Apple Brown Betty (20 page)

Desmond took her hands, interlocked his fingers with hers. “I was tripping,” he said. “It's just that I don't want to have to share you with anyone else. I want you all to myself.”

“Is that your way of saying that you want to date me seriously?”

“Absolutely,” he told her in his sexiest voice.

“You want a committed faithful relationship?”

“Absolutely.”

“You want to sweep me off my feet like he did the woman in that book?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did you notice my bedroom when you went to the bathroom?”

“I peeked in.”

She took his hand, walking him in that direction.

“Are you taking me to show me inside your drawers?” Desmond asked her.

Cydney licked her lips. “Absolutely.”

 

Slay slammed the flip of his cell phone closed and tossed it on the small kitchen table. He pulled on the arm of the refrigerator, the door slamming against the chipped cabinetry behind it. He snatched out the carton of orange juice. Turned the almost empty carton up to his mouth and finished off the last drops, collapsed the box, crumpled it in his fists and tossed it at the garbage can. His hands were balled in a fist as he looked around the place for something to hit. He moved to leave the kitchen and looked through to the living room. Kenya and the kids were on the carpet around the television watching BET's
Comicview.
She had one arm on each of her boys and was giggling just as loudly as them with each joke the comedian on the screen told. Slay stood there for a moment watching Kenya and the boys.

After a while, Slay walked into the living room and stood just behind them. Kenya looked up at Slay standing in place and tapped an empty spot on the floor behind her for him to sit. He sat down with his legs in a V; Kenya filled the gap between his legs and leaned back against his chest. The boys scooted forward, moved closer to the television.

“You gonna check on Ms. Nancy anymore tonight?” Kenya asked Slay.

He scrunched his face. “I should, but I ain't up to seeing her like that again until tomorrow. My brain is got too much going on now.”

“You tell me what to do,” Kenya said. “I can go check in on her.”

“You'd do that for me?”

“Hell, yeah,” she said. “You kidding me?”

“You too good to me, girl.”

“You're going through a lot,” she offered. “Someone has to be good to you. You've always been good to me.”

“I just thought about something,” Slay said.

“What's that?”

“When I was in juvie you was the only one that wrote.”

“I figured you were lonely there, it won't nothing.”

Slay rubbed on her shoulders, an act she was usually performing on him. “Was too something. I looked forward to those letters.”

“You did?” Kenya said, her voice rising. “You never wrote me back.”

Slay sighed. “Yeah, I know…”

“It was a lot,” Kenya said. “You've always had a lot on you.”

Slay stopped rubbing her shoulders, leaned his head forward and rested it in the nape of her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist. “What we gonna do when Boom gets out?” It was the first time he'd ever said anything of that sort, the first time he acknowledged that what he'd borrowed would have to be returned. He didn't seem ready to let go. He could feel Kenya's posture slump.

“We worry 'bout that when it happens,” she said.

 

Cydney looked at Desmond carefully. “You know if we do this the stakes rise?”

“Yes.”

“Are you prepared—are you ready to deal with a relationship? Because that's what this will be.”

Desmond wanted to be ready, so he nodded to the affirmative.

“I'm expecting a monogamous situation,” Cydney continued.

“And I likewise,” Desmond added. “The only thing I want boss man touching of yours is your paycheck to sign his name.”

“Don't be silly.”

“I'm being serious, Cydney. Believe me.”

Cydney unlatched the hook of her bra, her plump breasts spilled out. Desmond's eyes registered approval. She pulled down her panties and stepped from them. Desmond instinctively looked down; her pubic area was shaved clean. “I'm usually sensitive about being seen naked,” Cydney informed Desmond.

“You shouldn't be,” he said without looking up into her eyes.

Cydney stepped back and fell into the give of her mattress. “Come make love to me, Desmond.”

Desmond moved toward her with anticipation.

Cydney put up her hand, stopping his forward progress. “No other women or situations I need to be concerned about?” she asked for the final time as he reached arm's length of her.

“None,” Desmond said, shaking his head.

Cydney pointed her tender hand of fingers at her shaved pubis. “Take this. It's all yours, Desmond.”

Desmond bent to his knees and nuzzled Cydney's pleasure point. He cut her in half with his tongue, made her back arch as he lapped at her juices. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders and his hands gripped her waist. She pushed away as he pulled her in. To Desmond, Cydney tasted like his favorite delicacy in the world, cooked apples and cinnamon.

He moved his hands from her waist to her buttocks, gripping the rounded flesh and bringing her closer, closer. She squirmed in his grip. He varied the pressure of his tongue, moved the location, attempting to find that correct spot. That one spot that every woman had but few men were ever able to find, and fewer still were willing to expend their energy searching for. Cydney started drifting across the mattress, to the left. Desmond chased her mercilessly, that wet hot tongue of his refusing to release its shackle on her.

She grabbed ahold of the canopy bar of her bed. The soft purring she'd been doing was replaced by a moan that rose from deep in her chest. Desmond pulled her closer, closer, and the moan grew louder. He increased the speed and pressure of his mouth on her and the moan grew louder still. He tightened his grip on her firm ass—the moan turned again, now a staccato hiccup sound that made him stiffen with joy.

Cydney screamed. Her body slackened.

Desmond wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and climbed on the bed beside her. He pulled her to him and ran his strong fingers up and down her back, kneading her tightened muscles with the care of a surgeon. She went to speak and he covered her lips with one finger and moved to kiss the underside of her neck, then her shoulders, then her breasts. She shivered as he touched some of her spots, and gently pushed against him as he touched others. Desmond made note of the spots that made Cydney shiver and kept returning to them.

