Messalina: Devourer of Men

by Zetta Brown

  “What happened to him?”

  He takes a deep breath. “Last I heard, he’d jumped bail on an attempted murder charge and was last seen in Juarez, Mexico. That was in 2002.”

  “And your mom?”

  “Dead. Overdosed in ’99.”

  Jesus Christ. I can understand his lack of feeling for his parents, but I can’t imagine having that childhood. I stroke his hair off his forehead; his skin is warm.

  “Tell me,” I say, leaning my head to the side. “You go by Delaney, but the Petries adopted you. Why didn’t you change your name?”

  He sighs. “I choose to use Delaney as my way of showing my parents I survived despite them. That’s the name I was given and it’s part of me whether I like it or not. So, yes, Evadne,” he says, turning on his side to look me in the eye, “I have to live with my family too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Bitch goddess from hell”

  It is February and about four months after my orgy confession. Jared received word of a major assignment and has been busy for weeks. Whenever I ask what it is, he just winks at me and says it’s something that will allow him to spoil me in the manner he wants me to get accustomed to. As if spur of the moment trips out of state, dinners in super-exclusive restaurants, and silver Elsa Peretti earrings from Tiffany & Co. for our six month anniversary weren’t enough.

  At least I got his car detailed (he loved that) and took him on a romantic weekend to The Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs (leather restraints and toys—batteries included) for his Christmas present, even though I shared the benefits.

  I miss him. Jared is full of surprises and I’m amazed how bold I’ve become over the months. Who needs an orgy when you have an imagination and a willing partner? We get very physical and I love it. But bruises, bites, and scratches aside, I miss the simple act of sleeping next to him. As a result, I’ve had to put my sex drive in reverse. Part of me is annoyed, but I’m sympathetic to his needs. He’s been too busy to spend much time with me and has had to go out of town on business a few times. But mostly, he’s cloistered himself off from the world.

  “He’s in the middle of a project, that’s all,” his assistant, Trey Harker, says one day when we go to lunch. “You’ve never dated an artist before, have you, Cookie?”

  “No.” I smile. It’s amazing how the people in my life find it so easy to tag me with a pet name and Trey is no exception. He says he calls me “Cookie” because he thinks I’m sweet—plus I’m the first girlfriend of Jared’s that he’s been able to get along with.

  “Creative people get more single-minded and focused when they’re in the middle of something big.” Trey looks at me a little too keenly, almost appraisingly. “And what he’s doing now is big. Actually, Eva, you’ve distracted him for so long he’s backlogged.”

  Well, hell. I didn’t mean to make Jared’s life a hassle.

  “But what’s he working on?” I ask. “He doesn’t even talk about it. Or let me see it, for that matter.”

  “You know how artists are,” Trey says and laughs.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh . . . that’s right. No matter, sweetie, don’t let it bother you. I’ve yet to meet an artist who lets people see their unfinished work.”

  I press my lips together unsatisfied with his answer, but it will have to do. It’s been weeks since Jared and I spent any real time together or had sex.

  Our last date was a disaster. We were just going to dinner and a movie and had dinner first. Big mistake, because what we ate gave us food poisoning. Suffice it to say, there is one major hamburger chain that will never see the color of our money again.

  It was terrible. Within a couple of hours of eating, we were at my place taking turns worshipping the Porcelain God. The second time I emerged from the bathroom I found Jared raging on the phone to the manager of the restaurant. His voice started out deceivingly and dangerously calm before erupting like Vesuvius. It was scary, but I found it hard to keep from laughing. He may have been sick, with his red eyes and heavy sweating, but, for a moment, I felt sorry for the person on the receiving end of his wrath. Yet it gave me a thrill to see Jared in full force. I love seeing a man being a man and taking care of business. He is usually so calm and reassuring, especially during my rants and raves. This image was only slightly marred when he hung up the phone abruptly and nearly knocked me down on his way to the bathroom.

  Jared was in no condition to drive home, so he stayed. For three days we holed up in my apartment too weak for anything but cuddling and spooning. My mom and sister checked on us each day and Trey took care of Jared’s house. When he was fit to go home, he gave me a rain check for a night of “wild, passionate monkey-sex.”

  I’m still waiting.

  * * * *

  Things start looking up when Jared calls me to say he’s going to New Mexico for the week, but when he gets back on Sunday:

  “I intend to cash my rain check.”

  I’m in a good mood all week, even on Monday, and although I planned to prepare for Jared’s return at his place, I accept an invite to my parent’s house for Sunday dinner.

  My parents live in Park Hill not far from the golf course. They’ve seen the neighborhood boom, bust, and boom again. Although they can afford a home much larger than their 1940s bungalow, they have no plans to move from the house we all grew up in. Especially not since the property values have risen. If they hadn’t converted the basement into extra living space years ago, it may have forced them to move, because family dinners like these, with the grandkids included, wouldn’t be possible.

