Smiling, Fancy said, “I’ll see you at the office around six,” then skipped to her Benz. Her commission check wasn’t enough to invest in a home after she deducted her income taxes and paid her rent. But if the homeless lady was correct, Fancy would soon be rich beyond her own imagination.
Fancy hurried to Montclair to meet her prospective buyer, Mr. Drexel, as he called himself, insisting on being addressed by his last name. When Fancy parked in front of the three-story, five-bedroom home, a tall, handsome, muscular black man dressed in a business suit and sunshades, with a neat low-cut mustache and short-cropped afro, stepped out of a white BMW and smiled.
Extending his hand, his deep greeting was charming. “You must be Miss Taylor. I didn’t expect such a beautiful woman when I scheduled the appointment over the phone.”
Cha-ching. Mo’ money. Fancy shook his hand firmly, saying, “And you must be Mr. Drexel.”
She punched in the code on the lockbox, and the box sprang open. Fancy retrieved the keys and unlocked the front door. Silently, Mr. Drexel immediately toured the entry-level floor. He nodded, then said, “I’ll tour upstairs on my own for a moment if you don’t mind.”
Casually Fancy replied, “Not at all, go right ahead.” It was common for buyers to view homes without agents following them around. In fact, unless Mr. Drexel had a lot of questions, Fancy preferred waiting.
Fancy walked into the kitchen, placed the keys on the counter, and dialed Caroline’s number from her cellular.
“Hey, Fancy. I was just leaving with Marvin. We’re going to Clear Lake. Can you believe that? Marvin is going golfing. He loves to golf. I’ve never been to Clear Lake so I’ll have to call you when we get back tomorrow. ’Bye.”
Obviously, Caroline hadn’t been there because otherwise she would’ve known that most of the rich guys took their convenient women to northern California, away from San Francisco, and then left them alone in the lakefront homes or resorts until they were tired of hanging out with their buddies, only returning whenever they were ready to have sex.
Searching her purse, Fancy placed her business card on the counter to let the homeowners’ know she’d shown their house. Several other cards from various realtors were now stacked underneath Fancy’s.
Fancy went into the living room. Taking in the panoramic view, she whispered, “One day I’m going to own a home like this.” But she wanted to make money investing in real estate so Mr. Riddle had advised her to follow the advice in the book Rich Dad Poor Dad and buy income property first, and purchase her dream home later.
Twenty minutes had passed so Fancy tiptoed upstairs. “Yoo-hoo. Mr. Drexel, where are you?” There was no answer so Fancy proceeded to the basement. “Mr. Drexel? Are you down here?”
Still there was no answer, so Fancy raced back upstairs to the top level and opened a bedroom door. Closed it. Opened another bedroom door, walked around, closed that door. Fancy peeped out the window. Mr. Drexel’s car was still parked on the street so Fancy opened the third and fourth bedroom doors. Closed them. Then Fancy approached the master bedroom. Slowly Fancy opened the door. Her heart pounded against her breast. “God, please don’t let me find this man dead. I promise to go to church Sunday.” Relieved she’d heard a voice downstairs, Fancy rushed to the entry level.
“Yeah, honey. The house is perfect. I want to make an offer on this one but you should see it first. How soon can you get here?” Mr. Drexel paused, then said, “Tomorrow is fine. Take an early flight so I can take you to brunch at the Carnelian Room.”
Fancy’s heels clicked along the hardwood foyer to the front door. Mr. Drexel was standing outside on the porch talking on his cell phone.
Stepping outside, Fancy asked, “Where’d you go? I was looking all over for you.”
Ending his call, Mr. Drexel grabbed the knob and closed the door.
Right before the click, Fancy yelled, too late, “Don’t!” Then she whispered, “My keys and purse are inside.”
“Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. I was so excited I had to call my wife.”
Damn, think, Fancy, think. “If you can take me home, I have an extra set of keys. I can get them and come back.”
“That’s the least I can do. I’m so sorry.” Mr. Drexel dialed his phone and said, “Honey, you won’t believe what just happened. I locked the realtor out of the house she was showing me. Now we have to buy the house. Don’t bother flying in tomorrow, I’ll make an offer in the morning. Okay, darling. I love you. Good-bye.”
