by Cole, S. Ann
“You’re beautiful, Krissan. Have I ever told you that?”
“In a different, more poetic way. Rather than using the trite word ‘beautiful’. It’s what got me hooked on you.”
Trevillo laughed out, “Me, poetic? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”
“Nope,” I grinned, wagging my head. “I most definitely remember you calling me an ‘angel’s feather’.”
“That’s because you are,” he mused. “An angel’s feather might be the rarest form of beauty to ever be found, more so than raw diamonds.”
His tenseness and agitation was starting to melt. That was a good thing, so I pushed the conversation. “How so?”
“Because, chances are, one might never find an angel’s feather. People know where to search for diamonds. They can even be bought — both raw and adulterated. But where, where do you search for an angel’s feather?”
I wrinkled my nose. “On angels’ wings?”
“Yes. But angels are perfect, aren’t they? Perfect. You think a feather would ever fall from an angel’s wing?”
I pondered for a moment, and then shrugged. “I guess not. Unless an angel deliberately plucked one of her feathers and left it for a specific person to find it?” I couldn’t quite read into what he was getting at. “Explain it to me.”
A smile crawled onto his face as he reached one big palm around to cup my nape, urged me in, and kissed me deep. He wasn’t going to explain it to me, I realized. It was for him alone to understand. His secret to keep.
“Yet you say you’re not poetic,” I mumbled against his lips.
“I’m not,” he whispered. “I’m just in love with what an imperfect angel had left behind, for a perfectly flawed me to find.”
By that time, I was lost. He could deny it as much as he wanted, but he was lyrically poetic. End of.
Not wanting to break our kiss, I awkwardly shifted around on his lap until I achieved the goal of straddling him. “I’ve missed you, Trev.”
He stilled, ended the kiss, then held my shoulders and pushed me back a bit so he could find my eyes. Chest rising and falling, lips parted, I gazed back at him, wondering, what now?
“I need to request something … something selfish … ” he trailed off, then let go of my shoulders and raked his fingers through his hair. “I know this is gonna make me a major asshole, but … can we never talk about what happened that night? None of what happened.”
Leaning into his face, I spoke in a voice laced with bitter sarcasm. “Why? Because you want to pretend none of it happened? That I didn’t fuck on you. That I didn’t almost die? Because of you?”
Facing contorted in pain, his eyes slammed shut and his hands fisted between us. “Jesus, Krissy.”
“Yes, Trev, I almost died. Died. Died!”
As I made to get up from his lap, his hands reached up and gripped my shoulders again, keeping me planted where I was.
I narrowed my eyes and spat, “Oh, I had shit loads of welts, too. And toes that were so battered and swollen, I had to hop around on one foot for days. But what, you abandoned me because you didn’t want to look at them. You wanted to shut your eyes to the truth. You wanted to pretend it never happened. Fine. Whatever heals you. But now you’re asking me to do that?”
“Because it’s too fucking much!” he yelled in my face, and I flinched. “Yes, I want to pretend it didn’t happen. That you didn’t suffer brutally and almost died because of me!! All I want is a little peace of fucking mind. To not feel guilty and worthless each time I look at you. To not feel like I should’ve turned the gun at my own goddamn head!”
On a harsh breath, he rubbed a palm down his face. “Christ, Krissy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for the danger I put you in. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. But please, stop looking at me with those eyes of anger and resentment. Look at me like you used to, with raw lust, carnal desire, and awe. You used to look up at me with those rare blue eyes like I was a god. I need that back, please. With that, it’ll be so much easier to pretend none of the awful shit happened.”
It was unknown to me that my eyes had been showcasing anger and resentment, because, in my mind, I had done a great, altruistic job of pushing aside the anger I felt over the past couple of weeks. Plus I’d been positive whatever resentment I’d harbored over the weeks past, had died a brutal death the minute I walked into the jet and laid eyes on him.
