Private lives, p.22
Private Lives, page 22
“I love you, too, honey. Where’s Dudley?”
“Practically pacing the floor. He’s driving Jack nuts. He can’t wait to get into his tuxedo and he’s already started calling me Dad. He said the preacher won’t know unless I tell him. Here he is.”
“Hurry up and get ready, Mommie. It will soon be six o’clock.”
“I’ll be ready, son. I’m so happy. See you later.”
In Alexandria’s Bethel AME Church where he was baptized and which his parents attended weekly, he stood with Jason and Dudley and watched the woman of his dreams float toward him, beautiful and elegant in white silk. Having been married, she walked in alone, although Ellen served as bridesmaid. To hell with custom, he thought and took the last few steps to meet her.
“You’re the most beautiful being I ever saw,” he whispered and took her arm. He listened intently to every word the minister said and he noticed that Allison did, too. When at last she was his wife and the minister told him to kiss his bride, his nerves failed him, but her smile reassured him, and he bent to seal their marriage with a kiss.
They hadn’t planned for Dudley to walk out with them, but as if he realized that when the ceremony was over, he had a new daddy, Dudley grabbed Brock’s hand and walked out along with the bride and groom.
Darlene hosted a lavish wedding reception and, to his surprise, his father gave Allison a diamond brooch that had belonged to his mother. “Welcome into our family,” Reginald told Allison. “Whatever is ours is also yours.”
“Hold on, there,” Jason said. “Will there be anything left when I get married?”
“Of course,” Reginald said. “When you finally tie the knot, you’ll inherit everything, because all of your family will have been long dead.”
“I love my family, Allison, but I’m ready to go home.”
“Me, too. Dudley, you’re staying with Mom and Dad tonight.” She kissed him and her heart seemed to bloom when she realized that Dudley felt at home with his grandparents and didn’t cry to go with her.
“I’m old-fashioned,” Brock said when they reached home, picked her up and carried her inside. He’d left a bottle of champagne chilling and a wicker basket of cakes, fruit, cheese and crackers sat on the table beside two long-stem glasses. He poured a glass of champagne for each of them, put the glass to his lips and said, “You’ve made me a happy man and I’ll do my best to see that you are always a happy woman.” She could barely hold the glass upright, but she managed a sip.
“Could we eat these goodies later, Brock. You haven’t made love to me but once in the past month.”
“You can bet I know that, but I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
A streak of wickedness shot through her and she winked at him. He grabbed her as she turned toward the stairs, picked her up and dashed up the steps with her.
“I’ll teach you to meddle with me,” he said. “It’s enough that you flirted with me constantly for the past three hours. Take your medicine.”
“I’m dying to get it,” she said and let her hands travel from his belt buckle downward. The hot, blazing fire of desire jumped into his eyes and she backed off, less sure of herself. He pulled her close, unzipped her dress and swallowed heavily when his gaze took in her scantly clad breasts. He released the left one from the thin strip of lace and sucked it into his mouth. As bold as he, she unhooked his belt buckle, pushed her hands into his pants and began to stroke him.
“Sweetheart, stop it. Otherwise, this won’t last three minutes.” He put her in bed, stripped off his clothes and began to cherish her.
“You can do that next time,” she told him. “I’m almost over the hill. Get in me right now.” But he played and toyed with her until she wanted to jump out of her own skin. Frustrated, he flexed her knees, took his penis with both hands and brought him into her. He had never taken her on such a wild and feverish ride and bells rang in her, over her, above her and all around her as she hit the summit knowing that he was right there with her. She was a long time coming down, but when she landed, he wrapped her in his arms.
“And just think, we can do that every night,” she said.
He kissed her long and lovingly. “If we do,” he said, “at the end of a year, I won’t weigh thirty pounds.” He got up and went downstairs for the remainder of the champagne and the basket of goodies.
When he came back, she couldn’t help smiling. “At last I can sleep all night long in your arms.”
The next morning Brock put on his house slippers and robe and went downstairs to make coffee and get the Sunday Washington Post. He folded the paper and put it on a tray along with the coffee and warm scones and went back to Allison. He took a few sips of coffee and opened the paper.
“Good Lord, Allison, look at this! ‘Lawrence Sawyer, CEO of Midlife Insurance, has been arrested and charged with embezzling one hundred and twenty million dollars of company funds and with making the theft look as if it’s the work of the chief accountant. The indictment is the culmination of an eighteen-month investigation.’”
She sat up on the edge of the bed. “Thank goodness he is no longer my son’s father.”
“Yes, and thank goodness we’re completely free of him.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2992-5
PRIVATE LIVES
Copyright © 2009 by Gwendolyn Johnson-Acsadi
All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Kimani Press, Editorial Office, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
® and TM are trademarks. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and/or other countries.
www.kimanipress.com
Gwynne Forster, Private Lives
