“You ready?” he prompted. “He’s headed home himself in another car, so …”
Exhaling again, Makayla took the final bite of her gyro and chewed. Standing over her, she could tell Jackson was growing impatient.
“I don’t want to go, honestly,” she said gathering up the paper bag on the bench next to her. “I want to go someplace else.”
Jackson looked uncertain, and then apprehensive. That was when she remembered—he wasn’t her ‘friend’. Not quite. He was her employee, and Jamal, his other employer had given him an instruction that he wanted to follow. If she asked him to do something spontaneous, like take her to Atlantic City, or to Devin’s, for her it might mean spontaneity, but for him, it could mean his job.
“Okay,” she said standing. “Let’s go, I guess.”
Jackson took the crumpled-up trash from between her fingers and went to dump it in a nearby receptacle, then they headed back to the car. Once standing next to it, he waited for her, and like always, opened the door for her so she could climb in.
“How was school?”
Jamal was in the kitchen when she got home, leaning against the center island downing a bottle of water.
His hydration regimen was ridiculous. He drank maybe ten 12-oz. bottles every day, and almost no other fluids. No juice, no soda and only occasionally, decaffeinated coffee. In social situations he had alcohol, but only with twice as much water as a chaser. Maybe that was one of the reasons he looked so incredible. He would probably live to be one hundred-and-ten.
Makayla only hoped she could keep up and live to be ninety-something. If she wanted that, she would probably be better off laying off the sno-cones and gyros.
“It was okay. Same ol’-same ol’. You look … comfortable.”
He had removed his shirt and was barefoot and in loose sweatpants, kind of like he was on Sundays. Makayla struggled not to be swayed by the sight of his solid chest and abs. It was ludicrous, to react to him like this every single time.
Of course, it might also be because they hadn’t had connected physically in more than a week. Since that night in the club, he had been different. Not distant, but maybe … cautious?
“I am,” he said. “Turned my phone off. You can’t imagine what a difference that makes.”
“I can imagine,” she said. He had pushed himself up and was coming toward her, slowly like he was stalking his prey. “I constantly forget to charge my phone, so it’s off plenty.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said.
“But how come your phone’s off?” she asked.
He was getting closer, and Makayla had the ridiculous urge to turn and run, like the gazelle who realizes she is within the sights of a hunting lion. But she’d seen more than enough nature films to know that running would be futile. The lion always got his prey.
“I don’t want to be bothered,” Jamal said. He was directly in front of her, his chest inches from her face.
Makayla tried to control her breathing, but couldn’t. Somehow, she seemed to have lost its rhythm, so it was ragged and uneven. Jamal slid her satchel off her shoulder and it hit the floor with a thud. Then he slid the straps of her tank off as well. It was loose enough to fall to her waist.
Her breasts weren’t large enough for her to need a bra, and on hotter days like this one, she didn’t wear one. The cool air in the kitchen, and Jamal’s scrutiny caused her nipples to harden.
Smiling because he knew too well the effect he had on her, he lowered his head, kissing her across her collarbone, his tongue flicking over her skin. She had been perspiring in the sun not too long ago, so Makayla knew she must taste a little salty. She hoped he wasn’t planning to …
He fell to his knees in front of her, and as he did, peeled her loose maxi-skirt over her hips.
Oh god, oh god … he was going to …
The side of her that was her grandmother’s grandchild calculated how long it had been since she’d showered (three hours) and how likely it was that she was still as daisy-fresh as she had been then (fifty-fifty).
“Jamal …” She put a hand atop his head as he kissed her across her stomach. She gasped at the sensation, and felt herself trembling, and the goosebumps rising across the surface of her skin.
His hands were cupping her ass now, and he was nuzzling her between her legs, directly in her center. Makayla tried to pull back, but he held her firmly with both hands, and with his nose, and teeth nudged aside the fabric that covered her.
“Jamal … no … I …”
He paused and looked up at her. Makayla’s legs were trembling too, now. It felt good, but …
“You want to know what it’s like down here?” he said, reading her discomfort. “You smell like … you want me as much as I want you.”
“I do, but …”
“But nothing.” He reached for the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, lifting her foot to remove them completely and toss them aside.
“Sex in the kitchen isn’t really … sanitary,” she tried, resorting to humor, hoping to distract him from his mission long enough to persuade him they should resume after a shower. Or in the shower.
“It’s our kitchen. And this is where I want to taste you,” he said before lowering his head again.
It took all of three seconds for Makayla to forget her misgivings. Because Jamal was going at her like a man starved who had been given only thirty seconds to have his fill of the one thing that he most wanted.
His tongue lashed and swirled, entering her and then retreating again. His lips closed around her, massaging and suckling, pulling, tugging …. Makayla grabbed his head, pressing against him and heard his groan of approval. Then he lifted one of her legs, high enough to drape it over his shoulder, and angled his head to get even more of her.
That was it, Makayla couldn’t take anymore. She cried out her release and the leg supporting her weight almost buckled until Jamal caught and held her. But he didn’t stop, he only slowed, stroking her in like rhythm to the waves of her release.
