When Somebody Loves You Back

by Mary B. Morrison

  Caroline might have had a rough upbringing, but in the end, he’d somehow helped her to love Fancy, and in return Fancy had given him another chance. Why? Darius didn’t know, but thanking God, he was grateful.

  His mother was his foundation and his grandmother was his rock. They loved him when he didn’t love himself. They supported him at his lowest points and raised him to his highest heights.

  Darryl, his biological dad, made a huge difference in Darius’s life. But no man grounded him like Wellington Jones. Darryl made him realize any man could father a child, but it took a special man to be a daddy. Wellington was his daddy. Darryl was his father. Darius didn’t resent Wellington. Darius resented that he wasn’t man enough to tell Wellington “Thanks” before he died.

  In the end, Wellington was no different from Darryl and Darryl was no different from his mother. His mother was no different from Fancy, Fancy was no different from Ashlee, and Darius Williams was no different from all of them.

  They were all sinners. They were all God’s children. They were all infallible. They were all human. And each of them had a heart longing to be loved.

  Everybody plays the fool. Darius refused to remain foolish.

  Because of what he’d done wrong, not because of what he’d done right, Darius Jones-Williams would forever be a better man, and his strong black woman would never have to do it all by herself.

  EPILOGUE

  Darius fussed over little Darius, pulling up his pants. Straightening his shirt. “You have to look good for Grandma. She’ll be here in a minute.”

  “He looks fine,” Fancy said, kissing Darius’s lips, then little Darius’s forehead.

  When the doorbell rang, Darius sat his son on his forearm, then leaned him against his chest. “She’s here, lil’ man.”

  Opening the door, Darius kissed his mom and said, “Here he is.”

  “Oh my. And who’s this?”

  “Your grandson,” Darius said, handing him to his mom.

  “Well, where have you been? You look like you’re almost one. How old is he?”

  “Close. Seven and a half months, Ma.”

  “And who’s your mother?” Jada asked as if he could answer.

  Darius said, “Ashlee.”

  “I thought she said—”

  “She lied, Ma. That’s the first lie that I was grateful wasn’t the truth.”

  Darius kissed his son. Little Darius smacked Darius in the face.

  “Boy,” Darius said, raising his hand to tap his son’s butt.

  His mom shielded his son, then said, “Don’t hit Nana’s baby.”

  Darius smiled knowing that his mother was now the grandmother that would protect little Darius the same way his Ma Dear protected him.

  “I love you, Fancy. I love you, Ma,” Darius said and from this point forward he’d show them.

  Darius married Fancy, then relocated to Atlanta to play professional basketball. During the off-season he lived in Los Angeles so they could be near his mother.

  Fancy found motherhood enjoyable but missed being a daughter. After marrying Darius, she moved back to Los Angeles until her mother gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Caroline named her daughter Diamond. Months later, Fancy convinced her mother to move to Atlanta.

  Jada found comfort in having Darryl around. She kept her promise and never remarried.

  Melanie miserably searched for someone else’s rich husband while Morgan’s sassy behavior constantly reminded her not to have any more kids.

  Ashlee eventually moved to D.C. but hadn’t moved on. She was still hopelessly in love with Darius and jealous of Fancy.

  SaVoy and Tyrone, having made their commitment to God before taking their vows before Him, lived a virtually happy life. Tyronne started his business. SaVoy balanced his checkbook.

  Desmond graduated from law school, married Trina, and gave Trina the two kids she’d always wanted. Although Desmond had moved on, he’d always love Fancy.

  Tanya was a fast learner, quickly earning her real estate license and later her broker’s license. Not wanting to own a company, she remained loyal to Fancy, and as Fancy had promised, Tanya made lots of money.

  Jazzmyne Jones operated her brother’s company. Jazzmyne started teaching Wellington the Second about investments in hopes that one day, in another twelve years or so, he’d take over his father’s business. As long as Simone received quarterly disbursements, she was happy.

  Darryl Williams realized he wasn’t getting any younger and having Jada meant more to him than having Jada’s money.

