by Love Belvin
Apparently, Candice thought it would be a good time to move her relationship with Trevor along to an intimate level. She stripped before him in his parents’ pool room. You would think a boy his age would jump her bones before she was done dousing her clothing, but not Trevor. He stood there frozen. I could tell Candice took it as a sign of rejection. Girls of our kind don’t take too kindly to indifference or worse. Either we’re ready to slit our wrists or we view it as a challenge and push the envelope. It was still too early yet to determine what Candice’s course of action would be.
A strong yet gentle nudging awakened me. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep. I stirred and when my eyes opened up, I scanned the area around me. There was a tall figure standing above me. As I recalled where I was, I realized Candice was nowhere to be found. How could I have fallen so deeply asleep that I slept through her abandoning me here on the couch in her living room?
“I’ve already taken her up to her room,” Jackson’s baritone tenor rang out.
I licked my lips in direct response. I shuffled off the couch. “Let me catch Marie to see if I can bum a ride with her back to the city,” I thought I mumbled to myself, still feeling disoriented.
“Everyone from the office left about thirty minutes ago. I told Marie I’d give you a lift since I’m headed into the city tonight.”
I turned to him with a grimacing expression. “Why would you do that? Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to ride with her, specifically?” My words flew out of my mouth before my brain could retrieve them.
Jackson’s brows narrowed. My eyes dropped and I sighed and tried to distract myself by straightening my skirt. Why am I always left feeling odd in his presence? He’s a kid, for crying out loud!
I cleared my throat. “That was crass. I apologize.” I couldn’t even look him in the face. “I’ll get my things and we can head out. Don’t want to keep you any longer.”
I began moving towards the expansive entryway of the living room. The house was dark and quiet. The silence was so substantial that the sound of my stomach howling its emptiness rang throughout the room. I heard Jackson chuckle behind me.
“What the hell is so funny?” I bit out.
“Cranky bear is hungry,” he sang, I’m sure not realizing how much it appealed to me.
“I am not cranky!” I huffed on my way out of the room, and could hear the petulance in my voice.
In the kitchen, I riffled through my bag in search of my phone. I tossed around ChapStick, compact, lip glass, pocket tissues, business cards, and feminine wipes all in search of my phone. I heard clanking behind me, but the extraneous noise didn’t deter my attention. That’s until I smelled garlic…and chicken…and…is that bread?
I damn near jumped a 180 degree angle and found Jackson laying out serving dishes and then popping another into the microwave to warm. When he glanced up from the island, his penetrative gaze rose to meet my mine. Why the hell did he do even that sexily? Just then, I saw a curve on one side of his face. This bastard is flirting with food! Forgetting what I was doing previously, I stood there like a complete idiot.
“Does Cranky Bear want some of this? Helen makes a mean gravy and her biscuits are from scratch. They melt in your mouth,” he murmured, then crossed his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart… hope to die.”
I felt my oral glands secrete and I licked my lips.
Minutes later, we were standing over the massive island, throwing down on smothered fried chicken, mashed red potatoes, string beans, gravy and biscuits. It wasn’t my usual diet, but my stomach and taste buds didn’t mind.
“Mmmm…” I found myself moaning over my second helping.
“Good, right?” I heard him ask with a perceptive smile in his tenor.
I cracked open one lid to find him smirking as he chewed his food. His intermittent smile was bright and unwary. It was such a contrast to his usual demeanor. Despite myself, I found my cheeks rising. I swallowed down my food with homemade ice tea.
“Who’s responsible for this life-altering meal again?” I asked.
“Helen,” he glanced down, almost shamefully, at his plate. “Our housekeeper. She’s more like my lifeline.”
“Is that the woman who answers the door?”
“That would be my Helen,” he confirmed more confidently. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Women with your physique usually turn their noses up at southern meals.”
I was too damn hungry to. I hadn’t eaten all day, racking my brain for a way to break the news to my team about bombing the Erika Erceg account.
