Heavy Love(42)

I sleep until 4 am, move past her greedy little arms that want to  forever be loved, and take to a suede chaise lounge right across from  her. Instead of closing the ultra thick drapes, I watch her sleep  peacefully.

At first light, the sun creeps in and highlights the ample shape of  Luxury's body. So tiny...so curvaceous...so vulnerable. The sun's glow  highlight's those beautiful freckled diamonds against her body. At this  exact moment, I confirm that Whitson will not die on my watch. Killing  Doctor Whitson would have been as easy as sniping him through an open  window. I'll be saving both Whitsons' lives after the requestor has  grown weary of waiting, now that will be my newest and most welcomed  challenge.





Luxury

Tears of joy over the best fuck ever put me to sleep last night. The  next morning, one of Victor's black button up floats down to my knees as  I interlink each silk button. The feel of the linen against my skin is  so ultra comfortable, premium attire, but not as soothing as Victor's  touch.

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask if he has another color; black  embodies my father's roses only. Other than that, the color puts me in a  dreary state. Yet Victor seems to only wear black. Then I'm  considering, where does he live? If he's on extended stay at the  Bulgari, starts at 2 grand per night per Aliyah, then I know this  fortress on top of the building is nowhere near as cheap.         

     



 

What's his phone number? Where does he live, since surely nobody can afford to stay here too long?

"You have questions," he says or maybe even asks. With Victor, it's  always a command, but so far this morning he has been quiet after our  shower. He observes me putting on the Chloe lotion that was so silky and  sweet against my body.

"Kind of," I begin, but the look in his eyes tells me to shoot. "How long are you staying in New York, Dr. Finch?"

"Not sure."

"Well you strike me as the type who is always certain. Especially after  last night." I blush as my body begins to feel the ripples of pleasure,  even though he hasn't given the answer that I want. I already, selfishly  want to claim the dick for life. Yet if he goes, it'll be back to the  yellow-polka-dot grungy pajama set for a few weeks tops. Who am I  kidding, with sex like that I'll be in mourning for a year! "Where do  you come from?"

"I came from India." He leans against the glossy gray bedroom wall, as  if waiting to satisfy all my questions,. And I don't want a simple  reply. I want depth.

"Oh. Is that where you were raised?" Now, I'm instantly interested.  Victor has this flair about him, a uniqueness that captured chicks'  attentions all around. The thing that made me go on a date with such a  self-centered man was the fact that he has this air that reminds me of  Harlem. So diverse, as if he's traveled the world.

"No. That's just the last place I just came here from, Lux." He waves a hand, simple as that.

"Born?" I begin to be snippy as he is with the convo. Last night, he  learned every inch of my body and I have been forthcoming with myself.  Why is he so guarded?

"Arli  …  London."

My lips tense, as I ask, "Raised?"

"Everywhere you could imagine."

"Name some places," I speak through gritted teeth. Finding that a simple  few letter words in a conversation are starting to grow on me.  Especially if he thinks my questions only warrants a careless response.

Victor gives a soft chuckle that does nothing short of make me want to kiss his taut abs and then his dick.

"Luxury, where were you born and raised?"

"Born in the Bronx, I'm the only child as you are aware, but I grew up  to Destiny's Child and Usher. I'd go into my shyness from elementary  school to high school if it provided a model of how intellectuals  communicate – but that time was rather embarrassing for me, so I won't.  Went to NYU, tried that." I chuckle for a second and catch my second  wind, to continue on. "And I may have held every major available before  giving up. Victor, see how easy it is to speak?"

Even though Vic doesn't reply, it's clear I have his attention. I end up  telling him about Arnold and the botched proposal. Just because Victor  and I have been so intimate in bed, maybe he needs to learn how that  connection travels outside. I end the story with, "So I was finding out  that Arnold was interested in Tiffany when I found a 1-carat diamond  ring in his pocket. We were having one of those lazy days, me  drawing – because I had been an art major at that time, and him ever so  studying with his head in a book."

