by Love Belvin
“Jackson,” I shrilled.
“No!” His head shot up and he growled, “You wait until I’m ready,” that familiar glare in place.
His hips also arrested in the air. My chest heaved, but the cyclone had receded. Then Jackson pulled out of me, turning me onto my right side. He took me at my left thigh and lifted my leg before entering me swiftly and smoothly. I sucked in air through gritted teeth, taken by the new impression in this position. Jackson worked me over, pushing and lazily rearing, plunging and twisting his hips for countless rounds.
His hot hands were on my neck splayed, pulling my head toward his. “I want you to remember every inch of me inside of each inch of this sweetness,” he drawled in my ear. “When you retreat after this time with me, I want you to recount every imprint of your walls.”
I bit my lip to preserve my moans that would propel my release.
He took his time pleasuring us with his long strokes and eventually I began to understand his pace. It wasn’t easy to do, but each moment he was inside of me we were both vulnerable, open to pleasure…to each other. Rushing the act limited that window of connection. Jackson wanted to savor the intimacy, and damn if he didn’t have my ass relenting just to be enraptured in bliss like we were.
Then I felt him enlarge inside me. I heard his breathing turn distressed and his grip on my shoulder and thigh intensified.
“I’m ready,” he groaned. “Are you?”
That announcement spurred carnal elation and I dipped my hips into him, working according to his drives. Jackson’s thrumming of my nipple excited my slopes into him.
“Huhn?” he asked forcefully, pinching my nipple to the point of pain.
I yelped, unable to speak. And the moment the pain ebbed, I was met by an onslaught of kindled spikes of ecstasy.
“Elle, baby!” Jackson cried in my ear as he began to buck into my hips.
“Yes! I’m fucking coming!” I yelped. “Ohhhhhh! Mmmmm…” My cries were uncontrolled as my body shuddered.
Jackson clasped me into his hard frame, intensely, until his breathing stabilized. Dazed, I began to piece together a plan of dressing to leave. This was more of a feat when completely bare unlike a spontaneous quickie. My eyes rolled feebly to the back of my head. Exhaustion was engulfing me.
Where did my panties fall?
“Don’t fuckin’ think about moving right now!” Jackson’s yanking of my body was just as fierce as his demanding timber. I hadn’t moved an inch yet. “I’ll keep my word and take you home when you’re ready. Just give me this for a few seconds longer.” He clutched me at the abdomen, exactly where my scars were. “Don’t end this just yet.”
In a rare instant, I didn’t revolt. Instead, I snuggled deeper into his hold and closed my eyes. I wasn’t totally at rest. But my soul was definitely at ease.
Shrieking cries from a toddler under duress stirred me. The responding frightening yelps from another nearby tot snatched my attention.
“Samantha, Daddy is driving as fast as I can,” a masculine timber cried out as he steered.
The alarming cries of the first baby wouldn’t let up, and the organic response of the second’s continued to shrill in the hunter green Camry sedan.
“Honey, I’m gonna get you there, I promise. I’m sorry about this rain. Daddy’s gonna make it all go away. I promise. I always do.”
I could recognize the soothing plea of his tenor. The stark fear in his promise. The sounds of the heavy winds and violent thwacks of heavy rain against the car heightened my alarm. The windshield wipers worked crudely in the weather conditions. Vehicles were like aimless ants in willed fury for direction.
“Waaaaah…wah…waaaaaah!” ripped from the child’s lungs.
“SAMANTHA! I’M TRYING—“His shrieking abruptly halted. “Dear God!” he cried, terrorized with fear.
The trilling of a phone stirred me from my sleep. My eyes shot open.
Shit!
When I felt Jackson’s heavy body shuffle from behind me, I realized I’d fallen asleep.
“It’s Erika, saying…tomorrow morning is the only slot Shirez has available.” Jackson informed throatily while handing me my phone. “Why in the hell would you care about synching schedules with him?”
I took the phone, glancing over the message he’d just recited. I rolled my eyes, exhaling at being reminded of a former stressor. I noted the time. It was four in the morning and I was miserably exhausted, a sensation I hadn’t been accustomed to.
