Authors: Naomi Chase
Dazed and confused, Tamia stared at him.“But aren’t you … aren’t we going to …?”
He smiled slowly.“Not this time.”
She frowned at him, wondering if she’d missed something. “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand, love?”
Her confusion quickly gave way to anger.“You roll up on me and my boyfriend at the restaurant, you force me to cancel my plans with him to rush over here, you give me some head—and now you’re sending me home?”
Dominic cocked his head to one side, eyes glinting with amusement.“Are you asking me to fuck you, Tamia?”
Hell, yeah!
she wanted to shout. And it was true. Though she knew it was wrong, she wanted him to finish what he’d started. She wanted to know if he could work his dick as well as he worked his tongue. She wanted him to fuck her frontward, backward, sideways, and every other way imaginable. Wasn’t that why she was here?
When she said nothing, Dominic smiled and gently caressed her cheek. “I hope Brandon knows what a lucky man he is.”
She glowered at him.
Chuckling softly, he walked her to the door.“I’ll call you. Soon.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
Tamia strode from the penthouse without a backward glance, shoulders squared and head held high to disguise how appallingly close she’d come to begging her blackmailer to make love to her.
“Wassup, Counselor.”
Deondre Portis opened the front door for Brandon, then turned and shuffled away, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
Brandon stepped inside the apartment and glanced around at the cardboard boxes piled on every available surface. “So you’re really going through with this, huh?”
Dre threw a dark glance over his shoulder. “Damn, don’t say it like
that.
”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve just agreed to climb Mount Everest butt naked in the dead of winter.”
Brandon laughed, closing the door and following his best friend into the large, cluttered living room.
After three years of dating, Dre and his girlfriend had decided to move in together. Since Leah owned a big house in The Woodlands, while Dre was only leasing his condo, they’d agreed that it made more sense for
him
to move into
her
place. But Dre had been dragging his feet for weeks, putting off the task of packing until the last possible minute.
“Is it just me,” he asked, reaching for a bottled water,“or is it hot as hell up in here?”
Brandon chuckled.“It’s just you, man.”
Dre grimaced.“I’ve got the thermostat on sixty, and it
still
feels like the fucking Sahara.” He took a long swig of water, his smooth bald head gleaming with perspiration. He was dark-skinned, medium height, and had the solid, muscular build of a running back. Which was fitting, since he worked as an athletic trainer for the Houston Texans. His PhD in sports medicine had earned him the nickname “Dr. Dre.”
He was Brandon’s most down-to-earth friend, probably because he hadn’t been born into wealth and privilege. He’d been raised by a hardworking single mother who’d scraped together enough money to send him to a prestigious summer program at Johnson Space Center when he was eleven. That was where he’d met Brandon, the rich black kid from River Oaks. They’d hit it off right away and had been best friends ever since.
“If you’re thirsty, I’ve got some cold beers in the fridge,” Dre offered, sealing a large box with tape.
“Naw, I’m good,” Brandon drawled. “I just thought I’d drop by to see how the packing was going.”
Dre grunted.“It’s going.”
“Where’s Leah? I thought she was coming over to help you.”
Dre made a face.“She’s still tied up at the hospital. Said she was on her way out the door when she got paged to scrub in for an emergency triple bypass.”
“Uh-huh,” Brandon teased.“Likely story.”
“I know.” Dre looked disgruntled.“I can’t shake the feeling that she and her girlfriends are chillin’ at some bar, sipping margaritas and laughing about how she stuck me with doing all the packing.”
“Always trust your gut instincts,” Brandon advised.
“Word? You think she’s playing me?”
“Like a damn fiddle.” Brandon paused, then broke into a wide grin. “Relax, man. I’m just kidding. You know Leah
doesn’t have a shady bone in her beautiful body. If she says she’s still at the hospital, that’s where she is.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Dre chuckled, surveying the mountain of boxes scattered around the room. “For real, though? I wouldn’t blame her for bailing on me. I didn’t realize how much stuff I had until I started packing. How can one person accumulate so much shit?”
