Succulent

by Zane

  She rolled over on the bed. Other hands touched her—caressed her breasts, back, and neck. Other mouths kissed her mouth, belly, feet, sucked her toes; other hot, wet, probing tongues licked her all over.

  She lay there and let it happen. A woman put her arms around her neck. Sharpetta!

  “LaTisha, your man is a dirty bird,” the female dick whispered, nuzzling her neck.

  “At least you lost that damn hat,” LaTisha said, giggling and pushing away from her. “Stay on the case, girl!”

  “Just as well.” Sharpetta laughed. “Every time I fuck a client, I don’t get paid.”

  An eternity later LaTisha staggered back downstairs to the bar.

  “That drink was spiked with an aphrodisiac!” she stated accusingly to the bartender.

  “You think we want to get sued or wind up in jail? Wasn’t nothin’ but orange and papaya juice,” he said, giving her a knowing “Needed some excuse to get laid, eh?” look.

  “Don’t leave town,” LaTisha croaked, wobbling away. She didn’t try to find Sharpetta, Sam, or Dave. She took a cab home.

  She stumbled into her house, stripped, showered, and fell into bed exhausted.

  She was so out of it that she didn’t hear Sam come in. She didn’t see him until he was standing over her.

  He stood there a minute, then fell to his knees, crying like a baby!

  “I have been unfaithful to you, Tish,” he wailed, grabbing her hand.

  Now, of all times, he wanted to confess!

  “Sam—”

  “I have been a faithless, low-down, cheating snake! I have sullied our marriage, broken my vows, stained the sanctity of our connubial commitments.”

  Should she tell him he wasn’t a Lone Ranger now? Maybe tomorrow. “Sam—”

  “Tish. You knew. I know you did. I could see it in your eyes. Yet you never protested. You didn’t leave me. You soldiered on, loyally. That’s what finally brought me to my senses, love. That’s what made me—are you falling asleep?”

  “No. Yes. I had a rough day today. At the office.”

  “Daddy has a little something that’ll perk you up.” Sam got up and dropped his pants. He had a monstrous, throbbing hard-on.

  If pussies could talk, LaTisha’s would have yawned and proclaimed, “Not tonight, junior!”

  “We shall consecrate our love anew,” Sam said. “With a glorious bout of strenuous lovemaking!”

  I don’t know if niggas have rhythm, but they sure have lousy timing, LaTisha thought.

  “Sam, I’m not in the mood,” LaTisha said.

  Sam stood there looking as if he’d just seen somebody slap his mama, then said meekly, “Sure. Sure, baby cakes.” He stripped silently and got into bed with her. Then he took her in his arms.

  “You just want to be cuddled, don’t you?” he cooed. “Held. This is what I love about you. Your childlike innocence. Your—”

  Her loud snores cut him off at the pass.

  Anais

  Camille Blue

  “This is the last time that I dress you to return to him, Anais,” my love said.

  I gazed into Hamilton’s fathomless, dark eyes and nodded.

  Hamilton always washed me from head to toe before I returned to my husband. He would rinse away all the spicy, moist scents and residues from our love. His strong hands moved with gentle possessiveness as he parted my legs and eased his soapy fingers over and inside my vagina. He cleansed me, while branding me with his touch from the inside out.

  Hamilton would then dry me in thick, fluffy white towels and lay me across his lap as he massaged cocoa body butter all over my tingling skin. When he finished my massage, he held out my deep purple satin and lace bra. I slipped my arms into the bra and fastened it. Then Hamilton dipped his hands inside my bra and adjusted my breasts, before drawing my silk panties up my legs and over my hips and butt. His hands roamed over my barely clad body. He almost smiled then, as if against his will. He seemed to hate to reveal the pleasure he got from handling me, before I had to leave him for another.

  His tender attention continued as he smoothed my silk stockings up my legs and hooked them to my garters. I stepped into my black sheath dress and he drew it up my body. Like a child, I lifted my arms high and through the armholes of my dress. Hamilton zipped up my dress and held me close from behind. After a kiss on the neck, he bent and put my stiletto pumps back on my feet. He rose slowly, watching me the entire time.