"Wow," Victor says when I tell him how Arnold was picking up his NYU hoodie to go home that evening and the ring fell out.

"You damn right. He confessed that the ring was for Tiffany, a girl who  he had done a few class projects with. Can't even believe, he wasn't  even going to tell me. To think, it had been cool with all along, he  ruined rainy days for me."

"I'm sorry that you no longer see rainy days as a form of tranquility," Victor says, rubbing my arm as I draw even closer.

God, I can't get any closer to this man than I am now.

"No worries," I shrug as if I hadn't ever cried before. "Came home.  Cried with my parents. Less than a month later, Dad and I moved to  Harlem after …  when," my throat gets clogged as I think about Mom.

"Oh, little one," he comforts. I've always hated being called, short or  shawty. But for the first time, I can tell Victor is actually being  tender, and it has nothing to do with the way he touches my body. So I  step to him. Victor's big, strong arms wrap around me.

He lets me go, takes my hand and leads us to the plush living room couch.

"Tell me about her," Victor says. I've done well with talking about my  past without mentioning my mom. But Victor reads my mind. And he  listens. The only thing is, he hasn't really told me anything about  himself outside of what I found out online. And that was a compilation  of credentials and even more degrees than my father. Either way, we end  up talking on the living room couch . We chow on bowls of Honey Nut  Cheerios, at my request. For the first time, it feels like I'm being  heard. I must admit, he heard my body loud and clearly last night,  providing each and every one of my desires.         

     



 

Today, maybe, I might just get too close to this man.

The memory of my mom is reserved for when I feel like divulging about  her. But today, I tell him about the simplicity of being loved by two  parents. Who would've ever known that two of the world's most different  people would get together? My father and all of his brains and my  mother, she was so beautiful.

"I don't know anything about your father's freckles," Victor says, "but my next mission is to lick each and every one of yours."

I cuddle closer to him, still not believing that Victor is the only  person, only human that I've told all about my past. I start with the  simple stuff, such as how my father would get frustrated with his newest  invention.

"It would be kind of funny; you could hear obscenities, even outside our  apartment in the Bronx. Rap music blaring, Italians and blacks cussing  and fighting, and here goes Dad's frustrated cussing right in the mix.  If I were in the house, he would come out the room and apologize after  calming down. Then he would try to tell Mom and me. I'm telling you  words that were longer than sentences, believing we would understand as  he explained how this wasn't working right or that failed."

Victor nods and it feels like he's visualizing the entire scenario.

"Dad won the Cardiologist Annual Guild when he was young. I guess that  maybe he wanted to get back to that notoriety." I shrug. "He never  seemed satisfied with his work. But Mom would know a good day from a bad  day, because I would come home from school and she would be baking  something sweet. Then he put Greco Tech on the map. You probably know  more about that than I do."

He nods, knowing that I will go off on a tangent, and mention Dad's work and not Mom.

But I sigh, and step into uncharted territories, by speaking about Mom.  "So Dad put all his time in that. Mondays like I told you before Mom  would bring flowers to his job."

"Black roses," Victor says, again redirecting me back to the pain of the  past. "Tell me more about you and your mom. How was your relationship?"

I get teary-eyed again even though I recall what Victor said the first  day we met, that women use tears as a ploy. But there's nothing I could  ever want more than to see my mother again. I take it slow. "I had the  best Mom. She would listen to me. She'd have that first aide kit already  handy when my father took me on my first bike ride. Before something  bad happened, she was already prepared. Sometimes Dad's inventions would  go left when he wanted it to go right. The brownies or cookies be ready  whenever he would get frustrated over the inventions." I tell Victor  personal things, such as how we never went through the terrible teen  stages where my mom and I couldn't understand each other. Oh my  goodness, I smile remember. "Saturday mornings, it was just us on a solo  mission. Mommy would have a coupon challenge by cutting coupons from  newspapers and magazines, then go shopping."