“Just decent?”
She stopped wiping away the moisture and tossed the towel in the wicker basket. “Are you fishing for a compliment, Diego?” she asked with an alluring smile.
I stood, pulled my shirt over my head, then my tee shirt. “No, but saying I'm decent isn't the best way to describe a person's looks.”
I grabbed up a towel to wipe my face again. Then did the same as she'd just done. I wiped away the water that had soaked my upper body. I looked over at her to find she was watching me. I smirked.
“Take a picture; it'll last longer,” I told her, mocking her words to me earlier.
She shook her head. “You take the cake when it comes to arrogance, you know.”
“This coming from the woman who told me because I was a man of color I couldn't help but be attracted to her ass. Like honeybees to flowers and nectar you said.”
She ignored what I said, then walked up to me and touched the scar on my chest. A burn from a space heater when I was a kid had left me with a nice set of bars over my heart. Her delicate fingers brushed across the scar ever so lightly. She'd taken notice of it last night as well, but I guess we were too caught up for her to say anything then.
“First, you tell me I'm not attractive, and then you touch me without asking,” I said while gazing down at her.
She moved her hand. “You're spoiled, aren't you?”
“What's that got to do with anything?”
“A lot.”
I reached out to move her closer to me, but she backed away. Started to button her shirt as she did, then took a seat on the cushioned bench. I decided to leave my shirt off for the time being. I walked to sit next to her. We kept the conversation light. Talked about the beauty of a storm. Watched as lightning skittered across the ocean. She told me how, even though she didn't condone Shell's action, that she was glad her friend was having fun.
We talked briefly about the games men and women played in relationships. I asked her why she wasn't afraid her ex might go all
Southern Fried Homicide
on her since she was such a big fan of the show.
She laughed. “He's stupid, but he isn't crazy. I will go above and beyond to defend myself. Believe that.”
I chuckled as I stretched, then yawned. “You want to go back in?” I asked her.
“No, but looks like you do.”
“I am a little tired. Some little lady kept me up all night.”
“Really now? Is that good or bad?”
I gave her a once-over. Cursed myself for letting her take me out of my element. Damned my dick to hell for coming to life at the thought of feeling the insides of her womanhood again.
“Are you fishing for compliments, Gabrielle?”
Her slinky smile was back. She placed her fingers back on the scar over my heart. She was smiling, but there was a serious gaze in her eyes.
“There are bars over your heart. Maybe this was a foreshadow of the future.”
I didn't understand. I told her as much.
“You're forty. No kids. No woman. No marriage. You've gone and put bars over your heart, and nobody has the key to unlock them.”
I frowned a bit, then moved her hand. “Thank you, Dr. Psycho-Analyzer. I appreciate your diagnosis. However, I'll have to disagree.”
“Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, my good man,” she replied, tapping the scar on my chest.
I didn't respond. Didn't get a chance to. The cabana boy put us off the island. We headed back into the hotel. Not wanting to wait in line for the elevator, Gabby suggested we take the stairs back up to my suite. I didn't have a problem with that . . . until we got in the stairwell and the lights went out. I stopped. Closed my eyes, then leaned against the wall.
“Diego, you okay?” Gabby asked me.
I didn't even front or try to lie. I wasn't okay. I had been afraid of the dark since I'd tripped over my pop's toolbox when I five. I fell chest first over that space heater and listened to the skin sizzle off my chest. As much as a man I prided myself to be, turning the lights out like this took me back to that moment. I mean, I didn't have a problem with regular darkness, you know, the kind of dark where you could still see the things around you, but pitch-black darkness, the kind where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your face, was something else altogether. I opened my eyes and couldn't see my own fingers in front of me. I could hear Gabby searching around in her purse. She pulled out my cell because I could see the missed texts from Ricki when the screen lit up. She held it up to my face.
“You okay?” Her eyes held concerned.
I shook my head and slowly plopped down on the steps with my head against the wall. “Don't like the dark,” I told her. “Fucking heater . . . was trying to get to my parents . . . tripped in the dark. Fell on that fucking space heater. I don't fuck with the dark like this.”
I probably sounded like the biggest damned punk God had ever created. Not even Carl knew about my fear of the dark. I kept it that way. My hands started to shake. Knees started to feel like rubber. As soon as I thought I was about to let anxiety turn me into an even bigger pussy, Gabby's lips found mine. My hands fisted as a different kind of anxiety came over me.
She moaned while she kissed me. Made me feel like I'd tiptoed out of hell right into the clouds of heaven. She kissed me like that for maybe a good ten minutes. I could feel and hear her moving around anxiously. Once my hands grabbed bare hips, I knew she had been removing her tights. Shit. Gabby was an enigma. I hadn't expected this part at all. Hands touching, roaming around my chest, she straddled my lap.