“It’s a welcome change for me,” I admitted. I never indulged in home-cooked meals, especially of the fattening variety.
“I know,” he retorted. “I’ve seen the bird food you eat.”
My head popped up and nose flared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Seemingly unperturbed, he inserted a forkful into his mouth, chewed and in moments replied, “Hips and thighs can’t live on salads and salads alone.” Then Jackson peered into my eyes, but not with his typical penetrative gaze. He was actually awaiting a rebuttal. When one didn’t come quickly enough, he turned back to his plate and muttered, “I can tell you were more…voluptuous, or should be, naturally.” When he was done, his chin didn’t rise, but his eyes did, to read my reaction.
That jarred me. I was curvier even before I gained a monstrous amount of weight right after high school. While in high school, I had round hips and a soft mound in the rear. I’d never been well-endowed in the breast department…until after high school. But even those went when I lost all the weight. All the signs of a former life. I went back to eating without uttering a word, and so did Jackson.
Things got quiet for a moment, and I couldn’t decide if it was because he didn’t have much to say to me, or I to him, or because he was measuring his familiarity with me. And since I couldn’t decide, I went along with it. Not for nothing, the food was slamming and could be the sole source of my attention any day. The gravy was hearty and although the chicken wasn’t fresh out of the oil with the sharpest crunch, it wasn’t soft and oily as I’ve had in the past. The string beans were crisp, seasoned well with lemon and garlic. And the creamy mashed potatoes—
“So, Springsteen?” I heard rumble from his voice, across the table. “Born to Run or Devil & Dust”…though I do see you as a “Maria’s Bed” type of woman.” His lips twitched up into a smile.
I sat back from my plate, deciding I’d had enough. My tummy was delightfully full. “Nah, I’m more of an Anita Baker, Lalah Hathaway…Phyllis Hyman type of soul,” I murmured with little thought.
Jackson sat back, too, and nodded his head solemnly. “Hmmmm…Anita. Are you the “You Bring Me Joy” type or “Fairy Tales”?”
“I don’t look for pies up in the sky, baby,” I quoted the lyrics to “Fairy Tales.”
He snickered and then mumbled, “Compositions.”
How does a man his age know the discography of Bruce Springsteen and Anita Baker? I mean, he had to be young enough to be their grandson.
“So, what type of guy are you? Wacka Flocka…Wale?” I asked, dripping sarcasm.
“That’s a wide spectrum. I actually like Wale,” he murmured, slowly reclining in his chair.
Interesting…
“I do, too,” I agreed.
His eyes lit up. “You like rap? Let me guess…Jay Z and Kanye West. Typical of women to go for the more popular and well-known ones.”
“No.”
“No?” Jackson’s brows arched.
I shook my head. “I’m not big on hip-hop; my interest goes beyond radio rotation. The only music I actually purchase is Wale and Monopoly. The only concert tickets I purchase are for the latter.”
“Monopoly?” He was confused…or intrigued?
So, there are things you don’t know?
“They’re a two-man group out of Columbia, South Carolina,” I shrugged. “I like their flow.”
“Hmmmm…” He pushed his
plate aside and leaned into the table. “I’ll have to check them out.”
I gave a strong nod, masking my sudden nervousness. “Perhaps you should.”
Maybe because I didn’t know if I’d be judged on my music preferences; maybe that was the root of my anxiousness. I really liked Monopoly. They weren’t thuggish rappers, but extremely talented and real. I used to sneak down to North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia to see them perform when I could. And now that I’m an independent adult, I check them out when I can. I used to crush on Rock, one of the members, hard back in my day.
“So?” I asked, breaking my private thoughts and hoping to remove us from my choice of music—rap music, no less. I shoved my plate aside. I didn’t want to be tempted to pig out more than I already had. I knew I’d work it off in the morning.
“So, what?”
“What music personality are you? You know…your type?” I used air quotations.
