Pastor Needs a Boo (44 page)

“I know this is big, but I also know you are not going to wash your face and walk around this bathroom naked while I run our bathwater,” Denzelle told her.

He bent down and reached inside of the cabinet under the sink, pulling out some good-smelling bath salts, and tossed two hefty handfuls in the tub. The bathroom was steaming up and began smelling so good when the whiff of ginger and citrus scents hit the air. Denzelle looked around the bathroom and frowned.

“Everything alright?” Marsha asked. She was just starting to relax, and now she was back to being on her guard with Denzelle.

“Baby, relax. I want to be here with you. I just forgot a few things,” he said, and hurried off toward the kitchen.

Denzelle came back carrying a large tray with two glasses, a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne, two bottles of Fiji water, a bowl of fruit, a plate with crackers and cheeses on it, and a plate with some really fancy cookies.

“I'm hungry, and I know you have to be hungry,” he told her.

“Do you always have this kind of ‘I'm gonna hit that, girl' food conveniently prepared?” Marsha asked him.

Denzelle stood there trying to find the right way to answer Marsha without telling her, “Yes, I do.” Then he decided to just tell his wife the truth. No good would come from him trying to sugarcoat his past.

“Yes. Always. 'Cause a brother never knows when a sweet woman will marry him, come to his house hungry, and need some ‘I want some, Baby' food on hand.”

Marsha was laughing. Denzelle was so crazy.

He went and checked the tub and the temperature of the water. He then walked over to Marsha and said, “Let me help you out of that.”

Marsha stood in front of her husband debating how to hand him the robe. She had hurried out of her clothes when Denzelle went to get the food. Now, she was in this big robe, naked underneath, and wondering if it would look crazy to get in the tub with the robe on.

She was kind of scared about Denzelle seeing her without her clothes. What if he didn't like the way she looked naked? She hung her hands on the belt of the robe.

Denzelle couldn't wait to see all that was being hidden by his robe. He was a man, and a man wanted to see what his woman looked like naked. If he thought he could have gotten away with it, he would have asked Marsha to put on those dancing heels of hers to make things even better when she took off that robe.

Marsha was still standing in front of Denzelle, holding onto the belt on the robe like she would collapse if she loosened her grip on it. Denzelle tugged at the belt and pulled her over to him. When she was close to him, Denzelle grabbed the collar of the robe and kissed Marsha on the lips. When she relaxed a bit, he kissed her again, and loosened the knot on the robe. Marsha put her arms around Denzelle's neck, and he slid the robe off of her shoulders and onto the floor.

She hugged his neck tighter, hoping that would stop him from taking a closer look at her without that big robe.

Denzelle's expert player eyes scanned Marsha's unclad body faster than anything the TSA could use at the airport. His hands dropped below her waist to rest on Marsha's shapely hips. It was taking considerable control to keep his hands from slipping over that round and luscious butt.

He'd always known that Marsha had a sexy figure. The way her clothes hugged her curves in the most perfect manner offered proof that that assumption was a solid truth. But to see all of this, up close and personal, was almost too much for a brother. For a moment Denzelle thought he was going to need a whiff off of Mr. Arvelle's oxygen tank. And to think—not only was this woman fine, naked, and in his arms—this woman was his wife.

W-I-F-E. The good Lord sure did have a remarkable sense of humor. Denzelle had been running from even having a girlfriend or a special woman in his life. And the Lord fixed it so that he was running to make a woman he had run from for years his very own wife.

Wife. What an incredible gift. Proverbs 18: 22: “He who finds a [true] wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord” came to life for Denzelle in this moment. He had been married, but it occurred to Denzelle that Tatiana was never his “true wife.”

He wondered how many brothers had experienced what was ocurring in his heart at this moment. How many brothers understood the difference between getting married to finding a true wife? Some, like his boy Obadiah, got it early and were blessed with years of a good life. But some men had to find out the hard way the difference between marrying a woman and finding a true wife.

