Big Daddy Sinatra 3: The Best of My Love (The Sinatras of Jericho County) (21 page)

“You
look like you can use a beer,” she said to avert catastrophe, and began walking
toward him, on her way to the kitchen.

“What
can I do to help you decide?” he asked her.

“There’s
nothing anybody can do,” she said as she approached him.
 
“My decision will be based on the law of
equity and fairness alone.
 
No other
considerations.
 
And I will probably go
back and forth for hours on end, all the way up until I arrive in court.”

Just
as she was about to walk past Brent, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her
back in front of him.
 
They were close,
within inches.
 
And she could see the
fire in Brent’s green eyes.
 
“I hate the
job you have,” he said, “but I respect the job you’re doing.
 
You know what my preference is.”

“You
want your grandfather locked away for Life.
 
You want Life to mean Life.”

Brent
nodded.
 
He appreciated her
understanding.
 
“That’s right,” he said.

“And
I want what’s right,” she said. “Not in your eyes, or your father’s eyes, but
in the eyes of the law.
 
If there was
prosecutorial misconduct, and it affected the outcome of his trial, is it fair
for the state to retry him?
 
Or should
his time served, given that he might not have ever been convicted if the jury
had all of the information, be sufficient?
 
That’s what I have to decide, Brent.”

She
said his name with the passion she was feeling.
 
Because she not only understood his position, but she empathized with
it.
 
But she had a job to do.

Brent
pulled her closer to him.
 
He was
gripping her arm too tightly, but the passion in his eyes softened the
pain.
 
“It’s a bad idea,” he said, “for
me to want you.
 
It’s bad for you, and
it’s damn sure bad for me.
 
It’s not
going anywhere, I understand that.
 
You’re just out of a relationship and isn’t ready to commit to anybody
new, and I’m not ready to commit period.
 
Add to that the fact that tomorrow in that courtroom you may very well
do the one thing I don’t ever want you to do, and if that happens, calling this
a bad idea will be like calling a gunshot a little bruise.”

Brent
frowned, and placed both of his hands on her arms.
  
He looked into her expressive eyes, and felt
the warmth of her soft, curvaceous body.
 
“But I’ve been watching you.
 
I’ve
been craving you since that night you turned me down.
 
I’ve gone to different women, to get it off
of me, but it was still there every time I saw you again.
 
And now tonight, when the only emotions I
should have toward you are anger and disappointment, I still want you.
  
And it’s heavy as hell.
 
My dick want to get inside of you so badly
that if you say no, I’m going to have to pull it out and fuck myself.”

Makayla
smiled.
 
He pulled her even closer.
 
She could feel his breath against her
hair.
 
She could smell his manly
scent.
 
“I want you, Makayla,” he said,
his mouth looking at hers.
 
“I want you!”

He
captured her mouth with his.
 
Makayla
fell into his kiss.
 
And she knew he was
right: it was the personification of a bad idea.
 
And how was she to know if it was not a
trick?
 
Was he using her to get a
favorable outcome at the hearing?
 
Did he
think she was that weak and impressionable?

She
pulled back.
 
She couldn’t risk it.
 
But Brent wouldn’t let her go.

“Let
me get you a drink,” she said.
  
“You’re
feel better if you had a drink.”

“I
don’t want a drink,” Brent said, pulling her closer again.
 
“I want you.
 
I want to taste your pussy, and to fuck you until you can’t bear
it.
 
I want you, Makayla.”
 
And he captured her mouth again.
 
And this time, he didn’t stop there.
 
He lifted her robe and gown, lifted them
until they were clean off her body, and then he carried her naked body to the
backroom, to her bedroom, and tossed her on the bed.

Makayla
had been with her share of alpha males before, but there was something so
animalistic about Brent Sinatra that made those other men look like
pretenders.
 
He began undressing quickly,
tossing his sweatshirt aside and then stepping out of his shoes and shorts.
 
His body was glistening with sweat already,
and his dick, bigger even than she had imagined it would be, was already
aroused.
 

But
he pulled her further up on the bed, got on top of her, and began kissing her
again.
 
He held her and kissed her for a
long time.
 
She felt her entire body
react to his wonderful kiss.
 
And when
his mouth moved down, and he began to suck her breasts, she arched with the
pleasure.
 
Her breasts were large, and
even though her nipple was her most sensitive spot, her mounds enjoyed the
sensation too.
 
Brent seemed to know it,
as he paid as much attention to her mounds as he did to her nipples.

And
when he moved further down, between her legs, Makayla felt her body try to
slide away.
 
He was not going easy down
there.
 
He was going hard.
 
With not just hard, long licks, but with bites.
 
It had been months since Makayla had sex like
that, or any other kind, and her body was responding with chills of
excitement.
 
All she could do was arch
and groan, as Brent went down harder and harder on her.

