Crazy Love (28 page)

J
ackson dropped the last box on the floor. “Damn! What's in the box? A hundred pairs of shoes? At least we're done moving.”

Stacie sat on the bed and looked up at Jackson; misery was etched in her face.

“What's wrong baby?” he asked, sitting down beside her on the bed and wrapping his arms around her.

Stacie rested her head on his shoulder and inhaled deeply; she loved his scent. “I feel like I'm going backward,” she wailed, relieved that it was out in the open.

Jackson hugged her tighter and glanced down at the top of her head. “Have you ever seen a sling shot?” he asked. “It starts at the same place, then it's pulled back and when it's let go, it soars to crazy heights and distances. That's you. Even though you're going back a couple steps, that's giving you strength to soar and achieve wonderful things.”

Stacie looked at him in awe. “You are
so
smart. Thank you,” she said, and kissed him softly. They sat in each other's arms for a while, listening to each other's heartbeat and just enjoying each other. Pretty soon Jackson's hands were roaming over her body.

“Excuse me, sir, but we can't be doing this under my momma's roof,” she said saucily, but she pressed herself closer to him. “She'll put me out.”

“I doubt it,” he said, thinking of Nevia and her three designer babies. “Besides, we're not doing anything wrong,” Jackson whispered, then slid his hand under her shirt and cupped a breast.

“What happens if she opens the door?” Stacie said between moans.

“We'll just tell her that we're playing doctor,” Jackson murmured as he pulled Stacie's shirt over her head and tossed it into the corner.

“You make too much noise,” Stacie said half-convincingly. She had her eyes closed and her hand was on Jackson's head, urging him to her breasts.

“Look who's talking,” Jackson murmured around a mouthful of breast. He pulled away long enough to slip his hands into her shorts.

“Oh Jackson!” Stacie sighed. It was somewhere in the middle of a groan and a protest. “We can't do anything.” Her hips bucked toward him as his fingers eased into her panties. The last thing she needed was for her mother to walk in and find her and Jackson christening the bedroom.

“What?” Jackson feigned innocence, then winked as he pulled off her shorts and panties and tossed them in the corner along with her top. Stacie stretched out on the bed and Jackson gazed hungrily down at her. The sunlight streaming into the room showered her body, giving her an exotic golden glow. Jackson shook his head in wonder; he didn't understand it, but she got more beautiful every time he saw her. He leaned down and kissed her eyes, her nose, then her lips, his kisses soft like wisps of air. Their eyes met and Stacie sighed happily and settled back on the bed, her mother forgotten. Jackson kissed a trail from her breasts to her belly button.

“You're beautiful, you know that?” he asked. “I'm so glad you're in my life,” he murmured as he moved downward and placed his face between her legs. Stacie's hips bucked and she began moaning.

“Here, use this,” Jackson said and handed her a pillow to cover her face. “Make as much noise as you want.” He grinned, then resumed his position. He eased his tongue into the soft folds of her mound and swiped it over her love knob. She moaned so loud that he was afraid that maybe the pillow wouldn't be enough. He smiled devilishly as he slid two fingers into her, then nibbled at her clit as he slid his fingers in and out. Stacie's hips moved fast to keep up with his fingers, and they were bucking when she had her powerful orgasm.

“Gawd,” she said dreamily as she gasped for breath. “That was amazing.” She peeked at the door. “Hurry up,” she urged, as Jackson slipped off his clothes.

Jackson slipped on a condom and stood poised over her. “Fast or slow?” he teased.

“What do you think?”

“We'll go fast,” Jackson decided for her. He bent down and covered her mouth with his, smothering her groans. “You feel so good,” he groaned out of the corner of his mouth. “Why do you feel so good?” he teased, and all Stacie could do was shake her head; he left her speechless.

“I love you,” Stacie groaned as waves of pleasure washed over her body.

“I love you too,” Jackson shouted as waves of pleasure covered him.

Suddenly there was a knock on the bedroom door and Jackson and Stacie froze. “Is everything all right in there?” Her mother asked, concerned.

Stacie stuck her face in Jackson's chest to smother a giggle. “We're fine, Ma. A box fell on Jackson's toe, but he's okay now,” Stacie yelled.

“How you doing, Jackson?” Gladys called from the other side of the door.

“Fine, Momma Gladys,” he assured her.

“You need some ice? I can get you some ice. I'll be right back,” she said.

