by Turner, Xyla
Oh fuck.
“What training?” I asked.
Duncan sat back down and shook his head.
“You’re not going to like it. She said that most people would not like it,” he confessed. “Please promise you will not leave.”
I pulled the bacon from the oven, put it on some paper towels under the window, so the grease would drain and the smell would evaporate quicker, then I sat at the table with Duncan. I firmly squeezed his hand, and answered, “I am not going anywhere.”
“Donna was my therapist. She turned into my physiotherapist, when she taught social skills classes at the college I attended, then she became my sex therapist once I graduated. The sex was good and addictive. She used it to train me, and it was working. I am no deviant, but I enjoyed the release of sex. It helped me, especially because it released the pent up energy from the sensory overload and unpredictability that life often becomes for someone like me. She told me when I chose public office over her, that I would fail and come crawling back. She thought I needed her to be a better person.”
Duncan’s head shook, as if he were trying to shake the words off of him.
“They shouldn’t have called her,” he finally said.
“No, they shouldn’t have,” I agreed. “I don’t like her. At all.”
Fierce and raw anger coursed through me, making me regret that I didn’t drag her ass across the floor. It was sad that women and men would say and do this shit to people. Do their worst, and then when the other decides to make a different decision with their life, they say dumb shit, like “you won’t survive without me.” Who the fuck are they? The busty bitch better stay out of my way, I swear. I don’t think I have ever had such a visceral reaction to anyone like this.
“Portia, you are shaking.” Duncan observed. “Are you cold?”
“No, I am angry,” I spit out. With a deep breath, I continued, “I’m sorry that happened. There is one more thing I need to discuss with you, though.”
“Yes,” he replied before taking a sip of his apple juice.
“Your secretary.” I let that hang out there, but Duncan just waited expectantly for me to finish my thought. “I want to be clear. In no way shape or form am I trying to manipulate you or tell you what to do with your staff, but if I’m your woman and that snooty bitch is going to be your secretary, then we need to get some things clear. Your calendar should have been synced a long time ago, when you first asked her to do it. She should address me or acknowledge my presence when I am speaking to her because it is fucking rude not to. She has no right to decide when I will and will not talk to you. Only you get to decide that. Duncan, you might want to speak to her, or I will, and it won’t be pretty.”
When I was able to concentrate enough on his reaction to my words, I saw that he was smirking. The man never smirked.
“What?” I asked.
“You are my woman?” he asked the clarifying question.
The man, who normally made very little eye contact, held my eyes for what felt like forever. Discomfort cloaked my chest, making me squirm under the pressure of answering the question that usually a man determined, right? Could I just declare I was his woman? It never worked that way before, but this was different. He was different, and I loved this complicated man, so…I guess, it was what it was.
“Yes,” I replied with my chin held high. “I am yours, and you are mine. Big Red Donna cannot have you, nor can Sophia.”
“You are committing to me?” Duncan asked as if my last statement needed further clarification.
“Yes, Duncan,” I told him. “Are you committing?”
“I have always been committed to you, Portia. From the very first time I saw you, I knew. My emotional intelligence is not as advanced as my intellectual, but I felt it deep down.” He made a fist and held it to his chest. “I felt it here, and I have been committed to only you ever since. You have me. However, you will take me.”
This damn man.
It must have been dusty in his place because my allergies started to flare up and my eyes became teary.
“Dammit, Duncan.” I wiped at my face and felt moisture on the back of my hand.
“You are emotional,” Duncan observed, while scooting forward and squeezing my wet hand hard. “I do not want you to cry.”
I gave him a watery smile while my emotional heart tripped over and over again, then I blurted out, “You have made me fall for you, Duncan. I have a lot of emotions for you, and I am not trying to stop it anymore.”
To my surprise, the man stood up and rounded the table. Stating how I felt about him was sort of spontaneous, and I was not sure how he would take this news, but he was not running away, so I mentally held back any judgment or anxiety of what had not happened yet.
Duncan got on both of his knees before me and held out his hands, taking mine into his. As usual, his rough nature always made me aware that I liked his strength.
“You have a lot of emotions for me?” He was asking, but clarifying as well.
We were beyond the point of simply acting like the other knew, and with Duncan, I knew this would not be the case. Things had to be explained and very concretely.
“Yes, my emotions are strong for you,” I confirmed.
He nodded his head, then inched forward on his knees.
“Then you love me.” He was clarifying again, but that terminology on his lips, caused me to pause.
I did love him, but why was he asking this? This was confusing, but if he wanted to know the truth, then I had no problem with sharing that information.
“Yes, I love you, Duncan Lee Morgan.” I squeezed his hands back, so he could feel as well as hear my confirmation.
“Then you will marry me,” he stated as if I hadn’t bared my soul and undying love. “We will have a big ceremony because, although I do not want one, you deserve one. In addition, I am a state senator now, so it will need to be big for my constituents. Will you wear white or eggshell? I will need to know for my tuxedo…”
I held up my hand before Mr. Talkative could continue with his wedding plans. How did he jump from love to wedding plans so quickly?