Jackson reclined in his chair, never removing his eyes from mine. He only intensified it by squinting more. Squinting was his thing…with me. He always burned into me with those eyes. There was so much behind them. And for some gluttonous reason, I wanted to know what. Why did I care? I was concerned with the prospect of being drawn to this young man!
And his wayward sister!
I watched as he once again brought his hand to his full yet flat lips and bit down on his thumb. Then he rubbed that patch of hair beneath his bottom lip. This was a habit of his, something he did when contemplative. Age aside, Jackson was appealing. He was tall, handsome, composed, eloquent, and reserved. Even among our team, Jackson didn’t speak much as our leader, beyond providing instruction. We were a boisterous group and although I was the oldest, he was the odd ball in terms of gelling.
“I’m more of a Donnie Hathaway…Will Downing type of guy,” he answered.
My eyes shot up to him, trying to discern what that would mean about who the real Jackson Hunter is.
“And hip-hop?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’m pretty discriminating with that genre. I usually consume what I know to be realism from the artist. For so many, it’s a gimmick. I’ve never run the streets, so I can only appreciate so much. I know several rappers personally and can vouch for the authenticity of their art. The others are hype at the ministrations of the producers and engineers.”
Interesting… Loaded, but interesting.
“Maybe I’ll be the next Monopoly groupie so I can be in good company,” he murmured teasingly before breaking into the most tempting smirk that became infectious in no time.
I could never mistake, miss or underappreciate his smile; it rarely occurred. He stood and collected the plates from the table before taking off for the sink, I’d assumed.
“Jackson, why don’t you smile more often?” I couldn’t believe that question hurled from my lips. I guess it had resounded so loudly in my head that it escaped through my mouth.
He hesitated over the sink, seemingly taking in my words. His neck swayed slightly, his chin hovering over his clavicle. “I don’t think I measure the output of my smile, Elle.” A grin played at his lips.
He knew what I was getting at. Jackson was playing coy.
“Around the others…you’re quite reserved. It’s odd seeing that one of your best friends is on your team and as rowdy as they come, yet you never join in with him. Is that because you’re posing to garner respect?” I asked knowing that was not true. Jackson’s aloof persona was not an act.
He paused again at the sink. The water was still running as he held a plate suspended above the huge stainless steel bowl. In seconds, he continued with rinsing it. My lips were ajar, awaiting an answer.
“I guess you could say I’m a preoccupied individual. I can admit to that, but it’s no front. I’m me. I strive to be me…honest…,” he susurrated.
And there was that consuming penetrative gaze, scorching me. My clitoris throbbed and I found myself biting my bottom lip. That’s when it hit me: this was the same sweltering regard he gave me the night we met in the bar. There was the palpable pull that propelled me to him. Something far beyond sexual, but somehow manifested itself sexually that night. Suddenly, I felt my heart racing, my chest heaving. I snapped my neck, shamefully tearing my gaze from him, embarrassed by my pathetic reaction.
I heard movements behind me and I assumed he continued with the dishes. Within seconds, I regained myself. I could finally speak.
“Honesty isn’t always good. It isn’t always noble,” I murmured, still unable to look at him again. Afraid to get lost in the ember of his orbs.
“Only when it brings deception or pain,” I heard and felt a warm breeze just beyond my ear. I leaped on a turn into the direction of his voice on the other side of the island where the kitchen sink was. And in an instant, Jackson pounced and landed directly in front of me. I opened my eyes to his strong gaze that dizzied me.
My lids fluttered. “Oh,” came out more as a whisper. He was so close.
My pupils lolled between his eyes and flat, full lips. At this point, I’d lost control of my breathing. I wanted so badly for him to kiss me. It felt like the natural thing to do in this proximity. Then he flattened his hard chest against mine. Memories of the curvatures of his pecs flooded my brain. My mouth opened, silently begging for his lips. His eyes trailed down my face and landed on my mouth.