“No!” Stacie and Jackson yelled simultaneously. Stacie hopped up from the bed and opened the door a crack and assured her mother that Jackson was fine and that he didn't need any ice. Stacie switched back over to the bed and plopped down on top of Jackson. “Man, that was close,” she said as she laid her head on Jackson's chest.

“I know. Can you imagine her expression if she had opened up the door…?”

“Crazy. C'mon.” She leapt off the bed and stood in front of Jackson with her hands on her hips. “Help me unpack. I'll do my lingerie.”

“And I'll do you,” Jackson said, grinning as he reached for her again.

I
t was late and Tameeka had already sent Trent and Bea home. Sade was playing softly on the CD player, and she hummed along as she strolled around the store, putting stray items back in their homes. Tameeka didn't hear the door stealthily being pulled open, nor did she see the man watching her as she moved around the store. He crossed the floor and stood behind her but by the time she sensed his presence it was too late, he was on her. Mohammad grabbed her up in a bear hug and Tameeka struggled in his arms and let out an ear-splitting scream. Mohammad tightened his grip.

“Calm down, it's only me…Mohammad,” he breathed in her ear. His arms relaxed around her and she turned around with fearful eyes.

“Mohammad?” Tameeka squeaked, trembling as she tried to squash the flashback of her mugging. “What the hell are you doing, scaring me like that?” she admonished in a shaky voice as she glared at him. He didn't look as bad as he had the last time she'd seen him, when he was being put into an ambulance. The only reminder of that night was his broken nose that had healed slightly crooked.

“Didn't mean to, baby, just wanted to hug you. It always turned me on to see you cleaning up your piece of heaven,” he joked, then noticed her shaking. “Are you okay?” Mohammad asked while rubbing her arms.

“I'm fine. You scared the shit out of me though,” she answered, then told him about the robbery. She left out the part of her and Tyrell's lovemaking.

“Fuck! He was probably the same man who robbed Mr. Wang. Baby, I'm sorry I wasn't here,” he soothed as he pulled her into his arms and Tameeka rested against his body. “Are you okay?” Mohammad asked, tilting her face up and searching her eyes. Tameeka nodded. “So why are you here by yourself tonight? Where's your boyfriend?”

Tameeka ignored the question about Tyrell, and answered the first question instead. “I'm safe. I had an alarm system installed and I changed the locks…Hey, how did you get in?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Mohammad shrugged. “I walked in, the door was unlocked.”

“Oh crap! I am getting so forgetful. Man, am I glad it was you,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “Let me go lock it.” She turned to go, but Mohammad caught her arm. She looked up at him, her brow raised.

“I locked it,” he murmured, looking at her like he wanted to devour her.

A shiver of excitement shot through her. “So where have you been?” she asked.

“Traveling across the country. I had a lot of art shows, did some festivals. Even taught some classes. But it's always good to be back home,” he said, eyeing her, then his hand whipped out and pulled her against him. “You didn't answer my question. Where's your boyfriend?” Mohammad asked.

“Don't have one,” Tameeka muttered into his chest. “We broke up…the night he caught us.”

“Good,” he drawled.

Tameeka sucked her teeth. “Mo, why would you say something so mean?” she asked, then inhaled deeply when she saw the desire burning in his eyes.

“This is why,” he said, hungrily covering her mouth with his, catching Tameeka off guard. She momentarily froze, then her body thawed under Mohammad's heat. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she plunged her tongue deeper into his mouth. Mohammad moaned against her lips.

Tameeka tenderly caressed his face as he rained kisses over her eyelids, forehead and lips. They sank to the floor, snatching off the other's clothes along the way.

“I missed you,” Mohammad breathed, as his mouth moved over Tameeka's breasts, sucking on her engorged nipples as though they were lollipops. Tameeka writhed underneath him as her hands roamed freely over his body. She gasped with desire when Mohammad tongued his way down to her mound.

“Oh, Mo,” she exhaled, and her hips shot up to catch his mouth as it zeroed in on her button. He gently sucked it and nibbled on it as though it was a delicacy until she felt the sweet stirrings of her climax. Then it built into an explosion that left her trembling from head to toe.

“You're shaking, baby,” Mohammad said as he nipped at her shoulder.

Tameeka grinned up at him. “These are good shakes,” she reassured him as she caught her breath. “I saw fireworks,” she gushed.

“Good, wanna see more?” he asked, then before she could respond, he quickly mounted her and slid into her hotness.

