The Pleasure Trap (6 page)

He had just come through the unguarded gates of the subdivision, passing a couple walking their dog, when he spotted Geneva's BMW parked in the driveway behind his mother's vehicle.

“And the pussy is brought,” Graham said with pure satisfaction as he made his way up the street and then up the front porch into the house.

He removed his hoodie and placed his cell phone on silent before following the voices echoing through the lower level of the house from the den. His mother and Geneva were sitting on the large wraparound sofa flipping through family photo albums.

“Baby Graham naked-in-the-tub pics time,” he said jokingly as they both looked up when he sauntered into the room.

“Just one,” Geneva said, her eyes showing her unease as she looked up at him.

Cara closed the large photo album and stood up to move across the room and place it back in the lower drawer of the armoire encasing the fifty-inch television. “I'll leave you two alone,” she said with a meaningful stare at Graham behind Geneva's back before she left the room.

“What are you doing here, Geneva?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pretending he didn't notice how cute she looked in her hot pink velour sweat suit.

“Come sit down, Grammy,” she said, patting the brown suede sofa next to where she sat.

He shook his head and stepped back from her with a feigned sad expression. “Your dad said—”

“Forget what he said,” Geneva said as she jumped up to her feet and crossed the short distance to stand before him. “I thought you liked me?”

Graham looked down at her. In heels, she reached his shoulder, but she was in sneakers. “I do, but I think it's important for your dad to like me too, so I think we should just leave things off. It's just too much drama, G.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Graham, don't do this,” she pleaded softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

Graham's eyes shifted to the swell of her breasts above the open zipper of her jacket.
Big ole titties just going to waste . . . right along with the pussy.
“I didn't answer your calls and texts because I knew it would be hard to walk away from you,” he said, turning from her and dropping his tall frame down onto the couch. “Never hold you or kiss you again . . .”

Geneva dropped down to her knees before him and took his large hands into hers to hold tightly as she looked at him with her big, bright eyes filled with sadness and alarm. “Hold me now. Kiss me now,” she said softly, pulling his arms around her as she moved in closer to him.

Graham pulled back and tried to free his hands from hers. “Geneva—”

She released his hands to wrap her arms around his neck and press her upper body to his.

He let his hands drop and leaned back even as he felt his dick harden at the soft feel of her body against his. “No, Geneva,” he said sharply.

She released him and sat back on her heels, looking away from him as one solitary tear slid down her cheek.

Graham slid off the couch and down to his knees before her, lifting his hand to hold her cheek as he used a thumb to wipe away her tear. “Geneva,” he whispered to her, bending to press a kiss to her brow as she dropped her head.

Her shoulders shook with her tears. It was like his show of emotion to her broke what little control she had over herself. He held her close. “Graham, I love you,” she whispered into his neck before she pressed a kiss just behind his ear. “I love you so much.”

His heart beat faster at her words. “I love you too, G.”

And the kiss behind his ear was followed by a quick and hot lick of her tongue against the same spot. Goose bumps raced across his back and his arms as she leaned back just enough to kiss him.

Graham fought not to come on too hard as he kissed her back, drawing her tongue out to suck the tip gently as his hands shook in anticipation. Her moan of pleasure was his aphrodisiac. He gently pressed her downward until she lay beneath him.

He didn't care that he was salty and damp with sweat.

He didn't give one complete damn that they were on the floor of his mother's den.

And he definitely did not give two damns that her father didn't want him within two feet of her.

Graham pressed a trail of kisses along her jawbone. She tilted her head back for more, exposing the soft and intimate spot below her chin. He tasted it, causing a shiver to race across her body, before moving on to suck the hollow above her collarbone.

She gasped hotly and her hips jerked slightly upward off the floor.

Alternating licks with kisses, he stayed there, enjoying her body's innate response to him. He eased his hand from her hip to the rim of her sweats, sliding beneath the elastic to shift the moist seat of her cotton panties to the side.

Geneva's fingers clasped the back of his head, weaving between his dreads. “Yes, Graham,” she sighed.

The first stroke of his finger against her throbbing clit made them both tense. “Damn, it's wet,” he moaned against her neck, closing his eyes with a wince that had nothing to do with pain.

Geneva bit her bottom lip and opened her eyes to look up at the ceiling in wonder as Graham pressed down on her clit before rubbing circles against it. She gasped again and spread her legs.

