The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts and giving her a slight reprieve from the confusion and pain. When she grabbed the receiver, her next-door neighbor’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Girl, you’re passing up a lickin’? I know you’re losing your damn mind!” Shari snapped in her famous Southern drawl. “Church or no church, girl, if it’ll soothe your damn conscience, don’t look at it as oral sex, just consider it baptism—by tongue. Give that boy some ass, so we can all get some sleep around here!”
Niyah could imagine Shari’s golden skin flushed with color with every uttered word. She wasn’t the only one losing shut-eye.
Niyah had been sleeping with Mario, the mailroom manager, for nearly two years—with an occasional movie and dinner thrown in for good measure. Then misery began three months ago with six simple words: “Mario, I can’t see you anymore.”
His expression crumbled, causing her heart to restrict, then pound wildly. A sudden stab of pain flashed through the muscle in the center of her chest that signaled the ultimate sign of life. Deep in her heart she knew she didn’t mean a single word.
Everything else in Niyah’s life was going haywire. Her finances had taken a serious nosedive. Family members were driving her crazy, pulling her into the middle of one dispute or another to mediate madness and bullshit. When her downtown Chicago law office started laying off people left and right, she almost went into a panic. Her life was a stalemate at best, inching slowly backward. Time for a change. She distanced herself from her family’s bickering and greed and decided she needed religion to get her life in order. The first step was going back to church, the second was cutting out the greatest temptation in her life—Mario Barajas.
She had decided, after a string of bad relationships, that being alone was safe, that masturbation was safe. These days, a man and his dick had to be worth dying for. And she hadn’t found many she trusted—until the gorgeous, curly-haired man had set a brother straight one day after an argument in the office cafeteria.
The argument was about an age-old subject—the preference of men, skinny women versus plus-size. Mario, in a strong, certain tone, made heads turn in his direction when he defended his love of fleshy, voluptuous women: “Say what you want about what I like, but I can tell you this: they don’t smell, they don’t swell, they don’t tell, they’re grateful as hell, and they make love real well.”
Sisters, Latinas, and white women alike stood and applauded. Niyah was among them. She noticed Mario a lot more after that. And he found it a lot easier to pursue her. She didn’t resist. Curiosity wouldn’t allow her to take a backseat to her needs—which by that time were plentiful. Masturbation could fill the void, but the real thing could put a vibrator or dildo on the unemployment line in a Chicago second.
She felt warmed when his dark brown eyes drank her in the moment she walked past the mailroom. Her mocha skin, fleshy and generous hips, and full breasts, which lifted teasingly from her bra in such a way that the average man screamed “Milk!” when she walked past, combined in such a way that even a few of the slimmer sisters eyed her with envy. The proud chin, full, sensual lips, arched eyebrows, and high cheekbones were classic.
But what stirred the attention of men was her walk—especially if she ventured out wearing three-and-a-half-inch heels—allowing her hips to sway sexily and her smooth gait to range somewhere between businesswoman and high-class hooker. Sometimes she could almost “hear” the question as she walked past: does she or doesn’t she make love as well as her hips promise with each sway? Yes, she damn well did.
Fortunately, Mario was not one to boast of his conquests—so speculation still ran high. And she’d like to keep it that way.
Their law firm was extremely conservative. She wouldn’t lose her job over an office romance, but she could gain the disapproval of people who signed her paycheck—and that would be most unfortunate.
Younger than her thirty-four years, Mario could make love like no one she’d ever known. But for Niyah, his talents stopped there, even if he truly loved her. She was hell-bent on a man with a six-figure salary. A mailroom manager just wouldn’t do.
As he stood in the center of her bedroom that day when she told him it was over, she watched him fight for control. Finally, his handsomely chiseled face, reflecting only calm, looked up at her as he asked in his lightly accented English, “Mi vida, why end this?”
He had called her his life. God, how could she end this?
“I’m not going to have sex again until I get married.”
Mario didn’t blink. “Then marry me. What’s the big deal?”
Shocked that he would be so easy about things, Niyah searched his face for signs of humor.
“I didn’t say that to get you to propose to me. I want to find a man in church, turn my life around.” She blamed her currently bleak situation on being with the wrong man—in the wrong way—and not setting foot in church for years. But how could she explain that to him?
He had been her first venture into interracial relations—a sister’s way of saying she’s crossing from “brothers” to “others.” She had weathered the brothers’ storm as they glowered at her if she happened to be hanging on Mario’s arm. Inside, she felt a little self-conscious, but that went away when she realized that the brothers who were angry weren’t the ones stepping up to move Mario out and take his place. A dick in the hand was worth the promise of dick to come—so she could tough it out. And Mario had been worth it—then.
After she broke it off, Mario refused to stop seeing her even though she returned his letters and wouldn’t take his calls. For ten minutes every night for more than three months he stood just below her bedroom window calling to her in his accented English that she had come to love.
“I just want to be with you. I want to marry you. Just let me in. Talk to me, Niyah. We can work through this.”
