The Wedding: Dark Romance Page 4

  I nod.

  “That was soul connecting kind of love. Not for each other Byran, it’s with each other. That's what we do with our bodies, our talents, our minds and hearts when we are free to just be ourselves and enjoy how we make each other feel.”

  I'm not sure what she's saying. But it's evident that tonight is all orchestrated by her. She’s the conductor. I’m just the artist in the band playing her music. It doesn’t bother me. Everyone in the bayou has a need. Some raw, physical serving of a need is haunting her. And as much as I would love to keep her spirit trapped like a dragonfly in a jar, until I solve the mystery, I know that eventually the liquor will fade, as will this excitement of something different. And when she’s gone I will have to pen the experience and play it through my saxophone to keep it real.

  I grab her and flip her over. She laughs. I get out of the bed and shed my wet clothes. I have to get out of them as if my life depends on it. And she is watching me with those hypnotic bright yet dark eyes of hers. A hint of a smile on those cherry lips. No matter how much we kiss the color to her lips never fades.

  She touches herself for me. A slow rub of her hands going north and south on and over her body. One hand stops to pinch her nipple and then other goes down between the delta of her thighs. Once those long lashes of hers flutter over her eyes and her lips pucker I know exactly what she's doing. And instead of coming back to the bed I'm frozen. Not sure why. It's not intimidation. It's a voyeur moment that makes my throat dry and my ball sack bulk. Coco slowly parts her thighs to reveal to me what she is doing. She's the maestro. I watch her reach an attainable height of passion but deny herself the prize. She's panting and glistening with an afterglow. Now I’m ready. I approach the bed.

  Chapter Three

  The first time I took a lover I was sixteen. He was twenty-two and a new teacher at our school. I attended a parochial Catholic boarding school that cost more than my tuition at Tulane. My father and grand-mère sent me there at the age of twelve. My mother put up a weak protest but she’s never had a voice. I hated them all for it. I had little power then so I had to adjust and accept my fate. But when I got older I found my own way to be heard, to be seen. Because of me and Mr. Bertrand’s illegal passions, my English literature teacher, the Headmaster, and the school was thrown into scandal. Mr. Bertrand resigned and avoided prosecution, but not the wrath of my brothers. He spent two weeks in the hospital recovering. He walks with a cane now and a permanent limp. My father had to make a sizable financial contribution to Our Lady Agnes to keep the affair out of the press.

  It was then my family tightened their grip to the point of strangulation on my life. My brothers watched me like a hawk and punished any man or boy I went after with threats that ultimately ended in physical violence. That is why Georgie warned Brick against this night with me.

  Brick reminds me of Mr. Bertrand. He was Cajun too. Tall, with that deep tan and muscles that stretch from his chest to his pelvis. Not an ounce of fat is on him. And his arms. Mercy! Brick’s arms are strong man arms, proportioned to his build but solid rock. Brick has a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm that extend to his chest. He may be a blues man, a jazz saxophonist, but there is an edge of danger to him that seduces the rebel in me. That is the only difference at the moment between him and Mr. Bertrand. That and the unnatural thickness of his cock.

  Brick uses a light wand to flame the tips of his incense. The patchouli tickles my nose hairs. He crawls over the bed toward me and I wish there was music playing. That saxophone is his strongest aphrodisiac. I’ll just have to conjure the music in my head.

  Brick stops to kiss my ankle. I have a diamond tennis anklet that was given to me by my older brother on my birthday two years ago. It sparkles in the dark and he looks at it as if seeing it for the first time. And then he brings his lips up to kiss my knee. I bend it and open my thighs wide. He brushes his lips over my sex and the breath I've been holding is released. He trails kisses along my inner thigh and comes face to face with my vagina. And though I know this is just the prelude, Brick has a technique that is similar to the main course. A wicked lick that bathes my pussy with the wet warmth from his tongue. Without thought of hesitation my hips work in a circular melodious motion in response. I enjoy it. I really enjoy the slow drag of the tip of his tongue from my opening to my clitoris. It’s a mind-numbing, body-tingling, genital-quivering, tease. And I want more from my blues man. He eases his hands under my left and right butt cheeks. Now my feet are flat to the bed, my knees and thighs are spread apart. He lifts my ass and goes to work. From my elevated position all I can see are his eyes. And he watches me. His tongue slicks again over my clit, and the tip teases the rigid knot by feathering it with soft lashes. Each tongue stroke went faster than the last. The muscles in my pelvis tighten and my body vibrates from my inner channel up into my tummy. It's a fluttering sensation that goes from warm to cool as I reach the first of many releases. He's wet me nice before he lets me go and eases on top of me.

