“So, you’re firing the wedding planner?”
“No. We still need Claire. But when she sets up appointments, if at all humanly possible, you’re coming with me.”
Makayla could see the reluctance in his eyes, because Jamal didn’t take his commitments lightly, and in his work, there were always unforeseen emergencies, exigent circumstances, and exceptions; but she needed this.
They were getting married. That was scary enough without having to feel as though she was doing it all alone. She needed Jamal to do more than just show up on their wedding day wearing a tux that she and Claire had chosen for him. She needed him to show up for her in general.
There was no way for them to build a life together if he was never there. The wedding planning was going to be a challenge for him time-wise, she could see that. But dinner a few nights a week? He had to be able to keep that commitment. And if not, she could see no reason to believe he could commit to being the husband and partner she needed, either.
~11~
S undays were almost perfect.
That was the only day when nothing was expected of him. Jamal could work out without checking the time, make love to his woman, watch television, think nothing but shallow thoughts, take a nap, and then make love to his woman again.
Kayla lazed around the house in a tank top and underwear, her locs hanging almost to the small of her back, wild and free. They wrestled for the remote, debated whether to go out to eat brunch, and then debated again over dinner.
The debates were senseless, because they hardly ever went out. Instead they scavenged what was in the refrigerator, ordered delivery, or paid an exorbitant amount of money for someone to go fetch them food from restaurants that didn’t deliver.
And then they made love again.
At dusk, Kayla grew quiet, and though she tried to hide it, Jamal knew it was because she was dreading the next day, Monday, when he would be scarce to her once again. That time of day, when her mood changed, was what made Sundays a little less than perfect. Because he wanted to give her what she wanted, which was simply more time, and just didn’t have it to give.
So yeah, Sundays were less than perfect, but they were still pretty damned good.
This morning, as on every other Sunday, it was difficult not to wake at dawn, because he always did during the week. Even after waking, Jamal forced himself to stay in bed. Next to him, Kayla slept. Sometimes she held on to him, sometimes holding on to the body-pillow.
This morning she was wrapped around the pillow. She slept silently, never making even the slightest of sounds. She was the kind of sleeper that made Jamal want to put a put a mirror beneath her nose, just to make sure she was still breathing.
In repose, she looked like she was seventeen, instead of twenty-seven. The furrows between her brows smoothed out, as did the determined little purse that she often made of her lips. When Jamal first met her, she had been quiet and watchful until they got to know each other better. She carried with her a world of worries—looking after her ailing grandmother, holding down a full-time job, and a part-time schedule at grad school.
And, Jamal later learned, looking out for Devin Parks as well.
That was part of why Jamal still got a little twitchy about Devin, even to this day. Because he was responsible for some of the worry, and some of the weight that Kayla still carried.
This Sunday morning, as Jamal lay next to her, staring up at the ceiling of their bedroom, arms folded behind his head, he was thinking of ways that he might carry at least some of that worry. His first instinct, when Madison came to him with the news of her firm’s client with the dirt on Devin, was to tell Makayla and to have her warn Devin what he might be in for.
It had taken him only as long as the trip back to his office after lunch to dump that idea. He didn’t want to encourage Kayla’s caretaking instinct when it came to Devin. He didn’t want her to worry about him, brood about his problems, or even pay a role in the problem-solving. Especially not when the ‘problem’ could likely be solved with something that Jamal had plenty of at his disposal—money.
Kayla needed to leave all that behind—running traps for Devin, soothing Devin, fixing Devin. There might have been room for that in her past, but as far as Jamal was concerned, there was no room for any of it in her future. She was going to graduate from her Master’s program, start her career, and start their family.
If Devin Parks was going to be a continued weight—and there was no doubt that he was—then Jamal would be the one to bear it. Not Kayla. Not while he was her fiancée and definitely not when he was her husband.
So, he was going to have to reach out to Devin, and then, together, they would take care of the little Atlanta problem. Kayla didn’t even need to know until it was done.
Sitting up in bed, Jamal decided to get dressed and go out before she woke up, maybe consider the significance of this plan on the basketball court. He was going to actively conceal something from his woman; something he had never done before. It made his stomach flip just thinking about it. Because he had made himself a pledge a long time ago.
When he asked her to move in with him over a year ago, he had already known she was going to be his wife. Though he hadn’t told her all that back then, he knew. He made a silent pledge to her that she would have his honesty, his fidelity, and everything else he had to give. With him, she would have a life of certainty, and the security of knowing that the person she lived with, and loved, could be trusted unconditionally.
This plan compromised that.
But only, he rationalized to himself, for a short time. A couple of weeks tops. Just until he got it worked out. And then he would tell her everything she wanted to know.
Before she left for Atlanta, Jamal had reached out to Madison again, and told her to let her client (“My firm’s client,” she corrected him needlessly) know that he should hold tight, because Devin Parks and his people were willing to deal. Now all that was left was for Jamal to make that assertion a reality—he had to convince Devin to cooperate.
