Thug in Me (20 page)

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Authors: Karen Williams

BOOK: Thug in Me
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Chapter 32
I rushed and finished my work orders, which were three desktops and one laptop. I drove to my room. Once I got there, I wasted no time taking my clothes off. I stepped out of my pants and slipped my shirt over my head.
“Aye. Yo Chance.”
I jumped. Then I turned around and saw Calhoun standing in my doorway.
“Damn, Calhoun. Don't scare me like that.” “My bad. What's up tonight?”
I smiled at him. “I can't help you. I'm on my way out,” I told him, walking to the bathroom.
He followed after me. “But we ain't hung out since you been home.”
“I know. I want to. I've just been busy.” Wearing just my boxers, I shaved my five o'clock shadow.
“Too busy for your boy?”
I shook my head. “I can't hang with you too much no way, Calhoun. And I'm especially not going to be coming into the Springdales. I'm on parole.”
“Well shit, we can at least hit up the strip club or something.”
“I don't have money to be going out like that.”
“Why not? You stay in a piece of shit, you ain't got a ride. What the fuck you spending your extra money on?”
“A private investigator.”
“For what?” he asked, surprised.
“To find out why I had to spend seven years in prison for some shit I didn't commit.”
“Oh. You having any luck on that?”
I wiped my face with my towel. “So far, hell no. But the PI feels that if he can find that man who testified against me, that will lead us to the real answers.”
“I don't know. I remember I tried to find his ass after the trial and I couldn't. Chance, some answers are better left unknown, know what I mean? You got out. You free, nigga. That's what matters.” He waved his hand. “That should be enough. Leave that shit alone and save your money.”
“It ain't enough for me. I want to know.”
He was silent before saying, “Anyway, man, can you hang with your boy or what?”
I laughed. “Okay. Maybe on payday. Next Friday.”
“Sound like a plan, my nigga! All right, I got a honey in the car so I'm gonna go head out.”
I put some toothpaste on my toothbrush. “Then why you trying to hang with me?”
“I ain't trying to kick it with her. But she got a fucking Magnum. I was going to drop her ass off at her crib and roll us around in her car!”
I laughed. “You still ain't shit.”
“Ain't nothing changed. All right, I'll get at you next week.”
Once he was gone, I jumped in the shower.
 
