Never Again Once More (12 page)

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Authors: Mary B. Morrison

BOOK: Never Again Once More
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“The worst day of my life was when I walked out of Jada’s penthouse for the last time. You know why?” Wellington blinked repeatedly to wash away the tears before they could stream down his face. “It wasn’t because she was moving to L.A. It was because I thought I’d never see her again. And that shit hurt like hell. I cried long and hard. But the difference between a man and a woman is a man can’t let anyone see him shed tears. If so, he’s weak, a wimp, or a punk. So when she called and said she was pregnant, I said, ‘Yes! We’re going to have a baby.’ Jada Diamond was back in
my life
to stay. And if she confesses he’s not mine, I’m not going to abandon them. Just like I wouldn’t have left you if Junior wasn’t mine.”
“Bullshit and you know it. What the hell!” Simone threw her hands in the air. “Is her pussy dipped in platinum and trimmed in gold? I give up.” Simone rubbed her baby-oiled legs with both hands and sighed heavily.
“Let me do that for you,” Wellington offered as he placed Simone’s legs across his. Using his manicured fingers, he massaged Simone’s calves. Soft. Smooth. Freshly shaved. Wellington slipped off Simone’s yellow sling-back shoe and glided his fingertips through her toes. Simone had every right to be jealous. Wellington had never loved her the way he loved Jada. No woman who walked the face of the earth compared to Jada Diamond.
“I hope I find my soul mate soon so he can protect me like you protect her ass. My hat is off to you, Mr. Jones.” Simone saluted Wellington. “You are the first man I’ve met that honestly loves someone unconditionally.” Simone moved her legs, placed her foot inside her shoe, and stood. Wellington watched Simone’s ass shake from side to side like a seesaw as she walked into the playroom. She picked up Junior and his diaper bag, walked into the living room, and said, “Give your daddy a kiss goodbye.”
“Bye, Daddy. Bring me something back from your trip.” Junior kissed Wellington on the cheek.
“You know Daddy will.” Wellington returned his love, then whispered in Simone’s ear, “Bye, Simone. Thanks for listening. I love you, baby.” His lips pressed against her forehead; then he kissed Simone’s thick lips. He knew she’d keep her word and take care of him when he got back. Simone had no problem rotating, gyrating, or stretching during sex. The last time he made love to Jada had been right before he started dating Simone, hoping it would keep her from tying the knots in his stomach even tighter.
Initially, Wellington had subtle doubts about Darius, but he wasn’t alone. The thought crossed every man’s mind immediately after any woman said, “I’m pregnant.” Refusing to admit Simone was right, somehow deep down inside he felt he should have asked Jada about Darius, but every question Wellington had faded away when Darius slid out of Jada’s stomach covered in slime. Although he nearly fainted in the delivery room, he’d hung in there once he heard Dr. Watson pronounce, “It’s a boy!” Video taping Junior sliding out Simone’s uterus was also incredible. Wellington was shocked at how Simone’s vagina had stretched during delivery.
Darius’s birth had empowered Wellington. Those feelings returned when Junior was born. As he watched Junior grow up, Wellington noticed his and Junior’s baby pictures looked identical. Eyes. Nose. Ears. Seemingly Simone had only
carried
Junior for him. Wellington suspected Darius might not be his as the only features they shared were their complexions and physiques. Perhaps he was just being foolish since Simone brought up this nonsense, because often ladies would say, “Oh, he’s so cute. He looks just like his daddy. Yes, he does.” When they would reach for Darius’s cheeks, Wellington stopped them before they made contact.
Having a child together had helped Wellington and Jada trust each other again. Jada needed him, and the feelings were mutual. His stepfather, Christopher, had never reunited with his soul mate, Sarah. It was too late. Sarah had made her transition before Christopher divorced Cynthia. Wellington prayed he’d have his time on earth with Jada before they faced the same inevitable fate: death.
