55
“Umm . . . you taste good.” Michael lifted his head from between Shayna's legs, where he'd just licked creamy caramel icing from her mound. “I think I want some more.” He reached over to where the now melting sundae sat on the nightstand, scooped up a spoonful of ice cream, chocolate, caramel, and nuts and placed it on her heat.
“Ah!” Shayna shuddered as the cold cream hit her nub.
Michael chuckled as he reached for one of the cherries languishing in the ice cream bowl, used it to swirl the ice cream around her love button, dragging the cherry between her folds, enjoying the quick intakes of breath as his love tried to hang on to the remaining shreds of her sanity. They'd been at it for well over two hours, ever since they'd left the sports store, declined late dinner invitations from retail execs, Dina DeVore, and Shayna's besties, so that they could order room service instead. The meal had started out innocently enough: steak, potatoes, broccoli, rolls. Assuaging Michael's sweet tooth is where things had gotten naughty. He ate the cherry, spread Shayna's legs farther apart, and licked the melting ice cream away before it could hit the sheets.
“Ooh, baby, wait.” Shayna pushed Michael's head away from her, believing that otherwise she'd die from pleasure without having traveled to Brazil to run in the 2016 Olympics. But it wasn't only that. It was the fact that she'd had a thing or two in mind herself when that ice cream was ordered, things she wanted to implement before the delicious dairy melted or ran out. “Lay back.”
A lazy smile graced Michael's face as he followed his new fiancée's instruction. His engorged flagpole twitched and fluctuated as it rested against strong, hard abs. Shayna wrapped one hand around Master P, reached for the spoon and scooped up some of the sundae ingredients with the other, and ladled them on the massive tip with the precision of a sculptor. Then tossing the spoon onto the covers, she bent down her head and traced the tempting tip with her tongue before pulling his prize inside her mouth and licking it clean. Michael hissed long and low; his hips rose and fell of their own accord. Shayna enjoyed the feel of power as she ran her tongue from base to tip, outlining the thick vein that throbbed, sucking the mushroom into her mouth, massaging the length of him with her hands. Over and again she took in his piece, bobbing her head up and down to a rhythm that only she could hear, running her nails across Michael's skin: his thighs, stomach, and up to his chest.
She would have gone on forever but this alpha male could only be dominated for so long. He gently eased her head away from him, motioning for Shayna to move up, slide down, and then hang on for the ride. She did and he did: bouncing, grinding, moaning, moving, each trying to give the other all of themselves, to communicate a lifelong message in an age-old language. Skin-to-skin slapping was the only sound, aside from Michael's low moans and Shayna's quick intakes of breath. She would have done a Bill Pickett rodeo proud, so expertly did she ride his pony. He held her hips, thrusting himself off the mattress, trying to push through to her very core, to brand every part of her body with his own, to show her love in ways that words could not. Many women he'd been with, hundreds of them, he imagined. But never before had he felt the intensity of feelings that he had for this one, the desire to provide for, protect, and preserve their love.
After several long, arduous moments during which a thin sheen of sweat broke out on each lover, Michael once again changed the dance. He sat up, giving Shayna a slow, wet kiss as he twirled her nipples with one hand and scorched her heat with the other. She shivered as he ran a fingernail between her dripping folds, tweaking her love nub, and pressing his thick middle finger inside her. His forefinger joined the middle one as he set up a rhythm that was matched with his tongue. Shayna cried out with a release that had come on so quickly she had no time to brace herself. Instead she found herself face first into the pillows, her body experiencing one spasm after another. But Michael wasn't done; the night was far from over.
He lifted her to her knees and with one long, continuous thrust, buried himself inside her. Grinding himself against her body, he kissed her back, licking the salty wetness. With an unobstructed view of her glorious ass, he placed a hand on each cheek, threw back his head, closed his eyes, and concentrated as if he were creating a cure for cancer. In. Out. Up. Down. Thrusting, grinding, loving with every fiber of his being. And later, when both had given up every ounce of strength within them, they rode one last wave of ecstasy together before floating back down to earth into a cloud of sleep.
