To Catch a Falling Star (34 page)

Within a few minutes, Mel returns armed with razors, shaving cream, water, and towels. She remains naked and it’s a remarkable sight.

“Sit up,” she says. I oblige, sitting with my back against the headboard.

She places her gizmos on the nightstand and straddles me. Yeah, I’m instantly hard as rock.

She caresses my beard and says. “You know, I love your facial hair. I’m wondering if I should shave it.”

I shrug, entirely at her disposal.

“I also happen to love your baby face, clean of any facial hair.” She skims her fingers along my cheekbone.

“Well, do as you please.”

“Okay, I’ll shave,” she says. I cup her glorious ass on my hands, and draw her to my erection.

She catches her breath.

“Baby face, huh?” I nibble on her bare shoulders.

“Tarry, you’re being counterproductive,” she says with hiked breath.

“Yeah.” I trail kisses on her neck, finding a sweet spot on her earlobe that makes her moan.

She leans and grabs the shaving cream. She stares deeply into my eyes and spreads the foam on my face.

“You know I’ve wanted to do this, since the day I saw you sitting on that chair for our first therapy?”

“Oh, you’ve fantasized about me?”

“You’re so conceited.”

“I have a healthy ego.”

“Do you?”

“Pertaining to my sex appeal, yeah, most of the time. Until I met you anyway.”

She grabs the razor. I’m still, not for fear of a nick, but because I’m enthralled by her touch, her warmth. I’m afraid to blink because I fear she’ll leave.

With my dick painfully hard, serving as witness that this is real and not a hallucination, I just live this moment gifted to me.

Mel’s steady hand sweeps down on my cheek. Each stroke is slow and precise. Her eyes are serious and intent. She leans so close to me that her breast brushes my chest and her breath whispers on my skin. After a several strikes, she wipes my face and applies more shaving cream for touch-ups.

I realize she is almost done with this deliciously tempting ordeal. My heart clenches in a way it never has before. I ache with the fear of being rejected again by this fascinating woman.

“All done, baby,” she says, wiping my face.

I take the razor and towel from her and toss it on the side table.

“Now is my turn to play with you,” I say catching her nipple in my lips. When she moans, I realize my new purpose in life is to be the only one to make Mel utter these beautiful sounds of pleasure.

THE WEEK ZOOMS by. Tarry sneaks in my bed every night and provides me with multiple orgasms numerous times. I gave him a remote control to the garage so he can park there and no one will see his car.

I don’t want to overthink this. However, it would be too naïve to ignore one simple fact: I’m in deep with Tarry.

Every night he teaches Ella to play the guitar. He refrains from touching me in front of her. It’s so hard to see him within my reach without feeling his hands caressing me. He leaves at Ella’s bedtime only to come back when I text him.

Each time I make love to Tarry I see a different side of him. He can be gentle and rough, demanding and generous. But, above all, when with him, every inch of my skin and every atom of my being feel cherished.

Now it’s Saturday, our date night. Pop is keeping Ella, under the pretense I’ll be at work.

The anticipation of going on a date with Tarry has me nauseated. I fiercely brush my hair and double-check my make-up. I strap my sandals on and adjust the tight charcoal Chanel dress—a courtesy of Portia. I’ve had this dress for a while. It’s so beautiful that it feels sinful to wear. The silky texture of my lingerie against my skin sends a shiver up my spine. The strapless corset bustier improves my figure, hiding my imperfections and giving me an hourglass figure.

Wondering where we are going and how Tarry plans to keep it secret, I gather my wool, knee-length coat, also courtesy of Portia… and Chanel. As I step down the stairs, my breath catches when I see Tarry’s tall figure standing on the lower level. His eyes twinkle when our gaze meets. I stop in my tracks. Tarry is stunningly beautiful. With his hair combed back, he wears a navy blue button-down shirt and black slacks. He smiles and runs his fingers over his hair.

“Wow, Mel, you look beautiful.” He reaches his hand to mine and timidly I place a shaking hand in his. I descend the remaining step and land inside his warm embrace.

He kisses my lips eagerly igniting the familiar flame in my core. I moan in his lips.

“Let’s get out of here, before I haul you to that bed and rip this dress off you,” he says under a ragged breath.

“You won’t hear me complaining,” I purr. Jeez, I barely recognize this new me. I’ve turned into a sex machine.

“No, tonight, Mel, you are my date. I’ll treat you as such.” He retrieves my coat and assists me putting it on.

We step outside where a black limo awaits. I feel as if I’m Cinderella entering the pumpkin carriage. I just hope midnight does not strike anytime soon.

“Where are we going?” I ask when Tarry settles next to me.

“It’s a surprise,” he cocks his head and smiles.

“Oh,” I say, as his long and calloused fingers hike up under my dress.

“Tarry, the driver…,” I say into his mouth as his lips seize mine. His taste is sweet and tantalizing.

I lose myself in his demanding kiss. His hand brushes up my inner thigh and my core muscles clench demanding his touch. His tongue lightly strokes my earlobe. Oh, the sweet spot has me moaning. Tarry’s hand grabs my ass and squeezes. His breath is hot on my ear. “Oh, Mel, your ass was made for my hands.” After I don’t know how long of making out, Tarry tears his lips from mine. I realize the vehicle stopped. Tarry rearranges my dress, covering my bare legs.

“We’re here,” he says, fastening my jacket.