Chapter 16
G
inger. Miranda. Heather. Zen. Darius glimpsed at his counterparts seated around the rosewood conference table at Black Diamonds. Everyone must have forgotten today was his twentieth birthday, because he hadn’t received any gifts or acknowledgements. After a disappointing freshman year at GT, the option of earning six figures to work full-time for his mother was irresistible. Plus every time he mentioned giving GT another shot, his mother suggested he stay close to home and help her run their company. Dropping out of college completely was unacceptable, so he promised his parents he’d enroll at UCLA. Instantaneously, Darius found his entrepreneurial passion, so formal education would have to wait, at least until his fiancée, Maxine, received her bachelor of arts degree next semester. The two of them at the same university at the same time would definitely cramp his style.
Darius desperately wanted to run the business, and his mom supported him; but Wellington insisted he wasn’t ready, saying, “Son, you’re brilliant. You have the capability to run the company, and when that time comes, you’ll do well. You need more experience, and that can only happen with time.” How could his father have said that when he’d started Wellington Jones and Associates while he was in high school? And he’d never had any associates.
The fact that Darius was fucking four of the top-level executives in the room meant he was very mature. And as soon as his mother promoted him, he’d wean each of them off his chocolate dipstick.
Dreadlocks neatly grown in the pattern of a high top fade were long on top, but Darius shaved his scalp clean on both sides and the back. Then he meticulously twisted his locks and let a few dangle loosely to complement his twenty-four carat nickel-sized hoop earrings. An invisible line highlighted his manly jaws and squared his masculine chin. Lighter than his mother and slightly darker than his dad’s caramel complexion, Darius’s natural tan resulted from his newly discovered, cherished pastime, jet skiing. At six-foot-seven with a well-defined chest, roller coaster, rock-solid abs, and a slim waistline, Darius was quick to let brothers know he was an MSW—a man having sex with women—not an MSM. He didn’t care how many categories society created—down low, bisexual, in the closet—he was straight.
With his hands casually clasped across his stomach, Darius sarcastically said, “Zen, so you think one of your clients will win first place again this year?” His elbows rested on each arm as he relaxed in his chair. No matter where he chose to sit during a meeting, Zen religiously sat to his left. Out of twenty-seven women working for his mother, Zen was the primary person his mother relied upon whenever she had a management crisis.
Hunching her small shoulders, Zen said, “Um, you know me. I just do my best and dim sum.” Then she laughed. Zen’s short bob haircut covered her ears but didn’t touch her neck. Shaking her head, her hair whipped from her face to reveal her tight, slanted dark eyes. “A little extra goes a long way. Maybe you should try doing
extra
sometimes.” Zen grinned at Darius.
Yeah, like Zen’s thick black lashes with matching lines under her narrow lids. To hell with that; more wasn’t always better. Eventually, he’d be her boss, so he had to conserve his energy to keep her scintillating ass in check. Zen worked hard enough for everybody.
Positioned across from him, Ginger snickered.
“What about you, Darius?” Miranda asked, tugging the collar on her red power suit. “You’ve been working with us for two years, and none of your clients have made the top five.”
Right now Darius wished he could speak Spanish, because his words would slash through that Mickey Mouse blazer. Locking his fingers tighter, he answered, “They say the third time is a charm, and since I’m a charming mutherfucker, I’d safely say I’m taking the number one spot this year.” Darius propped over the table and stared directly at Miranda.
Heather jumped in, “The only reason you’re here is because of your
mommy
.”
The white girl always slipped in her remark. Heather claimed it kept everyone in the dark about their affair. Over the last year she’d shortened her hair and dyed it blond. A few wrinkles had sprouted above her lips like whiskers, and they weren’t sexy. Darius remembered when his mother first hired Heather. Her brunette hair, catlike gray eyes, and really soft legs had landed him in her office since he was five years old. While she hadn’t lost her figure, the firm texture of Heather’s skin had loosened, and age spots had started filling the gaps.
