Madam x, p.22
Madam X, page 22
His frown portrayed his disagreement with that.
Desdemona hid her surprise at his revelation. To her, his parents seemed so in love.
“She moved into the second-floor apartment, relegated my father to the basement apartment, and they shared the first floor as communal space,” he continued. “I saw firsthand how that demand hurt my dad. My mother owned the house before they met. So he felt he had no choice.”
“Are they still together?” she asked, unable to deny her curiosity.
Loren held up both of his large hands. “Listen, all I know is, when I visit, we all chill on the first floor. I have no clue what goes on between them when I leave.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “It’s not that bad, Loren.”
“I was embarrassed for my dad,” he explained, picking around in the mixed fruit in the bowl. “And I was determined never to allow something similar to happen to me.”
“ ‘It’s a sorry rabbit that ain’t got but one hole,’ ” she said, remembering him saying that when she first discovered he had kept his apartment.
“Exactly,” he said sardonically.
Desdemona considered her next words carefully before sharing them. “Perfection is hard to obtain or maintain, Lo,” she said. “Let me offer you some advice, same way you offered me some during the days you were my tutor. In your twenties—”
Loren suddenly looked annoyed. He hated a reminder of their age difference.
She smiled. “Let me finish,” she said.
He splayed his hands. “Okay,” he conceded.
“In your twenties,” she repeated, “you see the world in black and white. Marriage looks this way. A career should be this or that way. Right is right and wrong is wrong. Right? But then you get older. You live. You learn.”
He eyed her with disbelief in his eyes.
“All of the dictates on what the perfect life should look like change—especially with age, wisdom, and a desire not to live by the rules if it means sacrificing your peace and your happiness,” she said, rising to move over to stoop beside where he sat. “I think you’re still a little idealistic, Lo. You see the world very simply when it’s anything but that. Your parents’ marriage may not look like Aunt Viv and Uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, but the key components are there, and that’s love and respect. It’s what I’ve seen when I have been in their company.”
Loren shifted in his seat. “Idealistic?” he asked before picking up a strawberry to chew.
“And a little judgmental because of it,” she added, the words rushed and almost running together.
“Are you serious?” he asked, sitting up straight to look down at her upturned face.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she stressed. “As are most millennials.”
“You’re a millennial,” he volleyed back.
“With a Gen X mindset, though,” she added as she reached to clutch one of his hands with both of hers.
He chuckled and stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. “Listen, I should have let you know that keeping that apartment wasn’t just about me and you,” he said. “My parents’ marriage played a huge role. I should have explained that.”
“Cool,” she said.
“But you’re even richer than I thought,” he said. “Just how much loot is in that safe, Desi?”
“A million,” she mumbled before rising to smooth up her ponytail as she turned to walk away.
He caught one of her wrists in his hand. “Why?” he asked. “That’s insane, to just be sitting around with a million damn dollars in a safe!”
“I have money in the bank too,” she added. “And a couple of offshore accounts.”
Loren jumped to his feet. “What!” he exclaimed with an incredulous expression. “I guess you’re all ready to go off and live as Janet Anders, huh?”
“I could have. I thought about it, but I didn’t. I’m here,” she said, gripping his upper arms. “And I could be in Bali.”
“Bali! Who are you?” he shouted animatedly.
“Desi,” she said, with a simplicity meant to calm him. “Just Desi. Still.”
It worked.
Loren released a long, drawn-out exhale as the tension released from his frame. “Yoooo,” he said, looking up at the towering ceilings. “This is a lot. It’s a lot.”
That exposed his neck, and she licked her lips as she hungered to rise up on her toes to lick his throat, the way she knew he liked.
“Hell, right now we don’t know if old boy done offed his damn self,” he said, walking away from her to splay his arms wide. “With his crazy ass. And... and... and isn’t that the dude off that weird conservative news show?”
She nodded.
Loren threw up his hands as he turned to face the windows. “Aw hell no,” he said with emphasis.
She winced and hung her head but cut her eyes up to watch him pacing. He turned to walk across the living room and down the hall to the office. After a few moments, he returned with a lit, pre-rolled blunt. Pinching it between his fingers, he offered it to her. She shook her head. He continued over to the window to open it before leaning against the frame to exhale a smooth, thick silver stream of smoke.
Desdemona carried her glass of orange juice into the kitchen to add prosecco from a bottle she had in the fridge. “Fuck it,” she muttered into the glass before taking a deep sip as she crossed the space to join him at the window.
Loren looked down at her through the haze before taking the glass from her and sipping from it.
“You do know smoking weed breaks from your persona of educated professor, talented writer, and all-around Goody-Two-shoes,” she teased.
He handed her back the glass and took a toke. “I’m not as idealistic as you think,” he said while holding the smoke in his lungs.
She arched a brow and took another sip of her drink.
“Answer me this,” he requested before turning his head to shoot the smoke out the open window. “It never crossed your brilliant mind to use all this money you sitting on to use a surrogate to birth our baby, or a nanny to help raise our baby?”
