Pastor Needs a Boo (45 page)

“I just wanted to hear your voice. And I wanted to tell you that I'm glad you married Rev, I mean, Pops. He loves you a lot, Mom. I hope you know that.”

Marcus was being so sweet it made tears well up in Marsha's eyes. She was happy to know he believed Denzelle loved her, and that he cared enough about her husband to call him “Pops.”

“But there is something missing in all of this for you, Marcus.”

“Yeah, Mom. I had always hoped that I would be the one to give you away whenever you remarried. Now, don't get me wrong, this marriage had to play out like it did. I understand that. But now I'm feeling like something was lost in all of this for me.”

“I hear you, Baby,” Marsha told her son. “Tell you what. Denzelle and I have to go get the license tomorrow. Why don't we meet you in Reverend Quincey's office in Durham, and round up a few of our folk, and do this ceremony with you, so you can give me away?”

“Okay. Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Baby,” Marsha said, and hung up.

“You raised a fine young man,” Denzelle said, and kissed Marsha's cheek. “We will definitely get up with Obie tomorrow and do this right, with Marcus giving you away.”

“Thanks, Denzelle,” Marsha said, and walked into his outstretched arms.

 

Chapter Thirty-six

Denzelle held Marsha close to his heart. She could feel the beat up against her shoulder. It was comforting.

He kissed the top of Marsha's head and wondered why it had taken him so long to get to this point. Denzelle didn't even know how lonely he'd been until this moment. All of these years he'd spent running game on women, running from women, and running from Marsha. In the words of the R&B singer Sunshine Anderson, Denzelle believed that he “musta fell and bumped [his] head” to have been so intent on avoiding his own blessing.

“Honey,” Denzelle whispered, and laced his fingers through Marsha's hair. He felt her body tense up and said, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Marsha said. She didn't have a clue as to how she was going to tell this man she was scared to get into that bed with him. Denzelle was not a small man, and she had not been with a man in years.

Denzelle looked down into Marsha's eyes and read her like an open book. He said, “I won't hurt you, Honey.”

“You won't try and hurt me,” she told him, “but I don't know how you can avoid me feeling some discomfort. It's been a very long time since I've been with a man.”

“How long is long, Marsha?”

“Five years,” she whispered, almost embarrassed to tell him that. How in the world could she explain that she had been so supersingle all of this time? She hadn't even been faced with the dilemma of struggling with her beliefs over this issue, because no man had been remotely interested in her during that time.

“Why so long?” he asked.

Marsha just looked at Denzelle. She thought that he'd know that part, since he was a pastor.

“Okay, let me ask this another way. Why is it that no one ever tried to get with you? Or, better yet, why is it that you never had to struggle with wanting to be with someone who was trying to get with you?”

Marsha sighed and went and sat on the edge of the bed. She could not believe that she plopped down on what had always been “her” side. She smoothed out a wrinkled spot on the sheet and looked around with a tiny frown on her face.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“I like this side of the bed, but I hope that it isn't your side, you know,” Marsha told him.

“I sleep all over the bed,” Denzelle said, and went to the other side. He pulled back the covers, and took off the towel that was around his waist.

Marsha hugged her own towel to her body. Her eyes traveled across his chest, with the sprinkling of coarse, dark hair on it, down to where everything was just sitting there, as if it were looking straight at her.

“Girl, what is wrong with you? You're acting like you've never seen a man's stuff before. I know you had to have seen it at least one time, since Marcus is walking around, living proof that you saw something.”

She sighed. Sometimes a man like Denzelle Flowers could work your nerves. It was obvious to Marsha that he was not the type of man, or person, for that matter, who was used to going without, doing without, and being without what he wanted or sought to have. He was always in a position to do what he deemed necessary, and in a timely manner.

For years that kind of command over circumstances had been anything but Marsha Metcalf's experience. And that could be frustrating and hard to explain to someone who had been privy to the opposite experience.