56
Several months later
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It was winter in many parts of the world, but on the beaches of Riviera Maya, Mexico, it was sunny and seventy-five with clear blue skies, turquoise water, and soft white sand. The intimate crowd of thirty people was seated at the water's edge, where a white gazebo trimmed in lilacs had been erected. The dark pink color scheme was continued in the form of bows securing the stark white draping over each chair, in the color of the bridesmaid dresses and in the groomsmen's ties. A soft murmur existed among the attendees, their voices floating across the summer breeze gathering on the wings of dusk. A red-orange sun throbbed in the distance, suspended between earth and sky, waiting to bear witness to yet another couple's promise to “remain true to each other as long as you both shall live.”
Shayna stood at the back of the gathering, with her mother, waiting to make the life-changing walk down the aisle. It had been well less than a year since her mother had brought Larsen Jr. into the world, but one looking on would have never guessed that Beverly had just had a baby. Just like how people scoffed when told she was Shayna's mother. After the engagement, Shayna had gone to Vegas and shared her desire to have a better relationship with Beverly in the future than she'd had in the past. She'd conveyed how with the engagement, she hoped all thoughts, desires, and attempts at a reconciliation between her and Jarrell would end and that if not possible, she was ready to throw in the towel and love her mother from a distance. Fortunately for both of them, Beverly agreed. The birth of his son had brought about a change in Larsen Sr. He'd become more focused in his business and more attentive at home. This was great news for Beverly, but what had made Shayna want to do the happy dance was the fact that Jarrell had fallen in love with an exotic dancer turned real estate broker. They were now expecting their first child. So both Larsen and Jarrell were in Vegas, Beverly was here, and Shayna couldn't be happier.
“Your friends look nice,” Beverly said, nodding toward the altar.
Shayna nodded her agreement. Talisha, Brittney, and Kim looked positively radiant in uniquely styled dresses sewn from deep-pink satin. “So do the guys.”
Beverly gave Shayna a sistah-girl look. “Girl, those men are fine.” And they were. Michael wore a casual, white linen suit, while the groomsmenâGregory, Troy, and Michael's assistant, Keithâwore the same suit in black. The guests were dressed casually as well, with pink, yellow, light blue, and purple abounding.
Reaching over and clasping Shayna's hand, Beverly spoke. “Shay, I know I wasn't always the best mother to you. There were lots of mistakes made along the way. But I want you to know that I am so very happy for you, so proud to be able to share this day.” She nodded toward Michael. “You got you a good one.”
Shayna reached over and hugged her mother. “I did, huh?”
The ceremony was short, less than fifteen minutes, and afterward the wedding party feasted on a sit-down dinner of lobster, chateaubriand, wild rice, winter vegetables, andâas a private joke to one of the newlyweds' favorite pastime aidsâan ice cream sundae cake. They danced to jazz, R & B, hip-hop, and salsa music well into the night. One of the highlights of the evening had been when Shayna threw the garter, and her crazy friends pulled the thing apart, each trying to grab it for themselves. She didn't know what she'd do without her wonderful friends, and just as Michael whispered that he was ready to leave, she knew that she had to let them know just how special they were in her life.
“Hang on, baby, I'll be right back, okay?” She walked over to where Talisha and Brittney were in deep conversation. She'd just seen Kim and Patrick getting down on the dance floor. “Okay, do I have to even ask what you two are talking about?”
“You sure don't,” Talisha replied a tad too loudly. It was obvious that someone had helped themselves to the bubbly. “We're talking about those fine brothers over there, and which one of us is going to walk which one of them down the aisle.”
“Uh, isn't someone forgetting about a certain man named Cameron, a man who even now is taking his real estate license test to secure your future, the only reason that he isn't down here right now?”
