While wearing a stretchy-type of cheap dress, Aliyah looks me up and down for opting for jeans, leather boots and a sweater. “What, it’s going to be cold this evening.” I tell Aliyah, while closing the gate that leads to my loft upstairs. “Besides, Stan is licking his lips, so my attire is douche bag approved,” I reply, looking into the front seat of the late-model green Explorer where Stan is riding shotgun with his cousin Tommy.
Deondre’s kid sister had a Hollow’s Eve performance at the Ballet Academy this evening, so he had to opt out. However, I haven’t begun to regret agreeing to this double date.
“Hey Luxury, you looking fine tonight,” he says while leaning outside the car. Stan is about 5’ 7, which is tall enough. He’s this beautiful dark brown but has uncomplimentary yellow teeth. I look toward Aliyah knowing that this had to be a favor, and she’s opening the back door. Evidently, these gentlemen won’t be playing a role. I’m not big on chivalry, but Victor has every area covered. In almost two weeks of knowing him, I’ve become spoiled. But why do I think twice before getting in the back seat of the car?
We go to Paulie’s Pub. The music switches up every time someone has enough change, which is often. With so many different types of people, one can go mad as rap twines into Country then fades into R&B and breaks out in heavy rock. Despite the chill of the evening, the place is packed out and it takes us a while to get a pool table. Stan buys me a beer. I refuse it. I’m not drinking alcohol tonight, so he tries to teach me how to play pool.
“Not like that, Luxury. Hold the stick like…” He comes up to me and tries to help me position the pool stick in my hands.
Tommy racks up all the balls. Aliyah hasn’t been able to get them scattered with the beginning hit. Her boyfriend makes an easy right, corner pocket.
“I got this.” I try to move away, but his arm is wrapped around me.
“You sure?” he says, funky breath singing at my cheek.
“Very,” I yank the pool stick and make a move that lands the red solid ball in the middle left pocket.
Twenty minutes in, Aliyah and I are beating the guys. Mostly it’s me doing all the work, because she’s spending more time in Tommy’s arms than trying to play her turn. At each point we gain over the boys, Stan’s even more irritated.
He begins to flirt with the Latina’s at the next table. They are enjoying a girl’s night out instead of a real game of pool. They’re too drunk to give a damn that the creeper will take just about each and every one of them if they are willing. Hell, all at the same time.
I don’t even concern myself when Stan’s sloppy-ass hands get to poking and prodding one of the girls. Her body is stuffed into jeans and a spandex top, as he teaches her how to do nothing in particular. Her pool stick only continues to go left and right of the white ball.
Stan goes back and forth, flirting and trying to catch up on our game. Tommy and Aliyah are kissing more than playing.
“Aliyah, your turn,” I tell her, while sipping on a Shirley Temple. I hope that after this game is done, I can sneak out back, since Stan knows there will be no late-night romps. He’s showing his ass; so luckily, I can breathe easy in the clear. Never mind the sloppy sounds my girl and her guy are making, I’d rather be home playing Monopoly with Dad. Yeah, I’m almost at the home front.
“Lux, your play,” she says. Tommy’s arms are wrapped around her from behind, as if they’re ready to get down right then and there.
“No!” Stan comes back over after having flirted with the other girl. “Aliyah, it’s your turn. You need to play.”
“Why, because we’re winning?” I fold my arms.
“Bitch, shut the fuck up,” Stan starts toward me. Tommy’s super-glued fingers finally releases Aliyah, so he can stop his irritated cousin. It’s either Tommy do so or Aliyah. I can just bet if Aliyah bucks up on Stan, Tommy is going to have to put him down.
“Man, you need to chill, and treat my baby’s home girl with some respect.” Tommy looks down at the shorter, angrier dude.
Stan’s nostrils flare as he looks up, “Nah, son–”
“Hey, don’t you ever call her that!” Aliyah shouts. She tries to get around Tommy, but his size–even taller than her 5’11’– and the length of his arm, keeps her at bay.
“Doesn’t matter, I’m out,” I start for the door as Stan tells Tommy that I better come back here. I can’t get out of the place fast enough, and end up with five pitchers of beer drenched down my chest as I run into a bartender…
~~~
Needless to say, the double date was a disaster. The next day at Urban Gardens, it takes some divine intervention for me to listen to Mr. Able’s latest love story with his wife.