  Kevin Williams returned to his roots in New York City, working for a janitorial company.

  Homeless Lady continued to share her gift of sight but not with Darius or Fancy. Psychics aren’t meant to be in anyone’s life for an extended period of time. That’s why she wasn’t in this book. She’s traveling the world and who knows, the psychic lady might read you next.

  Lagniappe Section

  Since we’re wrapping up this series, and I say “we” because I’m grateful that you’ve been on this journey with me, I’d like to give you a little lagniappe, as we say in New Orleans, meaning a little extra somethin’, somethin’.

  First a simple thank-you.

  It’s not easy doing a series of six books that fans like you continue to love, support, and rave about. One day I’ll write book number seven, but for now it’s time for us to move on to my next series, Sweeter than Honey. Sweeter than Honey is a lifestyle change for abused women and women with low self-esteem. Abuse comes in several forms, and failure to change unhealthy situations translates into self-imposed abuse and mental and physical illness. If my writing has helped you before, I want to help you a whole lot more because over the years, you’ve helped me to grow. I thank you.

  I read your e-mails of encouragement, your prayers, and whether you realize it or not, that is truly, straight from my heart, the main reason I keep on writing, asking God to never let me pen a book that doesn’t have a purpose and I ask Him to help me to make a positive difference in somebody’s life. I listen to my spirit when writing and hope that you won’t mind that this book isn’t as sexually explicit.

  When Somebody Loves You Back displays the various ways we love one another even when we don’t know how to show it. How love makes us feel. And the things love, or the lack thereof, makes us do. Whether it’s a wife begging her husband not to continue having an affair or a husband not having anyone to tell that he’s hurting because his wife is leaving him. This story line solicits your appreciation of the love exhibited on so many important levels. I hope you didn’t miss my points and that you will judge less and love more.

  One day soon, I’d like to diversify into having my books adapted into movies, starting with Soul Mates Dissipate, so keep me in your prayers. I’ve written the screenplay for Soul Mates Dissipate. In numbers we can make a difference. I’d like for you to e-mail Oprah one important line, “Oprah, please option Soul Mates Dissipate by Mary B. Morrison.” Thanks in advance.

  Honey B., that’s me.

  Honey B. is my new pen name and my tag line is “You are what you eat…so stay sweet.” The word “eat” is used as a parable. Life is all about making healthy personal choices. Check out www.SweeterThanHoney.net for more info.

  The Honey Bee is my new online monthly newsletter geared toward female sexual empowerment and women helping empower women. For more info visit me online at www.SweeterThanHoney.net.

  What’s My Name is a short story included at the end for some steamy sex. And after reading What’s My Name I hope you’ll live out one of your sexual fantasies. If you get arrested for indecent exposure, as we say in Nawlins, “It ain’t my fault.”

  The Average Black Man is written simply because I’m calling it how I see it. Now, everyone is entitled to disagree, especially the fellas, but, brothas, all I say is get real with yourself before you get defensive with me. And if you’re not “average,” well then, I’m not talking about you, am I? My current and future focu
s is on “Female Empowerment.” Women are dealing with a lot, and our men are not fully supporting us as they could or should so women need to support one another because no woman should have to do it all by herself.

  Tip.

  I want all women to stop tipping men. Never again tip a man for pouring your drink, opening your door, parking your car, rubbing your feet, massaging your body, serving your meal, etc. For every dollar you would’ve tipped a man, either save it in a jar somewhere at home (tip yourself for doing a damn good job) or tip a woman. And don’t feel guilty for not tipping men. Tip the working waitress at the coffee shop, the cleaning woman in the restroom, the babysitter, etc. I want women to start supporting women. Compliment your sister, your coworker, a stranger. Smile at one another. Be friendly. Be honest with one another and stop lying to other women to cover up for a man. Women will make this world a much better place when we start loving and appreciating one another. What will you do today to make a woman’s life better tomorrow?

  WHAT’S MY NAME

  by Honey B.

  A casual glance ignited her wildest fantasy.

  She’d always wanted to fuck a fine-ass, strong, healthy, sexy, mouthwatering man she didn’t know. Like the brotha standing less than six feet away.

