Champagne Kisses

by Zuri Day

  He walked to the door, a big smile gracing his face as he opened it. “Hey, you.”

  With the intimacies they’d shared, it was ridiculous to be shy. But she was. “Hey, yourself.”

  For several seconds, they simply looked at each other. Donovan finally pulled her to him. “Get in here.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her slowly, thoroughly. He loved her lips, couldn’t get enough of their sweetness. Sliding his hands from her waist to her butt, he cupped her cheeks and gave a little squeeze. This was undoubtedly one of her best assets. He couldn’t get enough of it either. “How’d it go today?”

  “Great! Everything was almost done, as you know, so it was mostly about making sure Kat had all of the information to pass on to Sharon. Kat said she was home?”

  “At her daughter’s house, but doing very well. Thanks for asking about her.” He brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, tweaked her cheek. “You don’t even know her, but you care. You’re a good woman, you know that?”

  “It doesn’t hurt to be told.” She smiled, believing that she could get lost in his eyes. His countenance was unreadable as he continued to stroke her face, and then he ran a hand along her arm, down her back. The moment was ripe with a certain awareness…and something else. Donovan trying to find a nice way to end this, perhaps? The very thought almost produced tears. “Nice place,” she said a bit too brightly, just to break the mood.

  “You like?”

  “Very much. Did you have it professionally decorated?”

  “Sure did. You know the designer. Her name is Diamond.”

  “Of course, who else?” Marissa did a 360 degree turn, taking in the living, dining and den areas of the open space, seeing the state-of-the-art kitchen just beyond it. “Very classy. I love her style.”

  “I’ll be happy to give you the personal tour. But for now? Dinner awaits.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” Marissa held up a wine bag. “It’s what I could grab on short notice. I hope you like it.”

  He reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Drake Wines petite sirah, 2007. It was a limited bottling and cost fifty dollars a pop. “You know I’m going to have to reimburse you,” he said with feigned chagrin. “But thank you.” He kissed her. “This is a very good year.” They walked into the dining room, hand in hand.

  “How can I help?” Marissa asked.

  Donovan opened a drawer on the dining room buffet and pulled out a corkscrew and aerator. He handed them to Marissa. “You can do the honors,” he said with a nod toward the bottle.

  “What’s this?” she asked, holding the glass cylinder up toward the modern, funky chandelier.

  “An aerator.” Donovan reached for the wine bottle and then for the opener. When she handed him the corkscrew, their fingers touched. Sparks flew. “Stop shocking me, woman!”

  “I was just getting ready to demand the same thing!”

  “What can I say? I’ll always turn you on.”

  Marissa groaned. “That was really corny.”

  “Yeah, but it made you smile.” After explaining the simple device that helped wine breathe instantly, he poured the fruity concoction through the opening. The whirring sound filled the silence as he filled their glasses. Once done, he handed her a glass. “You first.”

  “Me?” Marissa thought for a moment. “To a relentless slave driver.”

  “What?”

  “Okay,” Marissa said with a chuckle. “To a job well done? How’s that?”

  “About average,” Donovan said in the straightforward manner Marissa both loved and abhorred. “How about…to new beginnings, to us.” He paused and placed a whispery kiss on her parted lips. “And to the first night spent with you where I don’t have to creep before morning!”

  “Ha! Hear, hear!” They drank. “Donovan, you don’t have to—”

  “Oh, here you go, getting ready to mess with the mood. Dinner’s almost ready. Make yourself at home. We’ll eat first. And talk later. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 25

  “This is delicious,” Marissa said after taking her first bite of Donovan’s spaghetti. “What restaurant is this from?”

  “Uh, that would be my kitchen?”

  “You did this?”

  “You doubt it?”

  “Wow, you really can cook!”

  “Girl, I told you.”

  It was a beautiful evening, and after Marissa raved about it, they had decided to dine at the table on Donovan’s back patio, which had been designed as an outdoor living space.

  “Who taught you to cook?” She bit into a piece of heavily buttered Texas toast, the perfect complement to the herb salad dotted with shaved Parmesan. “Your mom?”

