Luxe (14 page)

“I never would,” he replied. He turned and guided Bleu out of the restaurant, his hand placed comfortably on the small of her back.

Bleu looked at Iman. There was nothing that she would rather do than get to know him better, but the homework and notes that she had on her plate couldn't be ignored either. If Marta was going to give Bleu the night off, she wanted to use her time wisely. She let him lead her out of the restaurant, away from the noise, but she stopped walking as soon as they were outside.

“Hey, I know you probably have other things in mind, but I don't get a lot of free time these days. Between Picante and school, I can barely find time to eat. I have so much homework to catch up on. Would you mind if we just stayed in? You could come back to my dorm. It's actually kind of nice now. Somebody upgraded it by buying me everything I needed,” she said with a huge smile.

“Somebody likes you, huh?” he replied coyly as he leaned against a white Phantom that sat curbside, illegally parked. It seemed Iman followed no laws but his own. He lived by his own set of rules and the world seemed to bend to his influence.

“I guess so,” she answered as she walked up on him, standing between his legs as he wrapped his hands around her waist.

“Seriously. Thank you,” she said. “But you didn't have to do that. You shouldn't have, actually. I don't like owing people.”

“The fact that you wouldn't have accepted my help made me want to do it more. Don't worry about it. I'm not one of the tab-keeping type. It's nothing, ma.”

He turned and opened the passenger door. “So you want to stay in and study?”

“I know, sounds boring, right?” she said.

“Nah, sounds interesting. You can study the books, and I can study you. That face, your eyes, your lips,” he said as he took hold of her chin and pulled her into him.

She smiled before stepping into his car. It was going to be an interesting night.

*   *   *

“This is where you live?” she asked as she stepped out of the car and looked up at the huge gated estate in front of her. It was beautiful and sat on a large manicured lawn and a circular drive. The fountain that lit up the front yard looked like it belonged in front of a museum instead of someone's home.

“I usually stay at my condo in the city, but when I want seclusion and peace of mind this is where I come,” he said as he hit a button inside his car, causing the gate to open.

He pulled into the driveway and parked directly in front of the front door before getting out to open her door.

She grabbed his hand as he escorted her into the house. “Buying low and selling high is working for you, huh?” she mumbled as she looked around at the marble floors and expensive furnishings. It was a castle, hidden in the hills of Calabasas, and for the first time she realized she was messing with a king. Iman's status was major, and she was beginning to wonder exactly what it was that this man did.

He smirked as he grabbed a remote control off the wall. With the click of a button he turned up the lights.

“Wow,” was all she could say as she took it all in. “It's kind of big for one person, isn't it?” she asked.

“I suppose,” he replied nonchalantly. “You can set up wherever you like. I won't interrupt you.”

“I find that hard to believe. Everything about you is one big distraction, Iman,” she said.

She walked up on him and rested her head on his chest as they embraced.

“Nah, can't have that,” he said coolly. “Any nigga that distracts you from your goals is a dream killer … remember that. So you sit here and finish your work. That's the part about you that I like most. Can't lose your ambition hanging out with scrubs like me,” he said as he gave her a wink.

Iman reached down and grabbed her bag off of the floor, then extended his arm to her. She took it, rolling her eyes as she walked over to the white leather couch.

He gave her space, and before she knew it she was in her zone. Books fed her mind. It didn't matter the type or the subject matter. Studying, reading, writing, adding, subtracting, logic, it all fed her insatiable brain. She wasn't dumb … she knew that she came from the bottom and that the people born at the top had an advantage over her. But the classroom was a level playing field. It didn't take money to be smart. Intelligence couldn't be bought, and in that arena she was more than capable. Physical features faded and were hard to change. If you were ugly, you stayed ugly, but if there was something that her mind lacked, she could change that. She could learn more, acquire new skills. As she dug into her books she felt him watching her, admiring her, but she was on her level. Once she focused in on something it was hard to distract her. Hours passed and she didn't stop until the pages in front of her became a blur. Finally she closed her book and looked around, but Iman was nowhere in sight.

She heard the clanging of pots and pans as the smell of something divine invaded her senses. She followed the clues to the kitchen to find a man in a chef's hat working busily over the stove.

“Oh,” she said as she jumped slightly. “I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone else was here.”

“You're perfectly fine. You can have a seat in the dining room. I'll bring dinner right out,” he said, his eyes never leaving the stove. She turned and walked curiously into the dining room, where Iman stood, popping the top off a bottle of champagne.

“I thought you would get hungry, so I called over my chef. I'm not too good in the kitchen,” he said sheepishly as he ran his hands over his wavy hair. She walked over to the table completely impressed. This wasn't the game of a young man. Dudes her age thought wining and dining meant Applebee's and a movie. Iman was pulling out all the stops to sweep her off her feet. Little did she know, everything Iman did was on a large scale. He didn't small-ball. Whether she was present or not, he lived on this level daily.

“Yeah, I am starving, but a pizza would have been fine,” she replied with a smile.

“It's the simple shit about you that makes me want to shower you with complexity. If I got it I spend it, and when I find someone to spend it on, I don't take shortcuts. So, nah, pizza is a no-go,” he said.

He took his seat at the head of the table; then Iman nodded at her. “Come here,” he instructed her. She walked to him slowly until she stood beside him. He pulled her into his lap and she laughed.

“The other end of the table is too far. I'm addicted to you like shit, ma,” he admitted.

“Good,” she answered. “I just can't help but wonder how many other chicks have gotten this five-star treatment.”

“None,” he replied.

She looked at him skeptically, cocking her head and pursing her lips. He was older than her, more experienced. She knew that there had to be someone. With men like him it was always a competition.

