Bittersweet Chocolate (27 page)

Drained, he couldn’t move or speak, his harsh erratic breathing the only sound in the room. He watched her lift her head, and her shitty-ass grin spoke volumes. She stood and her robe fell open, treating him to the tantalizing view of luscious bronze-tipped breasts, narrow waist, and long, shapely legs that wouldn’t quit. Ignoring his fatigue, his body reacted to the sight of her, and in a matter of seconds, he had a full erection.

* * * *

She knelt on the sofa, straddling his lap, squirming, easing down on him,
oh shit.
Her mind boggled at the sensations. Leaning forward, she seized his mouth and he moaned, gripping her hips in an attempt to control her actions, but she continued setting the pace, taunting him. Their bodies moved in impulsive harmony, his impetus an act of raw passion.

His grip tightened when she rose up until only his glans remained nestled within, then she came down hard. He reflexively bit down on her tongue and drew blood. The force of his climax, the rush of liquid heat, waves of pleasure rocked her body. She collapsed against him.

Several minutes elapsed before he was back to his usual form, growling, “Damn it, Rissa, this has to stop. We’re out of control.” He lifted her face. “Let me see, that had to hurt.”

“Stop fussing. If you’d bitten my tongue off at that moment, I wouldn’t have been aware of anything but the feel of you.”

“I hear you, but I don’t want it to be at the expense of injury to you.”

“Tris, there are degrees of hurt. When we make love it’s negligible,” she insisted. “Let’s go to bed. I need a little more pain.”

“Rissa, I know words probably aren’t enough, hell, I’m not sure what love really is, but what I feel for you is my kind of love. Will you believe me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She stood, snatched up her robe, grabbed his hand, and tugged him into their bedroom. “Let’s see if you can make a believer of me.”

* * * *

They overslept.

After going to bed, their sexual exploits continued throughout the night, and each time the alarm went off, Marissa pressed the snooze button. At one point, he dragged her from bed and carried her into the bathroom. His clowning around while they showered snapped her out of her stupor. By the time they were dressed, she had regained her usual composure.

“Thanks, Tris.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth. “Getting to spend the day with you, away from work-related issues and phones, something we don’t get to do often, I need this.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

To an outsider, they would have seemed like two teenagers frolicking in the kitchen without a care in the world. While they gathered the food for their picnic, he teased her nonstop. Kissing, touching, tickling, she couldn’t control her laughter. It surprised him that they managed to get the cheese, crackers, apples, and wine packed into the basket. On their way to the park, they stopped at the deli and bought pickles and potato salad. From there, they stopped at a favorite fast food place and bought chicken to complete their meal, then continued on to Fairmount Park on the outskirts of town.

It was a weekday and the park seemed deserted. Opting for complete solitude, they unloaded their things and headed for a secluded spot under a huge ash tree. He spread their blanket on the grass and set up the cushions they had brought along for maximum comfort. Marissa laid out the food on the throw they kept in the car because their romp in the kitchen made her forget to pack a tablecloth.

Tristan settled back and relaxed, eyes hooded. He watched her every move, suspecting she would try to avoid continuing her story. To his surprise, she prepared their plates, leaned back on the cushion propped next to his, and started talking.

“You know, there’s a Fairmount Park in Philly.”

“Rissa.”

“Right, sorry, but it is uncanny.” She grinned. “Anyway, you do understand what I’m about to tell you may get a little graphic.”

“Marissa—”

“Okay!”

She’d been talking for more than an hour when her voice dropped to a whisper before trailing off. Tristan felt the sudden tensing of her body, and the small hairs on the back of his neck stirred. Something about the way she stared into space, her voice, her posture, and her hesitation had him on edge. It wasn’t like her to be apprehensive, especially when discussing sex.

“Rissa, maybe I don’t want to hear any more,” he said, watching her nervously sip her wine.

“No, I’ve come this far, I have to finish.” She picked up her napkin, dabbed traces of wine from her lips, and sat there staring though unseeing.

“Rissa, what is it?” He sat up. She didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead, trancelike, her silence unnerving. “Marissa, no more, you’re beginning to scare me.” He’d gained her attention, and she turned to face him, but appeared to look right through him. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Damn it, look at me!” Several seconds ticked by before the blank stare cleared and she focused on him.