  I smiled up at my magnificent love, Hamilton Kincaid. His smooth, deeply brown skin stretched gracefully over his six-foot-four muscular frame. His thick, curly black hair felt like raw silk whenever I sank my fingers into it. His angular, chiseled face with its high cheekbones called to mind African royalty from years long past. But those lips of his were the sexiest that I had kissed or would ever.

  “I love you, Hamilton,” I said. I wanted him to feel my love in his pores and throughout all the cells in his body.

  “Enough to leave him?” Hamilton’s gaze captured mine in a relentless hold.

  “Yes.” The warmth of my decision cloaked me for a few seconds, before the fear of actually leaving my husband descended.

  Hamilton kissed me so hard and long that we both were heavily and audibly breathing when we parted.

  I gathered my coat and purse. I touched his cheek and left.

  Hamilton and I had met at a jazz supper club, five months prior. I had been waiting to have dinner with my husband. After an hour, Justin had called to say that not only was he not going to meet me, but that he would not be home that night. I was preparing to leave when Hamilton appeared next to me at the bar. He gave me a slow smile that was sinful in its appeal.

  “Stay with me,” he said, then held out his hand.

  My small hand found my way into his. I sat back down with a smile of my own. We talked for hours about everything from the state of the world to how celebrity-obsessed our culture had become. Hamilton asked me what made me smile. I fell in love with him then.

  We met several times at different clubs and restaurants over the next three weeks. I held out for a month, before I let myself make love with him. Our first night of love was the genesis of many more nights of the most intense passion, pleasure, and cherishment that my body had ever known.

  I smiled in sweet remembrance and returned my mind to the present day. I belted my black trench coat tightly to ward off the whipping, freezing wind of an early Illinois spring. I hurried to get in my car. With regret, I left Hamilton in Oak Park as I returned to my husband’s downtown Chicago condo.

  I let myself inside the five-thousand-square-foot, ultramodern condo with its stark black-and-white furnishings and white-marble-tiled floors. After five years of living in this showplace, I still felt like a visitor who had long overstayed my welcome.

  My husband, Justin Alexander Watson III, strolled in late the next evening.

  “Hello,” I said. “Dinner will be ready soon. May I get you a drink?”

  “Martini. Vodka,” he ordered, and brushed past me on his way to the bedroom.

  Twenty minutes later, he joined me in the dining room. I set the plate of prime rib, scalloped potatoes, and green beans with sliced almonds in front of him. I sat down in front of my dinner of skinless, grilled chicken breast with mixed bitter greens salad. I looked across the table and observed my absentee husband.

  Justin was a handsome man. With his golden eyes, golden skin, golden fit body, and diamond-bright smile, Justin had it all and he knew it. He used his good looks, cunning, and legal skills to win many high-profile criminal cases. He was an anaconda in an angel’s body.

  “I’m leaving,” he said.

  “Your parents—”

  “I don’t need to be reminded of my parents’ visit,” he said with a freezing look. “Marisa’s birthday is tomorrow.” He took a sip of his drink and smiled at me. “I’m flying her to New York to celebrate.”

  Justin had stopped lying about his other women three years ago. Unfortunately for me, I did not
stop caring about his affairs until almost a year ago.

  I gave him the practiced look of hurt and acceptance that I had mastered. He richly enjoyed hurting me. I allowed him to think that I still cared enough about him to be emotionally hurt by him. It was imperative that Justin believe my charade. I had to be certain that he in no way suspected that I was loving Hamilton hard and good every chance Justin would give me.

  “I guess I’ll see you Saturday,” I said in a subdued voice.

  A tender half-smile curved his lips. I could tell that his mind was already on his beautiful sculptress who awaited him. Minutes later, he was gone.

  My first thought was to go to Hamilton. My body craved his, but I had commitments that would keep me on the home front for the next few days. I stoked the embers in the fireplace in my bedroom. Then I snuggled into the down comforter and fantasized about my own lover across town.