  His biceps were chiseled beneath perfect shoulders that were squared, rounding off at the edges. Easily he could hoist her pussy up to his face, then grind his lips into her clit. His well-defined chest, sculpted abs, dented-on-each-side ass, sliced back that was cut with the depth of his sunken spine, glorified the definition of King.

  Traveling below his waist, she admired the panoramic view of his lethal python companion that took her breath away. The snake folded behind his zipper would slowly and deliberately explore her pipelines the moment she bit him. Oh yes, she was definitely going to bite him in all the right, and a couple of wrong, places.

  Her pussy panted to the rhythm of her favorite song, “Wait’ll you see my dick…I’ma beat that pussy up like bam, bam, bam…Damn, he’s got a thick-ass salami!” Her subconscious whispered, “What are you waiting for?” Her body jerked at the thought of holding his dick next to her cheek, kissing its praises while singing, “You. I would die for you.” Well, she might not die for him but truly she’d risk getting a divorce.

  “He’s definitely the one,” she decided, not caring that she’d had sex last night with her husband. Her freakish desires didn’t include him. Things at home were falling apart outside the bedroom, and the only reason she’d spread her legs for her husband was that the dick was g-double-o-d. That, and the fact that she was a nymphomaniac.

  Her husband couldn’t outlast her multiorgasmic battery-operated “Fuckin’ Rabbit” that had become so addictive like a drug habit that she carried it in her purse everywhere she went. Sometimes she’d sit in her car, prop her feet on the windshield, and fuck herself while the sunshine warmed her pussy. Sad but true, her husband had become robotic. She could set her watch to the tick of his dick. Worst of all he’d never licked her pussy. Not even once.

  That was okay only because her pussy-licking-loving friend waxed her shit so good she couldn’t walk straight for two days without cumming in public after fucking with him. He lived next door to her girlfriend. But her husband wasn’t down with going down, so she slipped away to her girlfriend’s every chance she got. His hot lips would kiss hers. Slowly his tongue explored her walls like he was cleaning windows and wanted them to squeak.

  “Oh yes,” she moaned, seducing the zucchinis. Her juices saturated the tip of her vagina. Thanks to her pussy-licker, she knew how to mentally masturbate without touching herself, but she was saving herself for the brotha standing near the nectarines.

  Breaking her high, she thought about her husband.

  Warm up, missionary style. Lick his dick a little while. Hit it from back, smack, smack. Squeeze his balls, he liked that. Get on top, hump, hump, hump, stop. “Damn, baby, I’m cumming, cum with me,” was all he needed to explode inside her. But routine sex wasn’t enough to make her faithful. If she had to do all the work anyway, she didn’t believe in half-ass doing any job. So someone else could finish what her husband wouldn’t. Couldn’t. His repressive hangups sure as hell weren’t her problem.

  Lustfully admiring the sexy-chocolate-melt-in-her-panties brotha loading his shopping cart up with vegetables made her cum. She shivered. No one knew but her. Like no one knew she wasn’t wearing any panties under her free-flowing leopard-print summer dress. It was too damn hot outside and watching that fine-ass man made her hotter. Rubbing against the silk, her nipples tingled, making her cum again. Damn, they’d better get to fucking soon. She was two orgasms ahead of him and he didn’t even know it. Make that three.

  Her pussy sizzled, but didn’t make her as hot as the times she fantasized about licking another woman’s pussy while her husband fucked their lover doggie-style. She’d please them both at same time. Easing her husband’s balls into her mouth, she’d stick her finger up his ass, while he fucked their lover. Not wanting the pussy to feel abandoned, she’d slip their lover’s clit under the tip of her tongue; flutter and hum, flutter and hum, all along easing her finger in and out of her husband’s ass while he fucked their lover. Best not to give him too much to do at the same time. He was good, but multitasking was not his forte. Her pleasure would cum when they came all at the same time. Damn, her husband was fine, but she wished he wasn’t such a prude.

