Decadence (38 page)

I counted his tongue strokes. “Hundred . . . and seventy . . . one hundred and seventy-one . . .”

The heat from the towels. The uniqueness of his tongue. I remembered. I had missed his tongue. He tasted me and moaned an excited moan, a beautiful moan, an arousing moan. He licked me in circles. In eights. He held my trembling ass and licked me.

He sucked my clit.

My spot.

The spot.

He stayed on my spot.

He tortured me as I had tortured him.

Close to orgasm.

Back away.

Close.

Back away.

And he sucked.

Gently.

Hard.

Gently.

The heat from the towel. Altoids on his tongue. It was too much. I fought to get free.

He held my ass and sucked and refused to let me go.

My legs tensed. Singsong moans rose.

I shuddered, tears ran from my eyes, and I gave an angel its wings.

I came. I came. Damn, I came.

•   •   •

I have long,
dry seasons of famine. Then I feast, become a glutton. I have fantasies, some extreme, some violent, some loving, and I act on them. Sometimes I need a day where I have a lover and all he does is please me. I have days where I really need to fuck a man, ride, suck a man. When I'm having sex I feel so alive, the world, my existence feels so wonderful. Sometimes I want the friendship of a man, but other times I only want his passion. Friendship can be false; passion never lies.

You have a right to experiment with your life. You will make mistakes. And they are right too. . . . Society is the one that keeps demanding that we fit in and not disturb things. They would like you to fit in right away so that things work now.

—Anaïs Nin

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Bienvenidos a los agradecimientos de este libro!

Hello, O ye faithful reader. I'll wait a moment, allow you to sip water and cool off. Cold shower? Sure. There. Better. Okay. Sure you're okay? Good. Once again we have made it to the end of another journey and I hope that you enjoyed reading
Decadence
from beginning to end, from foreplay to orgasm, from anger to resolution. There are only three types of stories and I think that Nia has covered them all.

Pardon all of the gunfire and shouting. Gideon never eases up. He's frustrated. He's an international killer. And I'm scared. So let me get through these acknowledgments so I can get back to his next adventure. Gideon. Shotgun. Konstantine. Hawks. Midnight. Raven. They are all screaming.

Lolita Files, my twin, thanks for reading the early pages. You are the best! And you are so friggin' brilliant! Hugs.

I have to thank my friends and fans in Trinidad. Once again I had fun jogging the Savannah, eating doubles, and hanging out at Movie Towne. Next time I hope to get down south as well as over to Tobago. I pretty much ended my book tour for
An Accidental Affair
there back in July. Nigel Khan Booksellers, thanks for everything. The tour was wonderful. You were the perfect host. You kept my belly full with doubles. Leslie Ann Caton, thanks for collecting me at the crack of dawn and getting me all over the island. Thanks for the Trini-to-English translations. We will have to make arrangements to go see the PM again. (ROFL! We can laugh about it now, right?) Dionne Baptiste (no relation to Regina) at TV6, thanks for arranging the twenty-one question interview with the
Trinidad Express
. Two thumbs-up on that one. Tia Haynes (whassup!) and the amazing staff at the Carlton Savannah, thanks for the wonderful accommodations. I shall return. Tishanna Williams, it was great running into you in town. Thanks for the Trini-to-English translations as well. And thanks for arranging to get the locks done.

Hold on. I have to grab my laptop, bulletproof vest, and run like a gazelle. Being chased by the new and improved version of the Four Horsemen. Okay. Now I am so friggin' terrified. Siri too afraid to talk too. Whew. I'm in a ditch. Don't talk to loud. Where were we? Oh yeah. Thanking people.

Once again thanks to all of the hardworking people at Dutton. Brian Tart, I'll have to get back to NYC soon and stop by and shake your hand. Thanks for the support. Denise Roy, my wonderful editor, this was probably the largest book you've seen in a while. ROFL. We'll chop it up, down, and get it under control. If all else fails, we'll send it to Jenny Craig and make it lose a few chapters. To Liza Cassity and everyone in publicity, thanks. Time to send me back out on the road again. I'm packing as I type.

Sara Camilli and everyone at the Sara Camilli Agency, thanks for helping me get this one wrapped up. I have officially lost count. How far am I from book one hundred? How much wood can a woodchuck chuck?

