Scented Lust

by Jacqueline Turner Banks

  She broke the kiss when she questioned whether she would ever be able to breathe again. He looked at her, smiled, and scooped her up like she was weightless. With the confidence of a frequent visitor and without directions, he carried her straight to her bedroom.

  The silly girly part of her mind wanted to obsess about her few extra pounds, but she noticed he wasn’t even winded as he placed her on the queen-size bed. She was so glad that back in the day, Mama May insisted that she make her bed every morning before school. The room was messy, but her queen-size bed was made and inviting. The satin-finished bedspread was relatively new, and since it had to be dry-cleaned, she’d been avoiding eating on it. It was still the clean, pretty, robin egg blue it had been the day she’d bought it.

  Jordan reached down to pull off her sweater, but he stopped her with a touch. Thinking he wanted to say something first, she waited, but it turned out he wanted to do it. He gently slipped it over her head while managing to caress every inch of her arms in the process. It surprised her to see him hold the sweater to his face and nose like it was something precious that he needed to drink in. He deeply inhaled before he let it drop, and a surge of heat shot through her and exploded in her groin.

  He joined her on the bed. The awkward bra removal move wasn’t a consideration because she hadn’t put it on again after leaving his place. He buried his head into her breasts and again deeply inhaled.

  “I love the way you smell,” he whispered as he nuzzled and then kissed her neck. He then returned to her breasts, licking like the scent had a taste.

  “And I you,” she said. It would have been a good time to ask him the name of his fragrance, but he took a nipple in his mouth, and a feeling shot through her body that hit every lively nerve along the way before it exploded deep in her abdomen. Jordan knew women with full breasts weren’t usually thought of as being as nipple sensitive as their small-breasted sisters, but if nipples could be more sensitive than hers, she didn’t want to know about it. A girl has to get up and go to work, and if they could feel any better than his tongue rolling around, suckling and kissing both to hardness, she doubted if she would ever leave her bed.

  “Do you have protection?” he whispered.

  She had to force the words to make sense before she could answer. Pro-tec-tion? She had to think hard and picture the word. What’s wrong with me, she wondered—is he pulling my brain out through my nipples?

  Her mind finally flashed on the package of condoms she’d put in the nightstand drawer when she moved in eight months earlier. Jordan hadn’t seen them since putting them there, but she hadn’t been looking for them. “I’ll look,” she said as she rolled over and opened the drawer.

  She found them under at least three degrees of panties, from pretty to everyday to that-time of-the-month. When she turned to hand the package to him, she was shocked to see he’d removed all of his clothes.

  “Wow. I’m overdressed.”

  “Yes, you are,” he agreed. He helped her, and they pulled off her slacks with a single frenzied tug.

  With both of them in all their glory, he pulled her on top as he rested on his back. “I’m not in a hurry; what about you?” he asked.

  “I’ve got nowhere to go.” She was pleased that he was taking that approach. With the intensity they used removing her slacks, she worried that it was becoming a wham-bam, and, after the previous night, she didn’t think either of them should still have that kind of need.

  He made a move and they were both resting on one side, facing each other. “I want to kiss every inch of your body,” he said.

  Before she could grant him permission, if it was permission he sought, she felt his lips on her neck again. She tried to keep up with her own exploration of his strong body, but eventually the charge surging through her compelled Jordan to just lay back and enjoy it.

  He thought her mouth was sweet until his tongue parted her lower lips. He drank in her sweetness, and in that moment, he knew no other man would ever taste her—–not while he lived.

  * * * *

  Jordan felt she’d always been a little too uptight to verbalize her pleasure, but there was something about this man that made her moan from somewhere deep inside. When he entered her, she moved nimbly to avoid leaving him behind. He met her stroke for stroke, and they came together in a wondrous eruption.

  They lay in comfortable silence until she found herself nearly falling asleep.

  “That wasn’t fair,” he finally said. Before she could respond, he added, “I don’t want either of us to ever forget that.”

  Chapter Seven

  Everything about Jordan was proving to be contrary to his usual. In the past, when he had an encounter with one of the Sangsue while in the company of a human, it gave him great pleasure to wash the human’s memories. It was his only assurance that the Innocent would not be harmed because of him. But nothing about Artest’s time with Jordan was easily expendable.

  He decided he would do it while they were still in bed. She looked like she was falling asleep, and he knew if he added a little extra coaxing during the wash, he could make her rest comfortably. He figured he would slip out of the apartment before he had to look into those beautiful brown eyes again.

  He placed the palm of his right hand on the side of her neck. She moaned and nuzzled closer, and it broke his heart that she thought his move was a caress. “I’m coming back,” he whispered.

