The Edge of Midnight

  “Foul!” she heard Keta yell.

  “Quit being a baby,” the winded Myk shot back. “You think those college boys are just going to let you slide your way to the hoop!” He tossed Keta the ball hard, and Keta took the ball out.

  Sarita asked suspiciously, “What’s going on?”

  Drake said, “I think they’re battling for the hand of yon fair maiden.”

  Silas laughed. “Grandson, you got a way with words.”

  Sarita’s eyes watched the court. “Can I have that in English?”

  Jerome’s eyes never left the action as he explained, “Mr. Chandler told Keta that if Keta beat him to fifteen, he’d never show his face at the center again.”

  “What? Why?”

  Silas said, “Because the center’s Keta’s turf, and you don’t let another man rule your turf. It’s a man thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Sarita rolled her eyes.

  Drake, watched Keta’s swish push the score to eight–five in Keta’s favor, and said, “Yep. My brother, the old guy in the shorts and the cutoff sweatshirt, challenged a sixteen-year-old kid to a basketball game.”

  Sarita asked, “Does he know Keta’s been All-City since the ninth grade?”

  Silas said, “I think he’s finding out.”

  Another swish—9–5—Keta.

  Sarita didn’t think Chandler stood a chance, even if he did look awfully fit in his shorts and sleeveless sweatshirt. In comparison, Keta looked like the man-child that he was, with his skinny arms and legs. However, Keta Kennedy had the sweetest, purest shot in the state and was being recruited by colleges all over the country. She hated to be the bearer of bad news, but Chandler was about to get his butt kicked.

  In the end, it came down to experience versus youth. In his younger days, Myk had also been somewhat of a phenom on the courts, but that had been years ago, and time had taken its toll. He knew that if he didn’t hurry up and end this game, and quick, he was going to keel over from exhaustion. So, he took Keta Kennedy, All-City, All-State, to school. The two combatants were fairly evenly matched in height, but Myk outweighed the young man by a good fifty pounds and used that strength to his advantage. By holding, elbowing, and sticking his adult male chest into Keta’s skinnier one, Myk played him like a pro and scored point after point.

  The contest ended at 15–9. Chandler.

  The small crowd, which by then included Shirley and Walter, roared their approval and Keta and Myk shook hands. Nobody had beaten Keta one-on-one in a long time. As both ballers bent over to catch their breath, Keta wondered what else Sarita’s new husband could teach him.

  Sarita hoped the game would finally put to rest all the drama between them. Both males were parts of her life now, and she’d much rather they get along.

  Myk gave Keta one last congratulatory pat on the back, then walked over to stand before his wife.

  “Did you win the hand of the fair maiden?” she asked him.

  “Yep, and I’m going to need that hand to help me upstairs. Lord, what was I thinking? Don’t anybody ever let me play ball against a young brother again.”

  Drake laughed. “Take him upstairs and put him in a hot tub, Sarita. Walter and I will lock up and take everybody home.”

  Myk draped his arm across Sarita’s shoulders, and hobbled his way toward the door.

  Keta yelled out, “Hey, old man!”

  Myk turned and his eyes smiled across the distance. “What?”

  “Next time, I’ll be ready.”

  Myk chuckled. “Do I look like there’s going to be a next time? Good night, Keta. See you tomorrow.”

  Once they were out of sight of the others, Myk scooped her up into her arms and her mouth opened wide with surprise. He carried her up the back stairway that led directly to his room.

  A confused Sarita asked, “I thought you were hurt?”

  “I was playing possum.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it made Keta feel good to think he’d worn me out, and it made everybody else go home.”

  She threw back her head and laughed out loud.

  The hallway of his wing was quiet. The soft lighting along the walls seemed to add to the stillness. Even though she’d agreed to be his lady, the reality that they would probably make love tonight, filled her with both nervousness and anticipation. “I can walk, you know,” she said, as they arrived at the massive doors that led to his inner sanctum.

