Just Can't Let Go

by Mary B. Morrison

  His smile brought back memories of when we used to chill on the sofa with his head on my lap. That six-nine man, wrapped in delicious chocolate-cinnamon skin, was the best male catch I’d made. But I wasn’t here for companionship.

  I’d come to have his sperm deposited directly from his nuts into my vagina. Untying my halter, I let my dress fall to the floor. Kept on my red thong and stilettoes. Posed for him to see my sweet dark ass.

  “Since I’m already pregnant and I haven’t had sex since I was with you, you mind taking the edge off of your pussy? I’m about to explode.”

  There were times when telling a lie was better. Men weren’t well versed when it came to women. I hated lying to my brother about the miscarriage and perpetuating false motherhood, but to keep the whole 2.5 million I’d have James’s baby.

  He was moving too slow. I unfastened his belt, yanked his pants to his knees. One leg at a time, he stepped out. I leaned over the back of his couch, spread my ass cheeks.

  James rubbed his swollen head from my clit to my vagina, then back again. The next time he approached my opening, I thrust my hips toward his pelvis.

  “Slow down, sweetheart. I’ma give you the dick,” he said.

  Teasing a few more times, inch by inch he fed me what I’d come for. I moaned, “Go deeper, baby. I want to feel all of you.”

  My donor started grinding with a real nice flow. I squeezed his shaft with my muscles. Held on.

  “I want you to cum deep inside of me.”

  James leaned his chest against my back, held me close, thrust himself far as his head could go, then paused. “I’m cuming, sweetheart.”

  “Me too.” I came when he let me know. Wasn’t going to miss out on my orgasm. I wondered if he called LA sweetheart too. Didn’t matter. His body shivered. He held me tight until he was done.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do if it’s not mine,” he said, pulling out.

  My seeds were spilling down my thigh. I slid over the back of the sofa, left my legs up in the air.

  James left, returned with a hot towel, wiped my pussy real slow. “Let me taste her.”

  I couldn’t move. It was too soon. “I’m slightly nauseated. Give me a moment.”

  He sat on the sofa beside me, massaged my breast. “If the baby isn’t mine, sweetheart, I’m moving on.”

  The reason I was here, at his house, with my legs up in the air. I’d gotten what I’d come for. I had to be nice. Wasn’t sure if one of these soldiers would swim the distance.

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You were that messed up that you had sex with your brother? First I had to deal with Chanel. Now this. Really?”

  Typical man. He hadn’t passed on fucking me. Now he wanted to talk. “I really think this situation with not knowing my father messed me up mentally. Glad I met him before he died.” The only reason I bothered telling James was to get us off the topic of my having fucked Spencer.

  James held my hand. “For real? Sweetheart, no. You can’t be serious. He was just at your house. What happened?”

  “Somebody shot him. I can’t pretend I’m grieving. I didn’t know the man.”

  “He was still your dad, but I understand. Let the police do their job and find the gunman.”

  I told him about Spencer and I visiting the hospital. Didn’t mention the trust, what I might inherit, or that Conner claimed Spencer shot him. That was nonsense. Spencer was at my mom’s. The keys to all of Conner’s cars were at my apartment with the ten grand in cash. I’d use the money to make Conner’s funeral arrangements.

  “You’re so beautiful. I hate that your mom did that to you, sweetheart. Now that you’re with child, are you going to finish school?”

  “I’m going to try. I made it through my first trimester without morning sickness.”

  “So you’re not nauseated?”

  Looking at him, quickly I said, “I am. I meant not a serious case of morning sickness. But . . .”

  He stared at me.

  “What is it, Alexis? Tell the truth.”

  Doubting I knew how to be honest with anyone, I kept quiet.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” James said, stroking my cheek. “Be honest with me. How many men have you had sex with without using protection since we’ve been together?”

  Wish that were an easy question to answer. There was the obvious, Spencer. Then LB, but we used condoms. I’d circled back to a few carryovers during the two years I’d been involved with James. With the exception of Spencer, I always practiced safe sex. The only reason I hadn’t with him was we were both in heat.