“Duncan, I love you, but that doesn’t mean I am marrying you,” I explained.
“That does not make logical sense.” He looked confused with his brows pushed together. “People in love, get married. I want to marry you. You are to be my wife, and I want us to be partners. You love me.” He explained how he viewed it, but there was something missing.
At this, I stood up and let his hands go. My head was shaking, and for a slight moment, I felt trapped, like I was suffocating and had to get away. Duncan stood with me, but my feet began to pace in the small kitchen.
“Duncan,” I tried to reason with him. “Marriage is not an automatic thing when it comes to love. There are so many things that I still need to learn about you. I am just getting to know you, and it’s only been a short while. Time tells a lot, when talking about relationships. The same goes for you. You haven’t found out what a raving bitch I can be, especially during that time of the month or when I’m hungry. These things matter. Hell, I don’t know anything about your upbringing, and you’ve met my bitch of a mother. So it’s not automatic.”
He stood up and stared at me, but I knew he was processing my words. His hand went into his pocket and he pulled out something that caught my eye with the glint of the morning sunlight on it from the window. Duncan opened his hand in front of him and looked at it, as if he were willing it to move…
Holy shit.
I moved forward and saw that it was a ring. A big ass ring.
“Dun-Duncan,” I stuttered. “What is that?”
“Your ring,” he replied with his eyes still on the beautiful piece of jewelry.
“My ring?” I gasped.
He looked up at me with clear eyes and replied, “Yes. This is yours. You love me, and now we will get married.”
“Duncan, wait. I told you. Other things need to happen before we get there. This,”
I point to his hand, “is a huge leap. I mean, ginormous.”
He sighed and put the ring back in his pocket, then said, “Trent did not tell me about the other steps. What are they?”
Oh fuck.
I found myself sighing.
Then, I went to him, held his head in my palms and brought him down for a rough kiss. Just like my man always does, he took over by pulling me into his hard body and biting my bottom lip.
I growled and let him have his way because I knew he needed the release. There were so many things coming his way, but clouding my world too. Shit, I needed a damn release, and right now, sex would do.
Again.
Duncan did not like breaking his routine, but the sex worked some of the kinks out for him. He was still irritable throughout the day, and there was only so much friction my pussy could take. The man fucked hard, and unless he was using another hole, my hoo-ha was sore. When I shared this with him, he definitely did not understand because he suggested KY Jelly. After explaining that the issue was not getting lubricated, because all I had to do was think about him bending me over and fucking me nice and deep, and I grew wet. The man still didn’t get it, so I decided he needed to get out of the house, and we used his new membership to UFly sky diving for three hours. This gave me time to do some work remotely and call Bernie.
“Girl, what the fuck?” Bernie exclaimed over the phone without greeting me.
“Don’t even get me started,” I answered. “Ask that husband of yours why Duncan has a ring and tried to give it to me because I told him I loved him.”
The squeal that came through the phone had me pulling the speaker away from my ear.
“Oh my God, Portia.” My best friend was still screeching at this point. “You fell in love with him. I knew it. When you threatened to drag that bitch, I knew she was on your territory. Trent said the same thing.”
That shit was true because it was that bitch who made me go over to his place. Her face on the screen, speaking for him. Oh, hell fucking no. Not on my watch. I felt the need to protect him. Probably like he felt the need to do the same for me.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “But marriage, though?”
“Well, for him that’s the next logical step,” she explained. “I’m sure Trent said something along the lines of you can’t just marry the first pretty woman you see, but that she had to fall in love.”
That comment did not bode well because I had been the one to say I loved him, but he never said the same. Was I just some pretty woman that he set his eyes on early? Would some random anybody do? He had said that it wasn’t that way, but when I thought about how he was first introduced, it made me wonder.
“What are you over there plotting?” Bernie pulled me from my thoughts. “You went silent on me.”
“Just thinking,” I shared. “A lot is happening, and we still haven’t dealt with the matter of the press.”
“Oh, I think you’re good on that front,” Bernie informed me. “Apparently, Big Red’s comments caused people to back off. Smart woman. Then the tables turned, and it was less of a #MeToo moment and more of a, ‘I wish my man would kiss me like that.’ You and he are definitely a meme at this point.”
Why this made me burst out laughing, I had no idea. Two side profiles of us with him nipping my bottom lip was hot as hell. There was no doubt about that, but a meme.
“That’s hilarious.” I was still laughing.
“Yeah, I’ll say.” Bernie chuckled, too. “Trent, Rich, and Lucas began to tap into their constituents and community organizations to stir up the topic of special needs and tolerance. It’s definitely changed the tone of the conversation.”
“I’m not thanking Big Red, but please send my gratitude to the others?” I asked.
“Sure thing,” she replied. “Where are you now? You didn’t go to work, did you?”
“Naw, I took off today, but messing up Duncan’s routines is not advisable. I learned that the hard way today. He definitely needs to be at work.” I chuckled to myself. “We’re at UFly Sky Diving, so he can blow off some steam that doesn’t include fucking my brains out. I am sore as hell.”
