Authors: Eric Pete
Blow Your Mind (8 page)
“You?”
“Hello, Tanner.”
“What are you doing? I didn’t send for you.”
“No. Not this time. I came for a visit on my own. I don’t take instruction very well these days. Just like the other night at your office.”
He frowned, completing my thought. “When you didn’t show up.”
“Oops. Shit happens.” I shrugged.
“You owe me for that car.”
I laughed. It was nice of Bianca to try to cover for me. Tanner thought he knew what was going on. But just like his demure wife, he was ultimately clueless. “Okay, so I wrecked your dumpy car. Now, are you going to make me pay?”
He never could hold it back when I was around. His firm chest rippled as he choked up on the pool stick. Lesser wood and it would’ve snapped. A hard-on formed so quickly in his tidy little PJs that he probably hurt himself.
I came up to Tanner, allowing him to touch me and know the woman he really craved was here. He reached out, grabbing my hair.
“Come here,” he said as he pulled me toward him for a kiss.
“Watch the hair,” I said, slapping his hand. He blinked in disbelief. “I thought I’d told you about that.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I want to learn how to play. Will you teach me, Tanner?”
I had to tug on his stick—pool stick—twice before he relinquished. At the table, I held the stick like I thought it went and bent over. The cotton fabric of the dress saddled up my hips. I slid the stick back, preparing for my attempt.
“No. Not like that.” He was upon me, his voice steady and even. He placed his hand over mine, positioning the stick properly. “There. Now ease up on the cue. It’s all about grip, stance, and aiming.”
“How am I doing?”
“Better.” His scholarly approach was betrayed by a roving hand. It slid down from the small of my back over the slope of my hips. His expert fingers gripped, reminding me of how much I missed a massage to the booty. With each palmful he took of my ass, the fabric’s edge slowly crept up. When the soft suppleness stood revealed, he paused.
“Took you long enough,” I joked as he finally noticed I wasn’t wearing any panties. I took my shot, splitting the two balls like an expert. I didn’t need a coach when it came to busting balls. That talent came naturally.
Unlike Tanner, I wouldn’t get a moment to savor the success.
I dropped the stick, sprawling over the table as Tanner suddenly fell to his knees. He was behind me, holding me by the hips as my face rested on the long green felt before me. I gasped as he bit me on my ass.
“Ouch. Bite that shit harder,” I urged. The big freak obliged.
“This what you want?”
“Oh, you know I do,” I said, trying to sound more in control than he as he took another bite of the apple. I came this time. It was a juicy apple.
From the backs of my knees, he began licking up each thigh, stopping at the curve of the cheeks to nip at them. I’d begun breathing heavily in anticipation and shook my apple tree to further tantalize him.
Slap, slap, slap
, they went to a controlled rhythm.
Slap, slap, slap
, they went to a controlled rhythm.
He spread my ass cheeks and dug in, licking me from my clit up to my asshole and back again. In the middle of each journey, he’d pause to stimulate the area in between with the tip of his tongue, giving me goose bumps and making me convulse with every stab. I said he was a freak, but a freak who knows what he’s doing ain’t all that bad. As he continued probing and teasing, I dug my nails into the table, clawing with every climax. His thumb pressed into my asshole, pressuring to enter, as he lapped at the juices flowing onto my clit. With each venture inside my puckering muscle, I flowed harder. And he drank harder. Like a sailor who couldn’t get his fill.
Intoxicated with pussy on the breath, Tanner rolled me over for the main course. This . . . this was the true face of the man who’d married Bianca. A visage smeared with my essence instead.
“You are so beautiful,” he panted. He dropped his PJs for his dick to greet me. “I’ve missed you.”
“And you talk too much.” I looked at his waiting dick. “Fuck me.”
Tanner slid me to the center of the pool table where the workaholic climbed atop to put in overtime on my pussy. As he rode me hard, I held back screams for fear of waking Bianca.
Grip.
Stance.
Aim.
Then the stroke to close the deal.
Yeah. We’d worked on all of those tonight. I was learning the game.
10
BIANCA
A
fter seeing the bags under my eyes, I knew the night had been another restless one. I awoke in the afternoon feeling worse than when I’d gone to bed. Tanner’s urges took their toll on a body. At least he’d spared me this morning—only a kiss planted on my forehead before he headed to the office or meetings with his attorneys. He couldn’t have been satisfied with just that. To make up for it, I probably was going to be dragged to a swingers’ club to watch other couples get their freak on.
fter seeing the bags under my eyes, I knew the night had been another restless one. I awoke in the afternoon feeling worse than when I’d gone to bed. Tanner’s urges took their toll on a body. At least he’d spared me this morning—only a kiss planted on my forehead before he headed to the office or meetings with his attorneys. He couldn’t have been satisfied with just that. To make up for it, I probably was going to be dragged to a swingers’ club to watch other couples get their freak on.
“It says here you were involved in a motor vehicle accident?” Dr. Gardner asked, reading from his notes. I sat there in the hospital gown, legs locked together like they were Krazy Glued. Tanner had called in the appointment, so I had to go along with it.
“No. That’s a mistake.”
The balding, roundish man of fifty squinted. “Are you sure? Because it says here . . .”
I held out my hand, stopping him. “I wasn’t in an accident. I was covering for a relative.”
“Oh. I see,” he said as he lowered the notes from his gaze. “So, why are you here?”
“I’ve just felt run-down . . . dizzy. I’ve been sleeping, but it hasn’t been restful.”