  “I know, but consider this our wedding night. The man always carries his lady over the threshold.”

  She wondered if this was how it felt to be in a fairy tale. “Mykal Chandler, you’re a romantic.”

  “Don’t tell anybody,” he tossed back.

  She chuckled, but it died as he lowered his head to place a soft kiss on her lips. Then he opened the doors, kicked them wide, and carried her inside.

  Fifteen

  The moment he set her on her feet, time seemed to stop. Sarita could feel every inch of her being connecting with him, and when he kissed her, she returned it ardently. The kissing soon deepened into a slow-as-molasses sonata, accented by exploring hands and rising desire. Long, humid moments passed as they learned the slopes and curves of each other; touching, cajoling, whispering. His wandering hand rucked up her sweatshirt and covered her bra-enclosed breast. The warm skin encased in the lacy satin increased his hunger. Still kissing her, he slid the demicup aside to free the soft treasure inside, then husked out against her lips, “After that game with Keta, I need to shower.”

  The fiery movements of his palm over Sarita’s pebble hard breast, made her shudder lustily, but she somehow managed to say, “Me too…”

  He bent to lazily circle the hot tip of his tongue around the pleading, aroused nipple, then took it into his mouth. An elongated groan of delight escaped her lips, and she arched her back to receive more. He shifted the other bra cup just far enough to free the nipple, then played with it while she dissolved.

  When Myk was certain her nipples were his and his alone, he raised his head and let her sweatshirt fall back in place before reclaiming her mouth. He loved kissing her; could do it for a lifetime. Who knew she’d be so deliciously responsive? He wanted to eat her up. “Go get in the shower,” he whispered. “I’ll get the bed ready and find you something to wear…”

  The anticipation sent heat echoing through Sarita’s core, but his kisses now trailing lustfully over her arched neck were too tantalizing to walk away from. “I can’t go if you keep kissing me, Mykal…”

  As always, the sound of her whispering his name fired Myk like the kick of an aphrodisiac in a spiked drink. He was aroused and hard and couldn’t seem to keep his hands or lips from sampling her sweetness. The last thing he wanted to do was turn her loose, but a few breathless moments later, he did.

  Sarita could barely stand. Her world was rocked, and she didn’t care who knew. Every inch of her body was pulsating and damp.

  He led her into the bathroom. After placing a lingering kiss on her lips, he departed. Her eyes still closed, Sarita began removing her clothes.

  The shower’s hot water felt good. Turning and arching under the powerful spray, she let it add to the sensations searing her aroused flesh. Washing with the cloth and the vanilla soap he’d given her, she slid the suds over her skin while the drumbeat of passion continued to pound.

  When she was done, she dried off, then wrapped herself in one of his man-sized towels and padded back into the bedroom to rejoin him. Candles had been lit. Flames danced in the fireplace. The warm bedroom glowed with a soft, wavering light.

  He was standing by the bed. He’d stripped away the sweatshirt and was wearing only his shorts. Although he didn’t utter a word, his call to her body was loud and clear.

  Myk forced himself to stay where he was. Knowing she was nude beneath the towel, and that if he stripped it away his lips would find warm, shower-damp skin, swelled his need. He couldn’t ever remember wanting one woman so much. “I’ll be right back,” he finally said, “Y
our nightgown’s on the bed.”

  His reluctance to leave was very apparent, but he disappeared through the archway, and Sarita walked over to the bed. The black silk hangings cocooning it were soft to the touch. Each was emblazoned with dragons. The sight made her shake her head. In her estimation he might be in too deep with all these dragons everywhere, but the needlework on the panels was exquisite.

