Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2) (22 page)

“What?”

“That you don’t buy my bullshit.”

“
I may be the only woman alive who’s immune to it.”

“I think you are.” He says as
he takes his hand and begins to slide my panties down.

Oh, I didn’t mention that my
clothes are already off? Sorry. Yeah, he took my shirt and jeans off by the bedroom door, but after he did, I let him know that I just came to talk. Nothing more.

He slides my panties down to my ankles.
Oh please, don’t you dare judge me. I can have a rational conversation with no panties on. And I assure you, that’s really all I came to do with him, nothing more. I mean that.

“I believe we’ll be able to get past this, I truly believe that.” He says as he begins to slide his hands over my hips.
I kick my panties to the side so that I don’t trip over them. Now don’t worry; I represent those women out there who are strong enough to withstand the tempting allure of a fine ass white boy. I’m still in total control here. I swear I am.

“Of course
you
believe that we can get past this. But what if the tables were turned?” I say as I unbutton his shirt. I’ve decided just how I’m going to show Malcolm that I’m in control: I’m going to make us both stand here, stark naked and just talk. Now, if that’s not control, nothing is.

“Red
, I’m down for you. I’ve stuck with you after twelve years of you ignoring me, after you married another man, had his child and then burned my house down.” He whispers against my lips while he slides his shirt off.

             
“That’s sweet,” I whisper back, “but would you forgive me if I was still taking care of Jon. If I was still
keeping
him.”

             
“I’m not keeping Laura.” He says as he slides his t-shirt over his head. Mmm … those damn shoulders. I slide my hands over his chest. Rock. Hard. I slide my hands over his abs. Got. Damn. “I’ve been paid to get Rossi into the White House. That’s all I’m doing here. I promise you.” He snaps the front closure of my bra open with just a flick of his finger. I look down and then back up at him. He winks.

             
“Malcolm, we’re just talking tonight.” He leans down and kisses me but I push away from him … after about a minute or so. “Nothing more.”

“That’s all
I’m trying to do here … promise.” Mmm … he smells so good. Mrs. Fulton had it right.

“Don’t lie to me.” I whisper against his lips.

              “Not you Red. I don’t lie to you.”

Malcolm

2:45 a.m.

             
We both know that isn’t true, the reason we’re in this situation now is because I was trying to help Jon save some face. But, by the looks of it, the way Red’s yanking my pants open, she must’ve forgiven me. But I promise myself, from now on, no more lying to Red. I’ll tell her the truth, no matter whose feelings are hurt, no matter what she may think of that person afterwards. I promise myself that I’ll do that because, if we can get past this, I will never, ever, be in the position of losing her again. Never.

             
“I want this,” she says as she grabs my dick, “but I want this first.” She taps me on the mouth with the back of her hand. “And that shit better be good.”

             
“Damn baby, that sounds like a challenge.” I’m almost offended. If anybody can eat pussy, Malcolm Blair can. I mean, come on. Shit, work with me here.

             
“I’m just saying, I remember last time and,” she shrugs, “it wasn’t your best.”

             
“Hmm …” I reflect on that statement. A woman has just told me that when I ate her pussy, I didn’t put forth my best effort. That’s interesting. “I don’t believe that’s ever been said before.” I give her my ‘business meeting’ voice.

“Oh no?
”

“I’ve always been given five Michelin Stars in that particular area.”

“Oh yeah?” She looks down at her watch to check the time.

“I’ve
never
been told that my pussy eating was subpar.”

             
“Yeah, well I’ve never burned down a house before but times are changing.”

“Great example.” I slide her bra down her
arms and lock eyes with her as she pushes my pants and boxers down.  “But don’t worry, I got you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nod my head and let my buzz take over me.

Almond butter skin, eyes the color of rum, hair as red as ginger;
Red’s made to be eaten.

I glance around the room and remember that there’s a small loveseat by the window. Perfect. Pulling her up by her hips, I make her straddle me as I walk to it. She lowers her face to me, running her lips against mine. Don’t try to act sentimental now Red.
Too late.

I drop her on the loveseat and push her into a corner, making sure her back is firmly burrowed in
to the crook of it. I double check her position. Yeah, that’ll do. She looks around at the loveseat and realizes just where she’s sitting: back pressed against the corner groove of a couch.             

Nowhere to run.

I think I see a flash of alarm on her face.
Uh-oh, did I just get myself in trouble?
I nod.
Yes Danielle, you did.
Now there’s only one thing to do. I get in position and spread her legs. It’s either feast or famine.

Feast.

I’m eating. I’m grubbing. I’m hungry. I’m famished. I’m starving.