I sighed. The body could be such a traitor. I thought I was over it, but apparently, if he could read anger and resentment in my eyes, I wasn’t.
Of course, I didn’t want to keep punishing him with memories of what happened. Truth be told, I wish I could pretend none of it happened, too. But, how long would that pretense last? Could we just sweep something like this under the rug, and it’ll be forever forgotten?
Guess we’d have to wait and see.
Deciding to put an end to our bitter conversation, I grasped the hem of my skirt and dragged it up until it bunched up around my hips. I rocked against his erection which had been present since I first came to sit on his lap. “Can I have you?”
“You already do,” he whispered. “Through and through.”
Reaching a hand down between us, I undid his pants and freed him while I explained, “I mean, can I have you? You alone. Nothing between us.”
Trevillo’s blue eyes heated with that insatiable hunger I saw the first time I met him in his office. Lips hung lax, he said nothing, but his hands crept down my sides.
“You’d be the first to … ” I trailed off on moan when he lifted my tank top above my breasts and covered one aching nipple with his hot mouth. His tongue did that skillful flicking thing only he could do, while one hand slid up between my thighs and found I was bare and wet.
Moaning around my captured nipple while his fingers glided through my slickness, he dragged his lips to kiss between my breasts, then, “Krissan?”
“Hmm?”
“Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?” A finger slid inside me just as he asked that question.
“Because … ah … I was hoping for this?”
He made a sound akin to a groan as he moved his lips up my neck, over my chin and settled on my lips, urging me into a kiss while his fingers worked inside me.
Emitting soft moans between his kisses, I asked again, panting, “Please, Trev. Can I have you?”
His teeth raked along my jaw, and in the same tone as before, he said, “Krissan?”
“Hmm?”
“You do understand that you own me, right?”
The answer to my desperate plea was clear as crystal. Melding our lips back together, I raised my hips and slowly eased down onto his length.
It was heaven.
Trevillo’s audible sound of pleasure seemed to agree, as his hands landed on my hips and began guiding the movement. Our kiss remained unbroken as we patched our hearts back together and made ourselves forget.
Time,
No Friend of Mine
Time plays,
Time assays,
Time frays,
But time never delays.
Time makes,
Time breaks,
Time deflates,
But time never waits.
Time steals,
Time heals,
Time reveals,
But time never stills.
Have you time in this short life?
Seize it!
Love, and let love.
Fight, and make up.
Resist, and give in.
Steal, and don’t return.
Because Time is no friend —
We laugh to cry,
We live to die.
Seize the day!
Chapter 32
K. Kingston
Island Lovin’
Seven hours later, my Trevillo fascination was pushed in the background as my attention was riveted out the window of the SUV that picked us up once we landed in Montego Bay on the beautiful island of Jamaica.
&nbs
p; To no avail, Trevillo was trying to get me to pull my head back in the car, lest it got smacked off by speeding vehicles. But I was too caught up in the otherness of the island vibe to hear.
I never traveled to anywhere in the Caribbean before. In fact, I didn’t travel much at all since I ran from my parents’ home to live with Jahleel. Now this, the greenery, winding roads, impeccable climate, and carefree islanders on the roadside, standing by their stalls displaying smorgasbords of foreign fruits — most of which I’d never before seen or heard of — it all excited me.
The people seemed relaxed and unhurried, the vibe mellow. They walked, talked, and even laughed differently. Already, I loved it, and I hadn’t been there for more than half-an-hour.
Trevillo’s hands gripped my shoulders again, pulling me backward to him with force this time. “Seriously, Krissan, they drive like lunatics here, put your head in the car!” He chuckled as he said, “This is Jamaica: it’s downright awesome here, yes, but it’s no Utopia.”
Begrudgingly, I drew back and allowed him to power up the window. In no time, the air-conditioner eliminated the fresh island breeze from the confinements of the car, supplanting it with dry frigidness.
