Love Redeemed, Book 4 (18 page)

“I was wondering what was up with
the partial nudity of this dress,” I tease.

“I love your skin. In fact, if you hadn’t contracted with a stylist already, I would put you in a stunning gown
for the
Mauve
signing that would expose this silken casing again,” he rubs my back chastely, using his entire palm. I close my eyes to try to focus on quieting the moans escaping my mouth.

Hearing the staccato sounds of Ragee transitioning from
Let it Snow
, the Boyz II Men rendition, to Donny Hathaway’s
This Christmas
brings me back to the here and now. And
now
I’m faced with the decision of sharing with Azmir that his deputy PR guru shot me a botched designer for kicks. I’m still committed to decision of accepting her presence in Azmir’s life, only because I believe it’s limited to business only.

“Ummm…actually I haven’t contracted with a stylist yet,” I murmur, then me
et Azmir’s bemused gaze. “The one Dawn recommended didn’t possess the…avant-garde quality that I’m hoping for.” My eyes bounce nervously in his gaze, praying for acceptance of my bland answer. Azmir’s no fool, but I’m also not prepared to play the whiney girlfriend who cries wolf.

After a tentative pause, he nod
s, “Okay, I’ll make a call in the morning. I already have the perfect gown in mind. The only thing that’ll be left to do is me determining just how I’ll keep my hands off you until I have you back home in our bed.”

I c
an’t hide my split face grin. I warm in Azmir’s decision to take care of the matter. I’m getting better at accepting him and his lofty lifestyle.

I c
an do this
. 

“You’ve done well this evening, Brimm,” he a
ppraises, breaking me from my contemplation.

“I tried,” I purr
sensually. “Is there a reward for my efforts?”

“Sure
, there is. What would you prefer?” he breathes into my neck, and I generously inhale the aromatic brandy that’s blending with his cologne and natural body odors so well.

“You pounding me into the mattress until I lose consci
ousness.”

Pushing warm air into my neck, Azmir chuckle
s, “Your nasty ass,” in his Brooklyn brogue as he reproaches in jest into my neck on sharp intake of breath. I’ve caught him off guard with that request. I laugh in his capable arms without conscience. “Indeed…I think that can be arranged.”

Th
is evening, Ragee sings the most romantic Christmas songs. His voice is stellar and I can’t be more assured of my idea to invite him to this event. We all express our appreciation of his musical gifts at some point throughout his performance. We dance, sing along, drink, and laugh for a couple of hours. Even Jackson and Evelyn, in their own way, gives into the idealistic air Ragee’s successful at conjuring.

The wait staff continue to bring fresh drinks throughout the evening after cleaning the kitchen and dining room. They
’re my lifesavers for the evening. I soon learned there was no way I could pull off hosting and waiting on guests all in one night. Also, everyone seems to love my miniature custard pies. All wins for Rayna!  

It
’s nearly three in the morning before I feel slumber pulling at me. We’re sitting on the terrace, against the backdrop of the marina, long after Ragee and friends, LaSean and Karl were dismissed and tipped generously. I sit and listen as Azmir reminisces and jostles with his friends about things of the past as well as current. Most of the conversation is without the women’s contribution, as we don’t hold that piece of their history. We women seem amenable to it as we sit and listen. Azmir capes my relaxed frame as I burrow into his with my feet underneath me. We’re gathered around the mosaic patio fire pit that I question if it goes against Azmir’s residency policy. If it does, he never whispers a suggestion of it.

It
’s nice. I’m at peace in his arms, feeling the reverberations of his laughter against me. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.

I don’t know how long I was out before I fe
el the awkward movements from being suspended in the air. It takes me a few moments to realize I’m in Azmir’s arms, being transported to the back of the apartment. I stir against his hard chest.

“Where are we going?” I utter incoherently.

“To get cleaned up, then to bed,” Azmir murmurs and I feel the rumbling of his peak baritone voice from his chest against my arm. I love that morning grovel in his tone. It reminds me of our plans for when our guests have left.