Until
he moved back up.
 
He rubbed his lips
against hers.
 
“I didn’t think I was
coming here for this,” he said as he continued to rub.

“What
are you saying?”
 
She was still loving
the way his lips felt against hers.

He
didn’t know what he was saying. He was so into her!
 
But then he realized why he had said it.
 
“I don’t have a condom.”
 
His heart dropped as he realized the
truth.
 
He looked at her.
 
She was so gorgeous.
 
He wanted her so badly!
 
There was a time when he wouldn’t care.
 
All he would think about was the sex and how
badly he wanted it.
 
But he was a man in
his thirties now, not a kid in his twenties.
 
Those days were gone.

“I
don’t have a condom,” he said again, with a frown on his face.
 
It took all he had to know that he wouldn’t
be able to complete what he had started, and it was tearing him apart.
 

Makayla
looked at him. She rubbed his long hair and stared at him.
 
His juicy dick was within inches of her wet
pussy.
 
She knew, if she would only give
in, he would put it in raw.
 

Or
would he?
 

She’d
never met a man who decided not to enter her when they came unprepared.
 
She decided to test Brent.
 
She was not going to let him or anybody else
enter her raw, but she needed to know if he was as different as she thought he
might be, or was he just like the rest of them.

“Do
you want to keep going anyway, baby?” she asked him, rubbing his hair, trying
him on for size in the middle of the fire.
 
It was the only way she could see his true character.
 
Not when it was hypothetical, not when it was
conjecture or what-if, but when it was in-his-face real.
 
“I’m so wet right now.
 
And so ready.
 
Do you want to put it inside of me without a condom?”

“Yes,”
Brent said in a way that sounded as if he was in pain.
 
“I want my dick inside of you more than
anything I could want in this world right now.”
 
Then an anguished look appeared on his already serious face.
 
“But I can’t.”

Makayla
could hardly believe it.
 
She stared at
him.
 
“You can’t?”

He
shook his head.
 
His dick was rubbing
against her outer edge.
 
“I haven’t gone raw
with anybody in years, but you don’t know that.
 
And I won’t have you worrying about it.
 
I’ll have to go and get one.
 
I
don’t know how I’m going to separate from you long enough to do it, but I’ve
got to have you baby.
 
And I’ve got to
have you tonight.”

He
was about to get up, but Makayla leaned over, reached into the nightstand, and
pulled out a condom.

Brent’s
eyes lit up with joy.

“I
don’t have it like that,” Makayla said, “but I stay prepared just in case.
 
Now put it on and take care of your business.”

Brent
felt his heart palpitate as he hurriedly put it on.
 
But then he slowed it down.
 
He wasn’t rushing this.
 
He looked at Makayla and entered her like a
man who had won the lottery, and wanted to savor the victory.

They
made love in a euphorically slow, wonderful fuck.
 
Brent pushed in deeper and deeper and rubbed
his dickhead against every ridge of her vagina as he eyes became hooded with
passion.
 
He fucked her with a purpose
that screamed beauty more than urgency.
 
And Makayla closed her eyes as her body shook with his every gyration,
and enjoyed his every gyration.

And
when the feelings intensified, his gyrations did too.
 
And soon he was there.
 
He was in his groove.
 
He was thrusting his dick into her with a
command that made her feel as if she could really love this man.
 
It was a crazy thought, but that was how she
felt.
 
She looked at Brent as she fucked
him.
 
And she felt it even stronger.

And then
he went hard.

“Like
this?” he asked her, as he pushed in even deeper and pumped her even faster.

“Like
that,” she responded as she took his pounding like a woman who wouldn’t want it
any other way.
 
And she wouldn’t.
 
Not right now.
  
She wanted to know how he felt inside of
her, and he was making certain she found out tonight.
 
And every stroke he took, every glide he made,
exceeded her every expectation.
 
He was
giving it to her the way she loved to receive it: hard and fast and rough.
 
The bed was shaking, her body was bouncing,
and Brent’s ass was squeezing every time he pushed inside of her.
 
She was a voluptuous woman, and he was loving
every second of her sex.

Their
bodies were glistening with sweat and passion, as they made love.
 
And even though tomorrow would be a hard day,
and their coupling would be a secret only they could share, they were enjoying
this moment for what it was.
 
They were
able to forget about everything else, black it all out, and enjoy their moment
together.

Curious
citizens and those with their own business before the court were slowly filing
into the gallery of the Jericho County courtroom.
 
They saw Charles Sinatra sitting alone near the
front on one of the long, pew-styled gallery benches with his legs
crossed.
 
A few commented that he was
just like his father, although none of them knew his father; others commented
on his cold, nasty demeanor although none of them, from their seats further
back, could even see his face; and still others commented on how attractive he
was, despite his nasty attitude.
 