Leaning into his side, I dropped my head on his shoulder. I wanted to continue looking outside, but the boss ordered me to keep my head inside so … boo. “How many times have you been here?”
“Enough times to deaden that child-like amazement you now have,” he answered, laughing at me.
I smacked his chest and laughed, too.
“I’m constructing a resort nearby to where we are headed,” he continued to explain. “So I’m here quite often.”
“Where are we going?”
“My beach house.”
Floating on contentment, I sighed and let my thoughts slip. “JK always joked that the day he could afford to own a beach house in the Caribbean, is the day he’ll know for sure he’d made it.”
Trevillo froze up at the mention of Jahleel’s name, and I silently berated myself. High on contentment, I forgot for a moment the deep, jagged slashes still existing in our relationship that were fresh, raw and needed healing. But then again … “We agreed to — ”
“Yes, I know,” he snapped in a tight voice. “Pretend.”
That meant we should be able to mention Jahleel, Sarah, death, or pain without remembering what we were pretending to forget. It would be hard. But we’d get through it.
Trevillo receded into reticence for the rest of the journey, but I didn’t bother pushing any conversation since I was the one who spoiled the moment. Plus, the anxiety he exhibited since before we left San Francisco had yet to dissipate. Still, throughout it all, he held me close at all times as if he were afraid I’d poof into thin air if he let go.
Some twenty minutes later, the vehicle turned off a palm-tree-lined street and onto a narrow gravel road, and stopped a few minutes later in front of a thick, high wooden gate. The driver powered down his window, punched in a code, and waited for the gate’s slow opening.
Once the gates opened, the car rolled down a sandy path. On both sides were undulating blankets of verdant land with flocks of strong, blooming trees and sprinkles of flamboyant plants. The house came into view a few minutes later: a two-story beach house sprawled out in all its glory, gobbling up acres of land. I couldn’t see the beach entirely from the back of the car, but what I could see of the estate so far was beautiful.
“The beach is yours, too?” I absently asked.
“Yep,” Trevillo replied, sounding more like himself again. “Like it?”
“You kidding me? This place is amazing.”
The car came to a stop, and when the driver exited to open our door, three tall, serious-looking men and a rotund, middle-aged woman stepped out of the house. Two of the men went straight to the trunk to retrieve our luggage, while the woman stood smiling broadly at the entryway.
The third man, taller and more bad-ass looking than the other two men, held a commanding and somewhat intimidating presence. Striding confidently, he approached us as we moved toward the house. Despite his deathly serious demeanor, his grin, when he flashed it, was amicable and displayed his handsomeness. He had dark, neatly styled, shoulder-length locks, a clean shaved, oval face, and ridiculously white teeth.
Making wild movements with his hands, he grinned and greeted Trevillo in foreign words, “Wah gwaan, boss man? How yuh love surprise wi suh? Weh yuh a try do, ketch wi red-handed or something?”
Trevillo, understanding this broken language, narrowed his eyes and asked, “Why does my surprise visits unnerve you? Are you doing something here you know I wouldn’t approve of?”
The man gave a genuine smile. “Nah, man. Wi loyal. A you put food pon wi table, enuh. Yuh a di boss, straight. A death before dishonor.”
Turning to me, Trevillo gestured to the man. “This is Neville, head of my security team here — because in Jamaica, a trusted security team is essential. He stays here on the bottom floor with his wife. And the others — his sister and two brothers — attend to me when I ‘surprise’ them.”
“Hi,” I smiled at Neville. “Nice to meet you.”
He winked at me and spoke in words I could somewhat understand, “Same here, Empress. I swear you’ve got eyes that’ll make a Rasta trim his dreads, or make a shotta put down the gun. Dem real?”
Nose wrinkled, I looked at Trevillo, unsure of what to say, but he was laughing at me again — I wanted to punch him.
“Outta my way, Nev,” he said finally, rescuing me.