  Along with her talent for dancing and teaching, Mom likes to show off her ability to cook enough for an army. Tonight is no exception with lasagne (with homemade pasta); home-grown veggies of green beans, cucumbers, onions, corn, and tomatoes; and crusty bread. My parents added a conservatory to the formal dining room and that’s where we all sit. If Jared had been present, we would’ve made a baker’s dozen for dinner because Bev and Alex have taken Cubby, who’s completely recovered from his gunshot wound, into their home and may now adopt him. We plow into dessert of marble cake topped with homemade vanilla ice cream.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that purchase Jared made the night of the art show,” Dad says. “Did he like it?”

  “Oh, yes. He has it hanging up in the guest room.”

  Dad shakes his head. “I meant the other purchase. The magazine.”

  I was about to take another mouthful of cake when my belly bottoms out.

  “Sorry?” I blink, feigning ignorance.

  “Jared bought a magazine called The Life of Lucrezia . Didn’t he show it to you?”

  Pressing my lips together, I quickly cast a glance in the direction of my nephews. They were bent over their dessert bowls when Darien looks over and nudges his brother with an elbow. They are laughing! Silently, but laughing nonetheless. Delius raises his head to see me glaring at them and he brings it to the attention of his twin.

  “Uh, Mom, can we be excused?” he asks.

  LaRue looks at their plates as if expecting to see food left behind.

  “Take your dishes into the kitchen and wash them for Nana.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Delius wipes his mouth with a napkin and he, Darien, and Cubby leave the room.

  “You girls go too,” Beverly says. “You won’t be happy until you get to do what the boys do.”

  The girls get their plates and hightail it after their cousins.

  When they’re gone, I reply, “I may rememb
er seeing it. Why?”

  Dad shrugs. My dad is a big man, so even a “subtle” gesture like a shrug is significant.

  “A bit racy, isn’t it?”

  “Wait a minute!” Beverly laughs. “What’s going on? Has Eva’s been caught behind the Green Door again?”

  Theo, LaRue, and Alex all start going, “Oooh!”

  “Shut up!”

  “Evadne,” Mom snaps. “Keep your voice down. Your father is just asking a simple question. Why do you have to overreact?”

  “Because you are asking about my private life. Jared and I have been dating for over six months and you’re coming up with this now? How the hell do you think I’m supposed to feel?”

  “Watch your mouth, young lady,” Dad says, putting his fork down. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

  My face gets warm as the memories of a thousand scoldings come to mind as well as my anger. When I speak again, I try to keep calm. “I am not a child. Do not talk to me like I am.”

  “I don’t care for your tone,” my mom says and tries to stare me down. I’m in no mood to play, so I just roll my eyes and poke at my cake, which has turned into a soggy mush underneath melted ice cream.

  “I don’t mean to pry into your private life, Li’l Bit,” Dad says as if to prevent war breaking out between me and my mother. “But I’m not sure if I’m comfortable at the thought of—”

  “Dad! Stop. Please. Don’t worry about it.” I put my spoon down. I have been embarrassed in front of my siblings and in-laws like some infant. Thank God my nieces and nephews weren’t here; otherwise, I’d never maintain what little authority I have over them. I stand up.

  “Think I’ll go home now. Thanks for dinner.”

  Mom clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Don’t go away sulking like a spoiled brat, Evadne.”

  “I’m not sulking.” I toss my napkin on my chair. “I’m just fed up.”

  * * * *

  I am so fucking sick of this. Why is it that people with nothing better to do sit around and decide how I should live my life? Perhaps because I’ve let them do it for so long. This has got to stop. Now. Tonight. And I’m in just the mood to do it.

  I get to Jared’s house at nine o’clock and remember how I’m supposed to be waiting for him in the bedroom, ready for him to return. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, in the dark, when the phone on the nightstand rings.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Hello me. Where are you?”

  “Outside parking the car.”

  And sure enough, I hear his car pull up into the drive. The night is so still and quiet I can hear the ding, ding of the car door as he gets out.

  “Don’t forget your car keys,” I say and he laughs.

  “Are you ready for me, precious?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He hangs up. I hear the car’s trunk open, him taking out his luggage, and closing the trunk again. A minute later, there’s the sound of a key in the front door lock and the soft creak of door hinges. He’s on the stairs now and his footsteps are solid, almost trudging. He’s tired but not too tired for sex. He is never too tired for sex. A moment later, I see his silhouette filling the doorway. He flips on the light.

  He wears black jeans, a black tee, and a red and black flannel shirt that carries the scent of ozone from the storm brewing outside. His lips freeze in a surprised smile. My smile is frozen, too. Mine’s a bit more twisted than Jared’s but a smile nonetheless. He drops his suitcase.

  “I was expecting you naked.”

  “Nope. I’m not naked.”

  “I can see that.” He chuckles. “Need help?

  I shake my head and he looks at me questioningly.

  “Strip and lie face up on the bed,” I say.

  His eyes lock on mine as he kicks off his sneakers and removes his socks. He unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans, but I notice he has to maneuver carefully when pushing them down over his crotch. When he removes his jockey shorts, his cock springs forward and looks even larger now that we started shaving our pubic hair to facilitate some of the sex toys we’ve been experimenting with lately.