“Hmm. You’re the doctor—you tell me.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
“Was to me.” Grinning, Brandon negotiated his way through the clutter to reach an open box labeled “DVDs” in black marker. Absently he began rummaging through the movie titles, which ran the gamut from horror to blaxploita-tion films.
“Leah was right. I should have started packing weeks ago,” Dre grimly admitted, taping up another box.“The movers will be here in two days, and with Leah’s crazy work schedule, I honestly don’t know how much help she’s gonna be.” He paused.“I could probably make more progress tonight if you—”
Brandon cut him off with a laugh.“Aw, hell naw! I didn’t come over here to be put to work. I just left the j-o-b. Besides, I’ve already fulfilled my annual quota of helping friends move. Remember?”
“Yeah,” Dre said, “and as I recall, helping Justin move is how you met your wifey. So I’d say things worked out pretty well for you, bruh.”
Brandon smiled, instantly transported back to the day he’d laid eyes on Tamia for the very first time.
It was seven months before, late on a Saturday afternoon. He and his friends had pulled into a Valero gas station to refuel the moving truck before returning it to the rental facility. Brandon volunteered to run inside the store and buy bottled water and Gatorade for everyone.
After several hours of hauling boxes and carrying heavy furniture,
he was funky, his armpits ringed with sweat and his face streaked with dirt.
As he approached the cash register with an armload of bottled beverages, he saw her waiting in line. Rich caramel skin, thick thighs, ass for days.
Day-uuum!
he thought as drool collected in the corners of his mouth.
He quickened his stride to get in line behind her before someone else beat him to it. And then he stood there inhaling her sweet perfume. Admiring the silky smoothness of her short black hair, the sleek curve of her neck, her narrow waist that swelled into a round, heart-shaped ass sheathed in designer denim. The kind of ass that would swallow a G-string, to quote Jay-Z.
She stepped to the counter to pay for her purchases. And with every ounce of swagger he possessed, Brandon said to her,“Allow me.”
She turned, her eyes concealed behind Dior sunglasses that rested on high cheekbones. She gave him a deliberate once-over, taking in the dusty baseball cap pulled low over his face, his sweat-stained T-shirt and shorts, and the old, beat-up Timbs he reserved for doing grungy jobs.
Her nostrils flared slightly, as if she’d caught a whiff of something foul. His sweaty underarms, maybe. Or the lack of finances she presumed he was working with.
“Thanks,” she declined in a cool, sexy voice, “but I think I can buy my own pack of gum and soda.”
The cashier snickered.
Not to be deterred, Brandon came back smoothly with, “How about dinner then?”
She raked him with another slow, appraising look. And her expression said it all:
You can’t afford me.
“No, thank you,” she murmured.
As she turned away, dismissing him without another thought, the cashier shot him a sympathetic look. But Brandon was more amused than dejected.
To his surprise, she was waiting for him when he emerged from the convenience store. She’d pushed her sunglasses off her face, and he didn’t know whether to lose himself in her hypnotic eyes or the luscious swell of her cleavage.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Before he could respond, Dre stuck his head out the truck’s passenger window and yelled, “Yo, Chambers! Get the magic digits and let’s bounce before the rental place closes at five!”
Shaking his head, Brandon gave the bodacious beauty a small, rueful grin.“Please excuse my friend. He has no home training.”
She chuckled softly, and he swore he saw the wheels turning in her mind. Had she made the connection that he could be related to the lieutenant governor? he wondered. He hoped not. But anyone who’d ever seen his father on television knew that Brandon was the spitting image of him.
“Got a first name, Chambers?”
“Brandon.”
She graced him with a lovely smile.“Tamia.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Tamia. I’d shake your hand, but …” He trailed off, indicating his armful of bottled drinks.
“That’s okay.” She dug into her Gucci pocketbook and fished out a business card, then slipped it between his lips. Her eyes were sensual and inviting.“Call me.”
He did, of course.
But he’d waited three days just to punish her for treating him like a wad of gum stuck to a hot sidewalk. Once they started dating, she admitted that she’d mistaken him for one of the many day laborers who constantly hit on her at gas stations.
I always turn them down,
she’d explained.
But you were so damn sweaty and sexy, I just couldn’t resist.
