The Wedding: Dark Romance Page 5

  “You can lie down, relax before you have to leave. Come inside, I can cure that headache of yours.”

  “How do you know I have a headache?” he asks.

  I wink and get out of the car. At this point it's up to him to join me or not. But my instincts tell me the decision has already been made for him. He turns off the car and gets out. He goes to his trunk and finds his saxophone. He never leaves his instrument behind.

  “So this is where you live?” he asks.

  “Yes. My grand-mère's new home is the closest my family could find to resemble our old.”

  “Where was your old home?”

  “Back in Houma and destroyed by flooding after Katrina.”

  “Ah?” he glances across the land. I stand on the second step of my house and survey it with Brick. My family new land is surrounded by hundreds of tall 19th century oaks that are covered in Spanish moss. It sits on three acres. You can't see the bark on the branches from the stringy web-like moss. It's really beautiful in the morning with the dew covered emerald green grass and clear sky.

  “When I was a little girl I loved climbing trees like those,” I tell him. “Now it just makes me feel safe and comfy to see them.”

  “I’m a tree climber myself. Had to be growing up in the bayou,” he says.

  “There's a guest house to the back that my brother lives in. And servant quarters too. C'mon, let's go inside.”

  Brick bounds up the steps with his instrument case. There is such swagger in his movements. The way he stands, the way he walks. It confirms everything I felt with him last night. The man has a natural rhythm all his own. I unlock the first door and we have to go through the vestibule to the next. I unlock that door and let us both in. The plantation style mansion is two levels. The open foyer has a double stairway that curves and joins on the second floor like a horseshoe arch. It has cherry wood railings and polished white marble steps. Brick walks in ahead of me. He stops to stare up to the crystals dangling from the 18th century chandelier that is as big as his sports car.

  “Nice,” he says again. But I can tell he’s not that impressed. He just doesn’t strike me as a man that would be impressed by a persons wealth or lack thereof.

  “It's imported from France. The floors are of imported tiles too. From somewhere.”

  “How big is this place?” he asks.

  “On the bottom floor we have a parlor, a study, a television room, kitchen, laundry room, two bedrooms, a full washroom, and a solarium that leads outside to my grand-mère's gardens. Above us are eight bedrooms and six washrooms, plus an attic.”

  I head to the television room since its closest to the kitchen. He should be comfortable there. Brick follows me but at some point he stops. I have to double back. I see him looking around at grand-mère's wall of family portraits.

  I walk over to his side and explain the history before him. “My father was only able to save those two after the storm. They are originals. The rest are replications.”

  “How were they replicated if they were destroyed?”

  ‘These portraits were so old and authentic that they were insured. A few of them put in the Smithsonian. Part of that insurance policy was to have lithographs made. So we didn't lose them completely.”

  “Interesting. We have family pictures too. But we keep them in photo albums.”

  “Very funny,” I smile. When I look at my family on the wall I get a strong sense of pride. Not many black Americans have such a connection with who they were and who they should become. The pictures may not be the originals but they looked just like my ancestors. All of them with caramel skin and wavy black hair in Georgian style of dress. The men wore suits and top hats like nobility.

  “Where's your room?” he asks. He’s watching me with that glazed heavy lidded look of his and I feel another spark of attraction.

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to see it,” he smiles. “I have a headache remember? Let's lie down.”

  “Maybe later. How about breakfast first?”

  “Not a breakfast man,” he said and pulls me over to him.

  “I still need that shower,” I remind him.

  “Me too. Give me the tour. Show me your bedroom.”

  Not even Xavier has been in my grand-mère's house alone with me. In fact I never dare to bring a man here. My brother Nathan is six-foot three and almost three hundred pounds of pure muscle. It’s a buzz kill when the men I dated before my engagement laid eyes on him. Today, is different. I’m much bolder. I'm flowing off my vibrations. The waves that come to me since I met Brick are positive, good, addictive and I want more.