Our baby?
“Um, I would birth a baby if I’m able—”
He raised both brows. “Word! You would?” he asked.
This Negro.
“No, what I meant was if I wanted to have a baby, I would birth it if I could. If I wanted to have children,” she said.
He gave her a sly grin before he took another toke. “And raising one? Where are you on that?” he asked with a playful side-eye.
“And forgiving me?” she asked, circling back to her earlier question. “Where are you on that?”
He bit back a smile. “My heart has. It’s my head that’s holding back,” he said.
“No need to ask which one,” she said dryly, hating the memory of his dick going soft.
“It’s a lot to process,” he stressed as an excuse.
“But you’re worried about babies when that requires sex, Dr. Loren Marc Palmer,” she said gently, as if explaining something to a child.
“Damn. My whole name,” he said.
They shared a long look. The weed smoke floated around them.
Desdemona didn’t smoke, but she found him sexy as hell when he did. His energy changed. His eyes lowered. His boldness increased. And when they had sex while he was blazed, he lasted even longer.
Oh, it’s a definite vibe.
Her bud throbbed to life with pleas of its own.
Lick me.
Bite me.
Fuck me.
Desdemona pressed a hand to her belly as she turned away from the temptation he was not willing to satiate. She finished her mimosa before reaching in her crossbody bag for her phone. It was a little after six a.m. She already had missed calls from Jynn and Antoine.
She called Jynn as she sat down on the sofa. It rang just once.
“How’s the patient?” Jynn said.
“Up and about,” Desdemona said. “Thanks for getting me a doctor.”
“No problem. He owes me a favor or two—and don’t ask what for,” Jynn said with a suggestive hint.
“Okay, I won’t,” she said, looking over at Loren, now leaning against the windowsill looking over at her.
His eyes were hot.
What does that matter if his dick won’t get hard for me?
Still flustered by him, she cleared her throat and shifted her eyes away.
“You able to talk shop?” Jynn asked.
“Absolutely.”
“The stunt your stepmother and Celebrity Spotlight pulled yesterday just upped your price—if you wanted one,” she said. “I lost my shit when I found out you called in, but it might have worked out for the best. Public opinion is shifting in your favor even more than before. In fact, a prominent liberal feminist is doing an op-ed on the legalization of sex work and requested a quote. We declined of course, but it’s gaining traction.”
Desdemona said nothing at that but smirked a bit, thinking of voicing her same opinion to Loren on the subject just a short while ago.
“So I checked, and the statute of limitations has expired for pursuing criminal charges against your stepmother and the attorney for your father’s estate,” Jynn explained. “Unfortunately, by revealing on air that you had knowledge of the fraud at fifteen, that started the clock. It’s six years in New York or two years from the date you became aware.”
Desdemona nodded.
“But if you’re insistent, there might be a way to petition the court to have the statute time extended. Question is, do you want to pursue this?” Jynn asked.
Zena in jail would be satisfying.
Even her stepmother’s attempt to be messy and cruel had propelled Desdemona forward a bit. Into her truth.
No weapons formed against me shall prosper.
“Let me think about it,” she said. “A lawsuit might just keep the bullshit going.”
“Does she have money for you to be able to recoup from her?” Jynn asked.
Desdemona frowned. “Hell no. She lives in a house not big as my kitchen and nowhere near as nice. Trust, she is living in her own little personal hell,” she said.
“Then that may be her punishment.”
True.
“But what I can do is leverage her fear of prosecution against her and offer not to pursue it if she signs an NDA,” Jynn offered.
“Let’s do that, then. That’s good enough. Just to keep my name out of her sour ass mouth,” she said.
“What’s the name of the attorney? His ass needs to be disbarred and I will see to that,” she said.
“Hervey Grantham.”
The line went quiet for a moment.
Desdemona looked over at Loren. His intense ebony eyes were still shielded a bit by the thick haze of smoke as he watched her every move.
“Are you serious?” Jynn asked, her astonishment very clear.
“Yes. Why?” she asked.
“I interned at his law firm when I was law school. He was my mentor. Wow,” the attorney said, drawing it out.
Desdemona tensed. “It’s true. He was my father’s friend and—”
“And Zena’s lover,” Jynn added.
“Yes,” Desdemona stressed.
The attorney fell silent.
“It’s true, Jynn.”
“I believe you. My silence is me being highly disgusted and disappointed,” the attorney said.
“So, will you still pursue it?” she asked.
“He’s dead. He died of a heart attack late last year,” Jynn explained. “I’m texting you some proof.”
When the message arrived, Desdemona opened the article about the death of the prominent attorney.
Dead indeed.
“Desi, can I call you back?” Jynn asked, clear sorrow in her voice.
“Jynn—”
“I’m not gone lie. This one fucked me up. He was everything to me, or at least I thought he was. Listen, I’ll call you back,” she said.
The line ended.
“Desi.”
