Bi-Sensual Page 6

“I know it’s pretty bold and I probably shouldn’t do this, but I wanted to know if I could leave you my card. If you’re still in town this weekend, I’d like to take you out for coffee or dinner. Your choice.”

  For a second, I thought about it. I really did. What would it be like to date other men? For two years my love life had been all about Elliot. I took the man’s card. His name was Devan. Just as I got ready to give him my answer, the people in the café all turned to look toward the entry, and this caught my attention.

  There he was. Elliot was there with a bouquet of carnations, yellow and white, my favorite flowers in my favorite colors. My heart fluttered a bit. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were alive. He was dressed in all black from head to toe. Black had never looked so good on a man. From the expensive loafers on his feet to the collared button-down shirt that sat snug against his chest and arms, Elliot came with the intention of stopping the show.

  Just that fast, I’d forgotten all about Devan. Elliot strutted over to me. I ran a hand over my hair, my bun, to make sure it was all in place. Licked my lips to wet my mouth. In that moment, I didn’t remember I was mad at him. Didn’t remember he didn’t love me.

  “Hey, baby,” he said.

  He placed one protective, maybe a bit possessive, hand on my back, then kissed my neck. He didn’t kiss my lips. He kissed my neck. That move told men and women that we knew one another on a personal and intimate level.

  “Hi,” I said, my voice so low, it sounded like a whisper. I took the flowers when he extended them to me. Smiled like a woman in love. Blushed.

  “You did great,” he said.

  “You were here?”

  “For the second half. The first half, I watched on your live feed from your Web site.”

  I gave a timid but pleased “Oh . . .”

  Elliot looked at Devan. Something happened between them, man-to-man, that required no words. Devan gave a tight smile, nodded once, and then backed away before turning and leaving.

  “What did he give you?” Elliot asked me.

  “Business card.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Not sure.”

  Elliot grunted. He eased the card from my hand and looked at it. It was only for a few seconds. I knew what his angle was. Elliot always had a problem with other men wanting me. Well, no. He didn’t have a problem with them wanting me. He had problem with them being bold enough to approach me and tell me they wanted me. Since I knew he had someone at home, and since he had been honest with me about everything up front, me dating someone else was an affront to him. I didn’t feel like having one of those fights. So I didn’t even ask for the card back.

  I set the beautiful arrangement of flowers down. Elliot helped me finish packing up, and after a brief conversation with the store manager, I made sure to get my flowers and we left. Devan’s card was lying on the table when I walked out.

  Elliot

  I could tell when she was mad at me or annoyed even. She gave me something that was similar to the silent treatment, but it wasn’t exactly the same. She would answer my questions with one word and would pay more attention to her phone or laptop than she did to me. She’d done that for the first few minutes after we got back to her hotel room. As far as the man at her book signing who had his eyes on her was concerned, I was sure he knew the moment I walked up that his eyes needed to be trained elsewhere.

  The thing between us was complicated. There was no other way to describe it. I considered her mine and mine alone. As crazy as it sounded, I monopolized her time, so even when she did have some time, she had no time for anyone else. If she wasn’t working on a book deadline or away at some book convention or signing, I made sure I was there in some capacity.

  I didn’t want to think about another man loving or kissing her. Didn’t want to imagine her thick thighs wrapped around some stranger, who would never appreciate all she had to offer the way I did. However, I’d done my share to make her hate me—if she really did hate me the way she claimed. As much as she might have hated me for being honest with her, she would appreciate it later.

  I looked out the window. Atlanta’s weather was as bipolar as it could get. Minutes ago, it was sunny. Now it was drizzling, but the rain was getting harder by the minute. As usual, Mona had Maxwell playing low. It set the mood for how both of us were feeling. The low hum of the rain falling outside and the dreariness of the weather were akin to Mona’s sullen mood. I was trying to get so deep into Mona that the cops would have to come knocking to get me out of her.