Some nights he said he missed her, needed her, and loved her. Mario sounded so sincere, but Niyah knew getting back on the righteous path required some sacrifices. Sex with him was one—but oh, what a sacrifice!
The neighbors started commenting on Mario’s nightly chants. They were the talk of the block, with men hoping Mario would take the hint to move on because he was giving them a bad name, and with the women cheering for him, praying he’d get positive results because it was romantic.
Much to Niyah’s chagrin, people actually began placing bets. The stakes got higher every night when Mario walked away with no results.
One night, Shari finally banged on the door.
“All right, spill it, girl. What the hell has he done that you’re leaving that fine specimen of Latino out in the cold like that?”
“He hasn’t done anything,” Niyah said, stepping aside to allow the petite woman into her fashionably furnished town-house.
“He didn’t hit you?”
“No.”
“Try and steal the pussy?”
Niyah laughed. “He was really good to me, but church is the main part of my life now.”
Shari paused in the middle of taking a seat and stared at Niyah. “And what’s that got to do with getting some dick?”
“Fornication is out of the question.”
“Honey, what part of the Bible are you reading?” Shari snapped. “Half the sex in that book is good, old-fashioned fornication, with a man ‘knowing’ a woman to seal the deal. You better recognize it and quit holding that pussy so tight that fresh air can’t get in, and a good orgasm can’t get out.” Then she punched a single finger into Niyah’s chest. “Quit playing around, woman. Let him tap that ass. God didn’t make pussy and dick to just look at them—we’re supposed to use the damn thangs!”
Point taken. “But I want a man that’s making at least a six-figure salary.”
Shari leaned back on the sofa. “Do you travel in six-figure circles?”
“Well…”
“Just what I thought,” Shari said with a grimace. “You’d do better making your own money.”
/> “And he’s…he’s not a brother.”
Shari’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me slap you. The kitty cat doesn’t check for passports as the dick goes in. It might check for diseases, condoms, length, thickness, and curves, but not color and native country,” she said without cracking a smile. “And I still don’t understand what that’s got to do with you getting some nookie.”
Niyah thought about that for a moment. “My family would trip if they knew I was sleeping with a Latino.”
“But your family’s not the one with an empty bed.”
Damn, the woman did have a point.
Shari leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Get laid, go to church, repent, come on home, and start all over. That’s how it works for everybody else.”
Niyah held in a laugh as she plopped down on the sofa across from her friend. “But that’s not right.”
“Girl, you’d better check around. Read that book Mario gave you. You might learn somethin’.”
Memory kicked in as Niyah gasped. “A Dictionary of Sex in the Bible? Can you believe he’d leave something like that on the doorstep? Suppose my mother had come over and found that?”
“Then she could’ve learned something, too. I read it, and personally, David was a man after my own heart. Screwed everything with a striped robe and a smile and still managed to be the apple of God’s eye. Whattaman!”
“Yeah, but it cost him the life of one of his children.”
“That was because he killed a husband to get to the pussy,” she shot back. “It had nothin’ to do with sleeping with that woman. Read the story, girl. Ease your mind and go get that man before he wises up and moves on, leaving your pussy to grow dust bunnies and a layer of cobwebs.”
Niyah burst out laughing.
“Then somebody’ll need a road map and a toolkit to find it.” Shari glared at her. “He loves you, and you’re making things harder than they should be. All for the sake of a book that has changed hands and interpretations too many times to count. Before all those others came into the picture, the first commandment was actually Be fruitful and multiply.” Her friend patted her breasts proudly. “I’m doing my part.”
Others, with even less of an argument, tried to convince her to give in, but Niyah held fast. The men on the block thought a woman couldn’t go without sex for more than two months. The women knew better. New arguments and a different betting pool began. Niyah stopped going to block club meetings, especially since the meetings began to be about her and Mario.
All the while, Mario kept trying to whittle down her defenses. When his words didn’t work, he serenaded her. That would have been beautiful—if the boy could sing. Everything from “I Want You Back” to “Who’s Loving You,” sounded pitiful, just pitiful. His singing made her smile, but also a little sad.
Niyah was surprised at how much she missed him. It was just sex, right? Mind-numbing, toe-curling, speaking-in-tongues, out-of-this-world sex. Just damn good sex. Only that.
At first Niyah had been afraid to go to work, thinking there would be problems. But Mario looked at her only if she happened to be nearby, and never made a scene. She looked at him, wanting him, longing for him. Mario respected her space. He knew personal confrontation had no spot in the workplace. He brought it to her doorstep. Or more precisely, outside her bedroom window.
Mario’s voice was the last thing she heard before falling into restless sleep, and the first thing she remembered when waking in the morning. Not to mention the single white rose, which he laid on her doorstep each night and which greeted her every day as she left for work. Romantic, nonthreatening, and persistent. Then he had dropped off a book that really brought things home—And Adam Knew Eve: A Dictionary of Sex in the Bible, which only reinforced Shari’s point about sex and fulfillment. Mario made things so hard for her. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and accept her decision? But, then, did she really want that?