  I find the strength to steady my breathing and open my eyes. We are belly to belly now. I can smell myself on his breath each time he breathes. And to my disappointment he doesn't kiss me. Not yet. He just stares at me. As if he too needs the time to collect himself and remember the script. This is the emotion I was trying to explain to him earlier. That adrenaline rush that comes with making love instead of just screwing around. You don't have to be in love to form a soul connection. Right?

  Brick leans to the left. His arm stretches to pull open the drawer on the side table. He brings out a long strand of condoms and rolls off me I want to watch. I'm not a size kind of girl but the male anatomy fascinates me. I grew up in a house of men but never saw much of it. Even childhood innocent curiosity was deemed sinful. So I learned elsewhere. Like with Mr. Bertrand. Brick breaks every stereotype when it comes to width, and his cock is average in length. He rolls the condom down and I swear it only goes halfway. It looks painfully tight.

  “Don't worry baebee, I know how to use it,” he says.

  I chuckle and welcome him back into my arms. But instead of getting on top he turns me to the side. My thigh goes over his hip and he eases down to be face to face with my breast. On our sides he angles his penis and glides it into me while sucking my nipple. The tense coil of pleasure in my belly from his tonging me unwinds and penetration is a new awakening. I close my eyes and shut out the sight of this room, this time, this space. All I want to do is feel. He gives me three deep thrusts and my body welcomes the invasion. I'm wet, and I can feel the muscles in my inner channel squeezing around his dick with each deep plunge, as if to reject the invasion because he’s too thick. It hurts a little. What’s pleasure without a tiny bit of pain? Brick senses my discomfort and angles his body to make it sweet for me. I then relax to have him glide out like silk. That's the dance. The hard stroke followed by the release. He lets go of my nipples with a wet plop. He lifts my knee from his hip and raises it to give him a view of this sideways penetration. These things I feel rather than see. My position is one of submission. He pumps his hips and keeps his target so I can feel all of his man-meat. Strike after strike he hits my inner bell that rings desire and heat up inside of my body. And his face is now close and up front to mine. He's kissing me, deep throating me with tongue as he deep fucks me with his cock. I grab his face and kiss him back. My tongue swirls over his, and his tongue rolls and swirls over mine before pushing in and swiping up to the roof of my mouth. I can barely keep up with breathing. Most of the air I take in comes through the flare of my nostrils.

  Coco's moving body sends me into overdrive. She pushes me down and gets on top without me slipping out of her tight silky walls. I'm breathless. Her juicy bottom and pussy at work breaks down my need to be the one in control. Coco is working her hips with her hands reaching behind her and gripping my thighs. The sweat from my brow is now in my eyes and my vision is blurred. I can still see her lovely moves. Faster and faster she goes ready to drain my cock. The harder or more precise her
moves the slicker her channel becomes and that too is torture. I'm tight… my dick is rock solid and my balls are full and ready to explode. Out of reflex reaction I grip her hips and slow down her passion. She seems startled at first and then smiles and comes down on me to lick at the sweat coating my chest while bouncing her pussy and ass on top of my cock. I rub the fat cheeks of her ass and I remember my wish. This can't end this way. I'm close. Too close.

  I lift her off me.

  “Byran!” she exclaims. “We making love!”

  Sorry bae-bee, I want to fuck. Like a madman I put her into position. She on all fours and me taking up the rear. She glances back at me and sees me coming behind her. The look in her eyes is wild with excitement. Her energy seems boundless. She goes face down with a dip in her spine and sticks her ass up to me. I have to shake my head to clear it from lust and regain focus.