  Next to come off is his shirt, which he tosses onto a nearby chair. I take a moment to appraise him in all his glory—the defined muscles of his chest, legs, and arms, and the way his body seems to exude an aura of its own in the soft light. Jared has the smoothest, clearest skin I’ve ever seen on a grown man. I remember the hundreds of times my hands have caressed that skin and felt it slowly change from cool, to warm, to hot and slick as we made love. Tonight, I am going to make that skin burn.

  “Get on the bed,” I tell him. “And I suggest you make yourself comfortable. You’re in for a long night.”

  His long legs carry him to his destination in a few strides. Lying supine, his head on the pillows, his gaze softens but another part of his anatomy is getting harder. I open the blanket chest at the foot of the bed and beneath the comforters and quilts I uncover what Jared calls “bedroom hardware.” Ignoring the handcuffs and other restraints, I pull out a small collection of items and glance at him from over the lid of the chest.

  “I’m not going to restrain you, Jared, because it’s very simple.” I close the lid of the chest and rest the objects on top. “You are not to move or touch me unless I tell you to. If you do, I’ll go home.”

  The footboard of the bed keeps the toys out of his sight, but I take one item with me and sit beside him on the bed. He opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him with a steady gaze and lean across his chest, my left hand bracing me.

  “You are not allowed to speak unless I say so, and when you do, you will address me with the utmost respect.” I tweak his nipple with my free hand. His eyelids spread wide for a moment.

  “Now.” I sit back. “What do you say to that?”

  “Yes . . . Messalina.”

  We look at each other. For a man so big physically, whose presence can be intimidating and his anger downright frightening, Jared looks at me with complete trust and longing. I struggle to keep my gaze cool, but the honesty in his eyes throws me a curve. Here is a man who’s been neglected, abused, alone. And now, he’s putting himself at my mercy. I place my hand around his throat and feel his racing pulse before caressing his long, graceful neck. My hand continues across his chest and over his nipples. I break our gaze to watch my fingertips take in the ridges of his abdominal muscles. Jared may not have a six-pack, but he’s muscularly defined just the same. I swirl my index finger around his navel, knowing how it tickles him, and he suppresses a chuckle with a sigh. Not allowing myself to smile, I glance up at him. He’s watching me.

  My God, how his eyes sparkle. Where does it come from, this inner fire of his? Is it from surviving his childhood and becoming a success, or simply because he’s a good, loving man?

  I can’t allow for distraction so I turn my head away and let my hand continue its journey down. I caress his cock, feeling it pulsate and get harder. I pick up an item taken from the chest and slip a bolo-style cock ring around his shaft and over his balls, then adjust the ring to accommodate all of him. This will keep him under control for now.

  My forefinger gently taps the head of his cock, as if testing the ripeness of a different kind of passion fruit, and I am rewarded with a little drop of juice. I use my finger to bring a sample to my mouth to suck and nod approvingly.

  He has been holding his breath and releases a long, ragged sigh. Sensing he’s about to speak, I shoot him a disapproving glance and he
sucks in a breath through his teeth. I stand up and begin to strip. His eyes follow as I undo my wrap around skirt and expose black bikini panties. Bending down, I undo my ankle-strap heels and then remove my blouse. I keep on my black push-up bra knowing he likes the presentation it makes.

  “Turn over.” The sound of my voice startles both of us because it’s deeper and huskier than I’ve ever sounded before. Jared’s back presents as beautifully as his front—smooth skin, defined muscles—and a few faded scars where my fingernails have marked him in the past.

  “Close your eyes and keep them closed until I say otherwise.” I bend over to see that he complies and whisper in his ear, “I’d hold on to the headboard, if I were you.”

  I see a slight tremble in him as he grips the wood so tightly it makes a soft groan of complaint. His knuckles slowly turn white. I give his shoulders a quick massage.

  “Relax. Don’t tense up on me now.”

  Jared exhales again and relaxes into the mattress. I start massaging his body from his wrists, down his arms, then his back, finally arriving at the two perfect mounds of his buttocks where I linger for a while. I continue down his legs to his feet before coming back to his bottom. I give him a hard slap across the ass and he bucks up. I do it again, and then again. His ass is now a peach with a rosy blush.

  I move away from the bed and go to the bathroom to turn on the faucet and dampen a few towels with warm water. I see him turn his head in my direction.

  “Keep those eyes closed. I’m watching you, Jared. Don’t think for a moment you’re fooling me.” My tone is sharper than my emotions, but by his grimace, he doesn't know that. Nevertheless, I’m so eager, I want him inside me now, but this is an exercise in control for both of us.

  Having returned to the bed, I give him a rubdown with the towels, relaxing him even more. I even run a towel in a playful, shoeshine fashion between his ass cheeks and finish by “polishing” each bun. I flick his rump with the wet towel, causing him to flinch and suck in his breath. I do it several more times until I see the nice, rosy glow return to his cheeks.