“Look at you.” Dre’s amused voice dragged Brandon back to the present. “Standing there grinning like a damn fool. Pussy-whipped, that’s what you are.”
“Shut up, man.” But Brandon couldn’t even deny the charge.
“Before you know it,” Dre warned teasingly, “she’s gonna have you packing up your shit and moving into her house like Leah talked me into doing.”
Brandon grinned.“And you call
me
pussy-whipped.”
Idly he removed a DVD from the box. It was a copy, so there was no jacket. Just the movie title scrawled in marker across the white plastic case.
“Mystique Slave Chronicles,”
he read aloud, then glanced over at Dre, brows raised. “What the hell is this? Some bootleg porn flick?”
Dre grinned.“That’s not porn, my friend.
That
is a work of art.”
Brandon smirked.“Riiight.”
“No, for real. The star of the video? She went by the name Mystique, and let me tell you, she was a
baaad
mothafucka. Her body was straight bangin’, and the things she did on screen? Ooo-wee! Blew my mind every time.”
Brandon chuckled wryly, shaking his head. “Does Leah know you’ve been jerking off to another woman?”
“Hell, naw! I’m not stupid. She hates watching pornos. She’s kind of a prude.” Dre grinned.“Like you.”
Brandon took umbrage. “Hey, I’m not a prude. But I haven’t watched porn since we were in college, and nowadays I really don’t see the point. I mean, if I’m horny and wanna get laid, I know where to go. And trust me,” he added with a wicked grin as he held up the DVD,“this Mystique chick’s got
nothing
on Tamia.”
Dre scowled.“Damn, nigga, why you gotta be rubbing that shit in my face?”
Brandon laughed, returning the DVD to the box.
“Hold up. Don’t put that back. I need you to take it with you, along with the other ones.”
“What? I don’t think so.”
“Come on, B,” Dre cajoled, walking over to him. “I can’t
take those DVDs to Leah’s house. If she ever found them, she’d kill me.”
“Then why don’t you just get rid of them?”
Dre’s eyes bugged out.“Are you crazy? The
Mystique Slave Chronicles
videos are practically collector’s items, ’cause she retired from the industry years ago. My own brother wouldn’t even let me borrow the originals. I had to ask him to make copies for me.” Dre retrieved a small stack of DVDs from the box and passed it to Brandon, who accepted the stash as reluctantly as if he’d been handed contraband.
“Just hold them for me for safekeeping,” Dre said.
“Yeah, okay,” Brandon grumbled.“But if Tamia finds them and goes off on me, I’m kicking your black ass.”
Dre laughed.“Just find a good hiding place for them. But if you
do
get busted and you need a little somethin’ somethin’ to tide you over until wifey lets you out of the doghouse, I highly recommend popping in one of Mystique’s videos.” He grinned slyly. “If you’re gonna get in trouble for having them, you might as well watch them.”
Tamia was avoiding Brandon.
She couldn’t face him after what she and Dominic had done. Once she’d come off her lust-induced high that night, guilt had assailed her, blanketing her conscience like a thick, grimy layer of sludge.
She’d allowed another man to go down on her.
Worse, she’d thoroughly enjoyed it.
Even worse than that—and here was the
really
fucked-up part—she wanted more.
It was so bad that she’d actually found herself anticipating the next time she’d be summoned to Dominic’s penthouse. She constantly checked her e-mail, and every time her phone rang, her pulse went through the roof.
But three days had passed with no word from Dominic.
On Wednesday evening, she was driving home from work when her cell went off. But it wasn’t Dominic.
It was her man.
Tamia gulped hard. She’d been dodging Brandon for days, keeping their phone conversations brief and telling him she had to work late every time he hinted at wanting to see her. As guilty as she felt, she was afraid he’d take one look at her and know she’d been unfaithful. On the other hand, she couldn’t
keep avoiding him, or he’d
definitely
know something was wrong.
She answered the phone.“Hey, you.”
“Hey, baby,” Brandon said warmly.“How was your day?”
“Long.” She sighed.“Exhausting.”
“I know what you mean. The walls were closing in on me, so I called it a day and rolled out at five-thirty. Shocked the hell out of everyone.”