She went for my belt buckle, and I stopped her. “What if somebody comes through here?”
She giggled a bit. “Diego, you don't come across as someone who's afraid of a little public sex. With all that âdecent' game you were spitting last night, I didn't take you for a cautious kind of man, at least not in this aspect. Look, the lights are out, elevators are down. Nobody is thinking of coming up or down these stairs.”
She was right, and I'd only been apprehensive because I didn't want her to get caught. Hell, for that matter, my black ass didn't want to be caught either. No matter how adventurous we were didn't mean other people would like to see it. But I forgot all about that once she released me from my slacks and boxer briefs. She pulled out a condom. Slid off me to get down on her knees. I couldn't see her face, but I could feel when she used her mouth to slide the condom into place. The heat from her mouth was blinding.
I damn near lost my mind when she rubbed the head of my dick up and down her slit. I used my head to rap against her clit as she hissed and moaned. My hands found her shirt. Quickly, I ripped the buttons away, then popped her breasts from her lace bra. My mouth latched on to her nipple greedily. I suckled like I was famished, then hungrily licked around each areola and paid each nipple equal attention.
I brought her face close to mine and kissed her lips. Then I softly licked on her neck and suckled right where I could tell her sensitive spot was. Anytime my tongue touched that spot, her hand stroking got more intense, her breathing got more erratic. She lifted her hips and guided me home just as my lips found her earlobe.
Damn.
She brought her lips to my neck and gave me soft, feathery bites that made my high that much more potent. She rocked her hips against mine in a steady beat. Rode me like she knew we had to get to our destination fast. We didn't have that much time. I was sure the generators for such an establishment would kick in soon enough. I held her hips and took control. Bounced her up and down to match my thrusts. She handled it. Took it all. Gave little whimpers that told of her enjoyment. I gritted my teeth, then bit down on my bottom lip when I felt the tension in my balls accelerate.
“I'm coming. Oh . . . man . . . I'm coming so hard,” she crooned next to my ear.
I was too. She lay her head on my shoulder and moved her ass and hips in a dirty whine that would make men in the islands proud. I shot off like a rocket.
The lights came back on just as we were fixing our clothes. She put her boyshorts in her purse, grabbed a wipe, and used it to remove the used condom from my semi-hardened phallus. She was careful as she balled it in her hand. Once I was all put together, she handed it to me.
“I'm not carrying your kids, mister,” she quipped, then winked.
I laughed as we headed out of the stairwell, leaving the scent of our stolen quickie behind.
Chapter
16
Carl
I had every intention of getting Shell alone again. I was pretty sure Diego would have no objections to hitting the sheets with Gabby either. She was pissed off because she and Shell were stuck here due to the storm, but knowing Diego, I was more than confident that he could sweet-talk her out of her panties, just like he did last night. The brother could sweet-talk the panties off of a nun.
I figured since we were on lockdown for the duration, we might as well enjoy it. As soon as we got to the hotel, Shell and I excused ourselves. I had big plans for her.
“Where are we going, Carl?” she questioned.
“You'll see,” I said, taking her by the hand.
We reached the front desk and were greeted by an overly friendly desk clerk. “Good afternoon and how may I help you?”
His overexuberant customer service smile was a bit over the top. He reminded me of Richie Cunningham from
Happy Days
.
“Yes . . . Johnnie,” I paused, looking at his name tag. “I'm Carl Robinson, and I'm staying in suite 501,” I said, showing him my room key. “My wife Mischelle just arrived, and I need to get her checked in.”
The look of shock on Shell's face told me that I probably should have warned her before saying she was my wife, but it was too late for that. I was in the moment, and she needed to keep up.
“Sure thing, Mr. Robinson. I'll just issue you another room key. Does Mrs. Robinson have any bags she would like the valet to take upstairs?”
“No, I'm here on business, and I had the wife join me unexpectedly. I'm taking her to the boutique to go shopping.”
“Wise choice, sir. Also, I see you upgraded to the Cabana Sea Breeze Package. Your bottle of wine will be delivered shortly, and you both will have breakfast in the Palmetto Café tomorrow morning. Would you like me to schedule a massage now?”
“Yes, thank you. What's the availability?”
Johnnie tapped away on his keyboard, looking at the screen.
“Well, Mr. Robinson, the earliest we can get you in is one hour from now. Is that acceptable?”
“That would be fine.”
I figured Shell would need that amount of time to go shopping.