  Observing Sexy Chocolate’s long thick fingers grazing the ridges of the broccoli spears, she knew the attention he gave to those vegetables meant he was a muthafucka’ who took sex seriously. Yeah, he’d fuck her hot percolating pussy real good, she knew, nodding. Tweaking.

  He put that bunch back, then carefully inspected another. This time she imagined him teasing her nipples. Glancing down below her spaghetti straps, she saw her nipples pointed at him.

  Not noticing her, he moved on to the cucumbers. Wrapping his fingers around the green bulging mass from tip to tip, he slid his hand up and down, again and again. She shivered, envisioning how in-touch he was with masturbation.

  Quietly she approached him from behind, tapping the mound of his shoulder. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but notice”—she thrust her breasts closer to him—“your selection of foods. Are you a vege—”

  “Vegan, I’m a vegan. You?”

  Swaying her head, she replied, “Naw, I’m a meat lover,” glancing below his waist.

  Exposing his pearly whites set behind succulent lips, he said, “Well, you should try giving it up.”

  “I don’t bite,” she lied, cupping her hand under the misty water showering the red leaf lettuce. She slid her fingertips under her dress, then massaged her pubic hairs. “Um,” she moaned, fanning the flap, airing her pussy scent in his direction. “It must be a hundred degrees.”

  “A hundred and one.” His eyes settled on her tits as he whiffed, nodded, then smiled. “Oh, but I do. Bite that, is. Um, um, um.” He backed her ass into the peaches, teetering her nipples until they leaked milk. “Sweet,” he moaned.

  “Exactly how adventurous are you?” she asked.

  “Depends. What’s on your mind?”

  “You. Care to shop later?”

  He hunched, then abandoned his grocery cart. “Where to?”

  Her eyes signaled for him to follow her. He did. Straight to the cherry tomatoes.

  “Here?” he asked, eyeing the shoppers.

  “Right here,” she said, posing in the most public section of the supermarket. She lowered her straps beneath her tits and fed him. The thought of strangers watching excited the hell out of her. Sexy Chocolate was more gentle than she’d imagined.

  Licking his full lips, he suctioned her nipples into pointier points. Squatting to his knees, he lifted her skirt, and kissed her kitty. Then he licked, long solid strokes, again and again until she purred. Pushing her under the mist that showered the vegetables, he layered his body atop hers.

  A nice and slow zzzziiiiippppp, fol
lowed.

  She felt his head, smooth, big, and hard, unfold between her thighs. As he eased his dick inside her, she inhaled, squeezing him, trying hard not to have the big orgasm spreading throughout her entire body.

  “Wait. Don’t move. Give me a minute.”

  “You sure you want this right here?”

  If he moved an inch she was gonna scream like never before.

  “Yes, but don’t move. Talk dirty to me.”

  “Not a problem,” he said with a half smile. Pulling out, grabbing his dick, he said, “Drop to your goddamn knees and suck my dick.”

  Her husband would never talk to her that way. Sexy Chocolate’s dick was pleasantly huge, thick, and the head so beautifully shiny she popped it in her mouth, then sucked him like her favorite juicy watermelon Blow-Pop. The big one. Moaning she glanced up. His head tilted back.

  “Damn, that feels good, girl. Your juicy lips on this big-ass dick. You are heaven-sent. Suck my dick harder,” he begged, gripping the back of her head.

  “Umm, delicious. Must be all those vegetables.” Tilting her head, she opened her throat, allowing his dick to glide until his balls smacked her chin. He was only halfway in. That was the most she could devour. Her hand stroked the lower part of his shaft as she bobbed again and again, giving him free rein and complete control to delve to her desire.

  Oh, fuck! she screamed in her mind when his dick hit the g-spot at the back of throat, making her cum.

  Her pussy felt left out. Pushing her vibrator aside, she removed a condom from her purse. Quickly she glided the latex down his shaft, turned around, spread her ass, and led his head to her back door. She never had to worry about her husband doing a “pussy inspection” because he always checked the wrong hole. Always thought he could tell when she was giving away, as he’d say, “his pussy.” She moaned as Sexy Chocolate eased his dick in her asshole.