Fancy felt stupid for leaving her purse and keys on the counter. But Mr. Drexel was friendly and Fancy wanted to make sure she had his purchase agreement ready for signature early tomorrow morning. A few more deals and she could request a ten-percent increase in her commission.
Adjusting the seat in Mr. Drexel’s car, Fancy asked, “So, where are you relocating from? And what is your first name? And are you sure your wife doesn’t need to see the home first?”
“Oh, I’ve been here for a while. My wife, she lives in Kentucky, and maybe you’re right. Maybe she should see the house first.”
“Is that your wedding band on your pinky finger?”
“Yes and no.”
The baguette band set in white gold sparkled but Fancy knew better than to keep asking marital questions. “Do you have kids?”
“Two.”
“Are they in school?”
“One of them is in the second grade.”
“And the other?”
“She graduated from high school years ago.”
“Montclair is an excellent choice. They have one of the best school districts in the entire Bay Area.” As Mr. Drexel parked in the circular driveway at her place, Fancy politely said, “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
The doorman, Mr. Cabie, smiled and said, “Hello, Miss Taylor. Another client?”
“Yeah. I need to borrow the keys to my condo.”
Taking the keys from the doorman, she pressed the elevator button for her floor. Fancy raced to her unit, retrieved the extra set of keys for her car and condo from the nightstand, and hurried back downstairs. Mr. Drexel’s BMW was gone.
Fancy questioned Mr. Cabie. “Where’d my ride go?”
“I don’t know, Miss Taylor. He left as soon as the elevator door closed. Maybe he’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Fancy mumbled, getting back on the elevator. “If he doesn’t—oh, shit!”
Rushing inside her unit, Fancy dialed 9-1-1. The operator forwarded her to the police, claiming locking her keys inside a home wasn’t an emergency. Fancy hung up and dialed Howard on his cell phone to bypass his probing daughter, Denise. “You have reached the voicemail of Howard Kees.” Fancy hung up and dialed the office.
“Kees Realty,” Denise answered.
“Denise, this is an emergency. I need to speak with Howard.”
“He’s in a meeting with a client. Can I help you?”
“Interrupt him! This is important!”
“First off, you need to stop yelling at me. My daddy is in a meeting, so either you talk to me or call him back in an hour.”
“Fine.” Fancy exhaled heavily. “I locked my purse and keys in the house I was showing in Montclair. I need a ride to the house right away.”
“Hold on. Let me call the owners and see if they’re there.”
Why hadn’t Fancy thought of that? Maybe because her multiple listing service data sheets with the phone numbers were inside her car.
Moments later Denise returned. “They’re not answering. How’d you lock your keys in the house?”
“Actually, I didn’t. My client closed the door while we were outside talking.”
“What?! Where are you?”
“At home.”
“I’m on my way.” Denise hung up the phone.
Waiting in her condo for Denise, Fancy’s home phone rang. Oh, shit! Darius. “Hey, Darius.”
“Hey, Ladycat. You ready for our hot date tonight? My driver is picking you up in an hour.
”
“Damn, I forgot again. I can’t go out tonight.”
“You’re kidding, right? Not this bullshit again. You know how long I had to beg my moth—”
“Darius, I’m so sorry. Calm down. An emergency came up. If you’d like, you can come by after I get back.” Fancy stepped onto her balcony, watching for Denise’s car on the street below.
“Come by and what?” Darius questioned.
“Just chill at my place. We don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“I don’t cook so bring something healthy, to eat.”
“I’ll bring something healthy, all right.”
“No meat. Food, Darius. Food. Denise is downstairs. I gotta go. See you at eight.”
Fancy raced to the elevator, through the lobby, bypassed Mr. Cabie, and hopped in Denise’s car. Denise drove fast, taking Highway 13 into Montclair. When they arrived at the house, Fancy’s car was gone.
Ringing the doorbell, the homeowner answered. “My house isn’t available for showing after hours. You ladies need to contact your realtor.”
“We are realtors,” Fancy answered. “I left my purse in your kitchen. May I come in?”