 
Ten minutes early, I was at Deyja's doorstep.
I wasn't as nervous as the first date we had, but still, I had a case of nerves.
When she opened her door, I checked her out. She looked so pretty. She wore a white, long linen dress that had a zipper that ran down the middle of it and the necklace I had bought her at the farmers market. Her feet were bare and painted in a French manicure. They looked soft. This time it looked as if she had put some gel in her hair; it was curly around her face.
This time she smelled like a honeydew melon.
“Hi.” She reached up and hugged me.
I wanted to kiss her again but resisted the urge.
“Hey,” I told her once she pulled away from my hug.
“Come in and have a seat. The food will be done soon.”
I glanced around the house. As nice as her place was, it was very plain. She had some beige plush couches, a coffee table, and a TV. That's it. No pictures on her walls. No decor. Nothing. It was funny because I remember Toi's place was always decked out. At least every couple months she was adding something to her crib and I was footing the bill for it. She had everything from vases damn near the size of me to pictures of naked black women and men on her walls. She also had pictures of her and me on her walls. Deyja's house was more primitive. Simple.
When she noticed me checking out the decor, or lack thereof, she said, “I haven't gone about decorating the place just yet. As much as I love color, when I moved back here I just wasn't in the right spirits to do it.”
I nodded. “Where did you move back here from?”
“I came back from Baltimore, Maryland. My hometown. Long story.” She smiled and added, “Don't want to discuss.”
I chuckled. “I understand.”
“The food will be done soon. I'm making this new dish a member of my church gave me. It's chicken, marinated overnight in orange and pineapple juice. It's supposed to be really good. We will be having that with some creamy mashed potatoes and string beans.”
I remained standing.
“Well, sit down.”
I sat down on the couch. It sounded like Maxwell playing on her stereo, but the song was unfamiliar to me. To be sure it was him, I asked, “Is this Maxwell?”
“Yep. He finally came out with a new album last year.”
Damn. I had missed that being in prison. I use to love Maxwell's music.
“You haven't heard this song yet?”
“Nope. What's it called?”
“‘Pretty Wings.' Where have you been?”
I chuckled and didn't reply.
She sat down next to me and made sure her long dress covered her legs. Too bad for me.
And damn, I couldn't stop looking at her. I blew air out of my mouth.
Her eyes narrowed. “What was that for?”
I chuckled. “I don't know. It's like every time I get around you I feel like I'm a kid all over again and I'm with my first crush.”
The blush came.
“And when you do that . . . ” I shook my head.
One of her thighs was resting against mine.
“When I do what?”
“When you blush. You look so pretty. It makes me want to kiss—”
Out of nowhere she leaned over and kissed me. Nothing major. She just pressed her soft lips against mine.
Then she sat back down and stared at me with her eyes wide, like all of a sudden she got scared. Like she did it on a dare.
“Oh god. What am I doing?”
“It's okay,” I said.
My hands ran up and down her arms.
I pressed my lips against her cheeks. Then I let my tongue run down her neck, where I placed more kisses.
And she let me. I don't know why, but she let me.
My mouth traveled down to her breast and even though she had on a dress bra and a slip I could still see her nipples pointing through as I kissed them. She was making me hard and with it being so long I didn't know if I could control myself. But I didn't want to dog her either. So I stopped, and moved to the couch across from her.
She kept her eyes on me quietly.
“Look, Deyja. I like you. And it's been—I ain't trying to rush you.”
She nodded and pulled her bottom lip in.
“I'm going to go ahead and go. And if it's okay with you, I'll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I got to my feet and walked toward the door.
When she got up to follow me I thought it was just to lock it.
But as my hand reached for the doorknob, I was surprised when she said, “Wait.”
I turned around and faced her.
“I think I want you to—to rush me.”
She slid something into one of my hands.
I looked at her, confused, then at the condom in my hand. And before I could even comment she took the zipper in the center of her dress and slid it down.
I didn't hesitate. I lifted her up so her legs were wrapped around me. She didn't stop me, she just wrapped her arms around my shoulders for protection like she feared I was going to drop her. But she felt so little in my arms.
Kissing her felt so good, like it did a few seconds ago, and like it felt at the Farmers' Market that day and I knew part of it was because of who I was kissing and the fact that I had not had a real kiss in seven years.
She returned it with just as much urgency as me.
I laid her flat on the couch and had her dress wide open. I wanted to touch her all over so my hands roamed over her curves.
When my palms were over her nipples, she let out soft moans in her throat.
I sucked on her nipples and slipped my fingers in her underwear so I could feel her pussy. I stroked the soft hairs and touched her pearl tongue. I wanted to taste it, but the need to bury my dick in her was too severe to wait. I would just hope I got another opportunity to do it, to taste her.
I slid my fingers up and down her opening.
Her eyes were closed and she was arching her lower body toward my hand.
I slid a finger into her and felt the warmest, tightest pussy ever. I had to feel it with my dick. I had to. I stripped out of my clothes quickly.
I slid the condom onto my dick that was so hard the veins were popping out of it. I ripped her panties off and positioned her legs. I pulled back and without delay, I slid into her.
Her moans got louder and I wanted to scream, but instead I leaned down and kissed her, drowning out her moans.
Her pussy felt so good to me. I jabbed her repeatedly and stroke by stroke, it was warm, wet, and pulsated around my dick.
Her fingertips stroked up and down my back and her eyes were closed in pleasure.
I gripped her ass in my hands and pulled her even closer to me and put myself deeper into her.
Her fingernails dug into my skin and her legs crisscrossed around my waist.
I sped up.
My stroking got rougher to the point that every time I dug in her pussy, her body was slamming against the couch. I lifted one of her legs on my shoulders and continued stroking her pussy with my dick.
She was biting her bottom lip, I guess to keep from crying out. I continued tearing her pussy up. In the midst of four more strokes I felt seven year's worth of built-up nut burst out of me and into the condom.
I collapsed on her chest and both of our breathing was heavy.
Instantly my dick got hard again and instantly I felt regret. I really hope she didn't feel like I dogged her. I specifically waited for Toi for four months after dating her because I didn't want her to think I only wanted her for sex.
Deyja stood to her feet and left the room. I guessed she was in the bathroom and this was confirmed when I heard the sound of the shower running.
I waited for her to come back. She stepped back into the room about ten minutes later, freshly showered and in a pretty, silky white robe.
She handed me a towel. “The water is still running, Isaiah. Go down the hall straight to your right.”
“Thanks.” I wrapped it around my waist and went into the direction she told me.
When I emerged from the shower a few minutes later Deyja was no longer in the living room. I dried off quickly, put my clothes back on, and went to look for her. “Deyja?”
“I'm in here.” I found her in her kitchen at the stove.
She was placing slices of chicken on a plate next to some mashed potatoes and string beans.
She glanced at me and said, “I didn't want us to put the food to waste.”
She handed me a plate.
“Thank you,” I said. I sat down at her kitchen table and dug in. The chicken had a sweet and tangy flavor to it and was very moist. The potatoes were creamy, buttery, and I could taste cheese in them.
She sat down next to me.
“This is good.”
She blushed and waved a hand. “Are you just saying that?” Her head was tilted to the side and her lips were curved in a smile. I was once again reminded of how pretty she was. How sweet she was.
“Naw. I don't lie when it comes to food, baby. My mom was a tough act to follow when it came to cooking.”
She blushed again. “What did you say about your mama?”
“That she was a tough act to follow when it came to cooking,” I repeated, sliding a piece of chicken in my mouth.
“Sorry. I'm listening to you, it's just when you said . . .
baby
.”
“I'm sorry, I—”
“No. No, Isaiah. You didn't do anything wrong. I liked it. I haven't been called
baby
in so long.”
I wanted to ask her why, but I didn't. I was enjoying myself with her and didn't want to bring up anything that might cause her distress. Maybe her dude had cheated on her, done something to break her heart, and she had stayed alone from fear she would be hurt again. But she didn't have to worry about that. I wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

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