When finally, he stopped, and seemed like he planned to lower her to the floor, Makayla regained her senses, just long enough to tell him that no, there was no way she was letting him make love to her on the grimy kitchen floor.
“It ain’t gon’ be no lovemaking,” Jamal said standing and then lifting her up, so her legs were wrapped about his waist. “You ‘bout to get fucked.”
“Did you really turn your phone off?” Makayla asked.
They were in the master suite, spent drowsy, the perspiration on their bodies, finally cooling and drying. The bedsheets were in disarray, and their limbs entwined.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I don’t want us to be bothered. As a matter of fact, we need to get up and get packed. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“A lot of time for what?”
“I’m taking you away. You okay with that?”
Makayla sat up and looked at him, excited.
“Away where?”
“Puerto Rico. Just for a couple days, but …”
“Baby, are you serious?” Her voice was a squeak.
“I had to pick a place where we won’t need a passport since you don’t have yours yet. But …”
Makayla slapped him on the chest.
“Ouch! What was …”
“If you’re messin’ with me, I’m going to be very, very angry,” she warned.
Jamal laughed. “I’m not messin’ with you. Our flight’s at five-sixteen.”
Makayla stood on the bed, jumping, squealing in excitement that she knew was disproportionate, but that she still couldn’t contain.
Then just as suddenly, she stopped and looked down at Jamal who was grinning at the view, his eyes roaming her naked legs, and finally coming to rest somewhere between them.
“But … can you do that, though?” she asked. “With all the work that …”
“It’s done. Come ‘ere.” He extended a hand to her, and Makay
la moved closer, taking it and lowering herself to her knees.
“Nah,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled her on top of him and reached down, arranging her legs so she was straddling him.
“Is that like, overkill?” Makayla asked, running her fingertips over his silky, smooth eyebrows. “Turning your phone off, I mean. What if …?”
“Stop thinking about that. It’s handled. I should’ve handled it sooner, planned better. As it is, we only have till Friday. I wish it was more, but …”
Makayla leaned in to shut him up with a kiss. It started out sweet, but turned within seconds to something else entirely and soon, Jamal had hoisted her up, and with lips still joined, they joined elsewhere as well.
Tugging her mouth from his, Makayla instead kissed his neck and bit his shoulders as Jamal held her waist and impaled her with hard, deep, upward thrusts.
“I love you,” she breathed against his ear. “I love you so much.”
Releasing her waist to instead grab her face, and turn her head toward him, Jamal kissed her hard, moaning the same words against her mouth. He slowed, and they rocked against each other, maintaining a steady, perfect rhythm until, once again, they were spent.
They showered afterward, and packed as quickly as they could, with Jamal barking at her to move even faster, and “make up your mind already!” when she couldn’t settle on what to put in her carry-on.
By the time they were in the car, heading for the airport they had both successfully irritated each other enough that Makayla was wondering how the same person could make her feel so much love, and yet so much exasperation in the span of less than two hours.
Jackson, sitting up front, as stoic as ever, didn’t speak or seem fazed by the steely silence coming from the backseat, and showed no reaction whatsoever when Jamal gave him the order to take them to JFK.
“Hey, man,” he said when they were almost there. “You got a phone charger up front?”
“Yes sir.”
Jamal handed his phone over the backseat. “Hook this up for me, would you?”
Makayla snorted.
“What’s that sound all about?”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to part from that thing for too long.”
“Well, your feeling is mistaken. Just because I want my phone fully-charged doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”
“My phone is dead. In fact, I don’t even know for sure that I have it,” she returned. “Because I don’t need it, and don’t intend to use it while we’re away. So …”
Jamal exhaled wearily. “Jackson, gimme the phone back, man. I don’t need the charge after all.”
“And you need to turn it off again, too.”
“Kayla.”
“I wasn’t the one who said …”
“Fine. I’m turning it off.”
Smiling to herself, Makayla turned to look out the window so Jamal wouldn’t see it. Seconds later she felt his hand on her thigh, squeezing. Looking over at him, she saw that he was still scowling, which only made her smile again.
“Get over here,” he said.
She scooted closer, and he hooked his hand over her thighs, sliding her even closer and then pulling one of her legs so it was draped over his. Makayla ducked under his arm and leaned back against his chest.
Lips pressed to her temple, Jamal spoke against it.
“You’re a pain-in-the-butt,” he said.
Makayla smiled yet again.
~21~
For the first few hours on the island, he couldn’t lie—Jamal’s fingers positively itched with the desire to turn on his phone. As soon as they landed after the almost four-hour flight, he instinctively reached for it, and only stopped when he noticed Kayla watching him out of the corner of her eyes.
When he sighed and settled back into his seat, she bit her lower lip and turned away again, no doubt biting back one of those smug smiles.
Yeah … that was okay.
He had something for her just as soon as they got to the villa he’d rented; something that would wipe that smile right off her face. All she would be doing that night, if he had his way, was moaning, and screaming his name. Hell, if he had his way, she wouldn’t even be coherent.