I need to go.
Raking my face with my palms, I yawned, “Shirez has gotten word on our deal. He wants to meet for a full rundown of the clothing line.”
“And?” Jackson snapped.
My eyes flew over to him, sitting artfully naked on the side of the bed, wearing a threatening glower.
“And,” I charged back. “I told her I’d look at my calendar to see when I could fit him in.”
“Why in the hell did you tell her that?”
“To buy myself time to prepare to deal with Shirez’s diva antics. It’s not like I had the luxury of popping my head into your office for a quick consult.”
“But you do have my cell, email and access to my itinerary if you needed my advice or to simply defer it to me! Shirez is a fuckin’ pompous, egotistical, whiny ass. He needs to be handled strategically. There’s no way he’s going to have his hands on a line we created!” he barked.
My mouth collapsed and I sat up to gather myself, taking on a posture of self-defense. “Hang on here—” But I’d moved too slow. Was thrown too askew for his speed.
“You need to learn how to separate what we do off the clock from what you’re paid to do. I don’t give a damn if we were in the middle of a lover’s quarrel, that shit doesn’t spill into work!”
What the hell?
I wanted to remind him that what we did as lovers happened during working hours, too. But I didn’t say anything, feeling snubbed and humiliated, similarly to how I felt leaving LaChateau. I had to quickly remind myself of why I hesitated on getting too close to Jackson in the first place. I’d slip up, like I had tonight, and made myself vulnerable to him. And when he returned to being all business, I was struggling to find my footing to defend myself.
I skirted off the bed and quickly began my hunt for my clothes. I sensed Jackson standing and then he paused.
“Must I remind you of my agreement to take you home, especially seeing that it’s four in the morning? You don’t have many options of transportation.”
I jumped to my feet, my eyes wild, blood boiling.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but apparently my need to tell you I can handle Shirez’s bitchass on my own is.” I hissed then took off to the en suite bathroom to dress.
“Elle,” he called out just before I slammed the door.
I felt totally disoriented, greatly disarmed from his fuck session and then scolding. I dressed in short time, haphazardly zipping my dress and pulling up my boots. I swept my hair into a ponytail, feeling an ache at the base of my neck.
Fuck! I let his ass bring on a damn headache!
I yanked open the door, wildly scanning the room, wanting Jackson to give me a reason to light his ass up.
I fucking fell asleep… In his arms!
You slipped big time, Elle.
When I located Jackson, he was by the bedroom door, holding out one hand for me to exit with him. I treaded past him with my chin in the air, he was sporting a scowl himself.
When we landed downstairs, just off the kitchen, preparing to turn into the garage, I saw Helen in the kitchen. I don’t know why I was surprised to see her at that hour. I damn sure felt caught. No one knew Jackson and I were sleeping together—had been sleeping together. That shit was in question at this moment.
“Beanie!” she greeted. Her eyes lit up at the recognition of me, but I could tell when she instantly reined in her elated surprise. “I’m glad I ran into you. Valerie is still harping on clearing the garage. She’s asking about the Austi
n-Healey and why it’s still out there if it isn’t working. I told her I’d bring it to your attention.”
Jackson exhaled harshly, exasperated even more, I guessed. “Shit!” he whispered. “The car will be rebuilt. I just haven’t had the time to find a reputable shop for it.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll speak to her. A’ight?”
Helen smiled wearily. I could tell she hid so much, but her eyes confirmed her fondness for Jackson. My current state of anger for him wouldn’t allow me to be happy someone in this house actually cared for him. Valerie damn sure didn’t.
Helen nodded. “You have a good day.” She then transferred her light gaze over to me. “Elle, sweetheart, you do the same.” Her beam was knowing, ironically fighting against my panic.
Rubbing the back of my neck anxiously with my palm, I returned, “You as well.”
Then Jackson moved for the door and I followed, shamefully and needing to get to the familiar quarters of my tiny efficiency in Harlem. As we threaded through the fleet of luxury cars, I caught a glance of the one Helen referred to moments before. It was a small pearl colored two-seater with all the trimmings of a sports car–chromed front end and buggy headlights. I wondered why Jackson didn’t just get rid of it. The car must have held sentimental value for him.