“Maybe you should take vitamins,” he observed, curiously intrigued by the dark circles under my eyes. With my fair skin, they were easily visible. “Any changes in your routine? Any unusual stress?”
“If you mean having an unwanted houseguest, then the answer is yes.”
“We’ve all had those from time to time. I could tell you stories about my mother-in-law,” he joked. “Well, let’s get you checked out. We can’t have the wife of Tanner Coleman not knowing what’s wrong with her. He might take away that grant for the children’s wing.”
And there he was in the room with us, his looming presence felt all the more during the exam.
“Are you and your husband regularly active?” Great question to ask with my feet up in the stirrups. As much as Tanner had been down there, he was vying for Dr. Gardner’s job.
“Yes.” I flinched, tender to the touch.
“Any discomfort or discharge?”
“No. Um . . . just a little tender.” I gave a nervous laugh, the one that said to leave it alone.
“Sorry. I’ll try to go easy,” he said, preparing me for the Pap smear.
After the pelvic exam, he had a series of tests run, including a pregnancy test due to the dizziness. He’d ruled out mononucleosis and my being anemic, so I began to wonder if the blood tests were really about checking for STDs. I knew better than to think Tanner’s lust was limited to me; I just hoped he’d respected me enough to use protection. The tests were pending, but as far as he could tell, I was okay. Just advised to take it easy—in and out of bed—and to get on some vitamins. He also prescribed something to help with my sleep. I would be sure to take that.
On the way to my boutique, I passed a billboard for Southwest Airlines. Their slogan, “Wanna Get Away?” was never more appropriate. Maybe a little vacation getaway was what I really needed. On a moment’s notice, I could be jetting to Mexico or anywhere with beautiful waters and shimmering sand. Besides, I could use some work on my tan. Then I caught myself.
Not while Pumpkin was here. Just a delusion on my part.
“I’m sure, Mrs. Jones. You’re getting these mixed up with the sandals I showed you
last week
.”
last week
.”
“You know . . .” She paused, her eyes suddenly alert. “I think you’re right.”
Duh. No shit.
I smiled, leaving my thoughts to myself.
Duh. No shit.
I smiled, leaving my thoughts to myself.
“I’ll take both pairs,” she squealed. “And another glass of this exquisite champagne!”
I motioned to Deonté, my assistant, to oblige the giddy Mrs. Jones with a refill. Deonté was a student I mentored as part of the community college’s young-entrepreneur program. I loved her inquisitive mind and how she always questioned the status quo. She hated indulging certain customers, but understood the purpose. People came for an experience, not just a purchase. Things like that allowed one to charge a premium. That reflection made me think about my situation. Had Tanner made a purchase with me while still searching for an experience? Another big sale under my belt, I scuttled those doubts and left to retrieve the Portuguese sandals from last week.
Deonté chuckled after Mrs. Jones was gone with her shoes.
“What’s so funny?”
“This whole thing. I’m from HG—Hunter ’s Green. I didn’t come up in a world like this. Every now and then I either have to laugh, cry, or pinch myself.”
“I didn’t come up in this world either, Deonté,” I assured her. “At times, I still feel like I’m in a fairy tale too. Sure, my husband bought this boutique for me, but deep down, I don’t think he ever thought I would succeed. I put my heart and soul into it, because it’s something I can claim as my own—a product of my own success, not the illustrious Coleman name. Every day I exceed his expectations is another day I hope he looks at me as an equal.”
“Instead of the trophy wife?”
I glared at Deonté, a reflex to her brashness. “Maybe,” I offered.
My cell phone rang at the perfect time. Two rings later, I answered.
“Mrs. Coleman?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Mr. Ennis from Fidelity Trust,” the accommodating voice said. It was our bank. “I’m glad I was able to reach you.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” Two women had entered with shoes on their mind. I motioned to Deonté to take care of them. She quickly filled two flutes with complimentary champagne and walked over. I turned my attention back to the call.
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. Our Coventry branch had a transaction this morning that we just needed to confirm.”
“Oh? What transaction?”
“On your business account, ma’am. A check was written to ‘cash,’ and with such large amounts, we just like to follow up for confirmation. In case something was amiss. Our records show that you and Mr. Coleman usually do wire transfers, so this seemed a little unusual.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The check you cashed this morning, Mrs. Coleman . . . In the amount of ninety thousand dollars.”
I wanted to drop the phone.
11
HENRY
W
hen I received the blocked call, I hesitated to answer. Kash didn’t need to know where I was holed up. I had a little time left, but I needed to think of something. The little cash I had to myself wouldn’t hold out much longer. I’d failed to kill myself, and no references were coming from Coleman, I was sure.
hen I received the blocked call, I hesitated to answer. Kash didn’t need to know where I was holed up. I had a little time left, but I needed to think of something. The little cash I had to myself wouldn’t hold out much longer. I’d failed to kill myself, and no references were coming from Coleman, I was sure.
When it rang again, I steeled myself. I debated over whether to grovel or be a man before Kash. I’d decided to be a man when I answered.
“Yeah.”
“I need you to meet me,” she said. I remembered to stow the man for my next encounter with Kash.
I walked off the street, expecting to see a familiar Pumpkin somewhere in the Dunkin’ Donuts on Turner Avenue. A woman in a dark green business suit was sitting at a corner table playing with a cup of coffee. She lowered the designer shades to give me a familiar wink. A snazzy designer hat concealed the familiar long strands I was becoming fond of.
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