Aliyah has this sorry look on her face. I just want to go home and crawl under my bed. Yeah, I said it. Not just underneath the covers, but physically get down on all fours, push away the dusty cobwebs and be gone till next November. My day can’t get any worse, until I feel Victor’s presence. Handing back an Italian customer’s his credit card, I allow the mobster to flirt with me, even though he’s buying pink roses for his girlfriend.
Victor has toned down his appearance. He’s wearing a distressed, dark jean, a polo that allows my eyes to take in each and every ropey aspect of his biceps. He’s wearing sunglasses so that is my saving grace from being caught in his selfish spell.
A self-assessment makes me wish I hadn’t worn this tweed dress that stops at mid-thigh. My night was awful, so I put on a fair amount of lip-gloss. Damn, I should’ve put on a little eye shadow or at least some tinted gloss. Wait a minute, what do I care? It’s been a few minutes and Victor hasn’t even said hello.
He doesn’t come straight to me, but then walks to a different set of flowers, and picks one here and there. I roll my eyes, stepping outside and greeting another customer who’s looking at lilies on the sidewalk. Aliyah can handle that bastard inside. Every once in a while, I peep inside just to see what he’s doing, even as I tell myself that I don’t give a damn.
Aliyah is helping an older woman with a bouquet of get-well flowers. Victor is still thoughtfully putting together bright colored flowers, roses, and my favorite Gerbera daisies. Oh God, how I love tulips. Wow, the white tulips provide the eclectic bright bunch of flowers with sophistication. My mind runs away with how much Victor consumes me and I almost shake my head. Maybe the physical act will remove him from my mind. Nope. I continue to glance and tell myself that I don’t–shouldn’t–care.
“Hey, Trina, how can I help you?” I ask my neighbor from down the street as she approaches me.
Trina has dressed up since our Zumba class. Instead of her dreads being in a haphazard ponytail, she has cucu shells strategically placed at her neck and ears. She’s even dressed for black Wall Street.
“Hey, Lux. I need just a few flowers for a party I’m having tonight,” she says in her beautiful Jamaican accent. Finally, I lose myself in chatting with her about a new curry style, until we finish going over a blue business party scheme. While gathering hydrangeas, I peep inside since Aliyah is busting up laughing. My heart lurches as he tells her something funny.
Dang, why did he have to ruin it with us? If it weren’t for the club scene, hell, I would just about beg Victor to come see me.
Trina asks a question.
“Umm…” I begin, but now she’s looking inside of the store also.
“Damn, he is… wow…” Trina can hardly even speak. “Let me get a few of those uhhh… ribbons in the pink, I mean the red… bluuuuuue color?” She forgets the flower scheme that she wanted, and I jog my memory for what she had said a mere minute ago.
I’m putting her cash payment in my apron when Victor steps out with the large display of flowers.
“For the beautiful Lux,” he says.
I look Victor up and down in all his sexiness and roll my eyes. “Why would I want flowers from my own shop?” Like I’ve said from the beginning, never got flowers before, but I won’t waste my first time receiving them from this jerk.
Victor gives this I can do what I want to do look.
“You are arrogant,” I smirk.
“You are coming with me to dinner.”
“No,” I snap, doing the snippy talking that he’s taught me.
“Lunch, then.” Not even waiting for my reply, Victor turns back into the doorway. “Hey, Aliyah, remember that chat we had. Keep the store ‘on lock’,” he says. I can just about imagine how she taught him to keep me ‘lock down’ during their talk; he finishes, “while I take your beautiful friend to lunch.”
With a quick one-two step, I’m away from Victor’s forceful touch. He takes off his sunglasses, “Lux, allow me the chance to explain.”
I can feel him searching my face, but my eyes rivet every other direction but into those endless aqua blues of his.
I snatch the flowers. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” Victor’s hand takes to the small of my back, and I instinctively remember sex with him. My brain is conjuring up a lie, some form of self-preservation. A way to get out of going to lunch with him, but I consider that it’s a lunch hour. There’s nothing he can do to me out in the open, with the crowd of people. I set my flowers besides the cash register in the store.
“I got this,” Aliyah tells me, pulling out a vase. She winks.
“Um hummm.” I turn away as she chuckles.
With the simple act of Victor holding my hand as we walk down the street, my irritation slowly begins to fade.
The Italian Bistro is scented with and array of garlic, seasonings, and tomato sauce that seems to have been cooking for ages. The dim lights have my psyche on alert mode. I can’t help but wonder if this cunning man had previously scoped out this place as a potential prospect. It’s a lazy, dreary afternoon. The red-and-white striped walls are cliché; romance lingers. The host seats us at a leather, U-shaped booth. Victor slides in next to me. His arm slips around my shoulders. I try to wiggle away. I snap, “Despite the fact that I can barely see, don’t get fresh or I’m out.”
