When Somebody Loves You Back. Mary B. Morrison

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СКАЧАТЬ gripped Fancy’s hair, commanding, “Don’t you dare stop,” desperately desiring to bust a nut or two.

      Darius’s asshole tightened on the upstroke, relaxed on the down. Uncontrollable sexual energy danced in his balls, possessing Darius to lock his fingers into Fancy’s weave and thrust his shaft down her throat. He did. She gagged. Repeatedly heaving. Good for her if she regurgitated. What didn’t kill…fattened. In the zone, too deep to stop, past her tonsils, beyond her reflux ability not to swallow, Darius banged Fancy’s vocal cords.

      “Oh my God, you just don’t know, ba-bee.” He pushed, knocking his nuts against her lips. “Ba-by, shit, yeah.” He stroked deeper.

      “Uh-huh. Aw, damn. Here it comes, whoa!” Thick fluids gushed toward her stomach like water from a fire hydrant, releasing his backup. Quenching his thirst. Pushing Fancy away, Darius stroked his afterflow cum and her saliva onto his dick.

      “You must be crazy if you think you’re finished,” Fancy protested, watching him shake his heads. “After all I endured, here, put him in while he’s hard.” Eagerly, Fancy lifted her gown.

      That was his woman, no panties. A gold-laced thong.

      Fancy spread her lips, granting him full access. Never having left a woman dissatisfied, Darius unbuckled his pants, shoved them to his knees, popping the head into his pussy. But what if he had…Fuck! Darius shouted in his mind, pulled up his boxers, then his pants. Leaving them unbuckled and unzipped, he flopped on the cool leather.

      “What’s wrong with you?”

      “Nothing. Got a lotta shit on my mind, that’s all. Go to sleep.” What the fuck was Slugger doing? He’d zoned out and…damn, damn, goddamn. Darius removed his gold-trimmed black jacket, balling the coat into a pillow.

      “I bet you do have a lot bothering you. I’ll give you a minute to stop trippin’, but I don’t care how frustrated you are, when we get home, you’re giving up the dick.”

      As she stretched her feet across the seat, Fancy’s gold train spilled onto the floor. Her precious head weighed heavily on his thigh, facing his stomach. Darius could tell she was tired. He was mentally exhausted knowing he’d disappoint her again once they got home.

      Darius wanted to sleep too, but all kinds of audiovisuals rewound in his head. Especially when Ashlee had the audacity to say, “I love you no matter what.” Liar. Love didn’t have shit to do with what she’d said.

      The driver was already cruising on Interstate 5 South, practically a straight shot to L.A. but hours away. Moving his limp dick from under Fancy’s mouth, Darius closed his eyes, trying to understand how a woman’s need to be loved vastly differed from a man’s desire to love a woman. How did anyone ever get married? Better question, why? Should he marry Fancy, knowing that he might be infected? To his grave, one way or another he had to lie.

      Perhaps his mother’s need for love or her desire to be adored was the reason it took Darius Jones twenty years to discover her lie. After a paternity test confirmed the truth, Darius took back—or should he say claimed—his real name, and irrespective of whether his mother was to blame he could never eradicate the pain or escape the shame of having to explain why, at twenty years of age, he’d changed his last name. From Jones to Williams.

      With the exception of not marrying Fancy and losing his firstborn, the day his mother told him who his biological father was was the worst day of Darius’s life. Darryl Williams. That was his real daddy’s name, but how could Darius regain the years? Years lost. Not knowing the man he’d idolized growing up; his dad was a former NBA star. Darryl was his college basketball coach when Darius played at Georgetown.

      Darius’s mother knowingly sent him to Georgetown, knowingly allowed him to play an entire season coached by his father, knowingly attended all of his high school games but never attended one of his college games, and knowingly never said a fuckin’ word until after she’d conned Darius into quitting the team, giving up his dream, to accept a six-figure executive vice president position at her company. To repay his mother, Darius fucked all four of her top-level executives the same way she’d screwed him, secretly. Man, he’d forgotten to add Heather, Miranda, Zen, and Ginger to the list.

      Darius imagined what his mother might think now that four years had passed since her confession. “You still trippin’ on that? I’m sorry I fucked up your life, sweetie. Get over it. Move on. Be a man about it. Okay, if you won’t forgive me, then I’ll just have to forgive myself and you’ll have to get professional help.”

      Women.

      Be a man about it! About what? Her emotional autopsy gutted his insides, ripped out his beating heart, then tagged his toe with “John Doe,” like she’d done no harm. Like suddenly without cause he’d become a heartless stranger to her.

      Women.

      They always wanted men to forget their mistakes, especially after they’d told their cure-all truth. If a man lied to his woman, she’d nag the hell out of him, reminding him every chance she got. That’s why a man had two choices: bury the lie and never tell the truth, or bury his soul for the rest of his life. A man in love eventually forgot his woman’s lies, but his subconscious never forgave her. Ever.

      A tear sat on his left eyelid as Darius struggled to disguise the bitterness in his voice. Lowering the divider, he instructed the limo driver, “Man, drive faster,” then raised the window. The ride from Oakland back to Los Angeles seemed a lot longer than the trip going.

      For a moment, Darius chuckled, flashing back on how neither Fancy nor he had showed up at their wedding in Los Angeles. Instead, both of them ended up at the pier in Berkeley—the first stop of their first date—forever their special place. Darius would never take another woman there. Most women he couldn’t remember where he’d taken them. What he did know was Fancy had better not take another man there.

      Yeah, Fancy was right. They were two of a kind. Over five hundred miles away from their matrimonial service, they’d stood on the planks next to Skates Restaurant, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Undoubtedly Darius loved Fancy. Fancy excited him in every way imaginable. Challenged him. Confronted him on his lies.

      In his heart, Darius also loved Ashlee. Only God knew how much he loved Ashlee. Ashlee, no matter what the circumstances, supported him. Every man needed a supportive woman. Ashlee shouldn’t have had to carry his baby nine months without him. Bury their son without him. Now that Ashlee needed him, she shouldn’t have to deal with her illness without him. He’d already failed her several times.

      Glancing down at Fancy while she slept, Darius thought, Stop trippin’, dog. Your commitment isn’t to Ashlee. You’ve got the finest woman in the world on your lap.

      Darius had already revealed more of his skeletons than he’d intended to Fancy, but how could he explain to his fiancée the phone call he’d received from Ashlee? He couldn’t. Hopefully, things would work out and he wouldn’t have to.

      Not wanting to seem selfish—it was too late for Ashlee but hopefully not for him—silently Darius prayed, “God, I tried to pull out, but, but you know how good sex feels. Right? I’m not blaming You, Lord, we know the devil made me do it. Satan, I rebuke you. Lord, I know I’m on my second set of nine lives, but thanks to You I’m on a winning streak. I’ve rolled the dice again, please let’s not crap out. Too many people would lose their lives.” Darius leaned closer to Fancy, making sure she was asleep, and then he quietly dialed Ashlee’s number.

      “Hey, how are you?” Ashlee answered like СКАЧАТЬ