“Feel good?” he asked her, lifting up to look down into her face as she nodded earnestly, then looking down at her hard nipples pressed against the material and the sight of his hand in her pants.

Feeling bold from her glazed-over eyes, he ran his finger along the middle of her pussy lips before finding her opening and sliding the tip of his middle finger inside.

“No!” Geneva said in alarm, snapping her thighs closed and trapping his wrist and hand between them.

He fought the urge to show his frustration on his face. “What's wrong?” he said, his eyes studying her face as he tried not to focus on how hard his dick was.

Her eyes shifted away from his as she licked her lips. “Will . . . will . . . putting your finger inside me . . . uh . . . will it—”

“Hurt?” Graham asked, ready to resume before he nutted himself.

She glanced up at him and looked away again. “I took a purity vow when I was thirteen,” she said in a voice so low he couldn't even pronounce it a whisper.

Graham leaned in closer.

Geneva turned her head on the floor and pressed her face against his ear, hiding herself from him. “They have my doctor check me to make sure I don't break my vow,” she said.

Graham felt his erection ease as he frowned deeply in disappointment. “I understand,” he lied, pressing kisses into her hair as he felt his frustration damn near drive him crazy. It was hard to step back from the edge of being so close to sex.

If she was worrying about the harm his finger would do, then he knew there was no way he was slipping his dick in her.

Geneva

G
raham stepped out of the shower, not bothering with a towel as he enjoyed the feel of the air against his damp skin. Leaving his en suite bathroom, he crossed his bedroom to stand before the full-length mirror on the back of his closet door. Because of his height he could only see from just below his shoulders to his feet. He stared at his reflection as he flexed and posed, enjoying the definition of his chest, arms, and abdomen. He was lean but still strong. “Just need to bulk up,” he said, boxing the air with his fists.

He turned his body and eyed his upper arm. First the left. Then the right. “I need a tat,” he said, slapping and rubbing his shoulder. “A panther or some shit.”

Moving over to flop on his back on his made bed, he picked up his cell and dialed Marco, his friend from back in Brooklyn. “Whaddup, dude,” he said as soon as he answered.

“What's up with you?”

“I need a tattoo. Who you recommend?” Graham asked.

“Nobody out there in White-ville,” he said, sounding sarcastic.

“You funny.”

Marco laughed. “There's this female that is bad ass. She did the tattoo on my neck.”

“Your neck?” Graham balked, sitting up on the bed.

“That's right. Thug life. Pow-pow.”

Graham just laughed. “Is this another thug-life fool or is she in a shop, 'cause I ain't about that disease life.”

“In a shop,” Marco said. “Bring your ass to Brooklyn. I'll take you to her . . . and introduce you to somebody that'll make you forget the church girl.”

Graham's eyes shifted over to the picture of Geneva sitting on his nightstand table. She'd given it to him in a frame with love quotes inscribed on it. “I doubt that,” he said.

“We'll see,” Marco countered. “When you getting in the city?”

“Shit, I'm on the way,” he said. “You home?”

“I will be.”

“A'ight.” Graham snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the bed, but then immediately picked it back up.

Smiling, he texted Geneva:
Touch your pussy
.

Graham lay there tapping the phone against his chest as he waited. It took all of a minute.

He flipped the phone open and accessed the incoming text.

I CANT. AT DINNER WITH THE PARENTS.

SOON AS I GET HOME. OK?

Graham tossed his phone aside and got up off the bed to enter his walk-in closet. “This shit getting old as fuck,” he muttered.

Geneva was sweet-spirited. Loving. Kind.

Geneva was pretty, curvy, and sexy without even trying.

Geneva was someone he had truly come to love.

But Geneva's virginal ass was holding on to her purity.

In the two weeks since the night on the floor downstairs in the den, Graham had slowly groomed her into more sexual adventures. Nipple sucking. Clit stroking. Blow jobs. Nevertheless, she was not having his dick anywhere near where it truly mattered.

He was thankful for the climaxes, but nothing compared to the feel of sexing a woman. Being inside her. Riding inside her. Feeling her cum against the dick as it was deep
inside
her.

Pussy made his world go 'round, and right now he was in one helluva a rut.