And there was no telling with that difficult little shit. ‘Cooperative’ was not among Devin’s traits that Jamal had ever experienced, even when it was for his own good.
Jamal was sitting at the end of the sofa, staring down at his iPad. From the knitting of his thick brows, Makayla could tell that something was worrying him, and had been for the past week when she first noticed he’d been quieter, and distracted.
Just that morning—a Sunday morning when they had all the time in the world to get frisky—he’d returned from a basketball game and headed straight for the shower without a word. He even walked by her on his way to the bathroom, and though she was standing in his path in only a lightweight tank-top and tiny bikini briefs, he hadn’t made even a passing, playful grab for her ass.
It had recently been in the press that Kendrick Cruise’s wife of less than a year had filed for divorce, and shortly thereafter, a tearful Kendrick made an appearance on a local radio show, announcing the suspension of his tour while he tried to “get my family back.”
Putting a tour on hold was going to cost what Jamal said was “a whole mess of money” but Makayla doubted it was the kind of thing he would dwell on. There were insurance policies for exactly that kind of calamity, and he was accustomed to fickle artists.
So, it had to be something else.
Looking up at her unexpectedly, he caught her staring and gave her a quick wink, turning his attention back to his iPad.
“Devin got a gig tonight?” he asked.
“Probably. He’s been pretty solidly booked for a while. Why? I wasn’t planning to go see him this time, if you wanted us to …”
“Nah. Actually, I was thinking we would go see him. If you want to.”
Narrowing her eyes, Makayla thought for a moment. She couldn’t recall a single instance in the last year when Jamal had expressed anything other than grudging curiosity about Devin’s music.
“Yeah,” she let the word linger on he
r tongue. “Sure. But we don’t have to. I mean, if you want to do something else.”
“Maybe we could ask Damon to come. Bring his girl. Or whichever girl he’s with right now. We could make a night of it.”
Narrowing her eyes, Makayla looked at him more closely.
“Sure,” she said again. “If you want to.”
Damon, the older of Jamal’s two brothers was also the one with whom he most frequently butted heads. Whenever they hung out, Makayla felt a little like a referee, whose job it was to blow the whistle when things were getting a little too rough.
“Yeah, let’s definitely do it,” Jamal said nodding “Lemme see whether he’s free, and then …”
When he looked down again, this time at the face of his phone, Makayla got up from her place on the sofa and went to stand over him, her legs straddling his. He looked up, his expression curious, bemused.
“It’s Sunday,” Makayla said.
Jamal’s eyes darted right and then left, as if he was searching for meaning in her comment.
Without another word, Makayla reached for the hem of her tank top and pulled it up, and over her head, dropping it on the floor next to her. She was braless underneath. Her nipples hardened just at the thought of how she had just brazenly undressed herself, and her breathing became slightly shallower.
Hooking her fingers at the waist of her underwear, she worked it down her hips as far as it would go with her legs set apart. Then she lifted one leg so she could pull it off without moving out of her straddling position.
Jamal slid aside his phone and iPad, arching one thick eyebrow, and giving her his undivided attention. A tiny smirk twisted one corner of his thick, perfect lips.
“Oh yeah,” he said dragging each word out. “Sunday.”
Eyes fixed on his, Makayla fell to her knees on one side of him, and reached forward, grabbing the waistband of his boxers. His smirk turned into a grin as he lifted his butt from the sofa, allowing her to pull it down, and off. Makayla’s breath became even shallower, and faster.
It had taken her a really long time to get comfortable with even occasionally taking the lead in their sex life. For a long time after they got together, she hadn’t been comfortable at all being the sexual aggressor. She probably would have gone on like that indefinitely, because Jamal’s sex-drive ensured that she never had to ask for it.
With him, she was thoroughly and frequently satisfied. Even during those weeks when they hardly found time for a significant or lengthy conversation, they managed to get it in. It never would have occurred to Makayla that there was something he wanted, or needed that he wasn’t getting.
But then, one Friday night, after a party that they had both returned from a little tipsy and a lot horny, Jamal brought it up.
‘I’m startin’ to feel some type of way,’ he said to her as he was balanced on his elbows, between her legs and poised to enter her. ‘You always wait for me … like you’re not into it, or somethin’.’
Makayla remembered her eyes going wide in astonishment. On his back, her legs flexed and clenched, as she strained to pull him closer.
Was she into it? Was he insane?
She was so into it, she daydreamed about ‘it’ in the middle of her Principles of Communication class.
She was so into it, she could feel herself getting wet, if she thought about him too long while in the middle of the routine parts of her day.
She was so into it, she sometimes squeezed her legs together when they were sitting opposite each other at dinner, because she knew he planned to have her for dessert.
But what she said, in a squeak—because that was the moment he tilted his pelvis and slid deep into her—was: ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I want you all the time,’ Jamal said, beginning a slow, circular grind. ‘Shit, I’m inside you right now, and I still want you …’
Makayla felt her eyes fluttering shut, but Jamal grabbed her chin firmly, forcing her to look at him again, his dark eyes piercing hers.