She’s moving. She’s shaking. She’s grabbing. She’s clawing. She’s grunting. She’s arching.

She’s going nowhere.

She can scratch as hard as she wants, she can moan as loud as she wants, she can breathe as fast as she wants, she can throw head back, she can throw her head forward, she can cry for her maker … But it won’t save her. Nothing will.

“Fuck me.” She chokes out. Damn, I guess I was wrong.

I follow orders. And I’m in control. I’m in the driver’s seat. I’m in command.

I’m on the couch.

I’m on the floor.

I’m on the window.

I’m on the dresser.

I’m on the wall.

I’m on the bed.

I’m on the headboard.

Shit, I’m on the muthafuckin rail.

I’m on top.

Now I’m behind.

I’m on the side.

I hit her walls.

I’m on that spot.

Now I’m on the other.

I’m right here.

And now I’m there.

I’m in it deep.

I’m in between.

I’m in her mouth.

I’m in her legs.

I’m in hands.

I’m in her head.

I’m. In. This. Shit.

Malcolm

6 a.m.

             
And I wake up alone.

Jon

10:00 a.m.

              “I’m watching it now.” I hear Jax say as I walk into the kitchen.

I haven’t had a chance to talk to Danny again since I pulled her aside in the kitchen yesterday. When I came in last night
from Sands Bar, the women still weren’t home and by four a.m. when I went to sleep, they were still out. I did text Red on her new number to see if she was okay, but she never responded.

             
“Morning, Jon.” Elise says as she smiles at me and points to the coffee pot, her arms are elbow deep in a pan of macaroni and cheese as she prepares dinner for us all tonight.

             
“Good morning.” I walk over to her and give her a hug and then pat Jax on the back as he nods to me. His ear is glued to the house phone. “Hey Nicky.” I call out to the living room.

             
“Hi, daddy!” He yells back. Him and his damn energy. I let him stay up with me late last night, his butt should still be sleep like everyone else.

             
“Go back to bed.”

             
“No!”

             
“And as it appears,”
I hear a newscaster saying from the kitchen’s TV,
“Ms. Rouge was in fact divorced before she arrived in Boston and pursued a relationship with Attorney Blair.”
I stop my trek to the coffee pot and turn towards the TV.
“We have proof here, released by her lawyer’s office, which verifies that her divorce was finalized on June 15
th
of this year. She and Attorney Blair were first seen together in July of this year, so it’s safe to say that she was indeed divorced. Were they seeing each other before then? We have no idea, we have no proof. They were once classmates at St. Bernadette Boarding School but other than that, we have no evidence that they stayed in touch. Chances are, since they’re both heavy in the political scene in Boston and Cadence Blair began working for Ms. Rouge’s father, they reacquainted that way.”
The newscaster pushes his black framed glasses higher up his nose.
“She’s a feminist and Attorney Blair’s a politico who has been known to support the Boston feminists. I’m not too certain there’s a story here folks.”

             
Elise, Jax and I look on silently while
A Charlie Brown’s Christmas
can be heard from the living room television. That report is a lie. Danny and I weren’t divorced in June, we were divorced in August. And the law firm that’s being flashed on the screen right now isn’t the one on my divorce decree at home. Blair and Associates is on my copy, not Rouge and Associates.

             
“Very well.” Jax says while walking over to the kitchen sink to pick the stems off of some greens. “I trust that CNN and MSNBC will soon pick this up? … Well done … she’s not with us now, she’ll see this when she wakes up … you’ll have to contact her directly … I have no control over that … seems to me, you need to be creative then.” And then Jax ends the call with no
goodbye
. Good.

             
“Glad it all worked out.” Elise says. “Nicky, eggs
and
bacon or just eggs?” She screams into the living.

             
“Both.” He screams back. “And coffee.”

             
“No coffee.” Jax says.

             
“Mac gives me coffee.”

             
“You’ll get hot cocoa here.” Elise says as she picks up the macaroni tin and walks to the oven.

             
“With marshmallows?”

             
“Of course.” Jax says, draining one sink filled with greens and rinsing them off in another.

             
“Coffee baby?” Elise asks Jax.

             
“Ah, please.” He holds his wet hands up, covered in greens. “Two teaspoons of sugar, no cream. That’s how I like it.”

             
“No shit Jackie!” They both laugh.

             
“What’s so funny?” Nicky screams from the living.

             
“If you’re not going to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas, I’m turning it off!” Elise screams back. “There’s a Lifetime Christmas movie on that I’ve been trying to catch. It’s a love story.” Nicky shuts up and Jax laughs. “That damn boy.” Elise smiles and shakes her head as she heads to the coffee pot to pour Jax a cup.