“You say his name is Cameron?” Talisha asked, watching as Troy twirled one of the guests around on the dance floor, laughing as his mother danced with a man named Robert. “What did you say his last name is?”
“You're crazy,” Brittney said. “But she's right. Shayna, you were holding out on your friends all this time.”
“I told you guys that Michael had brothers.”
“Yes, but you didn't say that he had
brothers
.” Brittney's eyes danced as she watched Gregory head to the bar for a drink. “You say he works at UCLA. I think a sister is getting ready to have an emergency just as soon as I get home!”
Shayna looked over and saw Michael's almost imperceptive nod. It was time for them to leave. After saying their good-byes, they boarded a yacht for a honeymoon night at sea. There, in the privacy of the spacious bedroom, they continued to make their own music, melodiously, harmoniously . . . in perfect key. They danced under the moonlight while the sounds of jazz bounced off the waves. Michael wanted to make love on deck, but the sea breeze was a little too brisk for Shayna. They went below and within minutes were naked and lying beside each other, tracing every inch of each other's skin as if it were the first time. Shayna nestled her head in the crook of Michael's arm and ran a lazy hand over his chest.
“Are you happy, Mrs. Morgan?”
“Deliciously so. Everything was wonderful; all the guests seemed to have such a great time. I only wishâ”
“That your dad could be here? I know, baby.”
Shayna still felt it was a miracle really, that in such a short time she'd not only established a relationship but had come to love the man who was her father. From the first visit, the first time she looked into his face and saw her own, the connection was established. They came together on the subject of track and now, without a doubt, her father was one of her biggest fans. He knew about every race she ever ran and whenever he was able to catch her on television he'd have a step-by-step replay of what she should or should not have done. At first, Shayna had to work not to get bitter at the years lost, when she thought him dead. Interestingly enough, Jackie Morgan had helped her come around. “Life's too short for any more regrets,” she'd said simply when Shayna shared her pain. “Best to enjoy the days God has given you now.”
“Are you happy, Mr. Morgan?” Shayna said, coming back from her thoughts to the hand now stroking her thigh.
“Deliciously so,” he said, mimicking her earlier answer to him. “And I'm getting ready to be even happier in just”âhe slid a finger along her wet folds, her legs already parting in welcomeâ“in just about two seconds.” He kissed her deeply as his finger said hello to her heat and she moaned her approval.
“I didn't think it was possible to be this happy,” Shayna murmured after Michael had again stroked her body like a maestro into a crescendo.
“Me either,” Michael said behind a yawn. “Or this tired. You're insatiable, woman!”
“You've got your nerve!” She playfully swatted him with a pillow.
“I've got you, too, don't I? Even though it was you chasing me from the very start.”
Shayna rolled over and straddled Michael's lean frame. “Oh, yeah? If I recall it was you who introduced yourself to me after the London Olympics. Not the other way around.”
“You kept swinging this”âMichael grabbed her butt cheeksâ“in my face. You knew I was a butt man.”
“Oh, so I get it. I chased and chased you until you caught me?”
“Something like that.” Michael hoisted Shayna's body and then thrust himself inside her before gently settling her onto his thigh. Shayna closed her eyes against his slow rhythm, wondering if she'd ever get enough of this man. “But don't worry, baby. I wanted you to win this event. And believe me . . . I'm not going anywhere.”
IN STORES NOW!
Zuri Day's captivating and sexy tale of taking charge, letting loose, and playing for keeps. . .
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LOVE IN PLAY
1
“Mom, we've got a new coach!”
“Uh-huh,” Dominique Clark absentmindedly replied, barely hearing her eleven-year-old son. Her mind was on a zillion other things: the upcoming model shoot, the rapidly approaching magazine deadline, her lovable gay assistant who'd just lost his man and therefore his mind, and right now the fact that there was nothing in the refrigerator to cook her son for dinner. Moments like these made this thirty-eight-year-old magazine executive feel that she was a much better career woman than she was a mom. It also made her value Tessa, her nanny/ housekeeper who was out sick, all the more.