DeMarMc, thanks for reading the initial, rambling version of
Decadence
back when it had many more words, hot off the pages of my second-generation MacBook Pro. Thanks for the info on Hampton, once again. I should've had you create blueprints for the club Decadence. Dammit. Next time. Farrah Gilyard from Florida, thanks for the input and I hope you enjoy reading about your AE once again. Hope you enjoyed TEoNSB as well. Corinne (TGIF!) Biagas up at Hampton, I must thank you for information on the university. It all came in handy. Ozlem Evans, once again thanks for sending me the information that I needed toward the end. Arleen Abhiram, my Trinidadian amiga, thanks for answering many questions via text. Leslie Quash, my Tobagonian amiga, thanks. Hey, Zola! Any bloopers made are mine. Same for cultural mistakes. Make sure you tell them all that this is fiction. Lynette, thanks for reading this as well. I'll make sure the advance copies arrive on time.

And you, special person, invaluable one, of course I'm not going to forget you. I would never forget about you. The best for last.

I want to thank ________ for all of your assistance while working on this novel, be it real or imaginary. I had no idea what
colorful
showers, glory holes, and unicorns meant, but you seemed to be the expert on all things that happened after midnight, so I will take you at your word. No wonder you keep tea and honey in your purse and Altoids in your pocket. You rock, Gangnam style.

Feel free to stop by www.ericjeromedickey.com. From there you can find me on social media. And look for the Official Eric Jerome Dickey Fan Page on Facebook.

Hasta la próxima!
Time for me to get on a flight to South America. Gideon time. Medianoche time. It's long overdue.

¡Chau!

 

 

 

 

Sunday, September 30, 2012. 9:31 P
.
M.

33.9936° N, 118.3469° W

73°F | 23°C

Wind: SW at 4 mph

Humidity: 68% Clear skies.

(Bonus Scene)

In a sleepy voice she said,
“Hello. Yes, this is Rae-Jeanne Quash.”

“Pardon the intrusion. Mrs. Quash, this is Nia Simone Bijou calling.”

“Excuse me. Is this a joke? Nia Simone Bijou?”

“If it is okay I would like to have a word with you, Mrs. Quash.”

“Lord in heaven, do you know what time it is?”

“Some time ago, months ago, you interviewed me for the
Trinidad Express
.”

“It's the middle of the night. No sane person calls anyone at this hour.”

“I'm the woman who was born in Port of Spain and you said wasn't a true Trini.”

“It's three fifteen in the morning. You just woke up both me and my husband.”

“Freshwater Trini, to be exact. That was the insult that you spat across the wire.”

“This is my home. How did you get my phone number?”

“It's not a private number. I called information.”

“What can I do for you? Is there some reason you are calling my home, Miss Bijou?”

“You interviewed me.”

“If you have issue with the interview, don't ring my home, don't be unprofessional, follow the proper channels and take it up with my employer. Don't intrude into my personal life. How dare you.”

“That was some review. It was but one of many, but that one has been a thorn in my side.”

“Did you not like the results of the interview? Is that why you are stalking me?”

“It was harsh. It was page one. Above the fold. And it was cruel beyond belief.”

“It was honest.”

“It was mean-spirited. It was personal.”

“Did you think that your little American movie was perfect?”

“Your opinion is your opinion.”

“This phone call is out of line.”

“I hated the review. But that is not why I called you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“This is personal.”

“Okay.”

“Quash is your married name? What is your maiden name?”

Not until then did she pause. “Liverpool.”

“And who is your father?”

“His name was Derren Liverpool.”

“We have the same father. We had the same father.”

“He was my father.”

“He was my father as well.”

“So I have heard.”

“You knew all along.”

“I knew. I know who you are. Your face is all over Trinidad. You Bijous are . . . inescapable.”

“How old are you?”

“If you must know, we born same year, same hospital, and are the same age, more or less.”

“More or less. You know of me and I know nothing about you. Which month were you born?”

“Why? Why would you need that information?”

“You're my sister.”

“We have the same father. You are not my sister.”

A moment later I said, “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Quash. Thanks for your time.”

“Again, if you have issues regarding the interview from so many months ago, call my employer or send him an e-mail.”

“Noted.”

“You may be rich. You may be smart. But you eh no Trini. I grow up in the bowels of Laventille. No white man from Paris comes to rescue me and my mudda. Iz a true Trini. Remember that, bitch.”

Then I took a slow breath and calmly I pressed the end button.

Another day. Another time. Another season.

Another chapter of my life.