The Boy Next Door (83 page)

His kiss deepened and his tongue parted her lips eagerly.  Sherrie thought he tasted of mint and green tea as he tangled his tongue with hers.

Joseph groaned quietly as she continued to open up to his attention.  He did not know the extent of her sexual experience, but he was a patient man when something was worth waiting for.  Her thigh felt like warm silk under his hand and his cock threatened to burst out of his clothing.

“Joseph?” Sherrie asked softly.

“What is it, my bride-to-be?”

“What if someone walks in?”

He chuckled.  “I locked the door.”

She giggled and pressed her mouth back to his.  His fingers brushed the lace of her panties and she gasped.  He pressed firmer and she moaned softly as he began to trace small light circles.

His lips trailed damp kisses from her lips, across her jawline, and down her neck.  Sherrie leaned back against the couch and he carefully adjusted her body until she was lying flat on her back and he was straddling her body.  His fingers kept tantalizing her sensitive flesh and his cock throbbed at each of her moans.

He finally hooked his hand around the waist of her panties and dragged them down her legs.  She wriggled her hips until they slid freely to the floor.  His hand instantly returned to its tormenting tease.  Joseph’s eyes kept darting from her blissful face to her heaving breasts and he longed to just tear all of her clothing from her luscious body.  He finally glided two fingers inside her wet velvet and she groaned deeply.  He slid them back and forth, pumping in and out of her while his thumb continued to massage her swollen clit.  Her breath dissolved into tiny gasps in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

He felt her inhale and stop breathing as the climax washed over her, and then she moaned deeply as the tension subsided.  His cock felt painfully hard in his slacks but he knew he would have another chance.

He slid to one side of her body, pulled her to face him, and curled his arm around her trim waist.  She panted softly, trying to return to reality. He kissed her gently and ran his fingers over her tight dark curls.  Sherrie could hardly believe her morning as she rested her forehead against his chest.  She could feel his hardness pressing into her belly but had to resolve to take care of it another time, when she was not so satiated herself.

Chapter Nine

The next few days went by in a blur as the wedding coordinator hounded Sherrie for decisions about flowers and dinner and a justice of the peace.  She was overwhelmed when the coordinator politely kept telling her that the price did not matter, just that she needed to pick out whatever she preferred.  The prices had to have been sky-high but despite the guilt she was thrilled with her selections, and so far Joseph had not scolded her about the cost.

They were planning a simple courthouse ceremony with a private dinner afterwards.  She wanted her parents to attend, but could not rely on both of them having good days together and did not want to risk the stress that it could give either of them.

She and Joseph had already been making plans in his house for their care, and she had been speechless when he assured her that having them live with them was no problem at all.

Joseph smiled to himself when he remembered the conversation.  He had spent nearly two hours assuring her that it was an honor and a tradition in his own culture to care for aging parents at home, at least for as long as medically reasonable to do so.

He granted her three weeks off, and knew that she would probably never return to work after the wedding.  She used the first week to finish the arrangements for their intimate wedding, and giggled every time he declined to answer her questions about their two-week honeymoon.

Finally the day arrived.  Sherrie was so nervous she could hardly breathe as the kind coordinator zipped up the back of her dress.  It was a simple ivory lace dress that could actually be used as a cocktail dress afterwards, should the need arise.  The scoop neck hugged her full breasts, the smooth waist accentuated her trim middle, and it ended just above her knees.

The ceremony was short and a complete blur for both of them.  As the limousine whisked them off to their private dinner, Joseph ran his hands over the delicate lace that tickled her thighs.

“You take my breath away,” he whispered in her ear.

Dinner was served at the rooftop restaurant.  She had carefully selected a menu that she thought would be fun and interesting, and would not stretch the limits of the snug-fitting dress.