“If there was somebody else in the picture, I would tell you. I'm not into making fools out of people,” he said.

She straddled him and wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him slowly, her soft lips pulling his full ones into her mouth as her tongue tasted the champagne on his tongue. She had never felt this way before. The closest she had come to love was the connection she felt with Noah, but even that couldn't compare to the mixture of lust, infatuation, and wanting she felt for this man. Her womanhood clenched as he gripped her ass with one hand while fisting her hair with the other. He handled her with expertise as he alternated between kissing her lips gently and tasting her tongue. Bleu's body was on fire and she could feel the hardness building, growing, under her as she moved her hips slowly … sensually. Their clothes were the only barriers stopping the flow, and as if he couldn't take it anymore, Iman lifted her onto the table in front of them and spread her legs wide. The fabric of her panties held up no fight as he ripped them off of her, exposing her shaven treasure.

She gasped when he put his mouth on it. Inexperienced in this level of intimacy, she immediately became insecure. She had never dealt with anyone his age. The furthest she had taken sex was to let a high school boyfriend play with her clit. They had never taken things to the next level, and by the time he had attempted to, she had thought he was too lame to even deserve it. She was untouched, unspoiled, and ashamed that at eighteen she was still hadn't chosen to give herself to a man. She wasn't a virgin, Larry had taken her innocence long ago, but she had never given the gift of her womanhood to any other. After living with the man who had molested her, she had grown confused about so many things. She had blamed herself for years for what had happened to her, which made it hard for her to ever allow any random boy to make a move. She was prudish by hood standards. Around her way, chicks got their cherries popped early … fifteen at the latest, and high school boys definitely weren't about that head life. Suddenly she realized the age gap between her and Iman. She couldn't even enjoy the magic that he was performing because she was too busy wondering if it was what he was used to.

Does it taste okay? Is it funky? Should I have shaved it bald?
Then she thought of her body, the hideous scar that was still healing on her abdomen. She hoped he didn't think she was childish. She was in her mental, and the fact that her legs weren't putty in his hands gave her away. Her body was tense. He stopped, and as soon as the tickle on her clit went away, she wanted him to start all over again. He stood to his feet and looked down at her, cupping her face.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“I'm not like other girls you've been with,” she said, giving him a glimpse of her insecurities.

“And I love that,” he responded.

She slowly let the strings of her dress down as she peeled down the top, exposing her body from the waist up. The scar was jagged and had bubbled slightly from where the doctors had sewn her up. It ran from her pelvic bone all the way up to the middle of her chest. He bent over and she placed her hands on his wavy hair as he planted a gentle kiss on the most hideous part of her.

“Who did this to you?” he asked. Anger flooded him, his gray eyes darkening as he stared at her.

“I got caught up in a robbery,” she admitted. “I don't know who they were, but I'll never forget their faces. I still have nightmares about that day.” She shivered slightly as she remembered the searing torture she had felt that day. Iman noticed and he pulled her close.

“You know you're safe here, right? In L.A., I mean. You're thousands of miles away from the people that hurt you and not a nigga in this city will touch a hair on your head if I put the word out. All you've got to do is give me a reason to put that word out, ma. Say you're mine. Say you belong to me. I protect what's mine,” Iman whispered.

“I don't know if you deserve me just yet,” she flirted, with a smile. She began to slip her arms back into the spaghetti straps of the dress, but Iman only thwarted her plans to dress by pulling them back down.

“It's ugly,” she whispered, referring to the scar.

“I don't think anything belonging to you could be ugly, ma,” he said.

His lips covered hers and the fountain that gushed between her thighs told her she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He was so good at this, however, that it intimidated her. It was as if he had read the instruction manual to her body and he knew what buttons to press to cause her the most pleasure.

She was nervous as she wondered if her amateur ways could allow her to reciprocate. She was insecure and positive that she was an unfit contender in the fight for his attention.
He's going to fuck me and then realize that I'm not even on his level,
she thought. She was out of her league and she knew it. He was nothing like the dudes around her way, the ones she ran circles around and dismissed without a second thought. He was a boss. He was a man. He would break her heart with rejection once he realized they were worlds apart.

“I've never done this before, not willingly,” she finally admitted, barely saying the words loud enough for him to hear.

Girls her age wished they had more experience, but real women knew that men cherished a woman with very little. Finding a woman with none at all was like hitting the lottery. She was uncharted territory and not only did he want to explore her body, but he had an interest in her mind and heart as well. Her words rang in his ears.
Not willingly?
he thought. He pulled back because he knew what the statement implied. She was wounded, scarred, in more ways than one.

“I'm sorry, ma; we can stop,” he said, his voice deep, guttural, as if it would be the hardest thing he had ever done.

“Please don't,” she replied. “Just go slow.”

He looked her in the eyes, wanting to take things further. Their sexual chemistry was on 10 and his body urged him to conquer her, but the innocent look in her eyes caused him to stop. He kissed her lips softly.

“I'm not rushing. You can only experience your first time once. I want you to be certain that you want to share that with me.”

The heat that was building between her legs told her that she was sure. This felt like love. Or was it lust? She didn't know, and because of that she nodded her head in agreement. “Thank you for being patient with me,” she whispered.

“Thank you for giving me something to be patient about,” he replied. “You're a gem, youngin',” he said.

The chef came in with their food, interrupting their moment, and Bleu climbed down off the table, slightly embarrassed.

“I'm going to wash my hands for dinner. The bathroom?” she asked as she cleared her throat, her face burning with shame.

The chef chuckled slightly as she headed out. “That way, sweetheart. Second door on the left, past the stairway,” the man instructed.

Iman hid his smile behind his hand as he rubbed his chin in amusement. Everything about Bleu was endearing.