In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2) (42 page)

In one short month, Alexis’ appointment to
Christ Cares
had proved to be beyond invaluable. She jump-started several initiatives to extend our services to the community and began the process of appropriately depleting abandoned former grant monies. She also improved on the current programs we had in place. Her staff admired her—some disproportionately for my liking, those were of the heterosexual male species, as they still didn’t know of our marital relations—and reasonably so. Precious would only be a matter to Alexis when she had to present to the board with Precious next to her. Alexis made it very clear she didn’t want to submit the
Christ Cares
program’s progress to Precious for her to relay them: she preferred doing it herself. There was no mistaking why, once she got over her nervous jitters during the first meeting Alexis attended and had begun flowing articulately and with such full-on knowledge, that by the time she left the room, I had the most painful erection underneath the table.

I, on the other hand, had begun an unforgiveable traveling tour. Within two weeks, the following three months of my life had been scheduled, filling up each day on the calendar. When Thaddeus presented me with the tentative schedule, I tossed it back to him demanding I be given at least two nights a week at home. I had a wife; one who was still acclimating to my household, and most critical of all, partial to self-pleasuring. I’d worked a great deal to have Alexis non-reliant on masturbation and could not regress in that breakthrough. My elevation to senior pastor had required me to make rounds to our sister churches as well as
C.O.O.L.J.C.
organizational events.
RSfALC
was one of the largest churches in the organization, the political implications and obligations ran deep. Not only that, but I’d begun receiving requests to preach at churches outside of
C.O.O.L.J.C.
that I’d been able to delay until after my nuptials. I had to fulfill those appointments as well.

God’s timing is empirical. It was of great design to have Alexis aboard
Christ Cares
when she began. She planted her feet right away and became absorbed in building the department, often working late hours. Ms. Remah being at the house enhanced my peace of mind. My wife wasn’t alone or lonely as I traveled days at a time. We were eager to physically relieve each other upon every one of my returns. Our delicately balanced world was shifting. The transition tarried in my deepest prayers. It was one of the many huge risks I underwent, pulling Alexis into my elaborate, onerous, and industrious life. I understood the lifestyle I’d been called to at birth, and had anticipated it. Alexis had gotten so wrapped up—and so swiftly—into work, she barely recognized the potentially jeopardizing event taking place.   

Thanksgiving arrived and Alexis stayed up virtually all night the eve of the holiday to prepare dinner with Ms. Remah. I was disgruntled, preferring her in my bed or making use of the hours in the sandbox, however I didn’t express this, understanding it would only reveal my greed of my kitten’s luscious body. It was enough that I’d been secretly on edge about having Rasul in my home for the holiday. To my credit, I fully grasped the concept of w
hen you marry your spouse, you’re marrying their family
—I’d had her non-blood relative living on my property as a result. However, my tolerance for Rasul had not ripened. He had still presented as the selfish, directionless leach he’d been to Alexis all of her adult years. I’d overheard her admonish him about not having found work after being released five months ago, therefore breaching their agreement regarding her apartment. I still kept my feelings regarding him to myself, believing that to be the best course of action.

I soon learned leaving Alexis to her own devices regarding her father could prove beneficial. The morning of Thanksgiving, Alexis went to spend a few hours with Rasul to celebrate. She had been gone well past noon. We invited Trent Bailey, my assistant pastor, John Weaver, and his wife, Tiffany, over for dinner, leaving me to receive them on my own. It was awkward to say the least as I was unaccustomed to having guests in my home. I tried my hand at small talk, but was boiling infernally with anxiety on the inside.
Let’s not forget Alexis’ blunder last summer, just after Kamigu with Bishop Jones
. I could have called her hours ago to remind her of our joint duty as hosts, but I digressed.

Perhaps I should have
.

Just when I began to regret my lack of foresight, she blustered into the house, picking up with hosting and serving dinner seamlessly. It took an hour or two for my anger to ebb, deliquescing into pure lust at how well she performed with engaging the room. I rewarded her past losing her voice from screaming at the top of her lungs in the sandbox after our guests left for the night. I had my kitten hoisted from the ceiling, her long limbs extended as I feasted from her weeping pussy. She nearly lost lucidity and I lost count of how many orgasms I’d given her in the air. 