They sipped glasses of paired wine with each small plate that was delivered — a cheese board decorated with beautiful fresh strawberries and grapes; a charcuterie plate served with spicy mustard and delicate water crackers; a tiny terrine of pâté with slices of fresh warm French bread; an arrangement of gorgeous red peppers stuffed with goat cheese; and finally for dessert, an assortment of bite-size cookies and petit fors.

Joseph marveled at her selections and smiled to himself,
Perhaps she is cut out for this life after all.

The limo then delivered them to the premier five-star hotel downtown and a very eager young concierge escorted them to the penthouse suite.  While they waited for their luggage, Sherrie sunk down onto the king-size bed and sighed deeply.

“Joseph, this is all too much,” she smiled up at him shyly.

“Sherrie, I will give you this and more.  I can’t wait to show you the rest of the world.  But you are my world now.”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

He knelt in front of her and as he took her hand, she looked into his eyes.  She saw a sincerity so deep she almost did not recognize it. And, just as Joseph had fallen, Sherrie did too.

THE END

The Asian Billionaire’s Mail Order Bride

Han Cheung Weisheng had a mystic air about him.  They spoke of him carefully, even when he was a considerable distance away.  He always brought a meditative and almost holy approach to doing business.  His stone face made a room silent and respectful.  His smile allowed people to relax and feel good about themselves and the world they lived in.  Han made a point to always be forthright, painfully honest and above all dignified in his dealings. 

He didn’t have to lie or be duplicitous with his clients.  He only spoke the truth.  He not only had that Old World Chinese grace, he also had a young and attractive face, being a man in his early thirties.  Simply put, no one screwed with Han, because not only did it mean bad karma, but to have the most powerful Chinese billionaire in the world at your throat was simply bad for business.

Han met with his financial advisors for an impromptu meeting late one Monday afternoon.  They were a board of trusted older men, who were usually the ones on the receiving end of a lecture from the master of economics.

“So gentleman, as I have demonstrated the next big investment opportunity is not in America or Europe but in Africa.  We have a number of African companies on our portfolio but land is truly the greatest opportunity under the sun.  If we can find a company that has great market potential and that also has great land potential, we are truly in business.”

“What do we have so far?” asked one advisor.

“Our current interest is in Blanca Demmo, a tourist company that has land in North Africa and especially Morocco.  This is the way of the future.  We have many plans to expand his company and perhaps even the range of land.”

“And the person you’re working with, is he open to tourism and development?”

“Well, that’s where it gets tricky,” Han said with a smile.  “He is a traditionalist.  He is not one to see the ‘big picture’ when it comes to investment.  Therefore, the responsibility is mine. I must charm him and convince him that we could up the ante, if you understand the terminology.  We can expand the business well beyond his scope.”

“Be careful about working with someone who has a mom and pop mentality,” said another advisor.  “They are termites to good business foundation.”

“They are living in the past.  But we are the ones who shape the future,” he said with that same air of mysterious confidence.  “I am going to meet Mister Adman this coming week to discuss these matters.  I hope to have a contract ready by the weekend.”

Little did Han realize, however, just how unorthodox Mister Skand Adman could be.

*

It was Adman’s idea for Han to forgo the usual hotel meeting room and instead come to his home in Morocco.  Han was unaccustomed to meeting in such private quarters.  Adman was a strange little man, his skin as black as coal, and his accent strong and far from English as one could imagine, probably on purpose.  Adman had no need to dress himself up or impress anyone.  He was an old man but one that still had a sharp mind.  He also felt marvelously young again when he played with the minds of his younger, stronger contemporaries.

Adman’s home was large from the outside but cozy on the inside with down to earth décor and simple furniture.

“You have big plans,” he said with an oily grin.  “You want to become the uh…how you say?  Philanthropist.”

“Yes,” Han answered resolutely.  “I want to make the world a better place.”

“You are a man of many skills.  You are bilingual, but you do not speak Arabic.  Only Mandarin and English.  How funny, yes, that the only language I do not speak is Mandarin.”

“Yet we are able to speak because we make the effort to speak more than one language.  You know, Americans and Englishmen that I work with, only speak one language.”