  “Coco,” I say and once again taste her name on my tongue. Her perfume and arousal fills the air and mixes in with the patchouli incense I got burning. It's so intoxicating I'm doomed. We lock eyes. The pulse in my dick is jumping, my heart beat speeds up. I want back inside of her bad. But I have to give more control to my mind than my body or the minute I enter those sweet honey walls of hers I'm a goner.

  I refuse to waste any time. Without warning I push my hips forward and sink deep into her tight heat. Her pussy walls contract around my length and I reach deeper than I had before. It's like someone dropped pleasure crystals as cold as glacier ice down my spine and I shiver all the way to my toes. I'm thrusting, moving, rocking against her body. And I'm struggling to hold back my final climax. The cushion of her ass and fat juicy lips of her pussy squeezing me tight is breaking down my will. I'm not being pushed to the edge. Oh no. I'm being catapulted into a stratosphere beyond my comprehending. I'm on overload. The pressure spikes with my rising temperature and my hips work faster as I drill her lovely pussy to oblivion.

  “Faster! Do me harder,” she panted. Her nails scored the sheets ripping them from the edges of the mattress. Our bodies, are joined. It feels as if her pussy is infused on my dick and I can't escape. I can only drill faster and harder. She reaches between her parted thighs and grabs my ball sack. I wince and groan. I smack the side of her ass for punishment. She squeezes my ball sack harder. I smack her ass again and again while slamming into her pussy. The vibration sends a shockingly sweet sensation through both of us as her vagina gets wetter and warmer and my dick surges. It's no use in fighting it. With her squeezing my balls and her pussy squeezing my dick I'm lost. The battle for control slips and I have to cover her with my body. I hold her by the hips and pump in and out of her while licking her back shoulder blades and then resting my face against the back of her head. She's strong. She doesn't collapse under my weight. She is working her ass in circular motions causing slick suction noises that’s music of its own kind. All of it turns me on. I can't reason it away. I can't explain it. There is something raw and natural between us and I'm drowning in the emotion. I squeeze my eyes shut and try hard to be the man I know I am. Claim her pussy as my own. But instead the pussy is claiming me. And again all I can think is I'm a goner.

  With great effort I push down my climax. I'm determined to make her come first. I pinch her clit and she lets go of my nuts. She cries out. I drill her pussy faster and faster. Like a demon possessed I'm pummeling the pussy. I go with relentless force until she says my name. Not Byran. My real name. Brick. And then it happens. For us both. As perfect as the harmony we've been born to create. I don't let go. I'm filling up the reservoir of my condom wishing it was her pussy. Wishing she was mine. And she weakens. She goes down on the bed flat. I'm on top of her still moving with my cock no longer living up to its reputation. But I don't want to stop. I want to die in this pussy, stay inside of her for eternity.

  “Brick, stop,” she whimpers.

  I like that. Damn it my pride needs that cry of surrender. She's been killing me from the very start. Now I have the control. Now I'm the strongest. And I want to be. Because she's a woman who can't respect anything less. I don't know what made her that way. What broke her away from her world and brought her into mine. But I'm grateful. So grateful. I go flat on her and we are both slick. The city is muggy with heat after a rain. Without my fans on this room captures and holds that heat. We both are covered in sweat.

  I pull out of her with a low groan. I flop to my back. She lies on her stomach with her head turned away from me. I look over and there is one mark to her beautiful skin. A cherry. It's tattooed to her left butt cheek. And it's tiny. No bigger than a dime. I stare at it curiously. Not sure what it means. I touch it and she sighs. But she doesn't look over my way.

  “Coco?”

  “Yes?”

  “When did you get this?” I ask.

  “Last year,” she says.

  “Why here? What does it mean?”

  She tosses her damp hair and looks over to me. “What do you think it means Brick?”

  “I see women with tats to their backs, breasts, or above their pussy, hell even on their pussies. But not many go for this spot.” I kiss the cherry and look at her.

  “My parents are pretty strict, controlling. If they saw a tat on me when I was a teenager, it would be my funeral. Literally. So I got it there when I turned 18. My little secret. Our little secret.”