She kept going to church, and kept her legs closed and her mind on the Lord. The memories of the smooth, sensual, but comforting way Mario treated her made him a temptation and pure torture at the same time. He was the reason she did so much praying.
Then came the depressing realization: with the number of men that actually came to church, her attempt to find a mate within those walls would be slim to none, with even slimmer chances for that six-figured mate. Niyah accepted the fact that she would be alone for a while. Not a pleasant thought, but she had made a choice and planned to stick with it.
Until tonight.
Out of pure anger and frustration, Mario had yelled out, “Well, if you won’t talk to me or let me make love to you…then just stick your honey pot out the front door so I can taste you. At least feed me something, damn it!”
Then Shari’s words kicked in on her phone line: “If it’ll soothe your damn conscience, don’t look at it as oral sex, just consider it baptism—by tongue.”
Niyah started to protest, but Shari didn’t give her a chance. “Quit playing, girl, and give that man some lovin’! From what you’ve told me, he’s been good to you. He’s also been out there trying to win your ass back and you’ve been playing hard to get—and looking like damn-it-to-hell the entire time. Now get on with it. Give him some pussy and give us all a break! ’Cause if you don’t, I’m gonna toss him some of mine so he doesn’t go to waste.”
Niyah didn’t need any more encouragement. Hell, she’d been thinking some of the very same things! She didn’t bother to clear the mess off the floor. Instead she hurried to freshen up and slipped into one of the nightgowns Mario loved. The black lace always made his eyes light up.
She scrambled down the stairs two at a time like a kid at Christmas, hoping she wasn’t too late. He never stayed a minute longer than ten. She believed he timed his nightly visits to be there just before her normal bedtime. Anticipation welled up inside her unlike anything she could remember as she took a long, slow breath before opening the door.
Mario stood in his usual place next to the front porch looking up at her bedroom window. All six feet of his rugged, golden self looked so damn good. His sexy lips, keen features, small goatee, and dark curly hair made him look even more handsome. She felt the moisture pool between her thighs. I’ll be damned, I’m actually gonna do the damn thing! Her heart did a flip as she found she could actually breathe again.
His dark brown eyes, always his most dangerous feature, looked tired and sad. He’d apparently experienced a few restless nights, too. Mario’s jaw went slack, then snapped shut. His moist lips parted slightly, and his eyes widened as he turned and gazed at her standing in the entrance.
Scanning her face first, those intense dark brown eyes traveled over her body as though committing every inch to memory. He slowly licked his lips, then sprang into action, embracing her warmly before lifting her up, then placing her gently on the cool floor.
Smoothing the silky folds of her nightgown out of his way, his tongue trailed the soft length of her thighs to the dark nestle of curls that signaled the center of her universe. Every curve, every stretch of skin, every fold of flesh, tingled at the touch of his hands, first with a loss of sensation, then an awakening that filtered through her body like a slow trickling stream.
A sudden movement, and seconds later he buried his head into the quivering flesh—providing the much-anticipated return to normal pleasures, a return to sanity. Cupping her buttocks in his warm, massive hands, he snaked his tongue out, flicking across her pearl in quick, short bursts, then a slower steady rhythm.
An almost feral growl escaped her lips. Three months without sex of any kind—borrowed, bought, or stolen—was hell for any woman who was used to getting a side order of good nookie on a nightly basis.
Gripping his head, she thrust upward, moving herself across his tongue as he encircled the lips, shaking his head from side to side and leaving a trail of fire with every movement. She arched, lifting the rest of her body from the ground. His hand reached out, steadying her, holding her. Th
e orgasm hit hard, building from the base of her womb, shooting down to her legs and numbing them, preparing them for the next burst of pleasure. The moisture trickled at first, then rushed out to greet his tongue with a hearty, Where the hell have you been?
Mario stayed down there so long she had to beg him to stop. Her pearl was singing and the kitty cat was hoarse!
After making her reach orgasm a couple of times, he lifted his head. “I want you.” Warm hands stroked her buttocks, then a single finger branched out to touch her pearl. “I want this.”
She opened to him, allowing his body to fill the space that rightfully belonged to him. A sudden shadow that appeared on her driveway reminded her that they were on the front porch. Thank God it was enclosed or the world would have received an education that night! Niyah was certain the neighbors would take bets on that.
“Let’s take this inside.”
Picking her up, he carried her toward the door. They didn’t make it past the spot just inside the doorway, barely allowing the door to close.
The sound of material ripping echoed through the foyer. Seconds later, the hard length of him pressed at the center of her thighs, demanding entrance.
She opened to him, trembling with anticipation, as he thrust into her moist heat, her flesh gripping him like a long-lost friend. His hands splayed across her hips, guiding every move as he kept them joined, working in a slow, steady rhythm. The hands trailed along her flesh, holding her as though he had found pure gold, thrusting into her heat with long, measured strokes. Their lips joined in a frantic rush of pleasure as his tongue, laced with her nectar, explored the soft confines of her moist mouth. His lips were softer than she remembered. He tore them away, teased them down her neck to her chest, and lingered lovingly on her breasts, tasting them, teasing them as though her moans were his only source of life and nourishment.