“What time is it?” I manage, still trying to fully awake.

“A quarter of five,” he answers as we enter the master suite.

He lowers
me to the floor in the bathroom of master suite and unzips my dress. It falls to my feet. I step out of it to have him drop to his haunches and remove my sandals. I didn’t wear a bra or panties; I couldn’t fit them underneath this number. He points to the toilet and I meander over to it. When I turn to catch a glimpse of him, I notice how quickly he discards his clothes and gaits into the shower. Once I join him, he immediately goes for my scrub and liquid soap to wash me. When he’s done, I’m sitting on the bench as he cleans himself, feeling loopy; part from heavy drinking and the other half from pure exhaustion.

“What’s up with Lenny? Is he always that creepy?” I ask as I wait, well entertained by the sight of his
wiry frame flexing as he washes.

His hearty laugh
ter rumbles off the shower walls. Intuitively, my lips twitch into a smile. His laughter does that to me. I love seeing Azmir light-hearted. It means I’m not screwing things up.

“Lenny is Lenny. He’s been a
wag since he was in diaper. He means no harm. I told him to lighten up,” Azmir replies. “He was amped up tonight because he wasn’t expecting to see what he saw.” He then turns to me. “We used to place bets as to who had the hottest girl when we’d introduce our ladies to one another. If we still wagered such bets, I would’ve walked away with extra lunch money tonight according to him.” He flashes his coochie-creaming smirk. “He just needed a minute to adjust to your undeniable beauty.

I s
it and contemplate his words. “How does Mia deal with that?” I ask over a stifled yawn.

“As best as she can. She knows how Lenny is. I’m sure she has her way of managing him.” Azmir moves from underneath the
large faucet to turn the water off.

He pulls
me into a standing position from the bench and walks me over to the sink to dry us both off. I wash off my makeup and brush my teeth as he dresses then brushes his teeth.

As I shrug on my housecoat I ask, “Why does Jackson seem so gloomy?”

“He’s in mourning. His father, one of my good friends, passed away recently. He’s still dealing with it…expectantly. They were very close.”

“I guess Evelyn is helping?” I ask wryly. I still c
an’t get over the mismatch.

“You’re very inquisitive, little girl,” Azmir note
s.

I
yawn again, this time really big. “It’s just that I’m trying to get to know more about the great A.D. and these friends aren’t around like Petey, Kid, Mark, and Eric. I want to know all about those connected to my man,” I whine.

Azmir chuckle
s. “All right,” his throaty vocal chords pours out, reminding me of the early hour. He’s inviting me in to ask my questions.

“Well…how old is he for starters? Evelyn looks old enough to be
your
grandmother!”

He chuckles
again. “Jax is about…” he squints his eyes in search for an answer. “…I would say…twenty-five—twenty-six. I’m not quite sure of the two.”

Wow! “And Evelyn will soon
be applying for her pension.” I rub my heavy eyes.

Another chuckle from A.D. With squinted eyes and a lazy grin, he asks, “You’re quite the observer, huhn, Brimm?”

“I’m just saying, what is a guy my age doing with a great-grandma? Grant it, Evelyn’s just as in shape as I am, if not more, but the aging in her face doesn’t lie. That has to be…” I yawn. “…immoral on some level.”

We head out to the bedroom where Azmir undresses the bed. I stand, completely fatigued, watching like a four year old, waiting for their bed to be turned down.

“As it seems, you’re not totally averse to dating older men—”

“Older men,” I interrupt him. “…not old men.” I climb onto the bed when he gives my cue. “And why are you acting as if this is so normal for a guy Jackson’s age? Were you into old—I mean, older women at some point in your youth?”

“I was into all types of women in my youth. Literally and figuratively speaking,” he calls out as he returns to the bathroom. When he makes his was back out to me, he’s holding a jar of cream.

“Hold up! What happened to my…
reward? You didn’t think I’d forget about it, did you?” I raise a brow, awaiting an answer. I catch his panty-snatching smirk.

