Knowing (52 page)

Sierra was obviously feeling a little jealous toward her little sister, who apparently was outdancing her. Autumn was doing the Crossover. She leaned her body back at a seventy-five-degree angle and worked her pelvis.

Sierra and Ginger were exhausted. For the first time in months they both agreed on something. It was as though a black cloud had lifted. Ginger didn’t want to fight with her daughter. She’d wanted a truce to their unceremonious problems. It had come. Sierra and Ginger hugged, relaxing into one another. No matter what happened, the weekend was a success. Ginger had left home hoping to come to terms with her feelings about Jackson, but unknowingly would return with a renewed respect between mother and daughter— and the laughter, the theater of a dance, the Butterfly.

Ginger, Christian, Sierra, and Autumn returned home Saturday afternoon on a happy note. For four short days, they’d experienced a personal high that had been missing for some time. Somehow, a bridge had been formed among them all, a new awareness, a new respect.

Jackson neither acknowledged nor reprimanded Ginger on their return. He tersely kissed Sierra, ignored Christian, and took his baby daughter aside, pampering her with hugs and loving kisses.

They resumed their sleeping arrangements: Jackson sovereigned in their king-size bed; Ginger suffered on the narrow sofa.

On that first night at home, after endless hours of tossing and turning Ginger finally felt the exhaustion of sleep creep in upon her. She awoke minutes later startled by what she perceived to be a devil, clad in bright red underwear.

He hissed, pointing a finger in her face. “Don’t you ever take my kids from this house. If you want to leave, go! But you leave them here. This is their
home
. Kids don’t understand parental problems. You’re confusing them. Lord knows what you’ll stoop to next!”

Ginger rubbed her eyes, still trying to focus on what had transpired. She hadn’t imagined she’d see the devil in the red briefs — the scent of his Old Spice deodorant still lingered.

She’d hoped Jackson would miss her and be willing to call a truce when she returned. She thought that giving him time alone to think, and to miss her, would bring his focus back onto the importance of their relationship. It hadn’t worked, though. Their conversation was more strained than ever. He wouldn’t even look at her. Blow after blow was sending Ginger into a frenzy. She couldn’t cope. But then she realized that she had a last hope:
Maybe he still hadn’t read the letter.

Since I Lost My Baby

Hurt blinded Ginger’s better judgment, and she confronted him at last. “Jackson, I won’t live with you like this. We don’t talk. We don’t spend time together anymore. You seem to be avoiding me all the time. Didn’t you read my letter?”

“Yeah, I read it,” he lied. “So.”

“So, I thought you’d have some kind of response to my feelings.” Her voice was betraying the heart that she so valiantly tried to protect.

“Like I said. So.” He flicked the buttons on the remote control, seemingly unconcerned. “Am I supposed to fall down on my knees and kiss your ass?” He looked up at her, his hazel eyes reflecting the glare of the television set.

For a second Ginger was scared. Jackson never treated her with such indifference. Their arguments had never lasted this long. For the first time in their marriage, Ginger truly felt that Jackson didn’t love her anymore.

“I wrote you a letter, too.”

“You did?” Ginger’s voice inflected signs of hope.

Picking up the drink next to him, Jackson took a gulp.

“Where is it? Can I read it now?”

Stretching out his legs, Jackson finished his drink. “Yeah, why don’t you. I’ll get it.” Ginger’s eyes followed him as he walked to the closet and retrieved the note from his jacket pocket.

A sneer came across his face as he handed it to her. All Ginger’s hopes died when she read the note:
Fuck you, bitch
.

Barely able to compose herself, Ginger sucked in her pride. Undoubtedly, the only thing you enjoy about me is fucking me. I seem to have no other value. Thank you for making it so plain. Refusing to cry, she scanned the note again, and dropped it in the trash can. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “If that’s the way you want it, Jackson.”

Tears were the last thing on her mind when Ginger turned on the stereo. She’d show him. He’d be sorry. A sultry song floated throughout the silent room. She felt the music flowing through her body like hot, liquid gold, enter her like fine wine. Ginger pretended she was a whore, paid to put on the show of a lifetime. And moving her body to a provocative beat, she began a striptease.

Ginger danced closer to Jackson, naked, spreading his legs open as she stood before him. Her right hand caressed his chest, then she outlined his full lips with the index finger of her left. Ginger layered Jackson’s mouth with kisses as he responded automatically.

Teasing the nipples on his chest, Ginger pushed his knees open wider, and softly ran her vagina in a circular motion up and down his thigh. The lips of her sex opened and closed, suctioning his leg, grinding her full buttocks slowly and easily down the expanse of him as her eyes held his.

Next, she moved squarely astride him. With both hands, she massaged Jackson’s temples. His head fell back against the sofa as Ginger’s hands massaged and caressed his chest, neck, face. When Ginger began stimulating his crotch with her long fingernails, she felt his erection straining against the tight jeans.

Jackson had forgotten about their problems just as she had suspected he would.

Stepping back off his lap, Ginger picked up the tempo of the music as she placed her hands at the sides of her hips, cocking open her legs. She rolled her stomach and hips to the rhythm, tantalizingly.