“Denzelle,” Marsha began in a firm voice, “I haven't seen a man's stuff in years. Until you kissed me, I had not been kissed or hugged by a man who wanted me in years. In fact, I have not felt a man bulging up against me in a hot hug for years. And I definitely have not seen a naked man, with all of his stuff waving all up at me like some kind of magnetic wand.

“Now, I cannot tell you why no man has seen fit to call me on the telephone, text me, e-mail me, tweet me, take me out for coffee, take me out for dinner, try to hug up on me, try to kiss me, and then try to convince me that I need to sleep with him. I don't have an answer for you, because I don't have a clue. There is nothing wrong with me, and yet nobody came my way—not even you.”

Denzelle sat up straight in the bed, and was about to say something. Marsha didn't even want to hear what he had to say, because she knew it would only make her mad. She was cold and slid up under the sheets and pulled the comforter over her. She sat up as much as she could without causing the warmth of the covers to slide off.

“Don't open your mouth, Denzelle,” Marsha commanded. “You were sweet on me, and you persisted in running from me and pushing me away. All I was doing was being a woman you were trying not to be in love with—as if that were my fault. You acted like you had beef with the Lord for choosing a good woman to present to you so you could be blessed.

“Sometimes I wanted to get you told. And sometimes I wanted to beat you like you stole my money. But you know what I did? I put it in the hands of the Lord. And I hope with all of my heart that the Lord dealt with you on my behalf for acting like you did.”

Denzelle bristled at those words and was about to tell her a thing or two. But Marsha had held her peace on this matter for way too long. And she wasn't going to hold it another minute, and she didn't care if he stayed mad until Jesus cracked the sky.

“Oh, yeah, Denzelle, you were crazy about me, but you didn't want to like me. In fact, you didn't want to love me or let me care for your heart. Did you think I would hurt you? Didn't you know that I would take good care of your heart? I sure did pray for you long and hard enough over these years. And guess what? I didn't want to like your old smooth daddy, got-it-going-on, Kappa Alpha Psi self, either. I used to get so mad at myself for liking you like that.”

Marsha was mad now. She didn't know she had been so angry at Denzelle until now. She sat up in the bed and pulled the sheet over her bare breasts.

“Who do you think you are, Denzelle Flowers, to question me about why some dumb-ass brothers didn't see the jewel that I am? Who are you to ask why I haven't seen a naked man in years? How the hell would I know? I didn't create that damn situation. Brothers like you did. So don't ask me that question. Ask your own damn self!”

Marsha was breathing hard, heaving air in and out of her mouth. Her chest was tight, and it hurt to take in real deep breaths. She calmed herself down, took in shallow breaths, and gradually got more air into her lungs.

Denzelle was pissed. No woman, not even Tatiana, had ever talked to him like that. He wanted to snatch those covers off of Marsha and let her be cold. He said, “Who do you think you are?”

“Your wife,” Marsha told him so firmly, it shocked her. “Not the woman you married. Not the woman you ran game on and screwed. I am your wife. And as your wife, there are times when I have to just tell you like it is. I love you, Denzelle. But I'm not going to take away from me just so your behind can be comfortable with your tired, Big Daddy mess.”

Denzelle started laughing out loud. That little miss was right. She was his wife. And every good, loving, and passionate woman who loved her husband right got that brother straightened out at some point. He scooted over to Marsha's side of the bed and wrapped his arm around her.

“Yes, you are my wife, with your sweet and sexy self. Sitting over here with your feathers all ruffled, cheeks all flushed, and looking ripe for the picking.”

Marsha tried to squeeze back the blush that was betraying her and spreading across her cheeks. She tried not to lean back into her husband's body, but Denzelle just got closer to her and ran his hand over the length of her left hip.

He kissed her shoulder.

“How long have you loved me, Marsha?”

“A long time—only I didn't want to admit that I loved you. I thought it was crazy to love a man who didn't seem all that interested in me. There were times when I prayed for the Lord to take that love away and help me to just appreciate and love you as my brother in the Lord.”

Denzelle was cracking up with laughter. He got closer to Marsha and wrapped his body around her, spoon fashion.