And this delectable woman, who was running Denzelle's pressure sky-high, was his wife. He kissed Marsha's neck, and kissed it again when she took in a deep breath and let it out, like a long and satisfied sigh. Denzelle ran his fingertips across the spot between her neck and shoulder. He noticed that she had almost forgotten she was naked in his arms, and was trying to get as close to him as she could.

“Marsha, Marsha, Marsha,” Denzelle whispered in her ear. “I cannot believe that your little busy self has been hiding all of this fine from me all of these years. Baby, what am I going to do with you?”

Marsha blushed and smiled up in Denzelle's eyes. She knew the answer to that question but wasn't quite bold enough to put it into words.

Denzelle did something he had wanted to do all evening. He slapped his wife on that luscious butt.

“Ouch,” she yelped.

“You know that did not hurt that thang,” he said, and tapped that fine butt one more time.

“Why did you pop me on my behind, Denzelle?”

“'Cause it's my behind,” he answered, with a very mannish twinkle in his eyes.

Marsha opened her mouth to say, It's my behind, but was stopped in her tracks when Denzelle said, “Are you going to try and tell me that all of this isn't mine?”

Marsha was silent. It had been a long time since she had conversations like this with a man, and had almost forgotten how much fun they were. There was nothing like some naughty bantering between you and your man.

“Your bathwater is going to get cold, Honey,” Denzelle said. He let go of Marsha, taking a moment to get a full-body scan of his wife.

“Umph, umph, umph,” he said, ran his hand around in the bathwater, and turned on the hot water to heat things up again. As soon as the bathwater was a perfect temperature, Denzelle said, “It's just right, Baby.”

Marsha sat down in the soothing warm water with the good-smelling bath salts and laid her head back on the tub pillow. She closed her eyes and swirled her fingertips around in the bubbles. She loved baths. They felt so good.

Denzelle pulled up a small table he kept in the bathroom for food and drinks. He poured some champagne into two glasses and handed Marsha a plate with cheeses and fruit on it.

“I know you are hungry.”

She nodded and popped some cheese in her mouth, following it with some small, juicy chunks of fresh pineapple. Denzelle poured her a glass of champagne, and then started to strip down. Marsha eased up in the tub, intent on getting as much of a view of him as she could without letting on that she was intently interested in what her man, no, her husband, looked like without his clothes. It occurred to Marsha that she had never seen Denzelle in an undershirt. Now he was standing right next to her, getting ready to take off his black boxer briefs.

“I knew he wore boxer briefs,” she mumbled out loud, forgetting that Denzelle was watching her while he undressed.

“What about boxer briefs?” he asked, now standing in front of the tub without a stitch of clothing.

“Nothing,” Marsha squeaked, not knowing what to think about seeing Denzelle in his full glory. She'd always liked his deep, caramel brown color. But she'd never thought about how extensive that caramel was.

Marsha's eyes traveled slowly from the top of Denzelle's head to his smoldering eyes, across his broad chest, down to his waist, down his stomach, and stopped at his hot spot. Marsha tried to will her eyes to keep going, so that she could get a full view of her very handsome husband. But her eyes were acting like they had a will of their own and simply refused to move from that particular spot.

She knew that women were always trying to get with Denzelle. She knew that they acted like the world was about to end when he ended his affairs with them. She knew that they thought he had it going on behind closed doors. She knew Denzelle was very handsome and sexy. She didn't know that he was packing caramel like he owned the PayDay candy factory.

Denzelle poured himself a glass of champagne and swallowed it all in two gulps. He poured another glass and got in the tub.

“Scoot over and quit hogging my tub, Girl,” he teased, and sat down next to Marsha. He laughed softly and poured some more champagne. Denzelle knew Marsha would be thrown off balance when she felt his bare hip next to hers. That's why he thought it would be good for them to sit in the tub together. There was something about warm water swirling around your body that helped a person like his wife relax and let go of her fears and bashfulness around a man.

Denzelle finished off the champagne and positioned his body so that Marsha was sitting between his legs.

“That better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Marsha squeaked out. “It's fine.” She could feel all of him against her bottom. It was a good feeling. It was also unnerving.

Denzelle grabbed the bottle of champagne and drank the rest. He positioned his body to maximize the feel of Marsha resting up against him.