They
hadn’t spoken to him to discern what kind of attitude he had, but they assumed,
given who he was, that it was nasty.
 

Charles
sat quietly in that courtroom without a concern in the world for what his
fellow residents were back there whispering about
 
him.
 
His father was on his mind.
 
He
wore one of his finest suits, had his wavy black hair perfectly trimmed, and
was determined to let that bastard know he might have killed his mother, and
his childhood right along with her, but he didn’t kill his resolve.
 
He didn’t kill his audacity to be better than
the circumstances he was born into.
 
He
didn’t kill his grit.

But
that didn’t mean this was easy.
 
It
wasn’t.
 
It didn’t mean Charles was the
personification of cool.
 
He wasn’t.
 
He could not recall the last time he felt
this unhinged.
 
He was anxious as hell as
he waited for them to bring in a father he had not seen, nor wanted to see, in
nearly thirty-six years.
 
So anxious that
he was doing something he rarely ever did: he was shaking his crossed leg.

He
sat alone on his bench, as no one had the nerve to go anywhere near him.
 
They’d heard about how he shot at EllieMae
Fusha just because she wouldn’t leave his precious little rental house, and
they’d heard about how he treated countless other people the same way.
 
He didn’t treat “countless other people” the
same way, but that was what they heard.
 
They gladly left Charles Sinatra alone.

But
that changed.
 
Within half an hour after
Charles first arrived, his two oldest sons, in fine, tailored suits of their
own, walked into the courtroom.
 
Many of
the townspeople assembled smiled at them and waved, because compared to that
father the sons weren’t half bad, but the sons made a beeline for their
father.
 
They sat down, with Brent on one
side of his father, and Tony on the other side, sandwiching him in as if they
were his protectors.
 
But nobody could
protect Charles from the dread he felt.
 

“Thanks
for coming,” he said to his sons.

“We
wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Tony said.
 
“I’m curious about the old man myself.
 
Although, full disclosure, I did go to see him once.
 
To forgive him.”

Charles
and Brent looked at Tony.
 
“How did that
work out for you?” Brent asked him.

“He
refused the offer.
 
He said he didn’t do
anything wrong to be forgiven for, and he told me to get the F out of his
face.
 
I forgave him anyway, and got the
F out of his face.
 
I never went back.”

Brent
knew how Tony felt.
 
There were times
when he wanted to visit his grandfather too, to hear his side of the story, but
he could never bring himself to do.
 
His
loyalty was with Charles, and as long as Charles wasn’t running to that prison
to make amends, he wasn’t either.

“You
guys okay with this?” Charles asked.
 
“You can leave if you don’t think you can handle it.”

“We
can handle it,” Brent said.
 
“Don’t worry
about us.”

Charles
smiled a smile that barely passed his lips, let alone reached his eyes, and he
returned to his quiet, contemplative state.
 
And he found himself, not thinking about his father per se, but
wondering what his reaction would be once he saw his father again.
 
His father was going to walk through that
side door any minute.
 
The man who gave
him life, the man who took his mother away from him, the one man he hated more
than any human being alive, was going to be within feet of him, and maybe
closer if that prosecutor recommended immediate release.
 
What would be his reaction?
 
He already felt as if he had an overload of
emotions.
 
Would he be able to contain
them?

“I
wish Mom could have been here,” Tony said.
 

Although
Charles only nodded his head, as if it was no big deal to him either way,
inwardly he couldn’t agree more.
 
He
wished Jenay was here too.
 
She grounded
him in a way nobody else ever could.
 
She
would have given him the context and containment for his emotions to rest upon,
so that they wouldn’t be all over the place the way they were right now.
 
He felt lost without her.

 
“Looks like the place is filling up fast,”
Tony said, as he looked behind them at the growing crowd of spectators.
 
“Everybody wants a ringside seat when the
Sinatras are involved.”

“Especially
if it’s something bad,” Brent echoed.

Tony
looked at him.
 
“Speaking of bad,” he said,
“What’s your problem?”

Brent
looked at him.
 
“What are you talking
about?”

“You
didn’t come home last night.
 
And looking
at you this morning, you look more uptight than Dad.
 
What gives?”

Brent
wasn’t thinking about Tony.
 
Makayla was
on his mind so much so that he felt uneasy about it.
 
He felt as if he was obsessed with thinking
about her.
 
Last night was magical for
him, even in the midst of his worries about this hearing.
 
It was still magical.
 
That woman made him feel a kind of way he
didn’t believe was possible to feel.
 
And
the crazy thing was that it was not just sexual.
 
It was mostly her fantastic sex, he was not
fooling himself, but it was more to it than that.
 

But
why was he obsessing on her, he wondered.
 
Nothing was going to come of it.
 
Like every relationship he’d ever had, it was fleeting too.
 
Here today, gone tomorrow.
 