That was what he thought at the time.
But that first night, everything was PG-13. The villa was a small place on the beach in Dorado, steps from the sea, with two bedrooms and a small common room, and kitchen. When he was looking over places online, Jamal’s impulse at first was to go for the ones that were picturesque, with all the possible comforts a person could want or need, including live-in staff. But that wasn’t Kayla. A place like that would only make her uncomfortable, and walk around on pins and needles the entire time, reluctant to drop a wet towel from the beach, or put a glass down without a coaster.
So, he followed his gut and picked something that was small and homey, rustic, rather than luxurious; cozy, rather than palatial. It had large windows that admitted the sea-breeze, and large, humming ceiling fans rather than central air. The bed in the master bedroom—such as it was—smelled salty, as though the sheets had been washed in the ocean. And as a welcoming party, there was a little green lizard in the bathtub that Jamal had to shoo out before they could take a shower.
Other than a little screaming about the reptile issue, Kayla loved it, and declared the place “perfection.”
An older woman, named Nadia, who had been hired from a nearby town by the owner was their only staff. She cooked them a large dinner and assured them that she would be there to make breakfast and lunch each day, and to clean the bathrooms, and make the beds.
“Oh, no, we don’t need you to make our beds,” Kayla told her hastily. “Just a little help with the common areas is all.”
And when Jamal later asked her if she wanted to be making beds the entire time they were supposed to be relaxing she’d given him a look, and said that while he might be comfortable having a woman as old as her grandmother pick up after them, she was not.
That first night, while they ate a dinner of fish soup, fried plantains, rice and black beans, and beefsteak with onions, Jamal felt his antsy-ness dissipate a little. Full after the heavy meal and the sweet coconut flan dessert that followed, neither of them felt like doing much more than walking on the beach.
When they returned to the villa, there was a bottle of rum awaiting them with a note from the owner, welcoming them, and saying that it was good luck to have a drink the first night in the home. So, they found two glasses in the kitchen that Nadia had cleaned before leaving, and toasted together in bed.
Kayla was boozy enough to want to get busy, and Jamal was ready to oblige, but after brushing his teeth, he returned to the bedroom to find her already deeply, and completely asleep.
“Jamal.”
He opened one eye to find Kayla standing over him, blocking the sun. After breakfast, he had collapsed on one of the loungers under a coconut tree just a few yards from the water, that had just the right balance of sun rays and shade.
Kayla had gone for a swim, and to find a woman she noticed earlier that morning wandering along the waterfront, selling freshly-picked papaya from a basket balanced on her head. Now, she was back, wet, and with fruit in hand, her locs loose and hanging in long ropes over her shoulders and down her back.
Grinning, he sat up, taking her in—the long, firmly muscled legs, the wet t-shirt appearance of her thin, white swimsuit, and its pleasing contrast against her nutmeg-hued skin.
“You look like Eve in the Garden of Eden,” he said, pulling her down toward him. “And what’s that you got there? Those don’t look like papaya.”
Kayla turned the red fruit over in her hands and handed him one. It was shaped like a pear and had a hard, starchy exterior.
Jamal smelled it. It had a sweet, but almost briny odor that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
“It’s a Malaya apple,” Kayla said, looking as excited as though she’d discovered the key to the universe. “Bite it.”
> Jamal looked at her sideways. “Am I going to hate it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said cheerfully. “It’s definitely one of those things that would be an acquired taste. But that’s not the point. The point is to try it.”
“I don’t want to.” He handed it back over to her.
“Oh my god, babe. I tried sushi for you, remember? Salmon baby eggs? And you gave me this great speech about eating all of life or something like that.”
Jamal laughed. Sometimes he forgot how young she was, how little of the world she’d seen.
“Salmon roe. Salmon baby eggs is not a thing. And in that phrase, the word ‘baby’ would be redundant.”
He grabbed the apple back out of her hand and took a large bite. It was starchy, and juicy; but the juice had a sharp, sweet, but also watery taste, like coconut water but more, and the flesh was easily pulverized between his teeth, and not difficult to swallow.
“It would be good for keeping hydrated during a zombie apocalypse, but I can’t say it would ever be a favorite of mine,” he said, handing the partly-eaten fruit back to her.
“I know, right? Not the best.” She set the apples aside on the lounge chair next to his.
“You woke me up to try something you don’t even like yourself?” he asked incredulously.
Kayla shoved him in the ribs, and stretched herself alongside him, lifting his arm so she could rest her head on his bicep like a pillow.
“No, I woke you up so we could try something new together for the first time. I feel like you’ve shown me lots of new things. I’ve never shown you anything new.”
Turning his head to look at her, Jamal took in her eyes, cute button nose and her perfect mouth. When he met her, he remembered thinking that she was just an ordinary, average, somewhat pretty girl. Now, she was the most extraordinary thing in his life.
“You kiddin’ me?” he said. “The things you’ve shown me …”
“Like what?” she challenged.
“Love. Patience …”
“I mean, like real things.”
The Takedown Page 20