  James picked up his cell, handed it to me. “Read this.”

  Atlanta ranked No. 1 city for new HIV/AIDS cases. The article detailed how Grady Hospital, since 2013, had a program to routinely test emergency room patients. In my opinion, that was a good thing. Wow, the fact that from the beginning of the program two to three of the patients tested every single day were HIV positive.

  Damn! Then there was that Jason Young dude who intentionally infected women. I understood James’s concern.

  “When was the last time you were tested?” he asked, staring into my eyes. He continued. “Don’t lie to me, Alexis.”

  “You questioning me. What about you? You tell me how many women you’ve slayed without wrapping it up and I’ll let you know.”

  We stared at each other as he said, “Three months after we started dating there was one.”

  “One what?” I questioned. “Male? Female? What about LA?” Men were horrible liars.

  “Okay. Two. Females,” he said with a straight face.

  “And, your HIV results were?”

  “Alexis, this is serious, sweetheart. So serious that I’m going to schedule us to get tested today.”

  “Today?” I wasn’t prepared for that. Should’ve told him I had all my blood work done when I found out I was pregnant. I knew him, though. He’d ask to see the results.

  “Get tested with me.” He got his cell. Began tapping on the screen.

  This would be a first. I did need to know my status but . . . Hadn’t given it much thought. Spencer had to be cool. I hoped. My mom too. I prayed. Wondered if girls could transmit HIV to girls during sex. Chanel and I shared dongs.

  I started sweating but refused to sit up and spill my seeds.

  James was a good man. He was no saint. His dick had taken a plunge in—

  He interrupted my mental monologue. “No matter what the results are, I will always love you, Alexis. Get dressed. Let’s go. I’m not asking.”

  “This time of the evening?” It was almost seven o’clock.

  “I texted my frat brother who’s also my doctor. The lab closes at eight. Long as we get to his office by seven thirty we’re good.”

  So he’d planned this all along. I should decline. A flash shower and thirty minutes later we were at James’s doctor’s office. It was cold. I was quiet.

  “Glad you were able to make it, James. And you are?” he said, extending his hand to me.

  Quietly, I replied, “Alexis Crystal.” Why’d I let James talk me into this?

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alexis. I’m Dr. Wallace. I can tell you’re nervous. Trust me, you’re doing the right thing. I just need both of you to sign your lab consent form. I commend you guys for coming in as a couple.”

  “Thanks for fitting us in,” James said.

  “No worries. The lab is down the hall on your left. I’ll call you, James, when your results are in. You’ll need to come in with James for your results, Alexis. Congrats, you guys.”

  There was nothing to celebrate. Oh, unless James had told him about our baby.

  En route to the laboratory, I asked James, “Congrats for what? Why did he say that?”

  “He’s proud of you, us, for coming in together. That’s all.”

  I could tell he was lying. Just wasn’t sure about what.

  CHAPTER 19

  Phoenix

  Straight to voice mail
for the tenth damn time!

  She had to come home at some point. What the fuck she give me a key for? To sit around and wait on her? This time I left the message, “Ebony, where are you? It’s ten o’clock. I’ve been at your place since the set ended. You have to go to work tomorrow. Call me back. It’s important.” How was I supposed to manage her when I couldn’t keep track of where she was?

  I hadn’t heard from Dev. That was unusual. Texted her, You out with Mercedes or Trés? Didn’t want to lie about where I was. Hope she didn’t ask. She might be with my girl.

  Opening Ebony’s kitchen cabinet, there was a box of microwave plain popcorn. No salt. No butter. I put that back. Checked the refrigerator. Fresh-cut pineapples, red grapes, raspberries, blueberries, pomegranate juice, and water. Ice cream, popsicles, and ice in the freezer.

  Waiting on Ebony to get home, I’d sat at the dining table, scrolled through her social media pages while eating a bowl of fruit. Drank most of her juice. Sat on her couch, turned on the television, flipped through channels. Got bored. Should go home. Wasn’t ready to.