  “I can make us brunch later.” I take his hand. We turn and head back the way we came. My room is upstairs. It’s my turn to take the lead and I do. Once upstairs I'm running and he's chasing me. I throw open the door just as he tackles me inside but instead of us crashing down he sweeps me up against him by lifting me in his arms. He playfully bites my breast. I howl with mock pain and he releases me. My slide down his tall frame is slow and seductive as the kiss I give him. Again I must say, this man can kiss. Each time his lips are pressed against mine I'm swept into that feeling of freedom and unrestraint.

  I hitch my legs around his waist and he carries me past the bed to the open door of my bathroom.

  “Mmm,” he says when his lips are released from mine. I hold his face and give him one more kiss before he lets me go.

  “You sure we got this entire place to ourselves? All day?”

  “All day.” I repeat and remove my dress. That morning when I dressed I couldn't find my thong. I guess he can keep it as a souvenir. I open the door to the shower and reach in to turn on the tap. The water is cool the glass shower fits two adults comfortably. It also has a spa bench inside. Some days I just sit inside the glass doors and let the steam open my pours. Brick comes in undressed and closes the door. I'm not afraid of the chilly water. I like it all, hot and cold. I let the water rinse over me and avoid getting my hair wet. But Brick is all over me. He bear hugs me from behind and we both get wet. I squeal with giggles.

  He turns me so he can kiss me and I push back on his chest to block him. He pins me to the shower wall but I keep my legs closed and my face turned away. “I know what you want Brick.”

  “Then give it to me,” he groans. He licks my neck and tries to force my thighs to open with his knee. I'm pushing at his chest to delay his passion.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I reach between us to stroke his dick. “Condom. Do you have one?”

  His eyes open wider and I know he hasn't even thought of bringing one. He steps back but I still got him by the dick. My strokes and slow pulls and his erection is all muscle.

  “I think I have some in the car,” he mumbles, but I know he isn't sure.

  “Oh well. Do you mind washing my back?” I let go of his dick and smile at him. The lust in his eyes doesn't dim. His gaze lowers to my breast and then down to my sex. He may be thinking there are ways around my rule. But there are none. I'm on the pill, so it's not a pregnancy issue. I never take a man to bed without protection. Ever. Not even if my instincts says he's trustworthy.

  Brick is left speechless. I walk over to the shower and grab my loafer sponge. I lather my body. The loafer stirs and rubs suds over my breasts and down the valley to my sex. I bend at the waist to do my thighs, legs and feet. He's watching. I straighten and glance at him.

  “If you wash my back I'll do you.” I extend my hand with the loafer to him. He still has an erection. He's probably contemplating if he should run out to the car and get his rubbers. He's probably thinking if he kisses me above and below the waist I'll part my thighs for him like magic and forget my rule. Men are such pouty babies when their dicks are hard. And we girls love to make them want it. Brick reclaims his cool and doesn't fall for my game. He walks over to me. He takes the loafer from my hand and starts at my nape. He squeezes out the water and suds so that it streams down my shoulders and backside. And his hands ar
e wonderful. He works his magic because I swear any tension or tightness I had from our wild night is released. And I want to give him the same in return. I face Brick and pull him closer. Of course we kiss. Every time we are this close we kiss. I lather him over, chest and arms. When I get to his dick I drop the sponge. I want to stroke him again with my hand. And I clean his erection and balls good. Making sure I bend and wash his hairy legs. Afterwards we kiss, and scrub each other clean. When we are done we dry each other. He dresses and I go to my room to lotion my body and find something to wear. And then I'm done. But not before I put something on the bed for him to find.

  Brick comes out of the bathroom. He zips up his pants and then his eyes land on the bed. He frowns. “What are those?”

  “Condoms,” I smile.

  “But… in there, you said…?”

  “I asked you if you had some. You never asked me if I did.”

  He walks over to the bed and picks up a long strand of condoms. There are at least twelve.

  “They're magnums,” I tell him. It’s a lie but I think he gets the joke. I dress in front of him with little modesty. And he watches as my cotton sundress comes down my curves.

  “Nice,” he says.