“Your peeps invented the system. I’m perfecting it. And
do not
forget”—Darius plucked a paper football in Heather’s direction—“they stole this country, after they were ostracized from their homelands.” Between the
ooh
s and
ah
s, Darius held his hands in the air like the extra point was good. “What we need in this firm is more men. You know you can’t expect a woman to do a man’s job
and
do it well.” Twenty-seven women in the company and the only four he was fucking happened to be at his level. Or was he on their level? It didn’t matter. But what concerned him the most was he was the only man working at his mother’s company.
Entering the room, Jada asked, “What was that I heard you say, Darius?”
Jada’s tailor-made black pantsuit was tapered to her hourglass figure. Her hair was slicked back and neatly tied into a bun with two handcrafted oriental sticks poking through. His mother had talked about cutting her hair for years, but couldn’t convince herself to do it. His father claimed he preferred it long. Since she was married to Lawrence, Darius didn’t understand why Wellington’s opinion mattered. Darius smiled. His mother’s scheduled exercises four times a week kept her finer than some women his age. She also treated her masseuse to the pleasure of giving her a full-body massage every Monday morning at six o’clock, believing if she started the week out right, the projected ending would follow suit.
Darius coughed, then said, “We need more mints.” Candid conversation often flowed when his mother wasn’t present. His mother strongly believed in equal rights and pay for women, and if she’d heard his comment, a long sermon over family dinner was mandatory. He was the only man ever hired to work internally for Black Diamonds, so he had to represent his brothers. Darius couldn’t lie; the women did have their act together, but he’d never openly admit it, especially not to Zen. The bottom line was they needed more testosterone, and as soon as he got a controlling position, manes and tails would fly out the door, window; it didn’t matter how they left as long as they got out of his firm.
Observing his mother, Darius never could figure out why his parents hadn’t stayed together. They seemed to get along better than most married couples. His mother said she loved his father, and he confessed the same. Yet, they aggravated him by living apart. As a child, he had prayed daily for his family to reunite. Whenever he questioned his mother, she’d say, “Because we wanted to give you the best we had to offer. And that meant going our separate ways, sweetie. One day you’ll understand.” Which day? Hell, today he made the big two-oh.
No mention of a celebration from either of his parents was unusual. No vacation package. No gifts. My Dear had called him this morning, and all she’d said was she might not make it to L.A. this weekend. Well, if they were planning something, they had better speak now or forget about it. Kimberly was his appetizer, and Maxine Moore, dessert. Ashlee, who had earned the honor as his very best friend because—even though she was the top person on her high school debate team in Texas—she refused to compete with him, hadn’t called either.
Maxine had become Darius’s fiancée a year ago, because she always placed him upon a pedestal. In this confused world, a black man needed a woman to uplift him. Plus, she was perfect marrying material. Black and beautiful just like his mother. Ladylike. Soft-spoken. Maxine was the one woman who blew up his cellular phone three times a day, but so far he hadn’t heard from her once. His mother never forgot. She was as proud of him as he was of her. Darius watched the smile on his mother’s face as she spoke.
“Good morning. Did everyone have a fantastic workout?” Jada asked as she sat at the head of the table. Jada strongly encouraged them all to fully utilize their corporate-sponsored fitness memberships. Since exercise stimulated the brain, she said the earlier they hit the gym, the better. A
yes
response was received from all, except Darius. He simply alternated flexing his chest muscles underneath his Brian McKinney designer suit.
Ginger Browne pretended she wasn’t watching. She loved his body, and he couldn’t resist hers. Scrutinizing his coworkers, he recalled how each of them had seduced him as soon as he turned eighteen, because they believed he’d convince his mother to promote them to vice president. Claiming her mouse was stuck, Ginger had solicited help with her computer and motioned for him to come into her office. Quite taken with Ginger’s womanly features and refusing to appear inexperienced, he had gone.