“You like that, girl?” he said in a low, husky whisper.

“Yes,” she said in a real soft voice.

“You sure?” Denzelle asked his wife. “You sound like you're kinda uncomfortable with me all up on you like this.”

“I am. But not for the reason you think,” Marsha told him. “I love being all up on you like this. Just not sure what to do next, Baby. Remember, I've had to keep this part of me contained for years. Kind of hard to let go, just like that, you know.”

“I think I know, Honey,” he said, and stroked her cheek. “It must have been real hard to carry on like you did all of this time. And you really did have to keep a part of you on lockdown and inaccessible to men.”

Denzelle kissed Marsha's shoulder again.

“You are a strong and very beautiful woman. I want you bad, Girl.”

He turned her around to face him. Marsha wrapped her arms around Denzelle's neck. He kissed her lips gently, and then pulled her to him real tight while kissing his wife deeply.

“Ummm, Baby, Baby, Baby,” Denzelle murmured.

He slid his leg through hers and cupped her behind.

“You are going to make me start talking dirty with all of this in my hands,” Denzelle said to Marsha.

He slid his hand down her thigh to her knee and pulled Marsha's leg up to his hip. His manhood pressed up against the very spot he'd wanted to find all evening.

“Can I?” was all Denzelle said to Marsha, who was holding onto him tightly.

She felt the pressure of him. Her husband was hot.

“Yes,” Marsha whispered, and found that she could not resist staring into his eyes.

Denzelle grabbed the back of Marsha's head, kissed her deeply, and slid into his wife. She gasped and pulled back, but Denzelle pulled her closer and held her tighter.

“Don't pull away from me, Baby,” he said in a gentle voice. “I promise I won't hurt you.”

They held each other for a few minutes. They didn't want to move. This moment felt so wonderfully incredible, neither wanted to spoil it with movement.

Marsha kissed Denzelle and whispered, “I want you so bad, Baby.”

That was all he needed to hear. Denzelle rolled Marsha on her back and slid both hands down to grab her butt. He began to move slowly, hardly able to contain himself. Who knew his wife would feel this good? Who knew Marsha had it going on like that?

Marsha moved with her husband. It was like a synchronized series of separate dips and dives that felt like one sinuous flow of good loving. She moaned, “Denzelle” in his ear, and he whispered, “Girl, slow your roll if you want this to last.”

Marsha laughed softly and kissed the corner of Denzelle's mouth. He smiled at her and kissed her lips. They smiled at each other and moved with a rhythm that didn't even exist until they came together as husband and wife.

That last set of rifts in their love song sent both of them over the edge. It was one of those true together moments that people in love cherish. There was nothing like making the Song of Songs come to life in the arms of your beloved.

Denzelle clung to Marsha. His heart was so full, he felt tears well up. He wanted to say something hot and sexy, something that would make her blush. But the only thing that fell in Denzelle's heart, and found its way to his tongue was verse 12 from chapter 4 of the Song of Songs: “‘You are like a private garden, my treasure, my bride! You are like a spring that no one else can drink from, a fountain of my own.'”

Marsha smiled into his eyes and whispered, “‘Kiss me again and again, for your love is sweeter than wine. How fragrant your cologne, and how pleasing your name!'” from chapter 1, verses 2 and 3 of that same book of the Bible.

 

Chapter Thirty-seven

Todd Townsend paced around in the game room of his six-thousand-square-foot house in Governor's Club in Chapel Hill. It was a beautiful yet very overdecorated home. Todd didn't know what made him think he needed a $2.2 million home in the Triangle. He and Tatiana didn't even need all of this space. It was just the two of them, and they didn't have friends, because people didn't like Tatiana. And their families stayed away, because neither side could stand Tatiana.

So there really wasn't any practical reason for them to have this house. The only reason Todd purchased it was to pacify Tatiana, who had cried and gone on a hunger strike until he conceded and bought it. He wished he had had the gumption to stand up to his wife—he could have saved a whole lot of money buying a smaller and cheaper home.