“Promise.” Victor crosses his fingers, all the while licking his lips. The liar. Then his hand again starts to rub the nape of my neck.
“Hey,” I snap.
“You look tense, Luxury.”
“Vic, I already told you that…” My voice mellows out as his fingers really get the crick in my neck. Then Victor stops, and I whimper. His hands slide to my shoulder, massaging more. His sneaky hands disappear into the collar of my shirt and hefts my breast. His calloused fingertips flick at my hardened nipple. He squeezes, sending pulsations down into my love box.
God, I don’t recall being so easy!
Victor stops, but then his large hand claim to my left thigh underneath the table as the waitress heads over.
“What can I get the both of you to drink?” she asks.
“Aaaa…” I begin as Victor’s fingers skim up the soft, taut skin of my inner thigh. He sort of gives my thigh a few slaps, so I narrow my eyes and open a little wider for this self-centered prick. All the while the redhead waits to take my drink order.
“What is that sweetie?” Victor asks me. “I know you like to order for yourself.” Victor smiles as his fingers dip inside my purple Victoria Secret panties. He coils my silk curls. My legs, unfortunately, can do no less than divide, allowing one of his thick fingers access to slide inside.
My eyes roll back momentarily. Thank God, it’s dark. “I www…would liiike…” Oh god, I can’t speak.
“Beer import,” Victor says for himself. His hand slips from my pants. He taps that sneaky finger against his lips; I’m too embarrassed to speak. “Let’s see, Lux would like the Peach tea.” He bites his finger, mulling over.
The waitress gives us an odd look and whisks away.
“She knows,” my head burrows against his thick arm.
“Ask me do I care.” His finger is now wetter from having been in his mouth. He goes back between my thighs, leaning into me. “Luxury, we need to have a talk.”
“Wh…what… Nnno we don’t. You said you were going to explain the club scene.” I sigh once again, arching my back so his two fingers can go deeper. Oh, I need his dick right this very moment. “Please…”
“Please what?” he asks, knowing he holds all the cards.
“Fuck me or leave me the fuck alone, Victor,” I snap in a hard whisper.
“Fuck you? Of course. But now for this chat.” Victor kisses my lips and continues to stroke my kitty nice and slowly.
“Stop playing me,” I moan against his neck as my first orgasm begins to rise. “You d…don’t really even… ta… talk to me,” I begin in a ridiculous stutter. “You listen well, but you ….don’t talk.” I quickly get the words out. “Only make demands.”
“Yes, demands.” He removes his hand from my panties again and begins to lick his fingers one at a time. “Damn, Lux, you taste so fucking good. But, today I feel like talking, are you ready to oblige?”
I shove at Victor, so he can move. The burly beast doesn’t even budge. For the moment, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. However, I won’t go into the fact that I had already nutted, so that might be the reason. I’m placated enough, but still stubborn. Resisting Victor for all but two seconds, I feel like breaking free and telling him to go fuck himself. Yeah, that’s exactly what I do. Hell, I even grab a fork for emphasis. “Move out of my way, Victor. I don’t want to see you again. Nor will I have sex with you never ever again. Got that, asshole?”
Victor’s hand begins to creep back under the table, but I tug onto it, so he can’t get between my thighs. This half-ass scuffling has a few patrons’ eyes on us for a second at the booth cater-corner from us. But I don’t care how embarrassing this is. Something tells me that Victor is so much stronger than my ability to keep him at bay. Something tells me that this asshole actually enjoys my struggling.
“Don’t resist.” His eyes twinkle, even though he doesn’t laugh at me as usual.
“You’re crazy.” I close my legs tightly. My thighs are pretty strong. Zumba and kick boxing classes have given me shapely, toned legs. Squats and a few Brazilian butt videos have my tiny form in tippy top shape. But instead of prying them open, Victor rubs my thigh ever so softly. It’s a phenomenon when my legs part ways for him. He begins to fuck me once more with his fingers.
His lips graze my cheek with a kiss. He whispers, “Now, are you listening, Little One?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, biting my bottom lip. There are people all around us, but it’s dark enough that shame has left the building. My head tilts back, eyes shade.
Tremors travel down my spine as he kisses on my neck and keeps taking me to my brink with his fingers and all I can do is be quiet. He knows I want the dick.