  Days later, I called Hamilton. He answered after two rings.

  “May I come to you?” I asked.

  “Come,” Hamilton said.

  My heart raced with anticipation as I smoothed down my little black dress. I tied a black-and-white silk scarf around my neck, then I checked my appearance. My body was slender, with breasts that were a bit large for my frame. My waist was narrow. My hips and butt were firm and gently curved. I kept myself in peak condition with a Justin-restricted diet and daily vigorous exercise.

  My makeup was light against my pale honey-brown skin. I added a little mascara to emphasize my chestnut brown eyes, with a hint of lip gloss and blush to complete my look. My straight black hair was parted down the middle and flowed over my shoulders and halfway down my back. Now I was ready to see my baby.

  When Hamilton opened the door for me, my heart beat quadruple time. He looked gorgeous in black slacks and a charcoal gray cable-knit turtleneck. He smiled at me, and like magic I felt happy and free. We kissed with slow sensuousness, until Hamilton tugged me inside his home.

  “I wanted to cook with you tonight,” I said. “I stopped by the store. They had some beautiful prawns.” I kept talking because I saw the question in his eyes, but I didn’t want to hear him ask it.

  “I thought we could make Szechwan shrimp with noodles.” I walked into the kitchen and Hamilton followed. I unpacked the groceries and avoided looking in his direction. “I could even make a Caesar salad.”

  Silence.

  “Baby?” I asked as I gripped the head of romaine lettuce tight.

  Hamilton turned me around to face him. His hands moved stealthily up my neck and cupped my head in his hands.

  “Have you left him?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Hamilton left me standing alone in the kitchen.

  “Hamilton?” I called out.

  Nothing.

  I started to shake all over as I walked into the living room. “Please, baby. Let me explain.”

  I watched his retreating back until he left my line of vision. Then I heard the quiet close of a door.

  I let out a shaky breath and plopped down on the toffee-colored leather sofa. Hamilton had left his black leather jacket nearby. I tugged it on and inhaled his cologne and the fragrance of his body. I felt so weary. I curled up into a ball and rocked myself on the sofa, until I fell asleep.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Hamilton standing over me. His shirt hung loose and unbuttoned. He held a bottle of imported beer by the neck, while his eyes raked over me.

  “Come into the bedroom,” he said, then walked away.

  I lay stunned for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. Then I decided to follow him. Only the light from the roaring fire and a few pale green pillar candles lit the bedroom. In the shadows, Hamilton leaned against the massive carved headboard of his mahogany bed. He was naked and sporting the most superb erection.

  “Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

  “Hamilton, please. Don’t be like this with me tonight.”

  He closed his bulging arms over his sculpted chest. “Now, Anais.”

  His coldness chilled me, even as I stood in front of the fireplace. Hamilton had never been this dispassionate with me. I felt so insecure.

  “Do as I say or leave my home.”

  Now I felt a hot anger beginning to burn inside me. I felt sick to death of men treating me like a mindless possession.

  I glared at him as I yanked the scarf off my neck and took off my dress. I kicked off my heels.

  Hamilton’s eyes narrowed as they drifted over the angry bruises all over my body. This was the first time that I had allowed Hamilton to see what Justin did to me. I usually waited until the bruises faded before I came to him. But now I wanted him to know the tremendous risks I took to be with him.

  The harshness in his eyes vanished. He moved toward me.

  “Stay on the bed,” I commanded. “You wanted a sex slave tonight. Let me perform for you.”

  He frowned and looked as if he would refuse me, then lay supine on the bed and watched me. I stepped up on the bed and stood straddling him.

  “Shall I dance for you?” I swayed my hips to India. Arie’s “Brown Skin,” which played only inside my head. I dropped the straps of my bra down my shoulders, before I tossed it on his chest.

