The Eleventh Commandment

by Lutishia Lovely

  “Hey, baby!” Stacy walked over and hugged a scowling husband.

  To Darius, Stacy’s greeting seemed forced, a bit too cheery. But then again, while he and Tony had developed a cordial enough relationship, it wasn’t like they were best buds. Darius felt it best that he take his son and leave the premises, give Tony the space he needed in his own home. “All right then, Stacy. I’ll bring Darius back on Monday morning, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.” Stacy knelt down to hug her son. “You be a good boy, okay?”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  Had Tony not been there they would have hugged, but considering the tension that was in the room, Darius simply nodded his good-bye. Stacy walked them to the door and stayed there waving as Darius and his son backed out of the driveway. Once they’d driven down the street, she turned to see that Tony had left the living room and walked into their bedroom at the end of the hall. Stacy took a deep, calming breath, placed a hand on her stomach to still the fluttering, and followed behind him.

  “How was your day, baby?” She leaned against the closet door jamb, watching as Tony took off his shoes and socks.

  “What was he doing here?”

  Not quite the response she’d hoped for, but Stacy tried to keep things light. “Just doing what he does every other weekend, picking up his child.”

  “You know I prefer that to happen before I get home, right?”

  “I’m sorry, Tone. I didn’t know that you’d be home early. If I had, I would have suggested dropping off DJ instead.” She watched as Tony rolled one sock inside the other before hurling the pair into a basket in the corner of the large, walk-in closet. Oh no, another bad day.The interview must not have gone well. God, give me strength. “I thought about grilling some steaks. You hungry?”

  “Why in the hell would you want to fire up the grill when it’s a hundred degrees?”

  Stacy shrugged. “I won’t be out there long. The steaks only take around five minutes on each side. I’ve already prepared a salad and have some ears of corn that can also go on the grill.” Tony remained silent as he stood, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his tailored black trousers, and let them drop around his ankles. She knew there was nothing she could say that would elicit a positive response. “I’ll go and fix us a drink.” She turned and left their master suite without waiting for an answer.

  A half hour and two tumblers of Courvoisier later, Stacy felt it safer to broach the subject in which she was really interested: Tony’s employment. Hopefully soon. She walked from the patio into the dining room, holding a tray of medium-well steaks and perfectly grilled corn. “So how did it go today, baby?”

  “How do you think it went?”

  Okay, perhaps I should have waited for that third glass to go down. Her calm demeanor totally belied her inner angst. In the months since Tony had been unceremoniously released from the Cardinals and passed over by every other major team in the NFL, Stacy had learned the hard way how to read his moods and mask her own emotions. The laid-back, even-keeled man she’d married looked nothing like the one she’d lived with for the past few months. And she didn’t even want to think about the Ponzi-type scheme that had drained most of Tony’s finances—the one she’d warned him against, which was another reason for his ongoing chagrin. “I think they should have hired you if they have any sense. Nobody knows defense the way you do, Tony.” She placed a tong’s portion of salad on white porcelain salad plates, and then placed a steak, corn on the cob, and a piece of toasted bread on matching dinner plates. “And definitely there is no one more handsome.” She walked over and placed Tony’s plate in front of him, leaning down to kiss his temple in the process.

  Tony’s scowl remained, but Stacy could tell he was somewhat pacified. “I’m too young to become a talking head for that jive-ass network.” He poured a generous amount of Italian dressing on his simple salad, and then angrily jabbed his fork into the mix. “I don’t need them to tell me that when it comes to sportscasting I’d be on top of my game.”

  “Sounds like the interview went okay.”

  “All right, except they want to offer me pennies on the dollar for what I’m worth.”

  “I’m sure it’s nowhere near what you made on the field, or what you’re worth.”

  “How in the hell would you know what I’m worth?” Tony asked, in an explosion of emotion.

  “Baby, I’m just saying that whatever they offered you, I’m sure it wasn’t enough.”

  Without another word, Tony scraped his chair back from the table, grabbed his plate of uneaten-food and half gone drink and left the dining room.