“Yes, Victor, I’m listening,” I say again for reassurance. Hell yeah, I’m taking in every sense at the moment. My mouth waters just as much as my pussy. I feel so good.
“You belong to me, Lux.” The fact is hard against my ear.
“No. I don’t, Victor,” I say with an odd sense of confidence, licking my lips as heat rises in my body. My hips arch toward Victor’s large fingers wanting even more.
He stops. I’m tempted to say just kidding, yes, I belong to you, but Victor stands up. He readjusts the large lump in his pants. He grabs my hand and pulls me up quickly. Victor’s eyes are a stormy blue as he damn near pulls me out of the restaurant.
While sitting in the middle of the penthouse suite again, I regret telling Victor ‘no.’ He hasn’t spoken to me since the taxi dropped us off and the elevator got us all the way up here. He quietly contemplates for almost sixty minutes.
I twiddle my fingers and look up at him. The pressure has me feeling like a lost child. Victor stalks back and forth, saying my body was made for him.
Am I in the company of a madman?
“Little one,” he comes to me, and looks down. Then his hand goes to my chin, tipping it up, making my eyes meet his. “Why do you defy me?”
My eyes grow wide. I shrug, watching him feel some type of way. My heart is pounding. That familiar emotion, one that only can be comparable to fear, comes back. Going against Victor’s wishes unnerves me to the point of being so very afraid.
“You belong to me,” he commands.
“Victor,” I take a deep breath, though Victor hasn’t seemed to comprehend before. Trying to sound clear, loud and clear though I feel as meek as a mouse, I tell him again, “I’m not an object to own. I’m a human.”
“I make you happy.” Again, it's not a question, but a belief. Never mind, he’s still not listening to what I said.
“Not all the time,” I pout. My body begs to differ, but the other day he hurt me more than Arnold ever could. That’s the scary part. Even though I tried to rationalize that what me and Victor has is… not even sure what we have, but I shouldn’t have felt such intense anger and jealousy as this egotistical man enjoyed himself at the club. We don’t even have history for Christ Sake! How could his flirting with Suyoung and other women–technically their flirting with him–be comparable to Arnold’s years of betrayal?
“You hurt Graham’s feeling,” I begin nonchalantly, pushing away that intense envy. Yet, it rises back up from the pit of my belly, and erupts in a whine, “You were flirting with every lady at that club but me!”
“That’s beside the point, Luxury.” Victor gets on his knees before me. His hands disappear beneath my dress and my pussy is already raining at his intense touch.
“Lux, I own you.” There’s an uncertainty, vulnerability in his voice that tells me this selfish man really wants me to be his. If only I would just listen…
Nope. There’s silence on my part.
I can hardly speak as he holds my mouth; the fragrance of my kitty is on Victor’s lips as he kisses me harshly. Before I can respond, he’s back down below. He rushes. Victor quickly lifts me and pushes my dress up. His heavy hands grab onto my thong. He tears them off. My honey box pulsates with desire.
This vigorous movement of his only takes a nano second. Finally, Victor takes on a slower pace. His lips kiss my clit as if that is his sole focus. My body speaks a language that only Victor can decipher. His tongue dips out and twirls around the soft, tiny bulb. Victor makes this noise that makes me think that my love box tastes like southern upside-down cake.
Victor comes up. His lips and chin are creamy with my goodies. He reaches for my cheeks. I taste my own sweet honey. His tongue twirls around mine. The taste, the intoxication of it all makes me delirious. The pain on my cheeks no longer hurt. Victor glares into my eyes he asks, “Lux, who do you belong to?”
Before I am able to respond, Victor has pushed me back up on the chair and is lifting my legs over his shoulders. As he chows down on my pussy, I damn near fall off the chair. My fingers go into his thick jet-black hair. “Victor, wait…” I begin trying to catch my breath.
God. This man has taken me to the edge of madness and tossed me over. “Vic… you own me.”
At that, he sucks, licks and bites even harder making my body spasm. His teeth graze my inner thigh, and then he gets back to slurping and kissing my other two lips.
“I’m yours,” I tell him.
Damn, damn!
I gauge my breathing as he fucks me with his mouth. With my body slipping, Victor’s hands command my tiny waist; he picks me up over his shoulders. Each time I claim to be Victor’s object, his tender kisses down low become even more of a frenzy. The intensity of it rises like a volcano and that fear that etched its way into the pit of my stomach starts to vanish. His magical tongue eagerly slurps up the sweet nectar from my thighs. Forever and for always–or whenever Victor wants–he owns me.