Neville began laughing as he stepped to the side, then said to me, “A joke mi a mek, yuh hear, Empress? Mi know yuh eyes dem real.”
In response, I just nodded, because I had no idea what he said. Trevillo introduced me to the woman, Sally, who stood at the door and the other two men, Marlon and Dave.
Impatient for pleasantries to end, I bounced on my feet as I smiled and said hi to everyone, dying to see the beach.
Seeming to read my thoughts or reactions, Trevillo peered down at me and let out another laugh. He pulled me off into the house, saying, “Okay, let me take you to see the beach. You’re bouncing like a damn two year old.”
He led me through the house decorated in a neutral white and chocolate-brown color scheme — not what one would expect for a beach house in the Caribbean. Plush white chairs with dark-wood furniture, and large floor vases which held various types of vibrant plants gave a feel of the Caribbean within the homeliness of the house. And there was a huge framed photo of Bob Marley taking up a large fraction of the wall in the living area.
Passing through a wide, airy kitchen, Trevillo opened a sliding glass door that led out to a wooden deck sloping off into the sand.
We were there. The beach.
So. Beautiful.
I inhaled a lungful of air and sighed in contentment as I took in the breathtaking view. The sand was impossibly white, the water was impossibly clear, the sky was impossibly blue, and the skirting trees were impossibly green. Everything was just … impossibly perfect.
I could feel Trevillo’s searing gaze burning into me. “I’ve never seen you so … content. It suits you. I’m gonna have a lot of fun traveling with you.”
Squeezing his fingers laced with mine, I turned to look up at him. “Thank you so much for this, Trev. This,” I said, waving my hand out to the ocean view, “is priceless.”
Words unuttered, he only stared back at me, keeping his thoughts to himself.
“Let’s head upstairs,” he said after a while. “I’m feeling unusually tired. Think I’m jet-lagged.”
The words ‘I want to stay on the beach and watch the sun set’ formulated in my mind, but before my brain could command my lips to say them, Mr. Mind Reader added, “There’s a wraparound balcony upstairs and views from most sections of each room, including our bed.”
As he turned and started moving back into the house, I tugged his hand for him to stop. When he looked back at me questioningly, I assured him, “I love
you.”
I didn’t anticipate his monosyllabic response, but I accepted it anyhow because, well, I loved him.
“Yeah.”
At some point in the middle of the night, I was shaken awake from a peaceful sleep. Eyes fluttering open, I blinked the man I loved into sight. He was standing at the side of the bed, looming over me with my cellphone in his hand, and he didn’t look pleased.
“Just answer this sister-fucker before I toss this fucking thing in the ocean. He’s been ringing nonstop.”
I blinked up at him. “But it’s not ringing now — ”
“It will in a second.” He thrust the phone into my hand and stalked off.
Watching his retreating form — in nothing but clinging white boxers — I crossed my legs and clenched them to quell the sudden ache and heat attacking me. So tall and masculine. Toned and sexy.
As he stepped out onto the balcony, he roughly shoved a hand through his hair. Leaning down, he pressed his palms to the balcony railing and looked out to the ocean.
I wished there was more I could do to help him get over whatever plagued his mind, but there wasn’t. I did all I could. Said all the right things. Assured him of my love. Pretended as he asked. But still, he was distant, detached. All that was left for me to do, at this point, was to wait on him.
The one victimized was me. Yet, seeing him and coming on this Caribbean getaway was curative for me, because he was the only one who was capable of healing me. All I needed was seeing him, getting assurance that I was still his, and I was better. Over it. Near death experience forgotten.
Alas, it wasn’t the same for Trevillo. He kept slipping in and out of himself. Talkative, confident sex god one minute. Reticent, anxious, and aloof the next.
Sitting up in bed, I stuffed a pillow behind me and leaned back against the headboard. The room was capacious and pleasantly airy, as it was faced toward the ocean, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and wide slide-doors that Trevillo kept open to permit the cool island breeze into the room.