“No, you may not. Wait here while I check.”
When the lady closed the door, Fancy commented, “She’s a trip.”
“No, actually she’s smart,” Denise said. “She shouldn’t trust us any more than you should trust your prospective clients.”
“Sorry, there’s no purse in my kitchen,” the woman said when she came back, then closed the door again.
Denise looked at Fancy and said, “He has your purse, too. You have to change the locks on your condo. I can call the locksmith.”
“She’s lying. He can’t have my purse because the house keys were in the kitchen.” Fancy raised her hand to ring the doorbell again.
Grabbing her hand, Denise said, “Are you crazy? We could lose our licenses or have them suspended. You can’t harass a homeowner. Just let me call a locksmith to re-key your locks.”
“I’ll change them tomorrow. Darius is coming by tonight.”
“Fancy, I thought you knew the rules. Never put down your purse, keys, or the keys to the house while showing a home to anyone.”
“I’ve had enough for one day. I’ll deal with this tomorrow. Take me home.”
Questioning whether she’d continue showing homes to strangers, Fancy had never imagined that anyone would rip her off. What if Mr. Drexel had attacked her like that stranger? Damn, well, at least she had Darius to comfort her. Then again, why did horrible things happen to her whenever she planned a date with Darius?
CHAPTER 14
A woman knew instantly whether or not she’d fuck a man. He didn’t have to encourage, persuade, or entice her because once she determined she was sucking his dick, all he had to do was show up. Anywhere. Her house. A restaurant with a private restroom. His friend’s house. Her friend’s house. A dressing room in a department store. Or the backseat of his car.
Fancy decided tonight was the night she’d let Darius taste her pussy. Preparing a tub filled with lukewarm water, one gallon of homogenized milk, and sixteen ounces of natural honey to sweeten Miss Kitty, Fancy pampered her body like she was prepping dessert, softly kneading the mixture into her pubic hairs for five minutes. An extra squirt of honey, instead of her usual chocolate, onto her fingertips and Fancy rubbed the syrupy texture into her vaginal lips and shaft. Miss Kitty became engorged with every stroke so Fancy cupped herself and said, “Damn, I can’t wait to fuck Darius.” She moaned, sprinkling milk on her kitty, then sat in the white porcelain oversized tub. Warm vanilla sugar candles lined the perimeter of her tub, her vanity, and burned throughout her bedroom.
Not knowing where her house keys, her purse, or her car were, and not having much confidence that the police would locate any of them, Fancy felt relieved that when she’d ask Darius to stay with her, he promptly said, “Yes.” Now all she had to do was convince Darius, without asking him, to kiss both sets of her lips, caress her breasts, and stroke Miss Kitty until she purred.
Hopefully Darius wasn’t a disappointing lover. He didn’t brag about what he could do so that was a good sign. Men who did all that damn talking about how good their dicks were, Fancy learned while she was in high school, were all lies. Her best lovers never boasted about their skills or the size of their dicks. But when they had a chance to prove themselves worthy of a second session, like Byron, they fucked like they were auditioning for a lead role and she was the producer.
Byron. What was he doing? Fancy wanted to call him. If Darius faked on her tonight, Fancy was not reneging on her promise to Miss Kitty. She’d call Byron. Leaning her head back on the inflated white satin pillow, Fancy thought it had been too long since she passionately held a man in her arms and had a man cuddle next to her in bed. She wasn’t trying to win an award for preserving Miss Kitty or break any woman’s record for retaining her virginity. Fancy’s goal tonight was to release her pent-up frustrations with a man she loved—Darius. She thought.
No matter how much you love someone today, you still have enough love to love them tomorrow, echoed in Fancy’s mind. So it was okay for Fancy to love Darius. Emotionally and sexually.
Stepping out of the tub, Fancy dried the bottom of her feet, then walked around her house until the milk and honey drops absorbed into her skin. Touching her forearm, the light stickiness lingered on her fingertips. The double ring tone on her phone meant that Darius was downstairs.
Fancy answered, “Yes.”
