Alexis’ grandmother couldn’t afford such a responsibility. She explained her emotional response to the event was one of the most disgraceful of her life.

  With tears pooling in her eyes, Alexis shook her head. “I know she’s made friends where she is. I don’t want to interfere.” Then her instantly swollen eyes appeared on me. “But I would like to go visit her.”

  I nodded in agreement. “That can be arranged…now.”

  Alexis lay her head against my knee and exhaled before nodding.

  “Thanks, sir.”

  My balls drew up and cock stiffened in quiet response.

  Christmas dinner was spent at my parents’. After dinner, Bishop sat at the grand piano with Precious singing Christmas carols for the three dozen or so guests. Marva stood a few feet away, beaming in the distance from ear-to-ear. The crowd was taken. At the end of their duet performance, with discomfort just as visible as my mother’s, Alexis eventually clapped with other guests when the Bishop stroked the last key and grabbed Precious adoringly in his arms. Mine may have been the only two hands in the room not applauding at the ‘father and daughter duo.’ Alexis put on a brave face. I seethed.

  Once we were settled in at home and the alarm was set, close to midnight, I ordered Alexis to strip bare and meet me down in the living room next to the tree where I lit the fireplace. When she met me down there, I noticed her robe. I quickly removed it from her bare frame and helped her onto the piano. I blindfolded her as she lay on one arm.

  “It’s cold,” she whispered as I clasped the graduated diamond tennis neck-piece around her.

  “It’s ice,” I whispered in her ear before tracing her lobe with my tongue. “Merry Christmas, Alexis.”

  I sat behind the piano and began to pl
ay a familiar tune.

  “Holy shit!” she shrilled, mouth hitting the closed lid of the baby grand. “In! That sounds the bomb, Ezra!”

  My chest swelled. I wasn’t a committed player, though I’d received countless praises for my ability. This one was different: it was candid wonderment.

  “Mouth!” I replied, unwilling to reveal my elation.

  Unfazed, she cooed, “I love it, Ezra.” She smiled contented. “Merry Christmas, sir.” She bit her top lip coyly as she fingered the glistening diamonds on her neck.

  My little temptress declared sensual war there at the piano with that reference. I was past eager to meet her challenge well into the morning.

  New Year’s came around. Alexis attended her first Watch Night service. There was a seven p.m. and ten p.m. service. I officiated over both. As she’d been doing, she attended both services. Although I didn’t get to interface with her in between, I was impressed by her presence. At the close of the first service when the church went up in praise, I caught a glimpse of her standing in the congregation, stock-still with her hands clasped at her chest as she fixed her eyes on me, channeling an array of emotion from her orbs. I was too caught up in directing the atmosphere to assess her condition, but I’d caught it.

  When the countdown had commenced seconds before the clock struck twelve during the second service, I didn’t ignore the sheer emotion of contentment my kitten had displayed as she rocked herself with clasped palms, beaming in my direction. I left the pulpit and met her sparing a second before the event. When I arrived at her pointy toe heels, Alexis’ arms opened to me instinctively and as I received her into my chest, she nuzzled against my neck. It was another exhibition of her new and peculiar affectionate behavior, only this time it was acted out in public. My fierce grip on her was to balance myself against the disturbing zings of an unknown source shooting all over my body. As I held her, totally encapsulated from the amazed eyes around, I was grateful for the cloak of my clergy robe.

  God, what is this? was all I could ask…again. It was the identical question I’d whispered in the echoes of my mind since she began these episodes down in the sandbox when she invited me to a movie. It was the same that she’d let slip while we soaked in the tub, down in the Jacuzzi, in the sandbox after hours of sexual experimentation. It was the one show of emotion Alexis would give that I had yet to understand.

  Life continued into the winter with the same dreadful hyper-scheduling of my travel. Inclement weather delayed a few appointments, like a five-day conference in Longmont, Colorado. We endured an unrelenting severe snowstorm, hindering major means of traveling for two days in late January. I was relieved for the diversion when I learned Tasche won tickets to a private R. Kelly concert. Of course I didn’t want her to go, but Alexis was an adult with free will. She had been brooding the weeks before about not having been out with her girlfriends in large part due to her demanding work schedule. She was thrilled to go. After I attempted to enforce my no-drinking-when-I’m-not-around rule, all for her to toss me the glare of death, I was able to successfully negotiate her transportation and scheduled Carlos to drive her into the city.

  I didn’t exactly wait up for her. I stalled dinner as much as I could after holing up in my office and taking to the dining room alone to eat. After which I settled in the kitchen, and retrieved my tablet from my office to read in the living room. I didn’t learn until that night the wonderful view of the front of the property that Ms. Remah had garnished the area with elegant white lights. I heavily anticipated the view once the flowers she planted out there blossomed in the spring. I put up my feet and relaxed with a book, getting lost in it. After a while, I began to search for the time, regretting I didn’t have the forethought to agree on an hour to expect her back home. I quelled every desire to contact Carlos, who was to wait for her after the show.