She’d already made that clear.
 
If word came down that her boss was going to
relocate to the nation’s capital, she was going to move to D.C. with him, which
only added to the fleetingness.
 
And she
had just gotten out of a bad relationship and was not thinking about getting
into a new one.
 
But she was the one he
was obsessing over.
 
The most unavailable
of them all.
 
The story of his life.

“Where
did you go last night?” Tony asked him, determined to get his answer.

“None
of your business,” Brent responded.

“Nice,”
Tony said.
 
“Very nice the way you talk
to your only sane brother.”

Brent
smiled slightly.
 
He respected Tony too
much to be cold with him.
 
“I went to see
Makayla,” he admitted.

Charles
looked at him.
 
“What the hell for?” he
asked.

“I
heard she was going to recommend immediate release.
 
I went to see if it was true.”

Charles’s
eyes became sharper. “Well what is it?
 
What is her recommendation?”

“She said
she doesn’t know.
 
She won’t decide until
this morning.”

Charles
stared at him.
 
“You’re sleeping with
her, aren’t you?” he asked.

Brent
didn’t respond.

Charles
shook his head.
 
“It’s like sleeping with
the enemy,” he said.
 

“Uh-oh,”
Tony said, looking over his shoulder, “here comes the children.”

Brent
and Charles looked back also and saw Robert and Donald, with Carly and Ashley,
entering the courtroom.

Charles
was warmed by the fact that all of his adult children showed up on his
behalf.
 
He hugged each one of them
before they took their seats.
 
Robert and
Donald, in fact, tried to outmaneuver each other for a seat next to their
father.
 
It was a silly ritual from their
childhood, and it remained with them today.
 
But only Tony would give in.
 
He
moved over and Robert sat down beside his father.
 
Donald, flustered that he had not been swift
enough, hurried to his father’s other side, where Brent was sitting.
 
He was about to muscle his way in and take
Brent’s seat the way Robert had commandeered Tony’s.
 
But Brent wasn’t Tony.
 

“If
you enjoy having an ass to sit on,” Brent warned his baby brother, “you’d
better sit your ass somewhere else.”

“Move
over, Brent!
 
I just wanna sit next to
Dad,” Donald said in that whining voice Brent hated.

“I’m
sitting next to Dad,” Brent responded.
 
“Keep it moving.”

“Come
on, Donnie,” Ashley said, and Donald moved further down and sat beside
her.
 

“Child’s
play,” Tony said with a shake of the head.

But
if Charles was surprised to see his grown children, he was not surprised at all
when he saw Sprig.
 
She even looked and
smelled sober, which pleased everyone.

“Hey
Aunt Sprig,” Ashley said with a smile and hugged her neck.
 
Ash and Donald would visit her occasionally.

“Hey
Ashley,” Sprig said.
 
“Hey Donnie.”

“Sit
down, Aunt Sprig,” Tony offered.

“No
thanks,” Sprig responded.
 
“I’m going to
sit on the other side.
 
On the side of
the defense.”
 

Then
she looked at Charles.
 
“I don’t know why
you’re sitting behind the prosecution,” she said.
 
“He’s our father.
 
We should support our father.”

“No
thanks,” Charles said.

“He’s
our father.
 
The least we can do is show
him our support in a courtroom.
 
That’s
the least we can do.”

Charles
looked at his sister.
 
“You want to
support him, help yourself.”

“Why
can’t you support him?”

Charles
didn’t respond to that.
 
He’d already
told her how he felt.

“You
can learn a thing or two about forgiveness, Charles,” Sprig said.

But
Charles still didn’t respond.
 
Nobody was
going to tell him how to act or feel.
 
That was up to him and him alone.
 

Sprig
shook her head, and went across the courtroom and sat on a bench behind the
defense table.
 

Luke
Sinatra was being represented by a public defender, a young man already sitting
at the defense table.
 
Sprig wanted to
hire him a world-class lawyer, but she didn’t have the funds. Charles, much as
she hated to acknowledge it, took care of her.

“Why
doesn’t Aunt Sprig dislike Granddad the way you do?” Robert asked his father.

“You’ll
have to ask her that question,” Charles replied.

“I don’t
think she knows herself,” said Tony.
 
“She listens to the beat of her own drum.
 
That’s just her.”

But
just as Sprig sat down, another Sinatra entered the courtroom.
 
And when she made it down front, and stopped
at the bench filled with her family members, something remarkable happened: a
smile actually appeared on Charles’s face.
 

“Jenay,”
he said, unable to contain his joy.
 
He
stood up and reached his hand toward his wife.
 
Jenay smiled and hugged all of the children as she made her way to
Charles.
 
Bonita was in school and she
was glad none of them got the bright idea to bring Bonita to such proceedings,
but she was thrilled that everybody else showed up for Charles.