I took Alexis to her first Broadway show:
The Book of Mormon
. I’d seen it several times before, but seeing it through her eyes was an amazing experience. She stayed rapt, wide-eyed as she followed the performances. During intermission she excused herself for the bathroom and didn’t say much before the second act. It was a strange contrast to her quite social tone during dinner before the show. When the show concluded and we made it to our waiting limousine and I was just about to ask her what she thought of the show, Alexis turned the knob on the stereo panel to a volume impossible for verbal exchange. Then she shuffled to her knees, arranging her clothing so she could plant herself between my legs. My heart beat painfully at her perceived attempt, but I didn’t stop her. My kitten pleasured me with her mouth until my spine quaked and I met my release down her throat. That was a long Friday night, and coincidentally the first time we slept in the sandbox.

Christmas trundled around and Alexis expressed a desire for a traditional, idyllic experience for the holiday. I didn’t share the same desire. Christmas was one of the busiest times of the year for me as a pastor. I was expected to be at countless events, providing a wide range of clergy duties. I arrived home sparing just minutes of the big day and wrapped myself around Alexis’ warm and yielding sleeping frame. I struggled with my inclination to wake and carry her down to the sandbox to reacclimatize our bodies and sync our dom/sub dynamic—had it not been for the long day I
would have
awakened her for sensual torture. However, I decided to cool my barbaric—and some would argue, sinister—alter ego and get a few hours of rest. I did, however, take her in the shower, from the back with wobbly legs until she begged with tears for a release.  

Later that morning, Alexis insisted we all meet around the tree to open gifts. Ms. Remah and I complied with visible and audible hesitation. Alexis insisted Ms. Remah go first. She opened several gifts from Alexis and me. She didn’t utter a reaction until after opening the last of at least a dozen gifts. Her response was a simple grunt and, “Thenk yuh.” If I were a humorous man, I would have allowed the bubbling laughter in my belly to burst from my lips. Alexis smiled from ear-to-ear, unable to hide her excitement at ‘traditionalism.’

Alexis was adamant about me going next. I had quite a few gifts under the tree, and I refused to show an ounce of the warmth that spread through me at the prospect. It had been years since I’d awakened to gifts under the tree meant for my amazement. I discovered ties, cufflinks, lounge sets, underwear—from Alexis, of course—gift cards to book stores, and socks. All of the apparel were designer, causing me to question my kitten’s perception of me.

Ms. Remah left the room to check on her white hard dough bread that I found myself partial to. Alexis sat on her crossed legs, next to the tree holding up a box in the air.

“Hurry,” she murmured. “Open.”

Bemused, I accepted the box, opened it to find a purple monogramed leather flogger. Once I could process the gist of it, my chest tightened. I could say the cause was pride, but I’d experienced pride with my beloved and it came with a different physiological response. This was something else, unidentified. The monogram was not just of my initials, it was of ours: E&LCarmichael.

“Covenant,” I read underneath our initials.

My eyes skirted over to her. Alexis on her knees, represented submission as she smiled with more behind her eyes than yuletide.

I waved her over with my upturned hand. She crawled over to me until her shoulders met my knees.

“Stay right here and close your eyes,” I ordered before going to the tree and retrieving one of the gifts I had for her.  I returned, handing her a box. “Open, kitten.”

She opened the small box finding the content; an envelope with the City’s emblem. Inside was a notification regarding potter’s field cemetery on Hart Island. It was the location of her mother’s burial site and information about her burial place. Hart Island is New York City’s potter’s field, the resting grounds where thousands of the city’s anonymous, impoverished, and disremembered have been buried. Alexis’ mother was of the masses.

“We can pay to have her exhumed and transferred,” I offered hoarsely, understanding the potential hazardous emotions I could be unscabbing.