“Mohammad,” Tameeka groaned, arching her body toward him. Her orgasm came at a dizzying speed, leaving her gasping for air. “We didn't use anything…I might get pregnant,” Tameeka whispered.

“Would that be a bad thing?” Mohammad asked, smiling at her. “I want us back together. Not just as fuck buddies, or cut buddies but as a real couple. I guess seeing you with Tyrell made me realize how much I love you,” he admitted, then cupped her face in his hands and asked, “Tameeka, would you be my wife?”

1. They can hold you captive
   
2. They can prevent you from living your life
   

S
tacie pulled her eyes away from the latest issue of
Essence
magazine and nervously glanced down the hall. She couldn't see it, but it was there; the door, or more accurately, the door to
the closet
. The same closet where she had spent half her childhood hiding from her drunken father and sniffing shoes. She frowned a little, then settled back on the couch.

The place was unusually quiet. In the short time she had moved back home, she had become accustomed to family noise. The cry of a baby, women squabbling followed by gentle laughter and the soft scratches of footsteps, but now it was just Stacie, alone, in the apartment. Stacie unfolded her legs, then planted them firmly on the floor and peered fearfully down the hall.

She tossed the magazine to the side, and wearing a look of resolve, she pushed herself off the couch and marched toward the closet.

“Today I'm going to do this,” she muttered as she tried to ignore her clammy hands and the roaring in her ears. This was her twentieth trip to the closet, well, actually the closet door. Ever since she had moved back home, she had been making a daily trek in that direction, but she had never gotten the nerve to open the closet door.

Stacie stopped in the same place she had stopped the last nineteen times. The door hadn't changed. It still had a hole in it from when Nevia had gotten mad at her and tried to hit her with her Easy-Bake Oven. If Stacie weren't so petrified, she would've chuckled at the memory.

She peered over her shoulder, half hoping that someone would come barreling down the corridor or at the very least call her. But all she saw was an empty hallway with carpeting the color of dirty eggs. There was no one to call her back as she gulped deeply, pulled the closet door open and flicked on the light.

She hung back, preferring to stand on the threshold. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed several times to wet it. She slowly counted and on ten, she placed one foot in front of the other and crossed the threshold.

Her eyes widened with surprise; what she remembered as a humongous haven was really only a ten-foot-long, three-foot wide closet. Back then it was huge to me, she mused. And it had been cleaned up. The trunk had long since been thrown away, as well as all the shoes. Now the closet was filled with baby clothes, baby toys and baby games.

She scooted to her favorite place, the back of the closet, eased down and pressed her back against the wall. The sniffling started first, then the trickling and lastly the sobbing. She felt nine years old again and she automatically pulled her shoe off and brought it to her nose. Taking deep breaths, she calmed herself.

Occasionally she was the target of her father's rages. He was a vicious man; sometimes he had said things that had gouged out pieces of her heart and made her cry for days.

Her father's voice roared in her ear. “You're nothing!” it hissed. “You're just like your mother, pretty but dumb as fuck,” it scoffed. “You're a piece of shit!” The words had spewed from his mouth and had drenched her with their nastiness, leaving her coated with a slime that she just now had the courage to wipe off.

“Stop it!” Stacie stood up and shouted into the darkness. “Stop talking to me like that. I'm a good person!” Her words were all wet but strong as the tears ran down her face. “You're nothing but a big bully! I love you, Daddy, but you shouldn't talk to me like that! I'm smart, I'm pretty, I'm loving, I'm God-fearing and I love myself. Don't you
ever
talk to me like that again! I deserve better. You bastard!”

She could hear her father snickering and could imagine him sneering at her. “Don't laugh at me. It's your fault that we grew up in the projects. If you hadn't drunk up your paycheck, we could've had a nice house. So there!” She stuck her tongue out. “So when you said I wasn't shit, you weren't shit, otherwise you would've been a real daddy to me. You know what, Daddy?” She peered into the darkness and smiled lopsidedly. “I got a man who adores me and calls me pretty every day. And I love it!”

Emotionally exhausted, Stacie fell against the closet wall. She felt good. She felt reborn. She felt invincible.

She regretted that she could not have said her peace to her father; but his lifestyle had caught up with him. He'd been living in a shelter and was penniless when he died of cirrhosis five years earlier.

“Good-bye, Daddy,” she whispered. On shaky legs, she pushed herself out of the closet, leaving her shoe behind.