The driver opens the door. When I step out, I recognize Stratford’s Marina. I frown and glance at Tarry.

“This way,” he places his hand on the small of my back and directs me toward the pier.

We walk toward an illuminated yacht tied at the end of the pier. A simple script reads
Pearl.

A man, who I assume is the captain, says, “Welcome on board, Mr. Francis. Ma’am.” He bows his head politely to me.

“Good evening, Carl. Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Tarry says politely but authoritatively. I’ve never seen this side of him. Tarry is the most laid-back person I have ever met. It surprises me to see this other persona. The thought unnerves me. His broken spirit has eclipsed this side of him. It’s a reminder of how distant our worlds are. I decide to push the thought away and just enjoy the present. I do realize I’m not in his future. But I’m in his present for however long it lasts.

Tarry assists me on the boat.

“Are we ready for departure?” Tarry asks over his shoulder.

“At your command, sir,” Carl responds.

“I’ll settle my companion, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Same destination, sir?”

“Yes.”

Tarry guides me through an ample deck. We climb a narrow staircase and walk inside a luxurious formal room. The lights are dim. Through the hidden speakers, Nina Simone sings that she is “Feeling Good.”

The furniture is a rich mahogany, softened by the earthy and pastel tones of the drapes. A delicate fragrance of chamomile permeates the place. Soft candlelight shimmers from various places in the room. A long table set for two is placed next to big windows, which I assume will provide a stunning view of the ocean. The grandeur of the décor contrasts with the simple arrangement of chamomile at the center of the table.

I approach the table and whisper. “Chamomile, how did you know they’re my favorite?”

“Well, I have connections in high places,” Tarry says, pulling me a chair.

Before I have the chance to reply, a man enters the room holding a tray with a bottle of what seems to be champagne.

He pours the bubbling liquid inside elegant glasses. Tarry grabs one and hands one to me. I frown.

“Cider,” he says with a shrug.

I smile in response, doing my hardest to conceal my relief.

Tarry sits opposite me. As if it’s possible, Tarry’s beauty is even more alluring under the candlelight. I squirm in my seat. What I really want now is to kiss him.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” my voice is sultry. I clear my throat. “I mean, yes.” Jeez, I don’t have to be so obvious.

Tarry chuckles, the bastard. He must notice my wanton state. He nods to the man discreetly standing next to the door.

With efficiency he and another older man, serve the hors d’oeuvres. Though the dishes are fairly small for my huge appetite, there is a great variety.

“I chose a French meal, in honor of my grandfather. He was French. Since I wasn’t positive about your preferences, I requested a small variety,” he offers.

Well, the variety comprises of an endless parade of different dishes. Each artfully presented. I suppose the yacht’s chef looks at an empty plate the same way Will looks at a blank canvas. Everything tastes delicious and I endeavor to try almost everything, even the dubious-looking foods.

Finally, at the arrival of dessert I sigh with regret.

“What’s the matter, Mel?” Tarry asks.

“Why didn’t you remind me to leave room for dessert?” I ask.

He laughs aloud.

“That’s okay, we’ll work on your appetite and have dessert served in bed.”

The server remains impartial as he places the desserts in the center of the table, but I turn tomato red.

“That’ll be all for now,” Tarry tells the server.

I look over the table and a great desire to kiss Tarry seizes me.

“Dance with me?” he asks. His eyes, like a kaleidoscope, reflect the soft glow of candlelight.

Tarry’s long fingers swallow my hand as he pulls me to the middle of the room. I realize the boat is moving.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To the middle of the ocean, the most private place I could think of.” He’s bending forward, his body hovers over me.

“Whose boat is this?”

“Mine.”

“Oh.” Who’s Pearl? Jealousy spurts through my veins.

“I inherited it from my grandfather; he named it after my grand-mère. Luckily, my parents have anchored it at our house on the coast of Florida, so it only took a few days to get it here,” Tarry answers my unasked questions, putting a soothing balm over the damage caused by my gushing jealous feelings.

“Feelings” from Nina Simone purrs from the speakers.

“I didn’t pin you for a Nina Simone fan.”

“She’s one of my favorite singers.”

“Oh, really, so there’s more to the musician than he lets be seen.”

“No, not really. I’m pretty open, but the media only prints what sells. It might sound cliché, but music is the soundtrack of our lives. Nina Simone respected this principle. Her tongue caresses each note and she savors the melody. Listening to her singing equals hearing a couple mating.”

“Did you always know you wanted to be a singer?” The sound of the piano in Simone’s song holds the question as Tarry ponders.

“Yeah, I had my doubts. At one point, I wondered if I only wanted to earn my parents’ approval. But, in reality, my soul is ingrained with music. I play music for the passion. Now it’s your turn to tell me something about you,” he says.

“My life is dull.”

“Nothing about you is dull, Mel. You’re the most intriguing woman I’ve met.”

A rush of blood runs to my face. Thank the Lord for the dim lighting.

“I want to know everything about you, for instance, what’s the meaning behind the tattoos on your hips?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you only if you tell me the meaning of yours.”

“Well, I can go over each one of them, later in bed…”

“Fair enough, I would like that. Well, Psalms Ninety-One is sort of a prayer. Lucas and I got one together when I joined the academy. It reflects the present protection of God. I like to think He watches over me when I’m out in the field.” I bite my lip and then continue. “The tree is a drawing of the tree of life. According to Tim, it’s the strongest wood on our planet. He proposed to me under one.”