  Her eyes drifted down to the satin comforter covering the sheet and pillows and saw not dragons but the gown and matching robe he’d laid out for her. They were both a deep dark purple. The silk appeared to be as finely made as the panels shrouding his bed, and nearly as transparent. Moved by the beauty of the gown, she did feel as if this were her wedding night. Hands shaking, she held it up. It was long and flowing. No ornamentation, no lace. The short seams across the shoulders were softly gathered, and the circular bodice was designed to fall loosely across the breasts. There were no side seams however. Two small satin ribbons, one on each hip, were all that held it together. Its design made Sarita think of Egypt. The gown looked like something Cleopatra might have worn to please her lovers Marc Antony or Julius Caesar. Thinking about her own dragon lover releasing the ribbons stoked her own fires. The gown was hot, and it made her hot just looking at it.

  She slipped it on and tied the ribbons. The sides of her ribs and thighs were left elegantly bare. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to slow herself down, but the sound of the shower turning off made her heart and breathing take off again. Calming herself, Sarita stood and waited.

  With a towel cinched around his waist, Myk stepped back into the room. His eyes burned over her in the gown. “I see you found it.”

  “Yes, do you like it?” she twirled for him, nearly blinding him in the process with the flash of her breasts and thighs.

  “I like it a lot.”

  Feeding on the arousal she saw glittering in his eyes, she asked, “Do you always dress your women before taking them to bed?”

  “Nope. Just you. Been wanting to take that gown off of you for quite some time.”

  Sarita’s senses rippled. He was so much better at this than she. Why did she even think she could best him in verbal foreplay. Just looking at him should make her know better. The flickering candlelight caught the lingering sheen of moisture in his hair and on the sculpted riches of his dark shoulders and forearms. She thought him the most gorgeously made man she’d ever seen. Emboldened by her wanting, she held out her hand, and he slowly came to meet her.

  The feverish steamy kisses that followed melted them back onto the bed. This time there’d be no phone calls or nosy teenagers knocking on the door; tonight they planned on taking each other to the heights of love, and dared anyone or anything to intrude.

  To that end, Myk slowly ran his large hands beneath her fine indigo gown and savored the feel of his flesh gliding purposefully over her own. Her nipples were ripe, her waist sleek. The firm thighs now parting so lusciously beneath his silent command held a dark warm treasure he’d been wanting to open all evening. First, however, he undid the ribbons at her waist, then with a lusty hand wantonly moved the rich purple silk over the heat he’d been coaxing to life all evening. Under his scandalous tutelage, her trembling legs widened shamelessly, while above her Myk watched with glowing eyes.

  Continuing to tempt her with the silk, he circled and seduced her until the fabric became as wet as she. Only then did he replace the silk with his hand. He dallied there until her hips rose in glorious invitation, and her low answering moan floated against the silence.

  Sarita didn’t know such pleasure was possible. His hands were magic, his technique bliss. When he lowered his head and placed his kiss against the inside of one thigh, then the other, she could feel her climax hovering on the horizon. “Mykal,” she pleaded softly.

  He bent to flick his tongue over the nook of her navel, “What baby?”

  “I’m going to come….”

  “Then let’s get this first one out of the way….”

  He slid his hand over the sweet ache between her thighs. She spread herself in surrender, and to reward her he lowered his head and paid her hot, carnal tribute.

  “Oh,” she cried out lustily. She’d never been loved this way before. It was erotic, raw, and then, she couldn’t think anymore because the orgasm tearing through her made her buck and twist and scream out the name of the dragon who was eating her up.

  Myk decided he’d found his real mission in life—making love to Sarita. He’d always been a considerate lover; the more pleasure he could make a woman feel, the more it fueled his own desire, but Sarita he could love all day long, all night long. He slid a finger over the slick pulsating vent and knew he’d never get enough, not even if she stayed with him a hundred years.

  Sarita trembled when his fingers moved over her again. She couldn’t help herself. As blown away as she was, she wanted more. He’d introduced her to something she’d often read about but never experienced, until now. She could honestly say the written word didn’t even come close.