  “Grandma Mary,” Donovan replied. “Her thinking was a man who knew how to cook would never go hungry. So she made sure all of us could do well enough to get by.”

  “So all of the Drake men cook, even Dexter?”

  “Dexter’s skills are probably rusty,” Donovan admitted. “But even he learned how to back in the day. Our cousins, the Drakes of Louisiana? They can really throw down—gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish bisque.”

  “Crawfish? What’s that?”

  “Ah, girl. ‘Good eating,’ is what Papa Dee would say. They’re kind of like lobsters,” he offered at last, “but chewier, and smaller, too. You’ve never been to Louisiana?” Marissa shook her head. “Not even New Orleans?”

  “No. I’ve always wanted to go though.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  Marissa thought of a memory from Diamond’s wedding and couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What?”

  “Your cousin, Reginald, has beat you to the punch. He said on my first visit, he had to be my tour guide.”

  “Yeah, whatever. He’ll be squiring two of us around town.” In fashion typical of The Don, he virtually inhaled half of the food on his plate within minutes, stopping long enough to wipe his mouth and have a sip of wine. “So…tell me about life in the home of a minister? I honestly can’t imagine it.”

  Marissa reached for her wineglass and took a slow sip as she considered the question. “Fairly normal, really, but then again, I have nothing else to compare. My daddy was called to preach—” she made air quotes “—when I was around ten years old. Ours was always a religious household so nothing changed for me.” She shrugged.

  “Religious household? What does that mean? You guys pray ten times a day, say Hail Marys, what?”

  Marissa laughed. “Geez, you aren’t familiar, are you?”

  Donovan shook his head. “Papa Dee always said half the sinners would probably end up singing in heaven’s choir while half the pious Sunday bench warmers would probably split hell wide open.”

  “Ha! Your Papa Dee’s a hoot, but he may have a point. To your question, hailing Mary is part of the Catholic ritual, and, no, praying ten times a day isn’t required. There was always prayer at dinner and church on Sundays and Wednesday,” Marissa continued, counting on her fingers. “Tuesday night was choir rehearsal, Friday night was sick and shut-in prayer. If there was a youth function, that happened on Saturday.”

  Donovan’s look was deadpan. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. When I say that Blessed Assurance was my second home, I really, really mean it.”

  “So why’d your parents leave?”

  “Dad got an offer that he couldn’t refuse, heading up a church with over five thousand members. There’s international connections, a TV ministry—”

  “I can see your dad on that religious channel, hooting and hollering like…what’s his name?”

  “No to whoever it is you may have seen or be thinking about. My dad is more a teacher than a preacher. But yes, he’s on television weekly and is seen around the world.”

  “So in church circles, you’re almost like a celebrity.”

  “My dad is, and, yes, people know my name. Sometimes popularity is highly overrated, especially when…”

&n
bsp; “When what?”

  “Never mind. Could you pass me the basket of bread?”

  He did, and though he felt she wanted to change the subject, he was genuinely intrigued. “Did your parents expect you to be perfect?”

  “Not exactly. But my brother and I were always aware of our last name. There’s a general belief that ministers’ children are wild, but that isn’t always so. Even without the prodding, I was a pretty good kid.”

  “You never wanted to lash out against the establishment, never tried to rebel?”

  “Sure, I did. Let’s see, there was the time I was twelve and wanted to wear makeup to the movies. My father said no. I promptly disobeyed him and after putting my face on at my friend’s house, ran into my mother at the mall.”

  “What happened?”

  “She had mercy, didn’t tell my father. I went into the bathroom, washed it off and wore a fresh-face sulk for the rest of the night. Then there were the rap CDs I had to hide and the toe ring I’d slip on when out of parental radar range. But I wasn’t a drinker, never did drugs. Aside from a crazy stunt I pulled in college, it was all pretty tame.”

  “What happened in college?”

  “Something I wish had not occurred.”

  This time, thankfully, Donovan let the subject pass. They continued to converse and, once dinner was over, took the dishes back into the house and put away the foodstuffs. “Leave the dishes,” Donovan said when Marissa asked about a dishwasher. “My housekeeper does them.”