  “Thank you, Brick.” I finish with brushing my hair up to the top of my head and then braid and twist it into a bun. Like a crown it sits on my head and my baby hairs smooth over. I don’t bother with makeup. I never really wear anything but lipgloss. Last night I let Georgie paint my face and I’m glad to have it either licked or washed off. I know my white sundress is flattering. It makes my already slim waistline slimmer. And gives me a boost with the padding in the bra cups to make my small breasts look juicy.

  “How about we eat? And then I give you the official tour.”

  Brick glances to the bed and then to me. I want our game to last just a little longer. And I'm brave, but not as brave as I thought. The idea of making love in my grand-mère's home scares and excites me. Forbidden fruit. He nods, but folds down the pack of condoms and put them in his back pocket.

  “I’m hungry. Feed me,” he says.

  Chapter Four

  “You want some more?” Coco asks.

  I look up from my plate mid chew. She's staring at me with a sly smile to her face. And for the first time since she put the plate before me I realize I haven't said a thing while I ate. How could I? She made an omelet so spicy and savory I could swear my dear sweet dead mother was whispering the recipe in her ear.

  “My cooking is good but not that good,” she chuckles.

  “It's delicious. Like you.”

  “Now, that that there is what will get you in trouble,” she plucks some eggs and puts them in her mouth. She chews with a grin. “Girls and flattery, you know the danger. Give us too much, we start to believe you, give us too little, we start to distrust you.”

  “And if I give you just enough?”

  “It'll unlock my thighs,” she says.

  I chuckle.

  “Tell me about this thing, this veil over your face.”

  "C'mon, we already covered that,” she dismissed it.

  “No. Seriously. Tell me why you believe it.”

  “You Cajun, you believe it too.”

  “I believe a lot of things. Seen a lot. I’m just curious about your beliefs, if they differ. I want to know if you have reason to believe you got a sixth sense. Like real evidence.”

  “Sixth sense?” she chuckles. “I like that. Yeah, I have my reasons.”

  “Go on,”

  She moved her eggs around on her plate, and picked out the veggies in it to eat. Then she looked up at me with those bright eyes of hers. “When I was five I cried so hard and threw such a big fuss over my brother Nathan going on a school trip with his football team that he changed his mind and stayed home.”

  “How old was Nathan?”

  “He was fifteen. He’s the youngest boy, only ten years older than me. I’m not sure if it was my tears or what I said, but I convinced him to stay home and play with me. My dad was pissed. Mama, too. But Nathan told them he wouldn’t leave me, and my grand-mère warned them not to get in between us. So Nathan missed the big game. We played checkers all afternoon and drank lemonade on the porch. And then Mr. Clifford came over and told my parents the bad news.”

  “Which was?”

  “The school bus was in accident, went off the causeway into Lake Pontchartrain. All the kids, the coach, and the bus driver were killed.”

  “I remember that accident. Yeah, I was a kid.”

  She nods. “He lost all his best friends. Nathan was never the same. Treated me different too, afterwards. My entire family did. Over the years I learned early to stop telling people about my bad feelings. Like the time I knew my Dad wouldn't spend Christmas with us because he had hurt his foot with a woman he was on business with. It was a feeling I had. Turned out he broke his foot skiing with his mistress, and couldn't make it home in time.

  “How did you know she was his mistress?”

  “A cousin told me to stop telling my mama about this woman with daddy. Every time I did it made her cry and my grand angry. She explained what a mistress was.”

  “Ah?”

  “Or the time I knew my aunt would have twins, before she was pregnant and only one would survive. And the time I knew my brother Jalen would get married to the girl next door. Two years before she and her family moved into the house. Bad feelings and good feelings come and go without meaning. I can't explain it.” She pauses and looked up at me. “You think I'm crazy?”

  “What's your feelings about me?” I ask.

  She stares at me and then blinks. “I thought your magic was your saxophone. But after last night, I know differently. It's you. I get good vibes from you. The kind of vibes I want to feel. Over and over.”

  She winks and eats a bit more. I eat too, but my eyes never leave her. She has on no makeup. And just like I suspected she is much more prettier without it.

  “You done?” she asks. She gets up and goes to the trashcan to empty her plate. When she walks over to the sink. I follow her. I press into her and she ignores my erection while she continues to rinse the dish.