  She opened her eyes and met his. He was propped up on his elbow and stretched out beside her. She reached out and cupped his cheek. Leaning up she kissed him softly, whispering, “You’re way too good at this, dragon man.”

  He smiled, and covered her hand. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  And to her delight, he was right. He brought her to pleasure once more with his mouth and hands, and by the time his condom-sheathed manhood eased its way home, Sarita was so dazzled and breathless she would have let him make love to her on the front lawn of the City-County Building. She welcomed him into herself gladly and without inhibition. He loved her fully, scandalously. When he told her in a passion gruff voice to turn around and kneel up against the headboard, she did; when he lustily invited her to ride the dragon’s horn, she impaled herself slowly, shamelessly, eagerly taking in his full glory while her eyes blazed down into his. It was a hot, steamy symphony of unbridled lust and intensity, and when they were done, they both fell away weak and unable to move.

  “Lord, woman…” Myk said in surrender.

  “Me?” she countered as she smiled contentedly in the now-very-disheveled bed. “You’re the dragon. I’m just the captured maiden.”

  He dragged her over to him and nestled up against her back. “You certainly screamed like one.”

  She elbowed him playfully. “You roared a few times yourself, or was that some other man?”

  He grinned and squeezed her soft behind. “You are something else.”

  Although nothing was said aloud, they both knew that this night was another turning point in their relationship. “I’m just glad I didn’t mess this up,” he told her softly.

  She was confused. “What do you mean?”

  He answered with a shrug. “Brothers worry. Will we somehow mess it up? Will we say the wrong thing? Will we answer the phone if it starts ringing?”

  She found that hard to believe but smiled. “You? I figured you were all cool, calm, and collected as my grandmother used to say.”

  “With another woman, maybe. Not with you.”

  The honesty in his face made the love tide she’d identified downstairs rise from her ankles to her knees just like that. Regardless of what the future had in store, she knew she would carry the memory of this man in her heart for the rest of her days. “I couldn’t possibly make you nervous.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m just me.”

  He traced his finger over her shoulder. “Any woman who would shoot a man with his own gun is a sister to be reckoned with.”

  She chuckled, then confessed truthfully, “You scared me to death.”

  “But you still had the presence of mind to squeeze off two shots.”

  “I hate guns,” she told him, “but I had to protect myself. I didn’t know you.”

  He kissed her shoulder. “No need to apologize. It’s what you were supposed to do.”

  She turned over so she could look up at him. “I??
?m glad I didn’t blow you away.”

  “Me too.”

  She touched his cheek, “When this is all over, I don’t want anything from you.”

  He knew when the time came to let her go, it was going to be difficult indeed. “I know. You’re probably the first woman who doesn’t. Makes you special.” He lowered himself to her lips. “Very special.”

  Sarita placed her arms around his neck and slowly drew him down so they could begin again.

  Myk woke up to an empty bed and the sound of the shower running. In the darkness, he pawed at the clock to turn it around, then stared groggily at the numbers—5 A.M.! What in the hell was she doing up so early? It occurred to him then that she’d gotten up to shower so she’d be fresh and ready for more loving when he woke up. The erotic possibilities of that scenario made his manhood stretch appreciatively. Making love in the morning was one of Myk’s favorite things, and he couldn’t think of a better way to start the day than with his sexy little wife.

  When she entered the room, however, she was dressed; fully dressed in a pair of bright red leggings, a black long-sleeved Detroit Lions T-shirt, and the same pink-and-white bunny slippers she’d had on last night.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you. I went to my room and got my clothes while you were still asleep. I was trying to be quiet.”

  Just looking at her made him hard, Myk realized. “You didn’t wake me, but why are you up and dressed?”

  “I have a turkey to put into the oven and I have to start breakfast. Everybody will be here at eight.”

  Myk was confused. What happened to his erotic early-morning scenario. “Breakfast? For who?”

  She then explained that she and her friends always spent the holiday together and that they began the day with breakfast.