  Stacy kept her head down, pushing lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, and black olives from one side of the plate to the other. No one wanted Tony to get picked up by a professional team more than her; no one prayed harder. And their financial situation was only part of why she wanted him to be gainfully employed. His happiness was the main reason. She knew from previous conversations that her husband had eaten, drank and slept football since he was eight years old. Being an athlete wasn’t just what he did, it was who he was. If what she was seeing was who he would become once his career ended ... she didn’t even want to go down that road of thought.

  After he’d left the room, Stacy emptied her uneaten salad into the compost device and placed her uneaten steak and corn into plastic containers before putting them in the refrigerator. Her mind went back to three years ago and how happy she’d been when Tony asked her to be his wife. Now she knew that the honeymoon was definitely over, and only hoped that her dream of a marriage wouldn’t turn into a complete nightmare.

  In the game room and out of earshot, Tony put down his plate and retrieved his cell phone from his belt clip. He scrolled down to a name he’d only entered about a year ago, the name of the one person who might be able to help him save his career. “Yo,” he said when the call was answered. “That supply come in yet?”

  “Was going to call you later,” was the gruff reply. “It arrived this afternoon. I can overnight it tomorrow.”

  “Do that.”

  Tony picked up his plate and attacked the perfectly done steak and juicy ear of corn. His appetite had returned, along with his hopes that he would end this limbo nightmare and once again live his NFL dreams.

  7

  Doctor’s Orders?

  “Where’s my son?” It had been a long day with back to back surgeries, but Dr. Gabriel Livingston had barely stepped into his Beverly Hills home before summoning the love of his life.

  “Cordella!” Frieda knew how much Gabriel hated her hollering instead of using the intercom or, even more civilized, walking into the room where the nanny played with their son, but right now, with everything that was on her mind, she didn’t care.

  Moments later, a petite, dark-skinned woman wearing a baby blue uniform, polka-dotted head scarf, and sensible shoes walked into the room, holding the hand of a handsome little boy. “Good afternoon, Doctor.” Her lyrical accent floated through the tension in the room, bringing a smile to Gabriel’s face in spite of his mood.

  “Good evening, Cordella. Good evening, son.”

  The little boy looked up at Cordella, whose subtle nod was the impetus he obviously needed to speak. “Good afternoon, Dad.” The voice was soft, tentative, an adorable addition to the caramel-skinned cutie with thick curly hair, big doe eyes, and rosy cheeks.

  “Come here, Gabe.” Gabriel’s voice was raspy with emotion as the boy walked into his arms. A sworn bachelor until his literal run-in with Frieda at a Beverly Hills mall four years ago, he’d had no idea how much having a family would change his life. He loved his little boy with all his heart and, God help him, but he loved his son’s crazy mother as well. “How’s my little man doing, huh?”

  “Good, Dad.” Gabriel Jr., whom they all called Gabe, was a study in way too much seriousness for a three-year old. His was a quiet, contemplative countenance, one that totally reminded Gabriel Sr. of how he was at that age. After a moment of studying his son, his eyes slid
up to the woman who vexed him. She was looking decadently gorgeous in pants too tight, hair too flipped, and a halter top that showed way too much. He adored her. “What about you, Frieda? What did you do today?”

  Got sexed to within an inch of my life, is what she thought. “Went to another boring meeting about the charity ball,” is what she said. “With those women who look at me and see yet another charity case.”

  “If you dressed like that, you didn’t help the situation. I’ve purchased you an entire closet of clothing befitting a doctor’s wife. I don’t understand why you insist on dressing like a stripper.”

  “There was a time when you liked how I looked,” Frieda quipped..

  “There is a time and place for every outfit, Frieda. What you have on is not appropriate for a meeting with the other doctors’ wives”

  “Oh, slow your roll, dude. I looked totally appropriate for those blue-haired heifahs.” When Gabriel continued to look doubtful, she continued. “I didn’t wear this. I wore the black Armani suit paired with a floral knit top that covered everything. And those loafer-looking heels that only belong on someone going to a funeral, or to church. I couldn’t wait to get out of that stuffy getup. But you’ll be happy to know that Mrs. Goldstein actually complimented me on my outfit. That should insure at least another half a million for your cause.”