  She showered while I ordered food. Not room service. I wanted something I could pay for. There was no doubt in my mind that Mona had more money in the bank than I did, but she never said so. She never turned down any gift I bought her. Never told me she could pay for her own food or drinks. She allowed me to spend two hundred dollars to get her braids done, something she could do without a second thought. She would never know I took money from my savings to buy her those red bottom pumps she’d worn today. Mona didn’t need me. She wanted me. She had never been in need of rescuing. She allowed me to do those things for her for my ego. I was well aware of that.

  Mona showed me her appreciation in other ways. She loved me, sucked me, fucked me, and catered to me anytime I wanted. That had always been the way our relationship worked. I watched her as she dried off and oiled her skin. The food had been delivered minutes ago. I had a taste for food from my parents’ homeland, Haiti, and had ordered stewed fish with white rice and black bean sauce. I’d ordered mango smoothies on the side. The spices and the smell of the food permeated the air.

  I sat in the chair by the desk and watched her dress. I was relaxed. My shoes were off. So were my socks. Shirt wasn’t as neatly tucked in as it had been. Mona pulled on a gray maxi dress that caressed her curves. Her braids were down. I loved the way they swayed anytime she moved. I wanted to talk to her. See where her mind was. It was kind of hard to focus on that since her body in that dress had my attention. She was upset with me and rightfully so. No one wanted to have their love thrown back in their face. But it would have been unfair to her if I’d lied. She deserved more than that. She deserved better than a lie to appease her feelings.

  I wanted to tell her that, but I knew if I tried to talk to her, she would barely respond. So I walked over to her and caressed both sides of her face. I could tell she wanted to pull away, but I was happy she didn’t.

  “I missed you today,” I said.

  She gazed up at me, her brown eyes telling me that she was still hurt by my nonadmission of love.

  Still, she said, “I missed you too.”

  I urged her head up some more, then placed my lips close to hers. I didn’t kiss her, but her breathing deepened, and she placed her hands on my arms. I noticed the way her eyes watched my lips. Our breathing was in sync. I used the pads of my thumbs to make small circles on her cheeks.

  “You did a great job today,” I told her.

  “Thank you.”

  I kissed her. Placed my lips gently against hers and felt when her breath caught in her throat. The way Mona reacted to my kisses sent electric currents up my spine and then back down to my manhood. I could taste the mint on her breath, so I let my tongue trace the outline of her mouth. She moaned. Then she hissed like the kiss had burned her, was too hot to handle.

  “Are you still mad at me?” I asked once I’d pulled back.

  Her eyes were at half-mast. That lavender and rose body wash she used set my senses on high alert. In a voice heavy with wanting, she answered, “No.”

  She was lying, but I took the lie and ran with it. I gripped the back of her braids, pulled snugly, forcing her nails to dig into my skin. I studied her face. Her small button nose flared a bit. Each time she blinked, her lashes swept against the top of her eyelids. I eased her head back farther to expose her delicate neck. Ran my tongue from the base of her neck to her chin. She shivered. Started breathing with her mouth open.

  While one hand was yanking her hair,
the other one massaged her right breast. Most men, most people in general, didn’t know a woman’s breasts swelled when she was aroused. They had no idea that a woman’s breasts could get as plump as if she were nursing if she was aroused correctly. I did. Had studied and had been with enough women to know.

  I liked the feel of Mona’s breasts swelling in my hand. Her nipples got so big and hard that all I had to do was flick my thumb across them to bring her to her knees. But I didn’t want her on her knees. Not yet, anyway.

  “Elliot, baby,” she said between bated breaths.

  I let her hair go. Spun her around so her back was against my chest. Mona had this thing she liked. Anytime I danced with her, she was putty in my hands. I wrapped my left arm around her waist, while the other slid up to caress her neck gently. I wasn’t surprised when one of her hands grabbed the wrist of the hand I had on her neck. I had to be gentle with that part of foreplay, lest I trigger memories in her of a time she’d rather forget. Her stomach clenched when I guided her hips into an easy sway with mine. I gazed down at her. Was enamored with the way she seemed to be completely caught up in the rapture of our erotica.