“Because they only want to hear what their own kind says.”

“Accurate.”

“And you, my friend, you know two or three languages.  But you do not learn.  You only seek to lead.  To create.”

Han shrugged.  “It is what we all do.”

“No.  A wise man never stops learning:  he learns from the poor, from the rich, from the arrogant, and from the broken and downhearted.”

“An interesting proverb.”

“You are also a man who does not believe.”

“Believe?”

“Yes.  You only prove.  Whatever is your agenda, this you can prove.  But you yourself do not believe.”

“If you mean in deities, no, I do not.”

“And love.  Are you also a nonbeliever in matters of love?”

“I don’t see…” he laughed, a little taken aback by the question, which was a rarity for the business shark.  “I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“In business, it is not relevant.  But from man to man, to speak honestly as we do, yes.  I am the type of man to ask you personal questions.  And Mister Weisheng, I do not believe that you have the heart and soul that you ought to have.”

“Really?  Because I have no wife standing before you?  Because I am not a…how do you say…a woman chaser?”

“You are wealthy and you are good looking, but you do not trust.”

“I can assure you, all my company policies are as they say, equal opportunity for all.  Men and women; no one is excluded.  I embrace Confucius just as I do Allah and Christ, because we are all the same beings, regardless of our faith.”

Adman sighed and looked down.  “What I mean to say is, for a man determined to invest in African property…you do not even know the real Africa.”

“The real Africa?  You mean the Congo?  Somalia?  No, I do not claim to be a warrior.  I do not even claim to be a humanitarian.  But I…”

“No, it has nothing to do with territory.  I mean, Han, my friend, do you love Africa?  Do you understand its people?”

“Of course I do.”

“I ask you these questions because I seek to do the will of God and the will of the people of Africa.  I am aware that this company of mine is not taking off.  It’s not progressive like you expect it to be.  And I am aware of how much benefit it would to be work with someone like you…”

Han smiled and nodded.  He had the old man.  He could already smell the deal ready to be made.

“…But the truth is that I cannot sell my soul to someone who I do not trust from the inside out.  Do you understand?”

“What?”  Han flinched at the statement.  “I am afraid not.  Your language confuses me.”

“I simply do not trust you, Mr. Weisheng, as a man who does business in the interest of Africa and its people.  We have more than enough corrupt white people coming in here and starting nonsense.”

“So you are…”

“Yes, Mister Weisheng.  I am passing on the opportunity.”

Han suddenly felt out of his element.  He paused and went blank.  Never before had someone refused his business.  Never before had someone refused him, while still acknowledging his business acumen.  Adman resisted him because of his materialist soul?  It was shocking.  The kind of thing only Han did to the clients he didn’t like.  But he could hardly fathom what it was like to be dismissed by someone with even greater spiritual depth.

“I am surprised…” he said in uncertainty, still wondering if he could convince the old man in some other way.  “I am usually the one…” he smiled and laughed softly,  “passing judgments on the souls of my associates.”

“Soul has nothing to do with it.  I’m sure you have a soul buried in there somewhere.  What I am concerned about is whether you have Africa in your heart.”

“Of course…”

Han suddenly felt ill.  This sensation of “losing” was new to him and he felt out of place.  A sense of desperation came over him as he realized for the first time ever, he would have to be humble.  He would have to apologize to his advisors, board of directors and financial backers who were all but assured this was a done deal.  Han sighed deeply, showing signs of stress for the first time he could remember.

“But…you presume too much,” he said.  “What makes you think I do not love Africa?  Just because I am Chinese?  Just because I have international hopes?”

“It’s not that, my friend.”

“You asked me private information.  Shame on you,” Han said with a superior air.  “For I make it a point never to combine business and family life.  But the truth is…since you have insisted on invading what is sacred…”

Adman looked on in interest.

“I do understand Africa.  I…I have a fiancée who is an African.”