“You didn't drink too much champagne, Denzelle,” Marsha asked quietly.

He stroked Marsha's shoulder gently. She was sexy and sweet and just a bit naive. The poor baby was sitting up in this tub with him trying to be grown and just as scared. Denzelle had forgotten that Marsha had barely seen him take a sip of wine. And here he was gulping down champagne right out of the bottle.

Denzelle kissed his wife's shoulder and said, “Honey, I pledged back in the day when we were online for an entire semester. You know I can hold my liquor.”

“Denzelle, I don't think I've ever seen you drinking anything other than communion wine.”

He started cracking up and reached for her chin, pulling her face around to his. He kissed her lips softly.

“You taste mighty good, Mrs. Flowers.”

“Huh?”

“Mrs. Flowers. That is your name, right?”

Marsha's eyes got wide. It was true. She was Mrs. Flowers.

He kissed her again, only this time with more heat and insistence. Denzelle knew he couldn't rush Marsha. But he honestly didn't know how much longer he could hold out like this. He dipped his hand down in the water and ran his hand up his wife's thigh. He could feel her holding her breath as his fingers trailed up her leg. Just as he was going to lay hand on his treasure, his cell buzzed and Marcus Bluefield showed up on the phone.

Denzelle lay back on the tub and laughed. Now they were truly married, with a child interrupting parents getting busy with each other. He said, “Everything okay, Son?” in the calmest, most regular-sounding voice he could muster up given the circumstances.

“Yeah, Rev,” Marcus said, wondering if Rev was appropriate, since Reverend Flowers was now his stepdad.

“You can call me Denzelle, Marcus.”

“How 'bout Pops?”

Denzelle smiled in pure delight and said, “Pops is just fine by me. So, everything okay?”

“Oh, everything is just fine. We gave the grand prize award to Mr. Arvelle and Miss Roberta. You and Mom got the most votes, but we knew you didn't want to take the prize. I don't think anything could top the wheelchair face-off dance.”

Denzelle laughed softly. Marcus was right. Nothing could top that.

“Where's Mom?” Marcus asked, kind of nervous about the potential answer. He was so happy for his mother, but also uncomfortable about why she was at Denzelle's house. Kids wanted their parents happy with someone who loved and cherished them. But kids didn't want to have to contemplate all that went with that loving and cherish stuff.

Denzelle knew Marcus wanted to talk to his mom, but he also knew the young brother didn't want to talk to his mom right after his new stepfather handed her the telephone. He understood how Marcus felt. Sometimes he felt that way when his father gave his mother the telephone in the middle of the night. He could tell by the way his mom answered the phone that she was all hugged up with his dad.

“I'll get her and make sure she calls you right back,” was all Denzelle said, glad he had handled it that way when he heard Marcus sneak out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, one more thing,” Marcus told Denzelle.

“Yes,” Denzelle answered.

“You and me—we cool. Okay?”

“O-kay?” was all Denzelle said.

“And I know you love my mom and you will try to do right by her. But Rev, I mean, Pops, I will hurt you bad if you ever do anything that will hurt her like my dad hurt my mom. You the man and all—but you'd better not get stupid and make me come after you. And I know you are FBI and can fight and shoot. But none of that will matter to me if you don't do right by my mom. You feelin' me, Rev?”

“I'm feelin' you, Son.”

“Was that my baby?” Marsha asked, hoping all was well with Marcus. It had been the two of them for years, and she wanted to make sure he was alright with the way she married Denzelle.

“Yes, and he wants to talk to you. I thought it best not to just give you the phone—especially since he called my cell and not yours.”

“My cell is in the other room,” Marsha said and got out of the tub, trying to ignore the heat from Denzelle's eyes. She reached for a huge towel, wrapped it around her body, and went to dig her cell out of her purse.

“Mom,” Marcus said in a voice that made her think back to when he was nine years old.

“Yes, Baby.”

Marcus smiled. He was still his mama's baby. Funny, he was always so determined to make sure she knew he was a man. But tonight he needed to know that he maintained his spot in his mother's heart.