  Went into Ebony’s downstairs guest bedroom. She’d changed the scheme. Lots of pink, white, and purple. Same colors as Nya’s room. It was too late to tell my baby girl good night. Surely didn’t want to speak with my mother.

  Started going through the closet to see if anything looked different. Nope. Trotted upstairs, took another shower to pass time. Was hoping to do this with Ebony, not by myself. Got dressed, went downstairs, sat on the sofa, and called my boy Marvin.

  “Hey, man. Where you at? Home?” he said, then laughed.

  “That shit ain’t funny, man. I’m at Goldie’s.”

  “Nigga, that’s your home away from home. You got access now.”

  Putting the television on mute, I frowned, started flipping channels. “Why the fuck she gave me a key and she ain’t here?”

  “Give it back, man. You’re going to get your feelings hurt.”

  “Just say it, man.” All this delay of whatever he knew, I had to hear.

  “I just left the Cheesecake Factory. Goldie was sitting at the bar tossing back a few with some suave old ass white dude.”

  “Say what?”

  “My bad. He was probably a fan or some shit. They might still be there. Hey, man, I gotta get up early for work. I’ma hit you up tomorrow.”

  Well, I wasn’t a fan. I was her man. I’d bragged about being on set but I hadn’t told Marvin or the fellas I was managing Ebony. Hadn’t seen my boys going on two weeks. Who was she with? Some old muthafucka? I got in my car, drove to Lenox Square, turned off my car. I sat for a moment. What was I doing? I was not chasing her.

  If I’ma deal with this bullshit, I might as well head home to Dev.

  CHAPTER 20

  Ebony

  #lovethesemoments #smartside #morethansex #iamebonywaterhouse

  Scented musk, sandalwood, and cinnamon candles burned in each corner of the bedroom of our home in Conyers. Fresh zebra-striped satin sheets neatly covered the king-size mattress. Long gold silk scarves hung from the bedposts to the floor. A plush white square rug was sprawled on top of the carpet.

  Buster’s crystal whisky bottle and four snifters were set up on the coffee table across the room. That was the area where he liked to sit, watch me and a guy have sex, while smoking his Cuban cigar.

  He turned on his favorite. Classical music consumed the house throughout. Frédéric Chopin was Buster’s favorite pianist.

  “Come sit with me for a moment,” he said.

  I eyed the toys Buster selected; they were arranged on a leather chest within reach from the bed. A few vibrating cock rings, dildos, blindfolds, flavored and heating massage oils. Recalling the imprint in my boy toy’s pants, I knew I wasn’t going to need that dildo.

  I enjoyed getting all dolled up for these sexcapades. Loosely tying my red halter bra, I stepped into a red thong, then wrapped my body with a white silk robe that barely covered my ass. Sitting next to my husband, I put on my six-inch, candy-striped, knee-high boots with the white platform and red heel.

  The most expensive bra and panty set my husband had bought me cost twenty thousand dollars. Hadn’t worn it since our honeymoon in Bora Bora.

  “You look beautiful. I don’t want you hot and bothered on that set, so if this bartender rocks your world, we’ll put him on payroll, but he can only service you with my permission.”

  I’d been doing my own thing since before we married. Had to let Buster believe he was in charge of more than paying all my bills and buying me expensive gifts. But #igotthis.

  My husband gave me everything I wanted, except great penetration. That was understandable from a seventy-one-year-old. Good dick with no money would never be mine.

  At twenty-six, I needed to be fucked in every hole. Phoenix provided that for me. What I wanted in my relationship with Phoenix wasn’t love. It was all about power. Danger. Being risqué. Dominating. Being dominated. The thought of Devereaux finding out about us was exciting, but that was not something I ever wanted to happen.

  I massaged my husband’s flaccid dick. “You’ve never mentioned hiring a regular. Are we okay?” The lingering stare made me a little uncomfortable.

  “I am, honey,” he said. A smile gradually grew. “I can’t wait to see this guy’s dick. I bet it’s big and beautiful.”

  That made both of us. I was excited to experience Spencer.

  Buster cleared his throat. “I’m up in New York more than before. I don’t believe you’re happy with my being away all the time. If you are, this will be his last time.”