“Really?” he asked in curiosity.  “You kept her a secret from me?”

“She is my treasure.  I keep her safe from all prying eyes.  Ordinarily I would have let you assume that I was unqualified for this business relationship.  But I am confessing to you my ‘secret’ just so you will know that you even you, sir, have much to learn.”

Adman nodded, quite impressed.  “I see.  You are marrying a black woman?”

“Not just a black woman,” Han said with a grin, “an African woman.  A native of this great continent.”

“Oh yeah?  Where is she from?”

“Cape Town,” he said not even flinching.

“I see.  Well I guess you’re right.  You have indeed taught me something.  I find it interesting that you use the ‘no love’ illusion in business.  I would have thought you would share such a beautiful romance when talking to clients.”

“You would think, but you would be wrong.  My private life is my private life, but you, Mister Adman, you are more than just a business associate.  You are a friend.”

“That’s great to hear,” he said with a friendly nod.  “I can’t wait to finalize the agreement, and, of course, to meet your fiancée.  For lying to me about sensitive issues such as love, would be a foolish strategy indeed.  Wreaking of desperation.”

He smiled at Han who suddenly seemed very uncomfortable.

“Something wrong?”

“No.  I’m perfectly fine.  I look forward to introducing you to my very exotic, very beautiful wife.”

Adman smiled.

Han smiled nervously, no doubt thinking in the back of his mind…

Shit.  I sure hope mail order brides have next day shipping.

***

II

Han decided to search for a last minute “bride” via the AfricanWivesforLess.com, a somewhat lecherous website given the name, but it was a humiliating dare he had to take.  His entire reputation was on the line. 

He browsed through the ads, one after another, fearing each woman a little bit more as the list went on.  They were all like robots or “pets” being sold off.  Each one wrote in a voice of desperation and insincerity.  What a humiliating fate, he pondered, destined to marry a woman he couldn’t love. 

However he took comfort in the idea of nullifying the wedding if he had to, just as soon as Adman signed the papers. 
It wasn’t a marriage
, he reminded himself.  It was just a performance.

After an hour of clicking through unqualified brides, he finally found one that piqued his curiosity.

*

Lilinda was her name.  A pretty black woman from Johannesburg and one that actually took the time to write what seemed like a legitimate profile.  Lilinda stated honestly her experience as a twenty-nine year old spinster.  She certainly had a clean face, a nice but nervous smile, and shiny teeth.  She seemed adequate in appearance though her profile was a bit verbose…to say the least.

I never really knew when the exact moment was that I grew up.  All I ever knew, from childhood to adolescence, was how to follow orders.  Doing things on my own inevitably brought criticism from my mother or an intervention by my father.  When I took their advice and followed their directions precisely, things seemed to get along just fine. 

There was no conflict, no yelling and no spilling dinner all over the floor.  My mom and dad knew best, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that the easiest course of action was to follow the leader.

When did I grow up?  Maybe fifteen years ago, when I realized that I was “legal age” and could leave the residence of my parents if I so chose.  My mother certainly never told me that I had to leave.  But it never occurred to me to walk away from my responsibility.  Mother and father needed somebody, they needed to be cared for in their old age.  It was simply what I ought to have done. 

I followed their directions every day of every year that I stayed, and no, I never really pinpointed the day that I “grew up” and felt my life slip away.  I never considered myself young.  Not that I am hard on the eyes; everybody always remarked how beautiful I still looked, even with my hair put up in a bun and with no makeup. 

Well all my life changed recently.  My mother and father passed away several months ago.  I am now all alone here in Johannesburg, toiling in poverty.

Truth be told, I am relieved after all the hard months of caring for my ailing and lonely father, who passed just months after my mother.  It all seemed like the natural end to a story that just went on too damned long.

I was recently told that despite them leaving an inheritance for me, that there was nothing left to take.  Apparently mother and father didn’t manage their finances judiciously.  They spent more than they made and they saved what was promised to a whole line of angry creditors.