  I was seducing her in the simplest forms. I was doing it intentionally. I wanted to make up for the way I’d made her feel. Needed her to know the way I cared for her was deeper than what she was thinking. Had to let her know that just because home was where my heart was didn’t mean she didn’t hold a spot there. It didn’t mean she wasn’t always on my mind in some way or another.

  It was important that I made sure she remembered that a man didn’t stick around a woman—especially when sex was involved—for three years with no kind of emotional attachment. I told her all of that. Watched the way her eyes watered. Mona was an emotional creature. She still cried when Bambi’s mother was gunned down. So it didn’t surprise me that my words moved her to tears. I loved the way her breath hitched each time my grip on her neck tightened. She was damn near panting, feeding my ego each time her breathing deepened.

  My dick threatened to break free from the zipper of my slacks. Each time her body reacted, my body responded in kind. I licked my lips, then placed them on her neck. Mona gripped my pant leg with her free hand. I ran my tongue up to her ear and back down to her collarbone. When my mouth found her neck again, I bit down. Hard. My nails dug into the sensitive flesh of her neck. Had never seen a woman so taken by the little things I did the way Mona was.

  Mona moaned so beautifully that I knew she’d had her first orgasm. Her knees were buckling. I moved my hand from her stomach back up to her breasts. A wave of pleasure pulsated through my body, and it was the same for her. I ripped her dress down the middle, just enough to expose her chest. Needed to feel her bare breasts in my palm.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I whispered against her ear.

  She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The throes of passion always left her speechless. Mona grabbed my other hand and placed it on her sex. All the while I swayed with her. Rocked our hips to the beat of Maxwell. Her pussy was warm; even through the fabric of the dress I could feel that. I turned her around, lifted her, and placed her on the bed. I ripped the rest of the dress down the middle until I exposed her nudity.

  I crawled on the bed, between her legs. Like a panther stalking its prey, I caged her in. Placed my swelling manhood against her wetness. She squirmed, begging me to give her what she wanted.

  “Relax,” I said.

  There was a firmness in my voice. There had once been a time when I had to teach her how to breathe when she was aroused. If she could relax, then she could get more pleasure from her orgasm.

  “But I need you. Now,” she pleaded.

  “Relax, Mona. Breathe.”

  She closed her eyes. Tried to keep her back from arching. She bit down on her bottom lips and frowned, struggling to find her breathing pattern.

  “Look at me, baby,” I coaxed.

  It took her a few seconds, but she opened her eyes. I moved my hips against her. Gave a little grind to stimulate her clitoris. I pulled back a bit and looked down. With my slacks between us, I could tell it was driving her over the edge. Her slit glistened with her excitement. I wanted to taste her, but I paced myself.

  “Hmmm,” she cooed softly.

  “Don’t close your eyes,” I demanded, closing the gap between us again. “Look at me and find your center. Just like I taught you.”

  Mona tried to center her breathing. Tried to find the four-seven-eight pattern I’d taught her a year and a half ago. She looked like she was on the verge of crying. I loved that face. I wouldn’t give her what she wanted, what I wanted, until I had her on the cusp of a nervous breakdown.

  I kissed her again. Took her mouth with heated passion as my hips ground against hers. Mona moaned.

  Mona . . . moaned.

  Damn, did she moan.

  I felt my shirt tightening against my chest, as if her pheromones were causing my body to expand. I broke the kiss, took her hands, and raised them above her head. I continued to hold them with one hand while I used the other to hold one of her breasts as I sucked her nipple.

  I sucked hard, then pulled back to let my tongue trace her areola. I paid attention to both breasts equally. Made sure they both got equal stimulation. I kissed down the valley between her breasts, kept going down to her navel. I let her hands go. Gripped her hips and brought her pussy right to my face.

  She was so aroused that her clit poked out at me, begging to be sucked. I flicked my tongue across it. Mona damn near bucked off the bed, but I had her hips locked. I understood she was sensitive to the touch of my velvety tongue and the heat from my mouth, but she couldn’t get away no matter how hard she tried.