As Jackson closed the door once I was nestled inside of his car, I dismissed the thought, recalling I didn’t need to give a damn about anything related to the young Mr. Hunter. As he advised, I needed to keep our profession business and fucking completely separated. Jackson hopped in the other side, cranked the engine and we were pulling out of the enormous garage in a moment’s time.
eleven
“Oh, so I don’t understand? So, since when does a damn administrator in a fuckin’ PR gig get to tell Shirez that he don’t understand something about fashion?” he screamed as his palm smacked the conference room table. He jumped to his feet. “How ‘bout you either come with some original, ground-breaking, turn of the century shit that I can vibe with or we getting the fuck outta here and won’t look back on y’all counterfeit asses!”
My neck jerked back, stammered by his outburst. It came out of left field. We hadn’t been talking for twenty minutes yet and he was abrasive, screaming and presenting a threatening posture.
So much for me being able to take this on with a cool veneer.
Erika sat to the right of him, visibly trembling as she placed her palm over his hand on the table as a means of calming her husband. I couldn’t even focus on her cowardice betrayal. I told her we wouldn’t conduct any of our affairs with Shirez. He was too eccentric, unpredictable and explosive.
“With all due respect, Shirez,” I addressed him in the same relaxed manner I did before he’d just spazzed the hell out. “Appeasing you is of no concern to Jackson Hunter nor Dynamic Branding. Neither will we discuss strategy with you. Our only concern and focus is Erika Erc—”
“Let me explain one muthafuckin’ thing to you up in this bitch! My goddamn name is Shirez East.” He started glancing around the room as though in search of something. “Why the fuck am I even talking to lame ass broads who don’t even run shit? When y’all knew I was coming, the fuckin’ president, CEO and head of the board of trustees shoulda’ been here waiting on me to enter the fuckin’ room. Not you damn basic broads.” He sneered at Bridgette and me. “Do y’all even realize who she is? She’s the most relevant woman in American culture right now. How you gonna be representin’ her fashion line wearing Dior from the 2013 winter line? This here fall 2014! Step ya muthafuckin—”
The conference room door swinging open curbed Shirez’s tirade. The first to enter was a burly body—I mean a three-hundred-fifty pound beasty looking thug with keloids throughout his face with salt and pepper cornrows, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. Behind him was Jamie, who, for once, wasn’t sporting a clever grin. Then entered another ginormous brute wearing black sunglasses, a mean mug, and all black attire. The fourth to come into the small conference room was stoic Jackson. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he began unfastening the buttons on his stark gray jacket exposing the vest of his three piece underneath. My thighs tightened as I took inventory of his starched white dress shirt and periwinkle tie and matching handkerchief, elegantly tucked in the breast pocket. His black oxfords marched toward the head of the room with powered speed—not too hurried, but definitely a purposeful pace. His beard was just as full as it was last night when brushed against my hypersensitive skin, tickling me in the deliciously indecent crevices of my body.
Damn…
I needed to get my shit together. My pulse raced and breathing went ragged. Bridgette’s mouth hung to the floor, as her response to the rapid door opening sent her flying from her chair. Erika’s perfectly smoky lined eyes were wide and wild, clearly as startled as we were.
“Shit! Finally!” Shirez grounded. “I finally get somebody who can talk business. What up, Jax.” Shirez nodded, eyes aflutter, telling of the curbing of his tail between his legs.
“Erika,” Jackson called out while placing his portfolio on the desk. “I had to push a meeting up to make your impromptu conference today. What can we here at Dynamic Branding do for you?” Noticeably, he didn’t reciprocate Shirez’s greeting.
Erika sucked in a long breath, stalling, she rubbed her mauve stained lips together. The room grew silent. I remained quiet, still coming down from all of the turn of events generating from the conference room this morning. Not only that, I didn’t have Jackson’s angle and felt in my gut I needed to yield to his direction this morning, dealing with Shirez. This could get so ugly.