  “Our cause, darling,” Gabriel said, motioning Frieda over to his side. She complied and once in his arms, he kissed her gingerly, nothing like the Neanderthal manner in which Clark often grabbed her hair and pinched her nipples and butt cheeks. In a moment of conscience, she felt bad for missing the mistreatment.

  “Dr. Klaus will be retiring at the end of the year and I am a true contender to head up the oncology unit. Your relationship with the wives matters in the decision-making process. I want you to think of us as a team, Frieda. It’s not just you against the world anymore, remember?”

  Frieda nodded at her geeky husband’s one nod toward the hip-hop world she loved, his knowledge of rapper Tupac’s music, and her surprising discovery of a couple of his songs on the doctor’s iPod. She rubbed her hand across the crotch of his pants. “Someone won’t let me forget.”

  Later that night, Frieda methodically stimulated her husband’s penis to a respectable erection, something that given his long hours and distracted mind-set was not always so easy to do. She heard his breathing shift, becoming more intense and labored. She only hoped that she could climb on and ride a second or two before he climaxed and passed out, something that was totally understandable given the fact that he’d been in surgery for ten hours today. She rolled her body toward him, placing her leg over his thigh. He responded by turning his head toward her and engaging her in a sloppy wet kiss. Better hurry this up, Frieda thought, as she listened to her husband’s breathing get even more erratic. Another couple tugs and this gun will fire. She removed her hand and placed her body over him, expertly lowering her wet heat over his hard shaft. Throwing her head back she set up a sensuous rhythm, licking her own palms and rubbing them over her hardened nipples as she rocked back and forth over Gabriel’s body. He grabbed her hips and guided her up and down his slightly above-average member, his breath now coming in short bursts.

  “Ah!” He flipped them over, spreading Frieda’s legs and plunging into her paradise.

  “Ooh, yeah, baby,” Frieda said, with all of the excitement of an average starlet in a B-list movie. “Um, feels so good, baby. Ah. Yes. Yes!”

  The performance was good enough for its audience, a fact evidenced by Gabriel’s increasingly rapid hip movement accompanied by a prolonged “aw” and a sustained hiss before he collapsed on top of his pride and joy. In what had become typical fashion, he gave grateful pecks to Frieda’s cheeks, lips, and forehead before turning on his side away from her and quickly falling asleep. Frieda waited for just a moment before rising from the bed and heading to the shower. She set the temperature as hot as she could stand it, then soaped her loofah sponge and ran the uniquely refreshing scent, a strawberry/coconut/vanilla combination she’d had created just for her, over her skin. Closing her eyes, she remembered another lovemaking session earlier in the day, one that had probed deeper and gone longer than her husband could have ever dreamed. What surprised her was the fact that she wanted him now, again, even as she washed the scent of her just sexed husband off her skin. Damn, Clark.You got me whipped. Frieda had been around the block enough to know that this wasn’t good. She was supposed to have him wrapped around her finger. Instead, it was exactly the reverse.

  8

  No Place Like Home

  “Camon! Stop splashing your sister!” Hope tried unsuccessfully to prevent water from touching the hair that in anticipation of her husband’s return had been pressed bone straight by her San Diego hairdresser just hours before.

  “Why, Mommy? I like it!” Obviously four-year-old boys had no concern for hundred-dollar dos.

  “I like splashing!” Acacia cried, mimicking her brother in word and deed.

  “Stop it, you two!” Hope scolded, but the laughter that followed belied the severity of her words. Cy always warned her that when it came to their twins, she was a complete pushover. He was right. Hope’s mother, Pat, said it was because of how long Hope had wished for children, and how hard it had been to get pregnant. Hope chose to believe it was because her children were perfect. But she also readily admitted her bias to anyone who asked.

  “Look, Mommy!” Acacia held up a colorful floating block.

  “No!”

  Too late. The block that Acacia held quickly became a splashing weapon, coming down hard in the water and effectively soaking Hope’s hair, face, and top.