“Justin, you want McDonald's?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, let's go.” As Dominique walked to the car, she texted one of the editors to ask about the article on being fat, fit, and fabulous.
I wonder if we've heard back from Sean Combs's people about buying the back page.
She sent off a quick text to the advertising manager as well.
All the while Dominique clicked BlackBerry keys, her son continued to prattle. “Did you hear me, Mom? We got a new coach! And he is
so
cool. He's big and tall and can run really fast, and he used to be a professional football player like for real though, Mom, like in the NFL. He played for the Oakland Raiders, Mom. The Raiders . . . my favorite team! Mom!”
“Justin! What?” Dominique buckled her seatbelt, put the car in drive, and headed for the fast-food-lined boulevard less than ten minutes from her comfortable San Fernando Valley home.
“We got a new coach!”
“That's good, baby,” Dominique said, reaching to click the hands-free and answer her ringing cell phone. “Hello?”
“He hasn't called! I waited all day, just knowing that he would have left a baby-I-made-a-big-mistake message on my home phone. And that bastard didn't call, Miss Dom.” Reggie fairly screeched the nickname he almost always used to address his boss. “He didn't call!”
“Reggie, you have got to calm down!” Dominique ordered in a quiet but firm voice. It was clear that her assistant, Reginald Williams, was no better now than before what she thought had been a successfully calming talk. “If a man can walk away from you, let him leave,” she'd admonished. Now, here was Reggie in a Boyz II Men moment making it so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
“You're only upsetting yourself while the man who can't see your value and is therefore unworthy is off playing kissy face with some new dude.” Reggie's cries began in earnest.
Okay, that probably wasn't the best thing to say.
“Mom, you passed the McDonald's!” Justin cried.
I don't have time for two kids right now!
Yet many times that's how Dominique felt when it came to her and Reggie's relationship, that she was the mother he never really had. She made a right, did a quick U-turn, and headed back to the Golden Arches.
“Reggie, look, I'm sorry that you're feeling so badly and I know you need to talk, but I have to go. Why don't you take a nice, long soak and try and take your mind off what's his name. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?” Silence. Dominique remembered Reggie's last breakup and how some designer suits became cloth confetti thanks to his skill with sewing scissors. “Reggie, don't even think about doing anything crazy like going over to that man's house or out with your instigating friends. I need you bright and early tomorrow and the day's going to be a beast. We'll both need to be on top of our game.”
“I don't know if I'll be in tomorrow,” Reggie lamented between sniffles.
“Don't start with me, Reggie!”
“I can barely breathe, boss.” His voice had now dropped to a raspy whisper.
Dominique pulled into the drive-through and rolled down her window.
“I want the number three, Mommy!”
“Welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?”
“I gave that man everything. Every part of me,” Reggie emoted, and then began crying again.
“I'm sorry you're hurting,” Dominique replied.
“Hello, are you ready to order?” The question crackled through the drive-through speaker.
“Mom, I want the number three with a strawberry shake instead of soda.”
“Just two weeks ago he sang âI'll Always Love You' and said I was his soul mate!” Reggie held out the word like he was Don Cornelius in a
Soul Train
flashback.
Reggie's lost his mind and now I'm getting ready to lose mine!
“Welcome to McDonald's. May Iâ”
“Hold on a minute,” Dominique barked into the speaker.
“Mommy, I want aâ”
“I heard you, Justin.” Dominique threw the words over her shoulder. “Reggie, I'll call you back.”