  “Dinner was wonderful, Donovan. And so is your home.”

  “Are you ready for the rest of the tour?”

  “Of course!”

  They navigated past the open living space to the upstairs, where he pointed out each of the three bedrooms, including a to-die-for master suite, the three and a half baths and the great room before returning downstairs to Donovan’s favorite spot in the house. It was the room that was next to the patio. A man cave to be sure, but classy, dominated in the center by a custom-made pool table.

  “This is nice,” she said.

  “You shoot?”

  “I do all right.”

  “Uh-oh. Those sound like fighting words. Do you want to play?”

  “Do you want to lose?”

  “Ha! Listen to you. Rack ’em up, shorty.”

  They began playing a friendly game of eight ball—Marissa, solids and Donovan, stripes. He’d broken and sank one ball when he did so. He made the next few shots before it was Marissa’s turn. When her time came up, she took a long moment to scrutinize the table, checking her options, chalking her cue. She decided to go for the corner pocket and leaned over, holding the cue stick the way her brother had taught her all those years ago. She was so focused on hitting the ball that she was totally unaware of the pair of chocolate eyes that were focused on her.

  They continued playing around the table until only two balls were left: the five ball, which belonged to Marissa, and the eight ball, which Donovan needed to sink to win. Only problem was, her ball was between the cue ball and the eight ball.

  “Looks like somebody is in trouble,” Marissa taunted as she looked at Donovan’s impossible situation on the pool table.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Donovan replied, cool as a breeze.

  “The way I see it you have two options, either scratch or sink my ball. Either way, I win.”

  “And the way I see it,” Donovan said, aiming his cue stick in a way that seemed to point directly at Marissa’s ball, giving her the win, “I have three.” He struck the cue ball with such force that it bounced off the table, jumped over Marissa’s ball, rolled into the eight ball and pushed it right into the pocket.

  “Wait! That was a trick shot!” Marissa said with a stamp of the foot.

  “A bit competitive, are we?”

  “Seriously, how’d you do that?”

  “Come here,” Donovan said with a laugh. “I’ll show you.”

  She walked over to where he stood. He retrieved the ball and then came up behind her, so that he could guide her hands as she held the stick. “Okay, aim the stick at the bottom of the cue ball, like this.” He guided her arm, being careful not to touch her with the rest of his body, so that it tapped the cue ball at just the right spot, a low spot at the center of the ball. “Feel it? Feel how I’m guiding you and where the cue is supposed to go?”

  “I feel something all right,” Marissa said, her voice sultry, her eyes glazed as she turned in his arms.

  “Um,” Donovan nuzzled against her neck. “Now look who’s playing dirty.”

  She reached around, cupped his behind. That in four days she’d gone from celibate conservative to an insatiable sex kitten wasn’t lost on her. The transition felt good. So rather than think about it, she rolled with it. “Do you have a problem with the moves I’m making?”

  “Not at all, my sweet Marissa. I’m getting ready to make one myself.”

  * * *

  Taking her hand, Donovan led them to the master suite she’d seen minutes ago—the one with ebony wood floors, gray silk walls and navy accents; with the king-size poster bed covered with a custom-made flannel cover. From the game room to the bedroom he held her hand, slowly stroking her palm with his thumb in slow, lazy circles as his tongue had done.

  They reached the bed. He turned to face her, drank in her beauty, swept an errant curl behind her ear. “I’m so happy you’re here, in my home, getting ready to climb into my bed.”

  “Me, too. I wasn’t sure if—”

  “Shh, I know. Me, either. We’ll deal with that later. Tomorrow.”

  Resting his forehead against hers, he reached for the ribbon at the top of her sundress, the one he’d eyed all evening, all dainty and feminine near the curves of her breasts. He pulled and it came undone, exposing the top of her globe. He kissed her there. Once. Again.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “You know it is.”

  “Yes, I know.” He was being the gentleman that he’d promised he would that first time they’d come together following the romp in the hay. On her back and shoulders there’d been scratch marks. He’d felt badly and told her so. Saying that she hadn’t felt a thing hadn’t mattered. He’d neglected taking care of his baby and for him that was so not okay.