  “Hahaha!” Camon loved his sister’s antics, so much so that he copied them exactly.

  Their giggles filled the bathroom, and Hope simply couldn’t be mad. If you can’t beat them, join them. “All right, you little boogers,” she exclaimed, reaching for one of the foam toys and squishing the water over Camon’s head. “You think bath time is fun time, huh? Huh?” Water splashed over the side of the tub, soaking the towel and rug beneath her knees. “Sorry, Rosie,” Hope murmured, thinking of her housekeeper, who would clean up the mess she and her children had made. After a minute more of splashing, Hope decided they’d had enough. “Come on, you dolphins! Out of the water.”

  Just as she reached over to unplug the tub, a voice boomed into the room. “What’s going on here?”

  Three pairs of large, brown orbs looked at each other before Hope and the twins simultaneously exclaimed, “Daddy!”

  Cy entered the room, chuckling as he took in the motley crew.

  “Ooh, baby, you’re home early,” Hope said, unplugging the tub with one hand while reaching for a towel with the other. “I planned to have the twins in bed and be dressed all sexy for you when you got home.”

  Cy took in his disheveled wife, hair half straight and half curly from being splashed, T-shirt wet and sticking to perky nipples, his twins behind her, wet from head to toe. “Baby, right now I can’t imagine a sexier scene.” He walked over and, taking no regard for his eight-thousand-dollar suit, wrapped her in his arms. They shared a quick kiss before each parent wrapped a towel around a kid and scooped them up in their arms.

  “Where you been, Daddy?” Acacia wrapped her arms around the man who was totally and completely in love with her, and the first man she’d ever loved.

  “Daddy went to New York, baby.”

  “What’s New Work?” Camon asked.

  “New York,” Cy corrected, enunciating the word. “It’s a city that is far, far away.” Cy looked over his shoulder at Hope. “Haven’t they been working with the lighted globe?”

  “Please. They’ve been working with some of everything.”

  Thirty minutes later, Hope and Cy walked the children to their bedroom, dressed them for bed, and read them a bedtime story that promptly put them to sleep. The couple had retired to their bedroom where Hope now rid herself of the clothing that was al
most soaked to the bone as her husband lustfully eyed her.

  “What?” Hope asked, fully knowing the answer to why her husband wore the expression he did. It was for the same reason her va-jay-jay was vibrating like a ten-dollar dildo. Amazing that after being married all this time her man could still almost make her come with a simple look, a warm smile. Yet here she was, draped in a towel as she prepared to step into the shower, about ready to explode before her husband had so much as touched her.

  “This here,” he said, reaching out to tweak her hardened nipple. “And this.” He ran a strong index finger from her weighty breasts down to her navel, even as he leaned in for a soft kiss on the top of her head. His arm went around her, pulling her closer to his still-clothed body. “I missed you,” he whispered, before covering her mouth with his.

  She felt his heat rise and harden. “Me too.” Words dissolved under the intensity of their reconnected desire, as hands sought and found various body parts: shoulders, hips, backs, buttocks.

  Cy took her juicy booty in both hands and pressed her against him. “Mind if I join you in the shower?” he asked against her opened mouth.

  “I’d love for you to join me,” she purred. “You can tell me all about your trip.”

  He took off his black cotton boxers and nine inches of stiff goodness bobbed and weaved its greeting. “Oh, you want to hear about New York. Is that the only reason?”

  Hope looked down at one of God’s gifts, before glancing up shyly. “Not the only one.” This time she didn’t resist when Cy reached for her hand and led them into the shower, one of her favorite places in the house. With six shower heads strategically placed on the ceiling and walls, the bather could literally be massaged from everywhere.

  But with the way Cy’s hands were molding themselves to her frame, there was no need for any other type of massage. He ran his hands through her wet hair, slid his tongue over her lips, and ran a finger down the crease of her buttocks. She gasped, and he used this opportunity to thrust his tongue into her mouth, grinding against her pelvis as he backed them to a wall. With one swift movement he’d lifted her off the floor. “I need you so badly, Hope. Are you ready for me?”