  I tugged free the tiny bows on each of my hips. I watched Hamilton as I seesawed my panties between my thighs. I repeated that slow motion once, then twice, before dropping my panties over his face. He removed them slowly as he inhaled my humid scent. I stroked my hands down my flat stomach and covered my most intimate part from his avid gaze. I stood naked, physically and emotionally, before I knelt down over his body and inched my fingers up his chest.

  “Shall I suck your dick, baby?” I asked with a vicious little smile toying along my full lips. “Or should I back this thing up and let you hit it from the back? Would you like that, Hamilton?”

  He placed my hands over his heart. “You are more than a body to me. Don’t you know that?”

  “I thought I did,” I whispered. Then my anger and composure deserted me. “Until tonight.”

  “I’m so sorry, baby.” Hamilton touched and kissed my bruised and aching neck.

  I sighed and closed my eyes in pleasure. He caressed my sides and hips that were so tender from Justin’s kicks and punches.

  “I have to kill him now,” Hamilton said.

  “Then you would be taken away from me.” I let tears fall. “And I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  My eyes drifted to half-mast, as his lips moved over my breasts with tiny kisses and passionate tugs on my tight nipples.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist and leaned into him. He felt so warm and hard against me as his powerful arms held me close and tender. The sweetness of him felt almost unbearable. Still, I needed more. My hands cupped the muscles of his strong back. I grinded my hips against him and silently urged him to join us.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Hamilton whispered.

  Hamilton was a demanding lover. We weren’t always gentle with each other, but I always felt the love in our lovemaking.

  “Only you can heal me,” I said.

  He reversed our bodies. I sighed as the softness of the bedding shrouded my battered body. Hamilton lifted my right leg and kissed my toes, then my ankle. His kisses traveled up my leg and moved to the inside of my thighs. I closed my eyes and smiled as his lips placed moist, angel-soft kisses inside my upper thigh. He moved deeper between my legs as his tongue swirled and ebbed and flowed inside my heat. Hamilton treated my other leg to the same lavish treatment, but much slower. I ached with the need to feel his talented mouth at my thumping center.

  He loomed over me and tilted my pelvis to receive him. Hamilton’s penis still felt tight and so heavy inside me, even after all the times we had made love. But then he moved and my body stretched to accommodate his largeness. His strokes were slow and measured. I could tell that he was holding back, trying not to hurt me, so I squeezed him tightly and sank my teeth in his shoulder. The salty taste of his
skin flooded my mouth and made me bite harder, until I almost drew his blood. He groaned as he deepened and quickened his thrusts. I held on as long as I could, but my stamina was fading. I was so emotionally spent. My body let go. I continued to shake long after my unbelievable climax had ended.

  Hamilton soothed my body with his touch, while our bodies remained joined. My body was lax and motionless and his was still hard and waiting for my desire to return. Inch by hard inch, touch by silken touch, kiss by sultry kiss, Hamilton aroused me again.

  His hands guided my hips and he had me galloping on his big body, like the thoroughbred that he was. He revved up my body, then slowed me down so that I could go the distance with him this time. My body tensed, and the deep tugging, sweet ache in me needed to be released.

  “Let it all go, baby,” he said.

  I followed his command with blind obedience. My release fueled his. Hamilton groaned and rode me hard twice, then a third time, before he relinquished his iron self-control and let his body experience the pounding release and pleasure that he had always given me.

  After making love again, I lay on top of him, with my front against his back. We had not spoken in more than half an hour, but our silence felt comfortable. I caressed the back of his head before kissing the sweated out curve that his neck and shoulder made. I trailed my fingers across his broad shoulders and down his arms as far as I could reach. He captured my hand and brought it to his lips. I smiled and fell asleep.

  I woke up cocooned in Hamilton. His embrace in his sleep was almost as fierce as when he was awake. I had to be careful not to wake him as I maneuvered myself free. I dressed without washing this one time. I wanted to keep the scent of him, and us, with me for as long as I could. He looked so beautiful lying in profile with the still-shy rays of the early-morning sun peeking into the room.

  “I love you,” I whispered to his sleeping form. I kissed his shoulder and walked out of his life.