  Marissa reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. She stood there, bare, beautiful, in a lacy cream bra and matching thong that emitted a singular message: snatch me off. But he didn’t. He took his time because there would be no running off in the morning. Placing his large hands on the lacy cups and squeezing gently, he peered deep into Marissa’s eyes. They kissed again, and it was as if they breathed each other’s air, so deep were they in the exploration of the other’s being, so much did they want to both give and receive. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He noticed the front clasp on the bra and placed his finger on it.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “You know that you can,” was Marissa’s breathless reply.

  He unsnapped her, and her girls swayed their hallelujah. His mouth watered, and he closed his eyes against the rush of desire. Slow your roll, Don. Take your time. All night, remember? He reached up and tweaked one nipple and then the other. “Have I told you lately that you’re beautiful?”

  “Thank you.”

  He placed his mouth where his fingers had been. “You taste good, too.”

  Had Marissa been able to remember words at this moment, she would have thanked him again for the compliment. Donovan stepped away, and she instantly missed his touch. His eyes never left hers as he pulled the casual shirt he wore over his head, undid the clasp to his khaki shorts and let them fall to the floor, revealing black boxers and the massive instrument that she’d come to know and love straining the light material. She reached for it, gently outlined it through the fabric before reaching inside and boldly taking hold.

  Donovan hissed and stayed her hand. “I want this to be all about you tonight.”

  “No way,” she quickly c
ountered. “This is going to be an equal opportunity evening.”

  “Then at the very least, may I say ladies first?”

  Her chuckle was decadent. “You may.”

  He guided them to the bed. They lay down and for a while, he just hugged her. His heart beat a fast and erratic rhythm that matched Marissa’s. And then he began to kiss her, slowly, starting at the temple nearest his lips and then her ear, over to her eyelid, down to her nose and over to her cheek. Finally finding her mouth, he claimed it in a passionate fashion, thrusting his tongue inside her warmth before pulling back and gently biting her lower lip. And the kisses continued, down her neck, over to her shoulder, licking her flesh and relishing the saltiness of her skin. All the while he played lightly with her nipples, teasing them until they stood at attention, begging to be sucked.

  He obliged. Marissa squirmed, lost in a haze of desire that only Donovan could create. While he navigated her body like a GPS system, he never took the same journey twice. This time, after taking his tongue on a meandering journey from one nipple to the other, down to her stomach and tickling her navel, he shifted his body and continued the journey south. He trailed a flurry of kisses along her thigh, lightly massaging her legs along the way, his teeth skimming her calves and ankles. Gently spreading her legs, he reversed course. Marissa grabbed fistfuls of comforter, steeling herself against what was sure to be a lethal assault.

  It was.

  But not in the way she’d expected. His was a soft, delicate approach; handling her body like fine china, her skin like rare silk. He kissed his way to the inside of her thighs and then oh…so…slowly licked the triangle of fabric between them. “I’d like to remove these—” he ran a finger along the fabric’s edge “—and kiss you.” He did, right above the panty line, before placing his hand where his tongue had been. “Here.”

  Marissa swallowed.

  “Would you like that?”

  She nodded.

  He bowed his head. She closed her eyes. And felt his tongue lapping at her already slick folds, bidding her to open wide so that he could reach his target. Again, Marissa wondered about the wanton woman who spread her legs so freely and wondered where the woman who could take or leave sex had gone. He pierced her in two, flicking his tongue against her nub and then, without warning, plunged his strong tongue inside her, once and again. Marissa’s breathing increased as she murmured unintelligible sounds. She grabbed his head, silently encouraging him, letting him know that what he was doing was what she was wanting. After what seemed an eternity, he moved over the fabric, flicked her nub with his tongue and that was it. She exploded; seismically, completely—the way she had in the barn that first time, the way that had only happened with Donovan. And all Marissa knew, as she felt herself outside of her body, saw stars and galaxies before floating back down to earth, is that she wanted what had just happened to happen again. And again. And again.