  I ran my tongue across her clit again, then sucked down on it. While sucking, I flicked my tongue back and forth and forth and back. Kept doing that until she was crying, begging me to stop and then not to stop. I slipped two fingers inside of her. Damn, she was so wet. My dick ached. Begged for some relief of its own.

  But I couldn’t be selfish. I’d hurt her feelings. Made her cry. That wasn’t my job. I had to fall on my sword and make up for that. Had to be a man about it and show her the ways I cared about her better than I could tell her. My job was to bring her an arousing gratification of the senses, both physically and mentally. I buried my face inside her love. Lapped and licked. Then licked and lapped. I allowed my tongue to dance with her clit. Sucked on it until it was so engorged, she was making unintelligible sounds. Her words became a cacophony of stutters and strangled, sensuous sounds.

  “Elliot, Elliot! Oh . . . shit. Oh, God,” she panted.

  I placed her hips back on the bed. I undressed. Quickly. Took a condom from the pack I’d left on the nightstand. Expertly rolled it on, then buried my face between her thighs again. I kissed those lips. A peck here. A flick of the tongue there. I ran my tongue between her folds, then sucked her love button back into my mouth again.

  “I’m . . . coming . . . again. I’m coming,” she cried out.

  I pulled back. Placed my hands on either side of her head and made her look at me as I gave a hard thrust inside of her. She arched so hard, the bow in her back was so deep, I swore the back of her head touched the heels of her feet. There she was. She was caught up. So gone that I could probably get her to agree to just about anything . . .

  “Meet him for me?” I asked. “Say you will.”

  All I got for an answer was her heavy breathing, panting.

  I gave her long strokes. Sank all the way inside of her, then pulled out so only my head was inside her opening.

  “Will you meet him for me?” I asked again.

  Mona was clawing at me. I was sure she’d left scratches up and down my arms and chest. I didn’t give a damn. Her sex was damn good. Her sex was wet. Her sex was messy. Her sex was tighter than a LifeStyles on a Louisville Slugger. Her sex was mine.

  “Say you will,” I demanded while holding her orgasm hostage.

  Mona glared at me. In this moment, she ha
ted me. I saw it in her eyes. But also in her eyes was conflict. She hated that she loved me. She didn’t hate me, and we both knew that. She hated the power her love for me had over her.

  “Fuck me, Elliot,” was her reply.

  She wanted me to fuck her. If I fucked her, she could keep her emotions detached. I shook my head. Made the head of my dick pulsate inside of her. She gave me that beautiful moan of hers. Shit sent chills up and down my spine. Made my dick that much harder. Only her moans could do that to me.

  “Tell me you will,” I demanded.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said.

  I grunted, then growled low in my throat. I pushed her legs behind her ears. Pulled my dick from her wetness, then dipped my head to taste her again. I sucked. I licked. I gave slow and long tongue strokes, like a painter taking his brush across the canvas of a painting.

  Mona was pushing at my head, begging me to ease up. I did. Kept her knees behind her ears, then slipped back inside of her. I slow stroked her to death. Then used those long strokes to take her into the afterlife. She was shaking, gripping the covers. La petite mort on the horizon.

  “So you’re going to meet him?” I asked her again.

  My sacs had tightened. Muscles in the back of my thighs were burning. Sweat rolled down my spine. I fucked her hard. I sexed her slow. Then I fucked her fast. Mona went from glazing my dick to creaming. I loved when her body switched gears on me. She was losing her mind. I wanted to fuck her senseless. So I did.

  One orgasm.

  Two orgasms . . .

  Three orgasms.

  Four.

  I stopped fucking her. Slowed down my frantic thrusts and started to make love to her.

  “Ohhh,” she gasped. “I hate you. I hate you so fucking much,” she said.

  I kissed her tears, then used the pads of my thumbs to wipe the others away.

  “I know,” I said. “I know.”

  I cupped one of her legs in the crease of my elbow. She knew what that meant. She egged me on. Lifted her hips and threw her pussy back at me.

  I threw my head back and grunted loudly. I gritted my teeth, as the nut I felt coming was a strong one. As the buildup mounted, my thrusts got deeper. Harder. Faster.