“Little girl,
giving you what you’ve requested right now would be an act of debauchery…taking advantage of a young lassie.”

I giggle at his formality
, though I know he’s being comical. I melt as a smile slowly crests upon his beautiful face. Although the tightness around his eyes remains and redness is prominent from exhaustion, Azmir is still an incredibly beautiful creature.

“A deal is a deal,” I
yawn, continuing with my protests as he sits on my side of the bed.

“No, Brimm,” he mutter
s as he pulls my right leg into his lap. He unscrews the cap of the jar and scoops cream into his large hands. When he lifts my foot and starts rubbing firmly into the core, my back arches over the bed. “You’ve been in those heels, entertaining my friends and me, all evening. I just want to relax you.”

He knead
s with a strong grip that indiscriminately rolls over the base of my foot. And when he arrives at my toes—gently tugging at them, one-by-one—a short moan escapes my mouth. I quickly bite my bottom lip to control myself.

“
If you keep that up, Brimm, I’m gonna fuck you,” Azmir scolds on a throaty grovel.

I roll my eyes into the back of my head, oddly embarrassed by my lack of constraint. This man is trying to relax me and I’m belting out trills of a porn star.

Way to go, Rayna!

~~~~~~~~~~

Azmir

“Yeah…that should be enough for everybody. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” I inform
into the phone while standing in the kitchen, perusing a menu.

“Sure, Mr. Jacobs, sir. I’ll place that order right away,” Manny assure
s.

“Indeed,” I repl
y before hanging up.

When I turn
from the wall phone, I’m slightly startled by her presence. I thought she’d be sleeping for at least another hour. Her short hair is tousled—sexily—as she stands in one of the kitchen entryways with her Japanese wrap housecoat generously agape for me to gain an inciting vertical view of her cleavage; belly button, well-manicured pelvis and the seam of her thighs as one crosses over the other. I swallow hard, realizing I’m salivating immediately by her sensuous company. Even her damn bare toes against the Italian marble floor look delectable.

“Mr. Jacobs,” she annunciate
s with a throaty tenor. “Not only have I missed morning worship because you failed to set my alarm before bed...” She rakes back loose strands of hair that has fallen into her face. “…but you also failed to act on our agreed upon recompense of my services for last evening.”

Damn. I kn
ow what she’s referring to. And while I know she’s into “character,” I also realize she’s serious as hell. I can’t speak, yet my johnson jerks at the gruff in her voice. We stand mere feet from each other, eye-fucking, neither one making a move. I don’t know which one would be best. But one thing is for damn sure, and that’s Brimm’s gonna get what she came for this morning.  

Attempting the first move, she slowly remove
s her raised arms from the entryway frame and starts her sexy strut towards me. My mind starts racing. I know that smoldering look in my lady’s eyes. I understand what she’s in need of. What she’s channeling from me.

Timing is a muthafucka!

Rayna stops in front of me, placing her little hands on my chest then rub my pecs. “You don’t have an answer for your breaches, Mr. Jacobs?” she purrs. I don’t speak, still not able to formulate appropriate responses, being stuck between a rock and a fucking hard place indeed. “Fine,” she lifts an eyebrow and sighs. “You don’t want to use your mouth…” She lifts my shirt, scraping her nails against my abs. “…I guess I’ll have to use mine then, aye?”

Then Rayna’s hooded
eyes descend along with her body.

Fuck! Ain’t this some shit.
I don’t know if I’m more upset with myself for the reality of this situation or the fact that I can’t muster the self-control to tell my girl to hold off.

I fe
el her tongue run slivery down my abdomen as her featherweight hands arrive at the drawstring of my basketball shorts. I dip my head back because as much as I’m dying to feel her mouth on my cock, I know I can’t allow her to do it. But
DAMN
…when she presses her face against my pelvis and inhales my private hair, my chest jerks as warm air from the area hits her lungs and cool air replaces it in my boxers.