“Would that be a massage for just your wife or a couple's massage?”
“Couple's massage.”
“And would you like fifty or eighty minutes?”
I thought about it. The more time I had alone with Shell the better. “Fifty is good.”
“And, sir, is the number we have on file your home or cell phone number?”
“Cell.”
“Okay, then, we have you and Mrs. Robinson scheduled for one hour from now for a fifty-minute couple's massage. The spa will call you fifteen minutes beforehand to remind you. Anything else for you, Mr. Robinson?”
“No, that's it. Thanks.”
“And thank you for staying at the Omni. If there's anything else you need, please feel free to let us know,” Johnnie said, still over the top.
As we stepped away from the front desk, Shell stopped me.
“Carl, why did you say I was your wife?”
“Would you prefer I said you were my mistress? Or maybe the woman I met and slept with less than twenty-four hours ago?” I quipped.
“Not funny. I was just asking a question. You don't have to be an ass about it,” she said, pouting.
I replied, “I've been called worse. Now, come on.”
She stood firm. “No. Not until you tell me why you're doing all this.”
Sighing, I asked her, “Do you remember what I said to you when we were in the parking lot last night?”
She paused, as if searching her memories. “Carl, you said a lot of things last night. Please just tell me.”
I could tell she wasn't in the mood for games, so I begrudgingly relented. “I told you we could pretend that I'm your husband and you're my wife, and all I wanted to do was make you happy. And that's what I intend to do. Now, follow me.”
I took her by the hand, first leading her to the Palmetto Market to buy some toiletries. We then headed to Omni Shores, the hotel's exclusive boutique.
Shell stopped at the entrance as if a barrier was in front of her. “What are you waiting for?” I questioned.
“I can't afford any of this,” she protested.
“You can't, but I can,” I countered.
A saleswoman approached us. “Hi. Welcome to Omni Shores. My name is Tracey. Can I help you find something?”
“Yes, Tracey, my wife needs a few things. Can you help her out?” I reached in my wallet, pulling out my American Express Centurion Card, handing it to her.
She looked at it, saying, “Yes, Mr. Robinson. Whatever she needs.” She smiled, then said to Shell, “Mrs. Robinson, please come with me. Anything in particular . . .” her voice trailed off as she led Shell through the store.
I took a seat in the waiting area, checking my messages. Dali continued to call and text. Just like before, she got no response. I also received a text message from my sister, Anastasia, or Ana, for short. She was the second-oldest sibling, being ten years my junior at thirty years old. She was about to graduate from Columbia University with a Ph.D. in pharmacology. I was very proud of her. Her text was simply a heart; her way of telling me she loved me. I responded in kind.
Despite our age difference, Ana and I were pretty close. So much so that when one of her ex-boyfriends attempted to put his hands on her, I was the first person she called. Needless to say, after the ass whooping I gave him, he never bothered her again.
I had four other siblings. Twenty-seven year old Porshia was a graduate student at the Fashion Institute of Technology studying Global Fashion Management. Malina, twenty-five, worked as a nurse in the neonatal intensive care unit at NYU Langone Medical Center. My nineteen-year-old brother Darian was still trying to find himself, but his time was running out. I told him he had one year after high school to make a decision about what he wanted to do with his life. After that, he either had to go to school or find a job, because he would not be living off of my mother, which essentially meant living off of me. The baby of the family, Nathaniel, was fifteen. He was a freshman in a very exclusive prep school.
I gave all my siblings the same deal; do well in school with nothing less than a B+ average and I would fully subsidize them. All their needs were covered by me, including clothing, tuition, books, electronics, and an allowance to cover day-to-day expenses. I even bought the older ones co-ops close to school in order to decrease travel time.
I made them all sign contracts agreeing to my terms. I had full access to their online grades. That way, I could keep track of them. If they fell short, they knew the consequences. Allowances would be decreased and certain privileges would be revoked until grades came back up. And if they didn't come back up, they would eventually be cut off. Luckily, I never had to go that far.
Some may have thought my methods were harsh, but I saw it as making sure my sisters and brothers lived up to their fullest potential. I wanted them to make the most of the opportunities presented to them, like I did.
Unfortunately, I couldn't do the same for my mother. Raped by her mother's husband from the time she was ten, she never really had a chance to see what life had to offer. Her stepfather got her pregnant when she was only thirteen, then made her get an abortion. After that, she stayed in one dysfunctional relationship after another, including the one she had with my sperm donor, a married man who played on her daddy issues and knocked her up when she was fifteen.