  I lift my gaze to hers. She has a sly smile on her face. Almost taunting and wicked.

  “What does it mean?”

  “If you don't know Brick then you don't deserve to know.”

  “I think I do.” I say and rub her ass. “Want me to show you?”

  “You're not ready,” she says. I'm laughing. I ease up and go in for another kiss while my dick presses between her fat buttocks and the head of cock aims at her forbidden zone. “Okay! Okay! I’m not ready!” she squeals.

  I chuckle. She turns under me and parts her thighs. The contact was gentle between us at first. However, heat slides through my body as her tongue goes in with a twirling strokes. She takes her time with kisses. I wish my dick would rise again. I wish she'd use some of that magic of hers and make it so. Because I'm a believer in her magic. No man could ever get this close to her and not be touched by it. I'm damned.

  We stop kissing and I lay on top of her with my head against her chest and her wet, hot pussy pressed flush against my abdomen. She locks her thighs around me to keep me there. And she's stroking my hair.

  “How old are you again?” I ask.

  She chuckles. “I told you I'm twenty-two.”

  “Not possible. Can't be right,” I say. “You have to be older, wiser.”

  “Why? Because I enjoy sex?”

  “You are good at it.”

  “So are you,” she chuckles.

  I guess that is my own weakness of mind. I'm used to women being far more subservient and submissive. They are in my culture, and in the jazz scene even the wildcats want to be tamed. Not Coco. My instincts warn me to stay alert and not blind myself to the way her body makes me feel. But right now with her soft, warm body beneath me I'm going for the emotion. And soon I fall asleep.

  We are both tired. I woke first. I listen to silence of him sleeping. Men snore. My father did. And so did all my brothers too—but not Brick. He was a silent sleeper. I turned on my side and study his face until my lids are pulled down by drowsiness and I drifted once again with thoughts that switched from relaxed elation to stress. So much was going on in my life. My mind can’t rest. But eventually I snuggle the hard strong body next to me and let sleep claim me. And then I woke again. This time around six. It took Brick another ten minutes to fully wake and dress to take me home. He grumbled and groaned as he brushes his teeth. He hadn't said much to me since. Last night we made love twice. And this morning He wanted to have sex again, but I declined his advances. Brick didn't seem like a morning person though he woke with an erection and kept poking me with it. I could tell it would be no more than a roll around, stick it in and pull it out session. If he really want
ed access to my body he needed to be fully vested in the endeavor. Or what was the point?

  I put on my dress and he gave me one of his blazers to throw over my shoulders for modesty. It was then I had to face myself as I did the walk of shame to his car. Showing up in the club in this dress and seducing a man I didn't know to bed wasn't the behavior to make my mother and grand-mère proud. Brick acted like we were old friends. He never once gave me a sideways look or asked me deeper or probing questions. And then we left. It was cool outside. I was grateful he didn't let the top down on his corvette for the drive. I was grateful for the silence. It gave me time to clear my head and settle on my emotions. And eventually we were driving through the serene streets of English Turn.

  “That’s the house,” I told him.

  “The second one with the tall gates to the left.” I pointed.

  Brick drove up the short drive to the front of the gates. I couldn't share the code to my grand-mère's home with him. He was still a stranger to me. So I got out of the car and walked around the front of the car to the key pad. My grand-mère neighbors were nosey. I looked around making sure no one was out walking a dog or in search of a cat. If they saw me with Brick the news would be all the way up to Shreveport before noon. I punched in the access number. The gates parted. I got back in and off we went.

  “You home alone?” he asks. He parks before the colonial style stone steps that led to the front of my plantation-style home.

  “All day. Come inside and I'll make us breakfast.”

  He looks at me with those rheumy red eyes of his and I feel bad for his suffering. I don't get hangovers. Never really drink to the point where I would have one. Or maybe my tolerance level is high. Brick looks beat-down from our night. I suspect he smokes weed. He didn’t around me, but I get that feeling. That doesn’t surprise me considering the company he keeps and his lifestyle.