Loose satin curls that curved under only at the end never touched Ginger’s shoulders or covered her ears. Small opalstud earrings complemented her clean, fresh face. Her only makeup, brown spice lipstick. As Ginger’s hands roamed, she said, “You’re an adult now, Darius. You don’t need anybody’s permission.” Ginger’s luscious lips grazed his. As they held her mouse, he froze like the mime at Venice Beach. She positioned her lips less than an inch away from his. Darius heard himself breathing. Then Ginger whispered, “Kiss me. You know you want to.” So he did. The first kiss of an older African-American woman practically caused a volcanic eruption. That was the best lip locking he’d ever done.
Unlike Miranda, Heather, and Zen, Ginger was divorced. Twice. Two men had played tug-of-war with Ginger for as long as Darius could remember. Her ex-husbands? Forget those amateurs. Darius wanted more, and Ginger gave it to him. His body heat turned up, and his blue cotton sweatpants plunged frontward. Just when his dick became rock solid, Ginger cut him off, but not before her hand squeezed and sized him up. Her smile was all the approval he needed. “Come over to my house. Tonight. Seven o’clock sharp and don’t be late.”
She was thirty-three then, but thirty-five now, and still a pro.
“Excellent!” Jada said. She was so perky he couldn’t gauge his mother’s real mood. “We have several agenda topics to cover. The first being one not on the list.” Jada smiled at Darius. He shifted his eyes to the right as though he were a kid again.
No surprise, just pleasant. There sat Miranda Gonzalez, the finest Latino in all of California and south of the border. Her approach had been different from Ginger’s, but her timing was the same. Miranda frequently brought him home-cooked meals. Since she had four children and a husband, it wasn’t as if she went out of her way. Contrary to Ginger, sex in the office was acceptable for Miranda. Two big titties sat at attention with or without a bra. Miranda always wore low-cut everything. Tops. Sweaters. Dresses. One day she called him into her office:
“Close the door. I have something for you.” Her tone aroused him, so he obliged her, anxiously desiring to finally see the boobs he’d drooled over for thirteen years.
Miranda seated him behind her desk. Removing the blue lid from the Tupperware container, she fed him. “You must promise not to tell. Okay?” Darius nodded. The remaining sour cream and taco sauce clung to Miranda’s finger. Slowly. Meticulously. Miranda’s finger disappeared into Darius’s mouth. Impatient to try the new skills Ginger had taught him, he sucked her clean. Before he finished, Miranda buried his face in her bosom. The next thing Darius knew his penis was joyfully sliding between her twins. If Miranda ever got lost, the missing persons’ bureau would have to show a photo of her breasts. As beautiful as Miranda was, Darius doubted anyone—man or woman—noticed her face first.
“I have a special announcement to make.” Everyone sat up straighter and moved in closer. Jada smiled again and continued focusing on Darius. “This coming Monday, Darius Henry Jones will assume the posi
tions
of corporate executive officer and senior vice president.” Jada had spent twenty years hiding the truth from Darius and she still couldn’t confess. Promoting Darius was the best way she could keep him from returning to school at Georgetown.
Hell, yeah! It was about time. “Whoa! Thanks!” Wanting to do somersaults, he resisted. Darius beamed brighter than the day he had received his first car—a metallic gold Escalade. Sporting his Cadillac, he had instantly become the most sought after guy in high school. All the females had gawked as if he were a celebrity. The fellas had been envious. Darius would bet money that each of his coworkers was resentful.
If Darius were handing out awards for assuming positions, Heather Hartzford would have topped his list. Heather’s mouth was her greatest asset. Articulate. Sharp. Yes, she was attractive, married to an
African
-American, and wasn’t afraid to play race to her advantage. He remembered back to their first time.
Boldly, she asked, “Have you ever made love to a white woman?” If
woman
was the operative word, then the answer was no, since the twin girls were seventeen at that time. Darius played along with Heather, wondering how she’d compare to Miranda and Ginger. In a class of her own, she didn’t. Her approach was straightforward. She offered a blow job, and he accepted. Heather’s collagen-filled lips swallowed all eight inches, causing his bodily fluids to vanish without a trace.

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