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Three hours later, Dominique sat back against the headboard of her king-size four-poster, canopied bedâthe one she'd had shipped from Europe after seeing it in a magazine. Her home definitely was her castle, a fact that had been very important to this former South Central projects-dweller when she'd become able to afford a place of her own. This abode was understated elegance with a little opulence sprinkled throughout. Her bed wasn't simply a place to sleep, it was a masterpieceâa place to be seen sleeping. It was made from rare pom-melle sapele lumber, shrouded in silk, and draped with a politically incorrect chinchilla spread. Dominique had purchased this bed to celebrate her release from what she vowed would be the last nonproductive relationship of her life. She'd further vowed that no man would sleep in this bed unless he was “the one.”
She sat there surrounded by photos slated to be included in a future
Capricious
edition, with several articles to read and approve. In this age of technology, Dominique still preferred to read the work in paper form, feel its weight in her hands, and use a red marker to highlight and comment. Glancing at the clock, she eased reading glasses away from her face and rubbed her eyes. Then she reached her hands to the heavens and gave her five-foot-nine, 175-pound frame a good stretch. She'd been up since six and now it was almost eleven. The long day had held few dull moments. She chuckled, recalling how her son had gone on and on about his new coach at school.
What was his name? Jack? Jason?
Whatever they called him, Dominique was glad that her son liked this new guy. Justin was an intuitive judge of character and didn't take to just anybody. Good male role models were just what her son needed. Dominique often felt guilty at the lack of such men in her son's life. She kept planning to get him involved in some type of mentor program, or a Boys & Girls Club, somewhere where he could be around strong men who looked like him. She wished his uncle could be more of an example, but her brother had not handled life well and had seen his nephew less than a dozen times in the last five years. Thankfully, her sister's husband, Aaron, was a good man and an example to Justin, who spent time in their Inglewood household every weekend.
And then there was her other son, Reggie.
What am I going to do with that drama queen?
After returning home from the drive-through she'd called him, refused to let him wallow in his own misery, and threatened him to within an inch of his life if he wasn't gracing the desk in front of her office by nine
AM
. Dominique couldn't remember when her and Reggie's five-year relationship had gone from boss-employee to friends (or mother-son depending on the day or circumstance). But at various times he'd been the girlfriend she needed to talk to or the brother she never really had. Dominique remembered how heartbroken she'd been to find out that her last lover had dipped his hands where they didn't belong. Reggie had been a comforting presence throughout that fiasco and Iyanla Vanzant, yoga, white wine, and buffalo wings had helped her heal.
I was probably too hard on him,
she belatedly thought regarding Reggie's predicament.
He was crazy about that man.
But the publishing industry was relentless, giving no quarter to breakdowns and broken hearts. Reggie Williams would just have to put on his big-girl panties. They had a deadline.
Dominique finished her work, turned off the lamp on the stand next to her bed, and slid down between luscious Egyptian cotton sheets. She adjusted the pillow under her head and snuggled the body pillow against her stomach. For a moment, more like a split second, she wished that there was someone there to wrap his arms around her, to knead her tight shoulders, or to hug her spoon-style. Dominique quickly replaced thoughts of a man with plans to have Reggie schedule a massage. Better to pay somebody to put their hands on her body, she figured, than take chances with a man who could grab ahold of her heart again and break it.
2
Jake McDonald cut a commanding presence as he walked out of the back door of Middleton Prep, crossed a lined asphalt racetrack, and stepped onto the grassy football field behind the school. At six five and 275, he stood out everywhere. Even without the height and solid build, his well-groomed head, smoldering brown eyes, luscious lips, and sparkling dimples would ensure that he got noticed. Jake McDonald was a triple threatâlooks, talent, and personality. He'd been special his whole life.
“Coach Mac! I'm ready to play!”