She looked over to find Loren undressing with the blunt pressed between his lips. Her mouth fell open a bit as she eyed him. With every reveal of his body as he peeled away clothing, her desire rose. The defined, tattooed arms. His rock-hard abs. Every inch of his dick, which was deeper chocolate than his medium brown complexion. It swung as he moved, touching each thigh.
Lord.
Soon he was there, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet to swiftly undress her. “I need to shower, Lo,” she said, feeling her excitement build as he dropped the rest of the blunt into her empty glass.
He was on a mission. His intensity was turning her on. Point blank period.
“Fuck that,” he said, nudging her back down on the sofa as he knelt between her legs and pressed his face to her intimacy to smell her with his eyes on her face.
He stroked her with two fingers.
She gasped and arched her back as he strummed her clit.
When he sucked her juices from his fingers, she felt her eyes warm over. “Lo,” she whispered.
“Fresh as ever,” he said with a lick of his lips.
“Don’t start something you won’t finish, Lo,” she said as he bent to press kisses and take soft bites of her thighs.
“The weed won’t let me give a fuck,” he said.
She stiffened.
Wait. What?
He shifted up to press kisses to her belly before continuing to suckle one of her nipples into his mouth and circling the taut nipple with his tongue. It caused her to ache between her thighs as she arched her back and flung her head back with a cry of passion, seemingly pulled from deep within her.
He moved to the other. Much of the same. Deliciously. Shivers racked her body and her heart pounded in sync with the pulsing of her clit. She was too far lost inside their fiery chemistry and desire to deny him. Or herself.
Loren pressed her legs wide open with each of his hands until his arms were straight. “Damn,” he swore as he looked down at her pussy.
Desdemona reached behind her head to grip the edge of the sofa as he let a bit of spit drizzle down onto her core before he used his hips to guide his hard, curved length inside of her. Slowly. Deliberately so. Her walls gripped him tightly, seeming to form to his shape as he filled her with every thick inch. His balls were tight with his arousal and she felt them bang against her asshole as he thrust his dick inside her. Picking up speed. Fast and hard. Deep and strong.
“Lo,” she gasped, reaching out to press her fingertips to his abdomen to keep him from thrusting so ferociously.
He circled his hips, causing his rod to hit the sides of her.
“Ah!” she cried out in pleasure, rotating her hips to match his rhythm.
“Desi,” he moaned with his head already tilted back.
Desdemona wiggled her legs to free them of his grasp. She snapped her legs closed and crossed her ankles before sitting them on one of his shoulders. She raised her buttocks and used her inner strength to roll her hips.
“Shit,” Loren swore.
She felt his dick get even harder.
Next, she pressed her bare feet to his chest and pushed to make room for her to rise. “Sit down,” she ordered him.
He did, spreading his arms wide along the back of the sofa, his dick saluting her and still glistening wet from her juices. She squatted above his lap before reaching behind herself to guide his dick inside her as she circled her hips with each inch she slid down on.
Loren’s mouth shaped into an “O” and his legs shot out straight as he gripped the sofa in his fists.
And she rode him, pulling every sexual weapon from her arsenal, determined to fuck his head up. She knew from his moans, whimpers, cries, and roars that she’d succeeded before she even picked up a furious pace that left them both sweaty and shivering until they cried out together as they touched the white-hot bliss at the same time.
Loren wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his face to her cleavage as he filled her with his seed with each burst of his climax.
Desdemona stroked his hair and pressed kisses to his temple as she slowly worked her body to drain him of every drop until his dick was weak and spent.
But in the heated moments following their climax, as she waited for the pace of her clit and heart to slow down, she felt sadness creep in through the haze. Loren hadn’t looked her in the face during their sex play. Not once.
Like he can’t stand the sight of me.
She winced at that and closed her eyes even as he continued to hold her tight.
“The weed won’t let me give a fuck.”
Things still were not the same and, perhaps, never would be.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday, May 18
“Who are you, Desdemona?” Finally, I know the answer. I found me. I know exactly who I am.
Desdemona gave the test one last run-through before she turned it over on the desk and rose to her feet. She looked around the room to find all the other students were already finished and gone.
“Oh my,” she sighed.
“I hope you did well, Ms. Dean,” her psychology professor, Dr. Foster, said from where he stood behind a glass podium.
“I think so,” she said, picking up her keys and bag. “It was the wise tortoise who won the race over the speedy hare.”
The tall, solid man with full silver hair and beard chuckled. “True indeed,” he said, removing his spectacles to slide them into the front pocket of his tweed blazer. “Good luck with everything, Ms. Dean.”
“Thank you,” she said as he began to walk around the room to collect all the test papers.
Was he speaking of the ongoing police investigation or just her classes?
Who knew?
She just took the well wishes in stride.
Desdemona left the room and walked down the hall, the steps, and then out the front doors of the building into the late spring sun.
It was the last week of final exams and the campus was already beginning to look less populated as students began to pack up and return home. Tomorrow her freshman year would officially be complete with her last exam—in history. Her break would be small. She was heading right into the summer session and had plans to take courses during the winter session as well. She was determined to graduate in three years and not four.