‘I want you to want me like that,’ he said.
‘I do,’ she’d insisted.
‘I want you to show me that you want me like that …’ he clarified. ‘I want to feel it … I want to know it …’
‘But …’
‘So next time I’m inside you,’ he said, his mouth moving to her neck and shoulder. ‘I want it to be because you put me there.’
And then he pulled out of her, left her on the bed and went in to take a shower, while Makayla lay there spread-eagled on the bed and calling after him, her voice shrill with frustration.
Finally, when she realized he wasn’t coming back, she got up and followed him, opening the shower door and getting in. He was blithely standing under the shower jets, letting the water course over his head. Opening one eye when he heard her open the door, he grinned.
‘That,’ she said. ‘Was an act of sexual … sexual … aggression.’
‘That’s not what that was,’ he said, still grinning. ‘I think you’re using that term incorrectly.’
‘Well … well, then it was … it was … whatever!’ she’d spluttered, the water from the shower getting into her eyes and mouth.
Turning to face her, Jamal had glanced down, and inclined his head toward his still-erect member.
‘That’s all you,’ he said. ‘You know that, right?’
Makayla almost swallowed enough water to drown herself. He was standing there, wet, glistening, and the sexiest man she had ever seen; and he was telling her he was all hers.
‘I know,’ she’d managed. All her annoyance had disappeared in an instant, replaced only by more desire than she had felt for anyone in her entire life.
‘Then, when you gon’ act like it?’
That night, and into the wee hours of the morning, maybe because she was tipsy, maybe because she was horny and probably because of some combination of both, Makayla had taken what was hers. Over, and over, and over again.
Some of the things they did … some of the things they said … It was the freakiest they had ever gotten up to that point in their relationship.
And after that, she couldn’t say she was cured of all her shyness about being the one to initiate sex. But she was better about it, and did it more often without feeling as self-conscious as she used to.
Like now, on her knees, having pulled Jamal’s boxers off him, and watching his semi-erection harden further before her eyes, Makayla felt no embarrassment, and no hesitation. Instead there was excitement, and a full, heavy wetness at her core.
Jamal leaned back into the sofa. He folded his arms behind his head. He smiled.
His smiles meant a million things, and she was expert at reading them all. This one said, ‘how long you gon’ make me wait?’
Not long, because since that morning when he had been too distracted to jump her the way he always did on Sundays, her body had been screaming for him. So, no, not long at all.
Shoving his legs roughly apart, Makayla shifted position so that she was kneeling between them, and bowing her head, she took him in her mouth. Just the tip, and just until she felt him harden still further, and felt a small amount of a warm, salty liquid on her tongue.
Jamal tried to lift his hips and push further into her mouth but she stopped him by pressing her elbows into his thigh muscles. He grunted in discomfort at the sudden pressure, and it was then that Makayla dipped her head further, allowing him far enough inside her mouth to touch the back of her throat.
“Aw … shit …” Jamal said. It sounded like he was speaking between clenched teeth.
If she could, Makayla would have smiled. Instead, she stroked him with her mouth, relieving the pressure on one of his thighs only so she could instead grasp him in her hand. There was always something hypnotic about the rhythm of him against her tongue. It was taste, texture, scent, sound … she heard, felt, tasted, and smelled his masculine arousal all at the same time. He was inside her, she was around him, and they were feeling the same pleasure.
Wrapping his arms around her, Jamal pulled her in a little so he could capture the tip of a breast between his lips. Sometimes he was gentle with this. But this time, not. This time he sucked hard, almost painfully so, until Makayla was crying and whimpering at the sensation, but not wanting him to stop.
One of his arms loosened from about her and Makayla reached down and grabbed his wrist, knowing what he was planning to do.
“Don’t,” she ordered “Don’t. Or I’ll come. I don’t want to … I want it to last.”
Jamal obeyed, and instead nipped her breast, so she cried out, and then he shifted his attention to the other one. While he gave it the same treatment as the first, Makayla reached between them and, lifting her hips, positioned him against her. Jamal groaned against her breast and bit that one as well.
Lowering herself, slowly enough to torture and tease them both, Makayla felt her moisture, copious and thick, easing the way.
“Shit …” Jamal had wrenched his lips away from her chest and instead grabbed her by the neck, his large hand spanning its width. He pulled her down into a long, soulful kiss, and Makayla moaned at the taste of him, and the feeling of him deep inside her now, pulsating in an almost angry rhythm as though resentful at being made to wait.
With hands on his shoulders, she rode him for long minutes, pausing only when Jamal’s fingers dug into her hips, slowing her down to prolong the pleasure. Their hot, wetness was grabbing and grasping and holding each other, just as Makayla’s heart reached for, grabbed, grasped and held onto to his.
“I love you,” she said, as she always did when she felt herself reaching her climax. “I love you … I love you …”
The Takedown Page 12