Even her relationship with her own mother was dysfunctional. Mom claims that woman didn't know about the abuse. I call bullshit. There was no way she couldn't have known what was going on, living in a small, two-bedroom shack in Mississippi. That's why, to this day, if that bitch was on fire, I wouldn't spit on her to help her out. And that son-of-a-bitch sperm donor of mine . . . let's just say I better not ever see him on the street.
Because of everything that she went through, I didn't press Mom too hard. Even though I had to take responsibility for the household, becoming the man of house way too early, I understood why she was the way she was. I got used to managing her money in order to make sure all the bills were paid, there was food on the table, and everyone had clothes on their backs. I organized the house so everyone got up on time for school every morning, did their chores, and had their homework done before bedtime, all the while still going to school myself. As they say, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, so my brothers and sisters had no excuse for not doing the same.
To hear Diego tell it, that was why I never dated black women; because they reminded me too much of my mother and my fucked-up childhood. He had been saying that for years. Personally, I think he's full of shit, but he is entitled to his opinion.
I was pulled out of my thoughts by the vibration of my phone. It was Dali . . . again. Dammit. I answered in the hopes that she was agreeing to the terms of the divorce. No such luck.
“Yeah,” I answered dryly.
“Hello, Carl. I was just checking to see if you had a chance to think about what I had said earlier.”
I took a deep breath, not wanting to show my natural ass in the boutique. “There's nothing to think about. I want a divorce, plain and simple.”
“But, Carl, why would you want to throw away seventeen years of marriage?”
Was this bitch
really
asking me that? To hell with showing my ass. I stepped outside.
“Why would
I
throw away seventeen years?
You
did that shit, Dali, not me.
You're
the one who destroyed our marriage. Do us both a favor and stop calling me with this bullshit before I say something I definitely will not regret.” I gave her the dial tone. Then I proceeded to block her calls and text messages.
As I walked back into the boutique, Shell was coming toward the front of the store. She observed the look of irritation on my face. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. What's up?”
She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. I could tell she wanted to press me further, but thought better of it, instead, continuing with her reason for seeking me out.
“Uh, Carl, yeah, about these prices, I can get a full wardrobe at Walmart for the price of
one
of these items.”
“Your point being?” I queried, once again taking a seat.
“These things are really expensive.”
“Again, so what's your point?” I folded my hands, resting my chin on them.
“Carlâ”
I had had my fill of Walmart growing up. At one point, things had gotten so bad that, aside from food, we had to buy mostly everything else on layaway. Which was why I had an aversion to shopping there now.
“Look, Shell,” I said, cutting her off, “I told you I was going to treat you like you're my wife. Well, this is how I treat my wife. You can shop at Walmart on your own time, but right now, you're on mine, so run along,” I said, shooing her away, a smile on my face.
“Fine,” she muttered, walking away.
A few minutes later she returned. She tried on one dress, modeled it for me, asking my opinion.
“Nah, looks like a muumuu.”
She put her hands on her full hips, glowering at me. Then she gave me the finger.
“Later,” I said, laughing.
When she came back, she had on a sea-foam-green sundress. It was very flattering, showing off her cleavage, thick hips, and round ass. “Yeah, I like that,” I said appraisingly.
“Figures,” she teased. “It shows off my boobs.”
“Yes, it does. And the view from here is outstanding.”
She rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at me before walking back to the fitting room.
“I'm going to hold you to that,” I yelled.
By the time Shell was done, she had picked out two bras with matching boyshorts, a red and white tank top, a pair of red capris, the sundress, a pair of silver thong sandals, and a silver jewelry set consisting of a matching bracelet, necklace, and earrings. Just as we walked up to the register, my phone rang. It was the spa reminding us that our appointment was in fifteen minutes.
“Will there be anything else for you, Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?”
I looked at Shell, making sure she was satisfied with what she had picked out.
“I'm good,” she stated.
“Thank you, Tracey, that will be all,” I said.
Once she rang up the purchases, Shell and I took her bags to the room before walking over to Hilton Head's Luxury Spa Resort. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by two staff members, one male, one female. The female spoke up. “Good afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Welcome to Hilton Head's Luxury Spa Resort. My name is Miranda, and this is Rob. We'll be giving you your massages today. If you will follow us, we will take you to your room.”
As we passed through the main sitting area, I noticed the furniture color scheme of blues, browns, and tans. It blended well with the camel-colored carpet. The chairs were all loungers, some that were extra long, and some with removable ottomans. They all had several throw pillows and a blanket on them.
Miranda led us into a room that contained two massage tables with two work tables set up next to them. The work tables contained what I assumed were massage oils. “You can change in here. Rob and I will be back in a few minutes,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Shell looked at me, a smile on her face.