“Tristan, I’m chilly. Let’s go home.” She started gathering up their things.

On the drive home, she remained withdrawn and they rode in silence, which did nothing to ease his disquiet. He pulled into the garage, and as they exited the car, he spoke quietly, “Honey, I’m going to take a shower. I’ll help you put the picnic things...” He stopped when he noticed her blank look.

Gaze pensive, she said, “Don’t bother, I can do it. Go, start the shower, it won’t take long to put everything away. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“Honey, you scared me out there.” He lowered his head, quickly kissed her mouth, and left the kitchen.

* * * *

She’d sent Tristan away because she needed time alone to pull herself together. Moving about the kitchen on autopilot, she unpacked the picnic things and loaded the dishwasher. With that done, she headed for the shower.

It wasn’t until she walked into the bathroom that she remembered her invitation to Vi for dinner. “Oh shit. Tris, I forgot I’m supposed to have dinner with Vi tonight.”

“Damn. Is she coming here?”

“Yeah, I thought you were going out of town.”

“Can’t you call and postpone?”

“It’s late. She’s probably on her way.”

“Marissa, you’re not going to get out of telling me the rest. The way you scared me...honey, you need to tell me everything. You have to let it go.”

“Hey, not to worry, I’ll tell you the rest as soon as Vi leaves.”

“Promise?” He watched her step into the shower.

“I swear.” She tilted her head up for a kiss.

Yanking her into his arms, his kiss started out violent, easing into tenderness when it seemed he had his emotions under control. She leaned against him, needing his touch, wanting to feel the heat emanating from his body. Moving restlessly against his erection, the intensity of their kiss escalated.

Tristan pulled back. “Baby, this loss of reality when we touch, just a simple kiss, and I have to have you.”

“Love me, Tris.”

Putting her arms around his neck, he reclaimed her mouth, grasped her ass with both hands, and lifted her up against him. She draped her legs over his hips and he buried himself inside her, their moans a joint effort. Head thrown back, she muttered, “Tris, I...”

Whatever she intended to say morphed into soft, incoherent babbling when his tongue coerced her lips apart and delved into the recesses of her mouth. Her trembling limbs clung to him and their kiss kept pace. Both tensed, his hold tightening as he exploded inside her.

Tristan dragged his mouth away and growled, “Damn it.” Resting his forehead against hers, both waited for their ragged breathing to subside. Equilibrium restored, he released his grip, and her body slid down his. He clasped her face in his hands and grinned. “Just once, do you think we could do slow?”

“I wish.” She giggled. “It’s about control, and we don’t have that kind of restraint with each other.” Both looked up when the doorbell chimed. His curses were explicit, and her tinkling laughter resounded in the small enclosure. “Not bad, adequately proficient, you’re getting better, but drop the g.” She reached for the door.

“Hey, you know I need more than this.”

“So do I. Sorry, I’ll make it up to you.” Stepping from the enclosure, she snatched her robe off the hook and finished tying the sash as she reached the front door.

“Well, here I am,” Vi announced.

“I see.” Marissa chuckled.

“I come bearing spicy orange peel chicken―your fave, steamed rice, broccoli beef, wonton soup, and vegetable lo mien.” Vi thrust Chinese food containers at her. “I’m sorry, did I get you out of...” Her voice died away on a gasp.

Marissa had started toward the kitchen, but paused, turning to see what could have Vi at a loss for words. Tristan. Hair in that casual wind-swept effect after blow-drying, dressed in sweat pants, a t-shirt conforming to all that upper body muscle, and barefoot, he could have posed as a male sportswear model.

“Girl, close your mouth,” Marissa teased. She made the introductions as she walked into the kitchen. “Tris, this is my best friend...actually, my only friend. Vi Leon, meet Tristan Corbett.”

She came out of the kitchen, found her friend still gawking, and walked toward Vi, clicking her fingers in front of Vi’s face. “Vi. Girl, get a grip. You want Tristan to think we can dress you up, but can’t take you out in public.” Giggling, she nudged Vi. “Snap out of it, shake hands, say hello.”

Marissa glanced at Tristan, who raised an eyebrow. To her, Tristan was all that, and a bag of chips, but she hadn’t expected him to have the same effect on her friend.