Graham's movements were nothing but angry jerks as he swiped on deodorant, sprayed Polo cologne over his body, and put on his clothes. “What type of crazy fool has his grown-ass daughter checked to make sure she ain't fucking?” he stooped to ask his reflection. “A sick, twisted fool. That's who.”

Grabbing his keys and his cell phone, he didn't bother to grab a blunt because Marco would have plenty when he got to Brooklyn. Plenty of weed and available, non-checked, non-guarded, freaky-deaky pussy.

His dick throbbed with life at the thought of that.

 

 

“Another cherry popped.”

Graham sat up on the bench and eyed the black panther on his forearm. He liked how it was shaded and looked more like a sketch with a charcoal pencil than just a solid black outline. “Thanks,” he said, looking over his shoulder to smile at Lola.

She smiled and the small diamond piercings in her dimples deepened. “No problem,” she said, her voice raspy and soft.

Graham eyed her as she came around the table to rub ointment on the tattoo. Her skin was the color of shortbread cookies and her waist-length dreadlocks were a dark blond that made her shaped dark brown brows and slanted greenish-brown eyes all the more present. Her makeup highlighted her high cheekbones and full lips. She was petite but her hips were wide enough to birth a nation with ease. The low-slung jeans and leather bustier she wore exposed the tattoo sleeve on her left arm, a tattoo of a scripture on her right rib cage, and a row of small black figures from her neck to the round of her shoulder.

She was pretty, edgy, and sexy as hell.

Lola bandaged the tattoo and taped the edges well to keep air out. “Remember everything I told you about taking care of it,” she said, looking up at him as she rubbed the edge with her black fingernails.

He inhaled deeply of the scent of her perfume. Something warm and spicy but with a hint of sweetness. The kind of scent that made a man want to bury his face in places. The base of her neck. The warm space between her breasts. Her inner thighs.

She walked away from him as his eyes dipped to take the back-and-forth motion of her hips and buttocks in the stilettos she wore. Lola turned and caught his eyes just as he shifted them upward. She just shook her head and waved. “Have a good night,” she said.

Graham smiled bashfully and pulled the white long-sleeved tee he wore back over his head.

“Hey, baby,” Lola said.

Graham jerked the shirt down just as a brown-skinned cutie with a Caesar cut pulled Lola close to kiss her. He sat transfixed as he watched the women's passion. He could just see them in bed together. All soft and sensual and slow. He could see himself in the bed with them . . . receiving all that softness, sensuality, and slowness.

He stood up and held his puffy red vest in front of his body to help block his hard dick from showing. By the time he made it to the waiting area, his erection had eased and he pulled on his vest as he reached Marco.

“I bet you they can teach classes on eating pussy,” Marco said, eyeing the two women as he raised his short and pudgy frame from the chair and dropped the copy of
Inked
magazine he had been flipping through.

Graham frowned as they walked out the shop. Night had fallen but the streets of New York were alive with people and noise. “Eat pussy?” he balked. “Naw, they bleed out that shit ev'ry month. I'm good.”

Marco looked at him like he was crazy before he stepped to the edge of the street to flag a cab. “You missing out,” he said. “Trust.”

“Whatever,” Graham said, zipping up his vest and taking out a matching skull cap to pull down over his dreads as a sharp and cold wind seemed to cut through him.

They both turned at the sound of the roll-down gate being lowered and locked. Graham's eyes zoned in on Lola and her stud as they shared another hot kiss as the other tattoo artists waved their good-byes and took off down the street. They both stared openly at him and shared a smile before The Stud slapped Lola's ass, then groped it and jerked her lower body closer to grind against her as Lola sucked her tongue.

Graham knew they were getting off messing with him when they laughed and waved before walking arm in arm down the street. He didn't give a damn. He was just enjoying the show. He turned his head to watch them walk away until they disappeared from his sight as they descended the stairs to the entrance of the subway.

A yellow cab finally pulled to a stop beside them.

“Yo, Marco, I'm gonna head home,” Graham said, already reaching in his wallet for his MetroCard.

Marco paused in his move to climb inside the rear of the taxi. “Word?”

“Yeah,” he said over his shoulder, running the short distance to descend the stairs and pay his fare. He had just reached the platform when he spotted Lola and The Stud getting on the train headed for Grand Central Terminal. Not wanting to miss it, he jumped on another car and then made his way through the crowd to their car.