  “You better,” she mumbled, but he suspected she was sleep-talking.

  Artest closed his eyes and pictured their encounter with the Suckers. Her body jerked as they often do during such remembrances. It pained him to know she was reliving her fear. Concentrating as hard as possible, he “saw” it all in reverse. Mentally, he took her back to the club where they met, and he left her at the table with her friend.

  He didn’t remove his hand until he heard her rhythmic sleep-induced breathing. Artest figured it was the best washing he’d ever done. He didn’t want to leave even one memory that could cause her any grief.

  He got up and dressed. Then he went to the living room and removed his water glass. After that, he went to the bathroom and was careful about putting the seat back down the way she had it. He couldn’t decide if he should leave the religious icons or not. Thinking hard about it, he figured since he was leaving her sleeping, she could use the extra protection. That thought made him realize being with her had knocked him off his game. She was defenseless with or without the icons, and, in his right mind, he knew that better than anyone. When he was sure he’d reviewed and removed any indication that he’d been there, he reached for the front doorknob to leave. Then he heard a sound.

  Artest turned slowly, poised to fight. He was shocked by what he saw.

  Jordan was standing in the archway that led to her back rooms. She was holding a pillow in front of her naked body. Instead of shielding her nakedness, he thought the pillow, in its blue pillowcase, made her look even more desirable.

  He was a stranger caught in her apartment.

  He waited for the scream he expected to hear.

  “Artest,” she said, smiling. “Are you trying to sneak out on me?”

  Chapter Eight

  She thought he looked adorable standing at the door, caught trying to leave. Even though she was teasing him about running out, the shocked look on his face made her question if she might have hurt his feelings. How could such a big guy look so vulnerable?

  “I’m just kidding,” she felt she had to tell the poor thing. “It was my lame way of asking you, where are you going?”

  He took his hand off the door and moved closer, but she noticed his steps seemed hesitant. “I figured I would surprise you by getting your car for you,” he finally said.

  Jordan thought that was so sweet of him, but that didn’t explain why he wasn’t blinking. “But you don’t have my keys.”

  “I’m like the Sangsue in that regard, Jordan. I’m not concerned with locks either.”

  She found that fascinating. �
��Really, you can turn things on without a key?” She didn’t catch the double-entendre until he blushed. I really wasn’t talking dirty. I’m not that clever. She rehearsed the words but decided against saying them aloud.

  Instead of answering, he walked over to the television and placed his palm on the top of it. It turned on.

  “Show off,” she said, and he finally produced that lovely smile again.

  “Since you’re awake, maybe you should get dressed and come with me,” he said. His voice cracked and made an odd squeak. It seemed to puzzle him.

  “No, I need to shower. I’ll be here when you come back. We still need to do that memory thing, right?” His expression was priceless before he answered. She thought it meant he really wanted her to come with him.

  “Right. But promise me you won’t go out anywhere, not even to the laundry room, on your own, okay? Don’t move the icons and don’t invite anybody, not even somebody that looks like a friend, inside.”

  “How will I open the door for you?”

  “You don’t. I’ll get in when I get back—that’s not the problem.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No, my dear, just an expression.”

  He always had just a hint of an accent, but she heard it thicker when he said “my dear.” The sexy music of it made a chill run from her abdomen down. She couldn’t wait to call Leeana.

  He left, and Jordan went to get her phone. She settled on the bed, ready for a marathon conversation, but Leeana wasn’t home. She ended up telling Leeana’s machine that she was home safe and sound and was probably going to spend the day with Artest. “I’ll stop by after church tomorrow,” she promised before the machine cut her off.

  Jordan knew she really needed a shower, even though she could smell him on her body and a part of her wanted to keep it that way. The thought made her laugh. Wanting to smell like him has to be slut-like behavior. Her expression became more serious with the next thought: I wonder what Mama May would have thought of him.

  She always stressed ladylike behavior. She used to say if she taught me anything, it would be to act like a lady and to learn how to cook.

  But you taught me so much more, Mama May. You taught me how to love.

  In the shower she expected to think about him but found herself reliving the day the social worker took her to her last foster home. Jordan was fourteen and counting the days until she was old enough to be released from the system.

  Mama May wouldn’t tell her age, she said a lady never did, but she was older than the average fourteen-year-old’s mother. She was more like a grandmother. She was different from the other foster mothers too. She didn’t try to pretend to be Jordan’s friend, but she clearly wasn’t in it just for the money. For the first few months they were like adult roommates. May told the child the rules, and then she stepped back and waited for Jordan to warm to her. Jordan did warm to her, and eventually May became her friend, and soon after that, she became her mother. She had wanted to adopt Jordan, but the courts wouldn’t allow it because of May’s age. One night, in her junior year of high school, Mama May invited some school and church friends, adults and young people, to witness their own personal adoption ceremony.