  “How did you know I was finished? Was it a feeling you had?”

  She chuckles. “Done with breakfast. Not finished with me. You were staring at me like you were staring at those eggs.”

  “You think I want to taste you cause you put the Cajun holy trinity in my eggs?” I ask as I pull up her dress to her hips and I can feel the warm softness of her butt cheeks that are barely covered by her panty.

  “Cajun Holy Trinity of cooking is onions, bell peppers, and celery. I know how you people like it.”

  “What else do I like?” I ask and slam my hand down with the condoms on the side of the sink. She glances over at the pack and I know she sees it’s missing one. She continues to wash the same plate.

  “You tell me,” she says.

  My arm slips around her waist to pull her even closer. I lean in to her ear. “My dick in your holy-hole,” I whisper and lower my zipper. She leans back against me and relaxes but her laughter tickles me. I can’t help but laugh with her.

  “I only give you permission for one holy-hole,” she jokes.

  I yank down her panty and it comes off smoothly from her thighs and drops to her bare feet. She steps out of them. I have to touch her. If you were a man, you’d understand why. Her body is so soft, especially the sweet parts. My hand glides from her tummy to the plump lips of her sex and I just want to hold her pussy in my hand. Feel the warm cushion against my palm before I breach her holy of holies.

  She moans in that soft whispering breath of hers.

  “Why aren’t you shy?” I ask her.

  “Because I like it.”

  “But you don’t know me. Not really,” I tell her.

  “I know how you feel inside of me. I want to feel that way again.”

  I take only a few seconds to slip on the condom, but deep down inside I do wish I didn’
t bother. She doesn’t know how I would feel inside of her. I’d like to show her. Coco leans into the sink and her round ass pushes up and against me as she parts her thighs. Due to our height difference I got to bend my knees a bit to slip up into her. She clutches her own breasts, squeezing the tips hard and I swear her pussy gets wetter. The tension coiled in my balls stretched and then slowly untangles the tendrils of pleasure in my pelvis. Next thing I know I’m fucking her. There in the kitchen, with the water still running from the faucet, and my Mocha Baby is pinned to the sink taking blow after blow with ease.

  Not the most romantic scene, but there is something so real and safe about us in that moment, I can’t dare let her go. I pull out. I would love to slip in her ass next but I don’t. What I want more is to see her, look into those wide bright eyes of hers and taste those plump lips of hers. She turns and closes her legs but I heave her on the sink. So we can continue.

  “Keep ‘em open,” I grunt. I’m back in her. She tries to hitch her legs high to my waist but I think my pelvic slams are to strong and powerful. So I pin her thighs back with my arms. The muscles in her vagina tighten on my cock as if in distress. And it only makes me want to go faster and further. Either way all I see is pleasure in her heavy-lidded eyes and the part of her suckable lips as she gasps and seems frozen by her emotion. Again and again I’m in and out of her until my knees are buckling and my strength is weakening. She reclaims control and kisses me. I usually can fuck and kiss but not this time. Her mouth on mine, her breath becoming the air I take in, and I’m weak. So fucking weak. I break, just like the condom I put on. And we climax together.

  My entire body goes stiff. But she’s still kissing me. She’s encouraging me to go further. It takes a moment of kisses and pants for her to realize I’m done. She looks at me and I look at her. She doesn’t know the secret. Not until I pull out of her and all that is on my dick is the rubber ring of the condom. The rest is in her. Coco looks down. She reaches in and pulls out the condom and shakes her head.

  “Ugh,” she says.

  “Not sure what happened,” I tell her. She sashays away. Her bare ass has a red welt from where I pinned her to the sink. Her sundress is gathered tightly around her waist. I follow her to the downstairs bathroom. Where we flush away the evidence. As it spirals down the toilet bowel neither of us bother to discuss what an accident could mean. Instead we wash up and clean up. And then we return to the kitchen as if nothing happened. The only evidence is the faint perfumed smell of sex and her panties on the floor. Coco picks them up and slips them on. And she starts gathering the pots from the stove that need cleaning.