Opening her door three inches, Fancy raced to her bed and layered a red satin sheet atop her down feather comforter. Since Fancy’s building was secured with a twenty-four-hour doorman, and only the office manager and selected board members had keys to the lobby entrance, Fancy ignored Denise’s advice to immediately change the locks. If anyone made it to her front door or inside her unit, Fancy would fault and sue the homeowners’ association for so much money, they’d gladly give her her own unit.
Mr. Cabie said, “Miss Taylor, a Mr. Jones is here to see you.”
Seductively, Fancy said, “Send him up.”
Fancy slipped into a green thong and matching robe then sat on the loveseat in her bedroom and waited for Darius.
Peeping in, Darius’s locks swung through the crack before his face.
“Stop peeping. Come on in.”
“Oh my goodness” was all Darius said when he saw Fancy dressed in a robe and high heels. Her hair and makeup were flawless as if she was on her way out, not in. Gently Darius embraced Fancy, inhaling her hair, her neck. “Damn, you smell edible. What is this?”
Noticing Darius’s erection through his sweats, Miss Kitty knocked twice. Fancy motioned for Darius to sit on the loveseat beside her and gave him an abbreviated version of what happened while showing the house to Mr. Drexel.
As she spoke, Fancy noticed a few of the bulbs on the necklace of lights around the lake were out. Fancy tried counting them so she wouldn’t appear anxious as Darius secured his strong arm around her shoulder.
“So you said the dude looked professional and he had on a business suit?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I’m just glad you’re here.” Laying her head in Darius’s lap, she let Darius stroke her hair. When Fancy felt his erection, she wanted to nibble on his dick through his sweatpants but instead, pretending she was startled, Fancy lifted her head. Gently Darius’s hand pressed her head back in his lap.
“Relax. He’s under control. I know not to try anything with you, trust me. But you’re sending a brotha mixed signals looking and smelling good. But you do know we both like you.”
“I like you, too,” Fancy said, struggling to maintain her nonchalant composure when she really wanted to rip off Darius’s clothes, straddle him, and ride his dick until they were both exhausted and satisfied. Patience.
“I’ve never met a woman in the midst of becoming successful. I always meet women
who are already millionaires. I guess that’s why they don’t trip on having sex. Either they want you or they don’t but they don’t play games. I’ve heard about your reputation. Don’t play games with me, Fancy. You won’t win.”
Where in the hell did that comment come from? And what had Darius meant? Sitting up to face Darius, Fancy said, “If you’re comparing me to your other women, don’t. And I don’t give a damn what you’ve heard or who told you.” Fancy tightened the belt on her robe. Darius had fucked up her good mood but not Miss Kitty’s. She was tumbling. “What I need to figure out is how am I supposed to get around until the police find my car?”
Darius chuckled. “You can forget about getting that car back. Mr. Drexel, or whatever his real name is, has sold that Benz. Don’t worry, Ladycat, you can use my spare car. It’s kinda big. It’s an Escalade but I know you can handle the size.” Darius smiled, thrusting his pelvis upward. “I’ll bring it by for you tomorrow.”
Insulted by Darius’s conflicting comments, Fancy thought one moment Darius was complimenting her, the next insulting her, now offering his car. Fancy did need transportation but was Darius for real or lying just to have sex? Before Darius changed his mind, Fancy suggested, “I can come and get it at seven in the morning,” then lied, “I have several homes to show,” to make her request seem urgent.
“Naw, I said I’ll bring the car over. And the first place you need to go to is the Department of Motor Vehicles and get another license before you start driving around in my car.”
“Fine. By nine?”
“Okay. Damn, can I get a kiss?”
Darius didn’t have to offer his car to have sex with Fancy but he’d better not be lying about his offer. Tilting her head, Fancy puckered her lips then teased, “But all you can have is a kiss.”
Darius’s incredibly soft, melt-in-your-mouth lips meshed into hers. The way he navigated his tongue throughout her mouth, Miss Kitty knew Darius had great oral sex skills. The moment he touched her breasts, the sweet sensation rushed Miss Kitty, arching Fancy’s back.
“Not yet,” Fancy said, sandwiching her sticky thighs together to absorb the juices soaking her thong.
Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This Page 14