Vi extended her hand. “Sorry. Glad to meet you, Tristan.”

He shook the proffered hand. “My pleasure.” Turning to Marissa, he said, “Don’t let me interrupt your ladies’ night. I brought work home and I need to get started on it.” He smiled at Vi again before he left the room, headed for the bedroom Marissa had converted into a den for him.

“Daa-yamn,” Vi said as soon as Tristan was out of sight. “Girl, I’m scared of you. I believe your description of him was a bit understated. He’s...” She stopped, obviously unable to put a description to her first impression of Tristan.

Marissa grinned. “Oh, if you could have seen your face, looking like a guppy in a fish tank.”

“Funny.” Vi threw a napkin at her. “But that body, the face, those gorgeous eyes, he’s the stuff dreams are made of, at least in my dreams.”

“Don’t I know it. So maybe you can understand why I feel so insecure. I’m older, I’m big, I’m black, and let’s not even go into the diversities of background,” she stated. “What does he see in me, Vi? He could have anybody he wants, someone his own age.”

“Marissa, do not make me slap you. True, compared to me, you’re big. Girl, look in the mirror, you’re gorgeous. Five-feet-eight of perfectly sculpted, rounded in all the right places woman. A perfect size thirteen, and obviously not without your own fascinating charms,” Vi insisted. “Besides, your size and race must not be an issue for him. And damn it, he’s big.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“No, let me finish. Since when has your size ever deterred you? You’re the proudest person I know, and you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about your size,” Vi declared. “What is it you’re always saying, and I quote,
I like me, if other people don’t, that’s their hang-up...fuck ‘em.
” She smirked. “So relax.”

Marissa giggled. Vi had mimicked Marissa’s tone exactly, and Vi was right. Marissa had been five-eight by the age of twelve, already taller than most women, so the fashion trend of the pocket-sized Venus would forever elude her. Why let it bother her now? Hell. Every morning she woke up black, and in this country it was an uphill battle from there. Size was just another prejudice to get over.

“I hear you,” she agreed. “But if he decided to leave, I don’t know. I don’t think I’d handle it too well.”

“Girl, stop. If he leaves you, and I say if, you’ll survive. You’ve survived much worse. Hell. You are a survivor.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said and changed the subject. “I’ll go get dressed so we can eat.”

“Does Tristan want to join us?”

“Forget it. I’ll get him something to eat, a glass of wine, and take it to him in the den.” She went into the kitchen, fixed Tristan a plate, and disappeared down the hall.

“Spoilsport,” Vi grumbled.

Marissa donned her underwear, slipped into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, returned to the living room, and settled down on the floor next to Vi in front of the sofa. Vi had fixed their plates and placed them on the coffee table. “Damn. Doesn’t this bring back memories?”

“Yeah,” Vi said. “But hey, I thought he would be away for a couple of days.”

“Company cancelled his trip.”

“Can we talk with him here?”

“Oh yeah. This morning, I started telling him about Joel, and what happened.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m serious, and I’m going to finish later tonight. At least I’ll give it my best shot. After all these years, I thought I had it under control, but the memories came flooding back, I panicked, and froze.”

“Panicked? That’s some admission coming from you. I didn’t think anything frightened you.” Vi eyed her speculatively. “Have you told him about Carl?” Eyes dancing, she giggled.

“No, not yet, but it’s funny you should bring up Carl. I’ve just finished telling Tristan about Graham. Now there’s a comparison.”

“Tell me about it,” Vi teased. “I remember the look on your face when Carl undressed and turned to face you. You just stood there staring down at him.”

“Yeah, I walked into the bathroom to keep from laughing in his face. He oozed sexuality, and his kissing was unparalleled.”

“He could kiss,” Vi agreed.

“Oh, hell yeah, but he was so...”

“Small.” Vi supplied the apt description.

Marissa nodded. “He’d been working me all night. Talk about being disappointed, but he made up for lack of size with his skills. He used what he had to his advantage.” She glanced at Vi. “I should still be pissed at you. If you’ll recall, I told you to never introduce me to another white man.”

“Hey, who knew? Like Craig, another of your conquests, Carl was so buff and good looking. And now here’s your Tristan putting both of them to shame.” Giving Marissa a sidelong glance, Vi quizzed, “I gather your Tristan isn’t lacking in that area?”