  There was something my husband wasn’t saying that bothered me. Phoenix crossed my mind. I had no intentions on standing him up. Buster surprised me when he told me to meet him at the Cheesecake Factory. There was no way I could tell my husband no.

  Buster’s cell buzzed. We saw Spencer in a black Range Rover at our entry gate. He keyed in the code I’d given him. Buster pressed a button on his phone; the second gate opened. I liked the double security of entering the code and giving access. My home in Brookhaven didn’t have either.

  “I couldn’t be happier,” I told Buster.

  Buster and I didn’t say “I love you” the way I’d ended each conversation with Phoenix. I knew my side was going to be upset when I’d see him on set tomorrow. Every dick had a pecking order. My priority was seated next to me.

  I kissed my husband, then stood. “I’ll go let Spencer in, honey. You stay comfortable.”

  “Goldie, make sure I have a good view of Spencer.”

  “Okay,” I said, strutting away.

  Opening the front door, Spencer was hot in his crimson button-down shirt and black slacks. I sure hoped he had on sexy underwear. That turned me on. If he didn’t, we had options for him to choose from.

  “Hi, come in, handsome.”

  “Wow, you’re gorgeous,” he said, checking out my twin rack. Scanning my home, he told me, “This is real boss.”

  Buster didn’t like to waste time with small talk. We all knew our intentions. I led Spencer to the bedroom. When he saw Buster lounging in a smoking jacket, ascot, and designer pajama pants, he gave a slow nod.

  Buster told Spencer, “Please. Have a drink while you’re taking your shower. We’ll be right here waiting for you.”

  “Long as you don’t touch me, we cool,” Spencer said.

  “Oh, no,” Buster said. “You guys do all the touching. I’m here to watch my wife.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Blake

  “I’m glad you accepted my offer to come over, Blake,” Bing said. “You look amazing.”

  Here I was again with a handsome man. The scent of his cologne greeted me first. He had on a white pullover collared shirt with khaki knee-length shorts that were neatly creased and brown leather sandals.

  The fact that Bing was ten years younger, and he’d pursued me, made me smile. Better start giving myself more credit for being desirable. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  I�
��d worn blue fitted jeans, a crop sleeved pink tapered top, and three-inch open-toed shoes. My hair was flat-ironed with a part down the center. Sandara advised me the combo would take a solid decade off of my fifty.

  “I’ll give you the tour later,” he said. “Follow me.”

  We shared a lounge chair on his deck. I could hear myself breathing. Crickets chirped in the distance. In front of the tall trees Bing had told me there was a lake. It was so dark in the distance that I couldn’t see water, but the stars shined like diamonds in the sky.

  He handed me a glass of red wine. “A toast to the most beautiful woman and the luckiest man in the world.”

  “Cheers,” was all I said, praying there would be many more toasts to come.

  We sat, enjoyed wine. I should have more moments like this. Having been with Spencer and now Bing, I realized I preferred a younger, attractive businessman. The mixologist running the bar was not for me. Yet, Spencer was the perfect transition man that helped me get over my ex, Fortune.

  Bing interrupted our silence. “I have a confession,” he said, refilling my glass first, then his.

  “Only if it’s good news.”

  “Okay, then I’ll come back to the confession. Blake”—Bing paused, held my hand, then continued—“from what you told me over dinner the other day, I want to let you know, I don’t need anything financial from you. I—”

  Seriously? I was his banker. I might not be aware of all of his accounts or his liabilities, but the resources at our institution were a comfortable seven figures. My money was no comparison.

  “I know that, Bing.” This was a man who probably had Swiss bank accounts, stocks, bonds, treasury bills, and more.

  “I’m not putting you down. You’re a beautiful and intelligent woman. Seems to me you keep choosing to be with men who for whatever reason are, one, not on your level, and two, they don’t want you. They simply want to use you.”

  Appreciate would’ve been a better word choice. But okay, the fact that he started with, I’m not putting you down, meant to me that he was. I was no charity case. Had to blame myself for sharing too much too soon. That was a fault of mine.