Lola spotted him first and nudged The Stud where they sat seated in the corner.

He saw them whispering to each other as they stared at him. He didn't stop until he was leaning his back against the pole in front of them.

“Yo, the show's over,” The Stud said, her face almost as pretty as Lola's but her clothes, flat chest, and low fade those of a man.

“You sure?” Graham countered cockily. “I felt like I was part of the show for y'all and I didn't want to mess it up.”

They drew the curious stares of several train riders.

The Stud moved to stand up but Lola placed her rose-tattooed hand against her thigh to stop her. “Trust me, we don't need anything you got to get off,” Lola said, pulling a cell phone from inside her bustier and looking down at it as she quickly swiped it with her thumb.

“Don't knock it 'til you try it,” he said.

Lola licked her lips and cut her slanted eyes up at him. With her height, she barely reached his chest. She turned her phone and lifted it up to his face. “If you can't compete with that, then step off,” she said.

In the picture The Stud was wearing a strap-on that looked as big and brown as a small tree trunk.

“Don't mess with that, brah,” some man said from behind him before the people around them started to laugh.

Graham knew he had a big dick, but this was offensive in its size. Offensive and unreal.

“The only thing I got for you is some bad-ass tats,” Lola said in her husky voice. “We good?”

Graham shrugged and smiled. “We good,” he asserted.

Lola reclaimed her seat and The Stud lifted her leg to cross it over Lola's.

Graham lifted his hand and scratched his scalp through his skully. It was dry, and that reminded him of how Geneva would sit him on the floor between her legs to grease and massage his scalp with coconut oil. That was the kind of girl she was, and he couldn't deny that he really cared about her.

He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and was disappointed that Geneva hadn't called or texted him back. He started to call her but snapped the phone shut as the train came to a stop. He figured a night without speaking to him should rattle her.

Lola and her girl stood up.

“Holla at me about getting them dreads together,” said The Stud, passing him a business card before she followed Lola off the train.

Graham dropped down into one of their vacated seats and eyed the card. The Stud's name was Kezia, and she was a beautician specializing in natural hair. Shrugging, he slid the card into the pocket of his vest and eyed his phone again as the train pulled to a stop in Grand Central Terminal.

He jumped a little in surprise as the phone suddenly vibrated in his hand. Geneva's phone number appeared on the screen. He sent it to voice mail. Geneva was drawing him in when there was no hope for them. He thought by now he would've had her in love with his dick, but her fear of her father outweighed her love for him.

A voice mail.

He opened it and smirked at her detailing how she was touching herself and thinking of him. He envisioned her using her fingers to spread the lips the way he taught her so that he could see the real goodness on the inside and not just her 'fro.

He texted her:
Don't tease me with what I can't have.

“You know I can't,” he read the incoming text to himself.

Reversing his decision not to call her, Graham dialed her number, his hand tightly clutching the phone as he pressed it to his ear. “G,” he said when she answered.

“Hey, baby, where—”

“We need to talk,” he said.

“What's wrong?”

“Look, some things between us gotta change one way or the other—”

“What? What's wrong?” she wailed.

Graham shook off the pang of pain he felt at the hurt in her voice. Frowning, he moved on, taking the familiar path through the crowded station to the platform for the train to Bedford. “Meet me at the station in forty-five minutes.”

She released a heavy breath filled with her reluctance. “My father won't—”

“Geneva, when the hell you gonna grow up?” he snapped in frustration. With her. With her father. With their pseudo sex life.

With his love for her.

“Are you gonna meet me or not?” Graham said, leaning against the wall as he awaited the train with less than a dozen other people.

The line was quiet—or at least he thought so until her soft whimpering came through. Graham wiped his mouth with his hand. “Just meet me at the station in forty-five minutes. Okay?” he asked, deliberately softening his tone.

He ended the call without waiting for a response. She didn't call back.

A few minutes later he boarded the train and took the seat farthest away from anyone. For the duration of the ride he enjoyed the solitude and the sound of the train against the track. His thoughts were varied but clear. He didn't even want a blunt to cloud his thoughts.

As the train pulled to a stop, Graham was the only one on his car to step out onto the platform. The October night air was chilly and raced through his clothing like it was nothing. He made his way inside the terminal and then crossed it to leave the building. He didn't spot her car in the near-empty parking lot.