Jake laughed and playfully slapped the shoulder of the energetic boy who'd become his shadow since the first day of practice a week ago. When he'd been hired as athletic director, boys like the one standing before him were the reason he'd also stipulated he be the football coach as well. So that he could change lives. He'd liked Justin Clark right away, had seen a bit of himself in the child's eager, searching eyes. Just as Jake stood out in life, Justin stood out on the elementary school football field. Tall and big for his age, he was also one of the few boys of color at this award-winning suburban private school, where the annual tuition was more than some folks made in a year. He'd heard from other teachers that Justin was academically sound, but it was his talent on the football field that made him popular. Jake had gleaned from school records that Justin had brought home the gold in that region's punt, pass, and kick competition and that kind of talent, along with his smarts and ready, infectious laugh, would help Justin Clark go a long way.
Jake blew his whistle, rounding up the team from various parts of the field. The assistant coach, who was also the offensive coordinator, ambled over as well. Twenty-five boys dressed in a mixture of shorts, sweats, gym trunks, and T-shirts made a sloppy circle around Jake, giving him their undivided attention.
“All right, team. These first practices are going to be all about conditioning, so get ready to runâsprints, routes, Oklahomas. And that's after you drop and give us 100 push-ups, 250 crunches, and 100 squats.” Jake ignored the chorus of moans and groans, and continued. “And, since your verbal reaction tells me that what we've planned is not enough, we're going to divide up into offense and defense to work on a few basic techniques.” Jake put his hand to his ear and listened. You could hear a mouse pee on cotton. “That's more like it. Guys, if we want to be number one then we've got to put in the work! Practice, heart, and attitude is what it takes to rise head and shoulders above the competition. We've got to come hard or go home. Are you with me?”
Twenty-five heads nodded and for the next two hours tried to give Jake McDonald and the other coaches everything they had and then some. Jake was impressed and let the players know how much he appreciated their hard work, which, of course, only made them want to work harder.
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“How does it feel?” The assistant coach, Shawn Gallagher, moved the folders from a chair in front of Jake's desk and plopped down.
“How does what feel?” Jake asked, handing Shawn a bottled water from the mini-fridge before sitting behind the desk.
“Being a god.”
Jake snorted.
“Coach, Coach!” Shawn mimicked, his green eyes sparkling. “The boys love you, man, especially that Clark kid.”
“Aw, well, what can I say?” Jake drawled, straightening invisible lapels. “I'm the man.”
Actually, it had been a difficult time of adjustment when Jake retired from the NFL eight years ago at the ripe old age of thirty-two. He'd experienced an unexpected bout of fame- and team-withdrawalâone moment he was part of a family whom thousands adored every Sunday, and the next moment he was sitting in his home gym minus the cheerleaders and the roar.
Shawn took a swig of water. “I noticed somebody else who wants to play on your team.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “I hope it's that Burnett kid. I know his mind is set on basketball, and his father is pushing him to just concentrate on that and track, but I think that he'd make one heck of a running back.”
“It's not just his dad; Alvin isn't interested in football. But I'm not talking about him.”
Jake looked up from the player chart he'd been studying. “Then who?”
Shawn's smile widened. “The new fourth-grade teacher.”
“The tall brunette with those long, sexy legs?”
Shawn nodded.
“She's gorgeous, but I don't think she's interested in me. I saw y'all hanging out before the meeting started, and her looking at you goo-goo-eyed.”
Shawn was a red-haired, green-eyed heartthrob with an infectious smile and charming personality everyone loved. “I wish, man,” he said. “Our conversation before the meeting was friendly chitchat. But
during
the meeting she was looking at you. Which is just as well, since I think Taylor might throw a few penalty flags if she caught me flirting with a colleague.”
Jake laughed. “Your wife might have a problem with that? You think?” A reminder pinged on Jake's computer. He clicked on his calendar. “Damn.”
Shawn stood. “Forget about a hot date?”
“Hardly. It's this Hollywood educational benefit where I'll rub shoulders with celebrities and influential movers and shakers . . . maybe rustle up a few deep-pocketed sponsors for our program.”
“That's definitely your arena, man. I'm not the black-tie type.”
“Me either,” Jake said, putting away the folder and reaching for his duffel bag and keys. “But duty calls.”