Alexis shared with me a few months ago how she didn’t know where her mother was buried in the potter’s field and therefore had never visited her remains. Rasul had been incarcerated at the time of her mother’s death, and was unable to come up with the needed funds to provide a formal burial. The conversation manifested so randomly over dinner with just the two of us discussing a viral video of a male school police officer in Columbia, South Carolina slamming a student to the ground and tossing her several feet. I thought his actions to be reprehensible, and questioned what could the young girl have possibly done to have required a police officer in the classroom. Alexis went on to share the rumors of the girl having recently lost her mother, and how if that were true, she could relate. She shared her story of losing her mother when Rasul was incarcerated and unable to assist in her funeral arrangements. Alexis’ grandmother couldn’t afford such a responsibility. She explained her emotional response to the event was one of the most disgraceful of her life.  

With tears pooling in her eyes, Alexis shook her head. “I know she’s made friends where she is. I don’t want to interfere.” Then her instantly swollen eyes appeared on me. “But I would like to go visit her.”

I nodded in agreement. “That can be arranged…now.”

Alexis lay her head against my knee and exhaled before nodding.

“Thanks, sir.”

My balls drew up and cock stiffened in quiet response.

Christmas dinner was spent at my parents’. After dinner, Bishop sat at the grand piano with Precious singing Christmas carols for the three dozen or so guests. Marva stood a few feet away, beaming in the distance from ear-to-ear. The crowd was taken. At the end of their duet performance, with discomfort just as visible as my mother’s, Alexis
eventually
clapped with other guests when the Bishop stroked the last key and grabbed Precious adoringly in his arms. Mine may have been the only two hands in the room not applauding at the ‘father and daughter duo.’ Alexis put on a brave face. I seethed.

Once we were settled in at home and the alarm was set, close to midnight, I ordered Alexis to strip bare and meet me down in the living room next to the tree where I lit the fireplace. When she met me down there, I noticed her robe. I quickly removed it from her bare frame and helped her onto the piano. I blindfolded her as she lay on one arm.

“It’s cold,” she whispered as I clasped the graduated diamond tennis neck-piece around her.

“It’s ice,” I whispered in her ear before tracing her lobe with my tongue. “Merry Christmas, Alexis.”

I sat behind the piano and began to play a familiar tune.

“Holy shit!” she shrilled, mouth hitting the closed lid of the baby grand. “
In
! That sounds the bomb, Ezra!”

My chest swelled. I wasn’t a committed player, though I’d received countless praises for my ability. This one was different: it was candid wonderment.

“Mouth!” I replied, unwilling to reveal my elation.

Unfazed, she cooed, “I love it, Ezra.” She smiled contented. “Merry Christmas, sir.” She bit her top lip coyly as she fingered the glistening diamonds on her neck.

My little temptress declared sensual war there at the piano with that reference. I was past eager to meet her challenge well into the morning.

New Year’s came around. Alexis attended her first Watch Night service. There was a seven p.m. and ten p.m. service. I officiated over both. As she’d been doing, she attended both services. Although I didn’t get to interface with her in between, I was impressed by her presence. At the close of the first service when the church went up in praise, I caught a glimpse of her standing in the congregation, stock-still with her hands clasped at her chest as she fixed her eyes on me, channeling an array of emotion from her orbs. I was too caught up in directing the atmosphere to assess her condition, but I’d caught it.

When the countdown had commenced seconds before the clock struck twelve during the second service, I didn’t ignore the sheer emotion of contentment my kitten had displayed as she rocked herself with clasped palms, beaming in my direction. I left the pulpit and met her sparing a second before the event. When I arrived at her pointy toe heels, Alexis’ arms opened to me instinctively and as I received her into my chest, she nuzzled against my neck. It was another exhibition of her new and peculiar affectionate behavior, only this time it was acted out in public. My fierce grip on her was to balance myself against the disturbing zings of an unknown source shooting all over my body. As I held her, totally encapsulated from the amazed eyes around, I was grateful for the cloak of my clergy robe.