Yes. Please!
“Jackson,” rushed out in a whisper. “We can’t.”
“You want honesty? I gave it to you. I want to revisit the terms of our relationship,” his silky tenor barreled out.
I found myself licking my lips as my head shook. “I don’t want to hurt you. You said honesty isn’t good when it brings pain. I’m…dark, Jackson.” I fought to control my breath. “My soul is tainted.”
I felt so raw and vulnerable; two things I wasn’t familiar with anymore and didn’t relish it. He hovered over me for what seemed like forever, studying me.
“I want to put my mouth on you…taste your lips.”
“You don’t kiss, remember?” I reminded him breathlessly, suddenly finding my voice.
“Not those,” he nodded toward my face. “These,” he answered while dipping his head below.
Instantaneously, the bottom of my dress was lifted up to my waist and my panties were yanked down. Jackson lifted me onto the countertop, my dress draped over my thighs as he buried his face in between them before I could ask him to stop. The warmth and strength of his tongue masterfully lashed between my labia. One long stroke up, and another coming down. Then I felt his tongue breach my vagina, entering into my inner walls. My mouth swung open, but nothing could come out. I was too damn afraid of alerting someone to walk in on us, but more in shock of the undulated waves occurring in the core of me, reaching to my extremities. My hands gripped the edge of the counter and my body tensed almost like a board. Then his firm tongue rolled over my tight nub and my entire body jerked violently.
“Shit,” I breathed out just over a whisper.
Jackson wouldn’t relent. His tongue swiped firmly and expeditiously, causing the backs of my knees to lift from his shoulders and my back to arch off the expansive countertop. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d felt pleasure like this. It had been…forever. Fuck! I sucked in my lips before my cries poured. That quickly, I was coming—hard and fast. I felt tremors in every inch of my body. My breath came out in long and loud draws as Jackson held my hips and milked the last of my orgasm from me.
I heard a ringing sound in my head, draining out everything else. My breathing had accelerated a new level. My heart was pounding. My mouth grew cold from the deep and hard breaths from air plodding into and out of my lungs.
Jackson’s head was still below. His long arms were stretched before him, gripping the counter edge just as mine had earlier. It was as if he were meditating. But on what: what he had just done or was about to do?
Or does he see them?
“Oh, dear!” I heard from just behind my head.
I heard mumbling from down the hall, but couldn’t make out distinct words. Jackson’s tone was controlled as the woman’s elevated to express her disapproval of what she walked in on. It didn’t go on for long. I stayed in one spot, praying for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. My heart was still racing, and mind running. I don’t know how long it was before I finally moved toward the vanity and turned on the sink to wash myself. When I was done, I checked my face. My cheeks were rosy, my eyes glazed and my skin flushed. I mouthed a What the fuck? to myself again.
After some time, I decided it was time for me to come out of the bathroom and call a cab. I thought if that was Jackson’s mother, she’d probably summoned him to his corner, rebuking his sophomoric-like behavior of going down on a woman, nine years his senior, on her marble countertop. I recalled her almond skin, thick lashes lining her horror-filled eyes, and her perked lips that were parted in total shock.
You can’t stay in here all night!
It was late, a mere two hours before midnight. I bit my bottom lip as I turned the knob. When I was just outside of the threshold, I looked to my right and saw no one. It wasn’t until my eyes traveled left that I saw Jackson, leaning against the wall on the far end of the corridor leading to the entryway of the kitchen. His head was turned toward me. Those eyes boring into me, seizing me. For what seemed like hours, I stood frozen, not knowing what to do or say.
Jackson pushed out a long exhale. “Come on, Elle. Let me get you home. I have an early day tomorrow.”
He was still willing to give me a lift? His mother wasn’t calling 911? Was that his mother?
“Was that your mother?” My voice was shaky. I hated it.
It took a few seconds, but he nodded his head softly.
“Shit,” I whispered as my head fell in shame.