  I found myself Googling R. Kelly, recounting his headlining demons that had almost landed him in prison. I, myself, believed the allegations, seeing Robert as a fellow-man of a higher calling, deeply haunted, and cursed by the very thing that inspired his virtuoso and countless hits. I would even consider him to be the King of R&B because you must sell your soul to achieve such a title and create the musical legacy he’s been able to. I knew this from firsthand experience: those who are called to the greatest works are the most sought after by the enemy. My running from the inevitable charge I was born into eventually paralyzed me into submission seven years ago.

  The first yawn burst through my lips as I pondered how his music was undoubtedly of a genius creation. I loathed the idea of my wife being at a venue with the type of energy it would take to rouse the room filled with what Robert exuded so well: unmitigated lust. Rubbing my eyes, I told myself, it could be worse. It could be a concert with drug-raged, wall-banging patrons, threatening the safety of my beloved…

  A firm grip tugged at my consciousness. Hot wet suctioning cracked my lids. At first her body was a blur in the dark glow of the room. Her rear mounds, a generous silhouette, were raised in the air while she straddled my outstretched legs on the ottoman. Her face was planted in my lap, feeding my steely cock to it. I throbbed swollen in her mouth. My kitten disarmed me in my slumber, awakening me to pure erotica.

  I swallowed hard and attempted to clear my throat. “How was the concert,” I asked with little voice, my throat enflamed by lust.

  She released me from her mouth making a popping sound while pulling back, then stood on her feet to slowly raise her dress from her thighs. It peeled from her smooth skin and from over her head until all that was left against the silky cacao were her lace undergarments. I smelled embedded smoke from cigarettes and marijuana, alcohol, and other associated pollutants that were regular occurrences at concert venues. She slowly doffed her bra and panties then kicked off her booties. Her bare frame had every cell in my body igniting. My erection was too large for the small opening of my pants, but she attempted without my assistance. As though reading my mind, Alexis pulled at my pants, this time I assisted until they were down at my ankles.

  “I don’t see nothin’ wrong…” she whispered in song, gaining up my legs with slow seduction. I watched as though rapt in a dream as she shuffled closer and straddled my waist. “…with a lil’ bump and grind.”

  She slid down on me, emitting a pained exhale. The smell of alcohol from her mouth drizzled fragrantly into my nostrils, intoxicating me. Along the way, with each plunge as she took me in, she moaned in her usual feline manner. Her breasts, modestly round, pebbled at the apex. Alexis was indisputably a goddess. I ached to move, needing to fill her to the hilt, but I controlled my hips to remain immobile until she was well seated. And when she was my head rolled back as my kitten rode me with the inspiration of a flogger chasing her.

  Lord, I bless You for Brother Robert’s unspeakable gift…

  fourteen

  Ezra

  This morning there was another bizarre encounter from Alexis. It was Monday, my second favorite day of the week as it was the beginning of the workweek in early February. This one was met with particular exuberance because I was home and could go about my normal regimen of meditative running, a workout in my gym, and finally prayer before showering to leave.

  As I was on my knees in the gym, fervently petitioning, I felt a presence in the room. I peered up to find a diffident Alexis wrapped in a thick robe and Ugg boots. She stood there for some time, hopping from one hip to the next. I waited expectantly, unpleased about having my privacy breached. A proud regimented man, I rely on my ability to approach the throne early in the morning while the land is quiet and I can hear my thoughts. It is my time alone with Him to cast all my cares and requests form those I cover without disturbance. Right now, I was staring at a disturbance and it did not please me.

  “Alexis,” I demanded, unable to continue to hide my annoyance.

  Just the sight of her distracted me from the zone I needed to be ensconced into for daily preparation, communion, and survival. It would only be a matter
of seconds before my thoughts turned carnal.

  She scraped her bottom lip before muttering, “Yesterday…your sermon,”—her voice trembled—“you spoke about it being impossible for God to dwell inside you if you don’t communicate with Him…and that only happens through prayer.”

  “Yes,” I grated impatiently.

  Her fingers wrestled each other, entwining with anxiety.

  “Well, I was hoping…I mean.” She swallowed. “I know you come out here to work out and pray and…”

  “Alexis, I’m on a timetable here,” I warned.

  Her eyes skirted around aimlessly until her shoulders fell. “I don’t know how to pray, Ezra. I was hoping…”

  My eyes ballooned and air vacuumed into my lungs. I had to quickly gather myself for two reasons: I was always in control around Alexis and that couldn’t change for the purposes of the delicate balance of our relationship. I was her leader and had to remain sound. Secondly, I didn’t want to embarrass her for not knowing how to pray. I could actually kick myself for not discerning that before now. If she wanted to learn anything I could teach that would make her well suited as my partner, I would do it.

  “Come here, beloved.” I waved her over.

  Alexis jumped, startled on her toes and pulled a mat next to mine. Her knees met the floor and she positioned her feet underneath her hind, a familiar pose for her. If I could keep my fleshly mind from drifting there I could, with clarity, pull on appropriate scripture. And I did.

  “The Bible says in Luke, ‘And it came to pass, that, as he was praying in a certain place, when he ceased, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples. And he said unto them, ‘When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done—’”

  “Not that one.” She covered my clasped hands as we burrowed under the wall. “I learned that a few months ago. I want to pray how you pray.” My brows arched high. “Like how you pray when you get excited during your sermons, and when people come to the altar requesting prayer from you. Like how you were praying when I walked in.”