After a while, Cydney gripped Desmond's butt and worked his boxers down an inch or two. The bunch of the material rubbing against his penis made Desmond harden even more. He felt as if he might explode if he didn't get inside Cydney soon.

Cydney reached her hands inside Desmond's lowered boxers and grabbed his wood. She massaged him until he seemed uncomfortable and then she opened her legs and directed him toward her. He scooted closer. She lowered the boxers farther, and he finished off, pushing them to his feet and then kicking them off. She rolled a condom on him and he carefully entered her folds.

Desmond struggled with the rhythm at first and so she took his waist and guided him. The feeling of explosion didn't lessen for him; in fact, with each stroke it worsened. He pumped at her with desperation. As he pumped faster and harder, Cydney's hiccup of a moan returned, “Aw…aw…aw,” and prodded him on. That warm heat started to rise from inside his thighs, that hot lava about to bubble to the top.

“Oh,” he said, biting into his lip to keep from saying more.

Cydney grabbed at his buttocks, made him push deeper.

“Oh,” he said again.

She pulled him deeper still.

“Mmmmm,” he growled.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his chest, let him coast on home.

“Oh…damn.”

Cydney could feel the cannonlike blast in her torso, then the slump of Desmond's body against her belly. He moved to turn over so he wouldn't crush her but she craved his weight, the feel of him, so she wouldn't let him go. He settled into her, his chest heaving as her warm breath tickled his scalp.

“That was intense,” he said after a few minutes.

“No,” Cydney corrected. “That was lovemaking.”

 

The tone on Slay's cell phone startled him awake. He glanced at the digital clock on Kenya's dresser—6:12 a.m. He started to ask Kenya to get the phone for him, but he could smell what he thought might be pancakes and sausage, and could hear Kenya off in the distance, singing in the kitchen. He fumbled to grab his phone and opened the flip.

“Wussup?”

“Mr. Slay?”

Slay yawned, sat up in bed and stretched. “Mr. Jeffries, you up and at 'em mighty early.”

“My day begins early and ends late, Mr. Slay. But anyway, I have that information you requested.”

“Shoot.”

“Can I ask why you need to know about Rucker and his sister?”

“No.”

Jeffries hesitated but wisely went on. “Desmond and Felicia are from Lower Merion, Pennsylvania. It's a suburb of Philadelphia. Their parents, Frank and Barbara, owned a chain of restaurants that they sold last year. I think the tally was eleven—in Pennsylvania and Ohio. Desmond graduated from Penn State, toiled for a few years in corporate America. A clean-cut guy.”

“Give me more, Jeffries, I need more.”

Slay's tone alarmed Jeffries, and so he dug deeper. “He's twenty-eight, no criminal record or anything like that. The local media and the township government loves him…loves what he's trying to do for Asbury Park.”

Slay ran his hand over his eyes. “That's it?”

Jeffries's voice cracked. “I'm not sure what you're looking for.”

“I want to know what his weaknesses are.”

Jeffries was silent for a bit. “Women,” he said after a while, “like a lot of us.”

“Oh?”

“He has a bit of a reputation as a womanizer.”

“'Kay?”

“He was engaged to a young woman, Nora, but he broke off the marriage.”

“This dude is married?”

“No, he broke it off.”

“He still tapping this Nora?”

“Tapping?”

“Come on, Jeffries…knocking that, fucking her?” The pretense Slay usually reserved for Jeffries, when they were doing business, was absent today.

“Oh?” Jeffries responded. “I couldn't say. I don't believe so.”

Slay sighed. His runaway imagination placed Cydney heart-broken instead of the Nora woman. He couldn't allow Mr. GQ Smooth to exact that kind of humiliation on Cydney, and yet, in his heart he figured that's exactly where their relationship was headed. Cydney was so quick to fall in love, so reckless when it came to matters of the heart. GQ Smooth would eat her alive. “Where does Desmond live, you get that?” Slay asked.

“I do have that with me,” Jeffries said. “Hold on one second, I'm driving.” He fumbled through some papers then came back on line. “His address is 5454 Ocean Boulevard. Over in Deal.”

“Holeup.” Slay reached over to the nightstand and took up one of Kenya's
Jet
magazines and a pen. Kenya would kill him for writing over Morris Chestnut's face, but oh well. “Aiight, tell me again.”

“It's 5454 Ocean Boulevard. Right along that stretch you take when you leave Asbury Park, past the lake. All those fine houses.”

“Right, right,” Slay said. He put the magazine and pen down beside him. “So Desmond likes pussy. What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I need something else, Jeffries. I could have told you the dude liked pussy. What about the sister, what you get on her?”

“Now,
she's
interesting,” Jeffries said. “She's a definite nonconformist.”

“A non-what?”

“A rebel. Whatever is expected of her—she does the exact opposite.”

“Really?”

“And she and Desmond are very close.”

“Right, right.”

Jeffries cleared his throat. “If I might offer, Mr. Slay. If I had a problem with Desmond Rucker—” he paused “—I'd go for the sister.”

Slay smiled. “Would you now?”

“Yes.”

“Appreciate the info.”

“You're quite welcome,” Jeffries said. He paused again, hung on line a moment before adding, “My lovely wife is going to be out of state all of next week for a medical conference.”