  There was knocking at her door when Jordan turned off the shower. “Just a minute,” she hollered as she ran to the bedroom to get her terry robe. She expected it to be Artest, but remembering his warnings, she checked the peephole first.

  It was that face that came through her back door. Her heart jumped. She knew he probably couldn’t get in because of the icons, but beyond that, she didn’t know what she should do. She decided to pretend she’d been de-memorized already. She tried to think about what she would have said to him if she didn’t know he wanted to kill her. “Can I help you?” she asked through the door. She tried to sound as cheerful as possible.

  “I’m collecting for the Sacramento Blood Bank,” he answered.

  “That sounds like a good cause, but I’m not dressed. Just leave your literature by the door and I’ll send something later. I promise.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She waited until she heard his footsteps moving away, and then she went to the front window. Making sure she was hidden behind the curtains, she saw him talking to a second guy, whose face she couldn’t see. They seemed to be arguing, but she couldn’t hear them. They finally walked away. She noticed that, from behind, they were both tall and skinny and dressed all in black.

  Jordan decided to use the rest of the time to straighten up her room just in case Artest wanted to spend the night.

  Chapter Nine

  Another first, Artest thought, and this one wasn’t a good thing.

  He wasn’t sure she hadn’t been washed until he heard her call his name. There’d been many times in the past when he hadn’t gotten the reaction he’d expected—people handle surprise in many different ways—but he’d never before failed to wash a human.

  He didn’t know how to think about it. Emotion was clouding his judgment; he needed help.

  When he got outside her building, he called another Sacramento-based Hunter, Tyler. Actually, the name Artest had learned, when they were boys together, was Seydou. Artest still used it sometimes when the thought he was trying to express was more important than the greeting.

  He called him Seydou when he heard his friend answer the phone.

  “It must be important, my friend. It’s been too long since I’ve heard that name.”

  “It is—forgive my haste.”

  “Of course. Continue.”

  Artest told him everything that happened after the wash.

  “I don’t understand. Who is this woman? How did you find her sleeping?” he asked.

  Artest didn’t want to tell Tyler about their night of lovemaking. It wasn’t in his nature to speak of such things to any but the woman involved, but he needed his friend’s wisdom. “We are lovers,” he said.

  “Yes, of course. I should have understood that. I apologize for my intrusion into your personal affairs, but it is necessary. You used the presence tense—you will return to her?”

  “Yes. She is a special woman.”

  “You wish to spend more than, say, another night with her?”

  “I really do, but, under the circumstances, do I have a choice?”

  “No, you don’t. You must go back to her immediately and bring her in.”

  “Bring her in where? To my home?” That suggestion pleased him.

  “No, you must bring her to the temple until we can figure out what went wrong. The Sangsue can’t enter a temple without an invitation, and she’s not safe anywhere else.”

  He was right. Artest wondered why he hadn’t come to that thought himself. “To the temple here in Sacramento, or should I take her to the Priest?”

  “Umm,” Tyler said. “That’s a tough one.”

  Artest could picture him thinking, with his dreadlocked hair falling forward into his widely set deep brown eyes. Tyler didn’t go out for the hunts much anymore, and his appearance was becoming more like it had been in Mali. Hunters were supposed to be invisible, just as the Sangsue often were. That wasn’t to say they couldn’t be seen, but that they adapted to their environments. Unless they were living on Dogon soil—and all temples and safe homes were built on at least some ochre sands from Mali—they tended to have skin similar to the people in their environment. Artest found that in the United States, his skin was a combination of the many races and ethnic groups around him—most people considered it a deep tan or mixed race. Hunters often referred to their skin as that of a chameleon, but Artest didn’t like that term. The transformation was too gradual for that label to be true.

  None of the active Hunters in the States were as dark as the current people of their homeland, and those of them who were not in Africa or India tended to look lighter than their true skin color. When Artest lived in the Nordic countries for extended periods, he would become very pale and found he had a difficult time recognizing his mirrored im
age.

  He suspected that Tyler was being trained as a priest and that was why he rarely left the temple. These things weren’t discussed until it was to a Hunter’s advantage to know. Since Tyler’s home was built on Mali soil, it doubled as a temple, but the closest true temple was in San Francisco.

  “Bring her here. The Priest frowns on relationships with humans. Maybe you should avoid taking her to San Francisco unless we’re unable to help her. With all due respect, I’m really not up to hearing his jabbering about lust.”