At that comment, Bernie erupted in laughter as if she was about to burst a major artery.
“Girl, I know what you mean. For real.” She was still catching her breath. “Some days, I’m like, oral is the way to go.”
“Yeah, Girl.” I laughed with her. “It gets like that, sometimes.”
We hung up when Duncan’s sessions ended, meaning it was just he and I again. We immediately came up with a plan and a way for him to get back on his late afternoon and evening routine. This worked well for us because we went to dinner, like we scheduled, and then came home to watch more of Single Parents and went to bed.
Perfect, back on schedule.
* * *
A few weeks later, I found myself taking a trip to Rhode Island. Well, Duncan and I flew to his state because he had come up with a plan to achieve everything that I stated needed to happen before I married him. No matter how many times I explained that things did not work like that, he dug in and became even more stubborn. Unless I was giving him something else to add to the list, Mr. Morgan was not interested in my hang-ups.
He and I, over the next several weeks, had our own routine, which I found to be very helpful when getting my life more coordinated. Having dedicated time actually to get my receipts together for my job was amazing because I saw how much my Uber and food spending included that was not reimbursable by my job. It was a hell of a lot.
Duncan, Mr. Jack of all Trades, actually calculated my tax returns in his damn head and saw that I was not maximizing on the fact that my job required me to travel more than sixty percent of the time. He also saw that although my income was good, I was not saving enough for retirement, so I could be comfortable.
All of this was because he had planned in his day to do two hours of personal business on Saturday. Apparently, he assumed I would join him with this, since he changed his schedule to do grooming when I did. His personal care did not take as long.
Since mine was the whole day between weave touch-ups, nails, hair, and the spa. By week four, it was down to a science that included dinner afterward, which always led to sex.
Duncan consumed something to knock him out while he was on the plane. This did not negate him from squeezing my hand as he slept. The flight was not far, so I ended up getting the rental and driving us because he was still out of it.
What I was not prepared for was Duncan’s necessary preparations for staying at a hotel.
The man had his own sheets, bed firmer, a scanner to detect bed bugs, pillowcases, and my man did not wear any covers, but he packed me one. He put my liquid toiletries in small containers and brought several shower caps, with BlackHairMatters on them.
I had to laugh as we unpacked, and I saw him setting up everything. He even argued with the concierge about having his room near the elevator or vending machines, which made sense.
“Duncan, you are hilarious,” I murmured.
“I do not try to be,” he replied.
Walking over to him, I stood on my toes, lifted my head, and kissed him chastely on the lips. “I know.”
“What was that for?” Duncan asked, as he held me tightly against his hard body.
“Just for being you.” I smiled into those green eyes.
Once we finished unpacking, Duncan pulled the itinerary from his phone and said, “We meet my parents in one hour at the country club, which is a twenty-minute drive. So we have some time to relax.”
Since the trip was only an hour and a half trip, Duncan still looked a bit out of it. I told him to lay down, and I would wake him up. He was apprehensive to do this, but eventually the third yawn had him passing out on the couch. This was probably for the best because Duncan had not said much about his relationship with his family, but they were more than a notion, and that man needed his rest. So did I, for that matter.
He and I rode up to the country club, and
though I thought it would have been on a dirt road and the women would have pretty floral umbrellas with matching outfits, it was far from this. The place was very modern, with vertical glass windows and vinyl siding. The white porch wrapped around the entire circular structure, and the spiral staircase inside led to the restaurant, which was located on the second floor. The table settings were very formal, with fresh flowers in the middle, cloth napkins, china and utensils laid out in the correct order.
There were mostly middle-aged and older couples in the restaurant portion of the club, along with some groups of guys that looked like they were there to eat lunch and then go back to golfing quickly.
Duncan led us to an older, handsome couple, a tall, mostly grey-haired man and a silver-haired regal woman. Both of them were fairly fit and had few wrinkles on their faces. Their hair looked perfectly styled, and their clothing was expensive, but not gaudy. It was appropriate for their ages.
When we were a few feet away, the man rose with a broad smile and said, “The newest Senator of Rhode Island.”
“Father.” Duncan walked up to him, and they shared a strong shake of hands.
I was not sure if his father did this because he knew his son, or if it was a pissing contest Duncan would have won hands down. When they finished, his father sat down, and Duncan nodded and said, “Mother.”
“Son,” she acknowledged. “Good to see you looking healthy.”
“The same to you,” he replied, then turned to face me. “I would like to introduce you to my lady, Portia Lane. Portia, this is my mother and father, Sandra Morgan and Robert Morgan.”
“Hello.” I went to shake both of their hands. “It is very nice to meet you.”
They both smiled and shook my hand, before we sat down, and I nervously picked up the water that was in front of my place setting. “Son, how is Washington, D.C.? Entirely too busy for you, I’m sure.”
“Yes, but I have my routines,” he replied. “I have managed.”
At that comment, his mother turned to me and said, “Are you his therapist in D.C.?”