“Hold up, man,” Shirez scoffed. “So, you just gon’ ignore me?”
Jackson’s head was angled to the side and chin lifted in the air, his lower canines exposed, clear in his attempt to hold on to his fleeting patience.
He slowly licked his lips as his chin dipped. “Shirez, I believe the appropriate protocol for when an extended family member brings a disgruntled guest into my place of business…my home is to give that member the opportunity to present their grievances so we can address them.” Jackson’s tone was even and clipped. I’d never seen him out of sorts—well, with someone besides me—and didn’t know how this would fare. “So, again, I ask, Erika, what can we here at Dynamic Branding do for you?”
“Hold up! Don’t pull that shit! You don’t direct no questions at her. I get that she’s an iconic figure—”
“Could be…” I couldn’t help correcting his arrogant ass.
“Yeah, what the fuck ever, man,” he murmured my way before continuing. “I’m her husband. And Jackson, now you tryna’ play me after you already snuck behind my back with my wife, tryna do business that I can do for her? You ain’t got the juice, junior. Quincy woulda never handled shit so recklessly. You ain’t your pops, son, and you don’t wanna fuck with this grown man’s business right here.” Shirez pushed his chair back and broadened the wings of his back. “Just because you fucked the same older bitches your old man did and hung around the same old heads he ran wit’ don’t make you ready to run with the big dogs, son. I see your body guards. I see you posturing.”
Jackson snorted quietly. “Shirez, while there’s a lot of truth to that rant you just spit, one thing your hormonal ass should get clear is if you think you running up in my place, wigging the fuck out like you that mufuka, you got another thing coming. Don’t fuck up the suit with my “G”. I don’t need muscle to handle your wanna-be gangsta ass, only to carry you outta here if you keep up with the same antics I walked in here on.”
“Oh, so you gangsta? You ain’t Quincy, bruh. You’re from Long Island, not BK.” Shirez clarified.
“And you should know seeing you’re from suburban Detroit and not from the corners of it. You attended just as many academies and charter schools. You had the opportunity to do the college thing, too, until you wanted to switch up your”—Jackson used air quotations—“plight. See, the difference between you and me is that my pops gave me
a decent mailing address while exposing me to the same streets that raised him. His connections are my connections. His resources mine.”
“And what the fuck is that s’pose to mean?”
“It means that though you roll with Jay, you ain’t got no connect up in Brooklyn. It means that while I was at Gorilla’s son’s welcome home party last week, the goons pulled out a slightly grainy tape of you nailed to the wall in a basement by the fabric of your designer clothes, crying about flipping off at the mouth to Gorilla’s son. Snot nose and all, begging for your life. Some things never change, Shirez. You started running with Jay and them, thinking you was them until your mouth got yo’ ass snatched up from a Manhattan studio and shipped bound to a Bed-Stuy basement where not even Jay could vouch for your wailing ass. You cross too many fucking lines with your vanity. And you’re right ‘Rez; I ain’t my pops, because he woulda had your bitchass picked up right now by StentRo’s goons, who wanted a bite out of your ass for years, but wasn’t given the opportunity when you was fuckin’ Erika while on his clock. Yeah, remember when that recording of the Erceg’s fighting over Erika cheating with you went viral? Your saving grace was that StentRo was in the middle of something he thought was more important.”
Jackson shook his head as he snickered. “Oh, I was there the day when Beanie called up StentRo, begging him to give the word because you were performing in Philly the next week. You know they hail StentRo as athletic king down there even though he’s not from Philly. They would do anything for that dude down there. And the only reason your brief stay went over without a single issue is because StentRo declined. Your tour bus would’ve never made it to the Delaware Bridge without his grace.” Jackson ended with a cadence of elegance.
Shirez’s jaw flexed. He was visibly boiling with anger. This situation was turning violent by the second. When did I miss Jackson’s street credibility? Since when did he speak so loosely and deliver it with perfect d-boy credence? Who the fuck was Quincy Hunter and which parenting manual did he use when raising his son?