Turning around, she lifted the curls of her wig from her shoulders, piling them on her head, as she worked her butt up and around and down just inches from the floor and back up again. Ginger felt her heart pounding as she placed her fingers around the soft folds of her vagina, stroking her warm flesh, watching Jackson watch her. Feeling the juices gathering between her legs, she inserted a finger, stimulating her clitoris, in and out. Slowly at first, then picking up the pace . . . faster . . . faster . . . harder . . . until she felt herself surrendering to her own passions. She stopped, regaining her focus, her tongue curled, moistening her mouth as she moved closer to him. Touching him. Feeling his hardness, seeing him enjoy the scent of sex on her wettish fingers while outlining his mouth, then kissing him.

Strange how quickly the human body, the instrument of beauty and feeling, could leave the mind behind.

“I want to fuck you, Jackson,” Ginger said in a low, husky voice. Slowly, she removed his clothing, managing to kiss every inch of him in the process.

Jackson’s usually sharp instincts misread Ginger. Ginger had hoped he’d see the charade, and refuse. But his need for sex overruled his need for love — and he succumbed.

A familiar recognition passed between them as Ginger and Jackson moved toward the bed. Ginger gently guided Jackson to lie back against the pillows. As if in slow motion, she massaged his enlarged member, then skillfully stroked him, whispering erotic expletives in his ear that at first made him stiffen with surprise. Then slowly, as he relaxed, she felt his love juices oozing over his stiff penis as her fingers slowly traveled around the cap of his engorged organ.

Straddling Jackson, Ginger cupped her hands under his buttocks, lifting him a few inches from the bed and guiding him to match her rhythmic thrusts. Jackson grabbed the headboard of the bed and lifted his taut buttocks even higher, as they moved toward a melodic symphony they both could play by heart.

As her knee dug deeper into the mattress, Ginger gripped the headboard, her perspiring hands pressing next to Jackson’s as she arduously rode him until he shuddered and climaxed. But she knew her quest was not over, and continued to ride him, slowly, ever so slowly, until she felt the heat of his sex growing inside her.

Placing her hands above his head, next to the sweat-stained pillow, she kissed him hard on the mouth. Twirling her tongue inside, she tasted his tangy sweetness while moving her buttocks erotically around his hardened shaft. Ginger heard Jackson’s shallow breathing as she kissed the base of his neck. The brandy Jackson had imbibed that evening seemed to seep through his glands as he sweated, intoxicating the air above them.

Raising and lowering her buttocks, she grazed the tip of his organ, enticing and teasing him. Ginger knew he was close to his second orgasm. Ordinarily, she would be also. Yet, she knew the role she was playing tonight was not out of love, but out of hurt and vengeance. She had to prove something to herself and to him. And she would, before the night was over.

It had only taken Ginger a few minutes of squeezing and stroking with her vagina muscles for Jackson to climax again.

After returning from the bathroom, she cleansed and bathed his sex with a hot cloth, as Jackson moaned, rolling his buttocks beneath him, his eyes closed. Ginger knew he was thoroughly satisfied, and ready for his traditional exhausted after-sex sleep. But the night was still young, as he would soon see.

She lit a lilac-scented candle and moved toward the bed. Hearing his shallow breathing, Ginger straddled Jackson’s long body yet again. Only this time, her head was lower. Slowly, she began to massage his penis. She heard garbled words coming from his semiconscious form. Knowing his body almost as well as he did, Ginger knew it would be a mere three or four seconds before he became aroused.

Ginger began sucking on Jackson’s toes, one by one, and continued to stroke him. His big toe curved slightly while she worked her way up his legs, kissing and licking his moist skin. The musky scent of sweat lingered on Jackson’s hairy legs, as she ran her tongue swiftly over the slick follicles. Turning him over, she kissed the back of his muscular thighs, working her way up to his buttocks. Jackson sighed, and stretched his long body like a leopard, moaning in pleasure.

Kissing the nape of his neck, Ginger massaged and rolled Jackson’s skin along his back and shoulder with quick, circular motions. Stroking the lower half of his body with long traces of her curled toes, Ginger glided herself over Jackson like an octopus, heating up his body with hers.

Jackson’s hands reached up around her and cupped her buttocks, grinding beneath her. Ginger then turned him onto his side, sucking on his right nipple, then his left, as she guided him onto his back and climbed on top of him.

Feeling the velvet throbbing of Jackson’s stiff organ, Ginger quickened her measured strokes to match his gyrating buttocks, which seemed to have a life of their own. Bending down, she kissed his satiny tip glistening in the half-darkness.

Since he treated her like a whore, and this is what he always said a whore did, she’d show him what a whore could do. She began licking down one side, then the other, following his protruding vein, and around the base, catching the hairs of his sex beneath her teeth, tugging gently.

What the hell was she doing? Jackson had awakened fully now. “Ginger!” he said, lifting his head from the pillow. “Don’t, baby. You know —”

Ginger clamped her free hand over his mouth and continued kissing and loving his sex. She knew in her heart that he was enjoying it.

Still feeling the alcohol racing through his veins, Jackson lay back, knowing he couldn’t fight the excitement rocketing through his penis.

Gliding her tongue over his sex, Ginger opened her mouth wide to receive as much of him as she could take in, sucking gently. She heard a gasp from Jackson, then continued, at first sucking softly, tenderly, then elevating up and down as far as she could, one hand massaging his testicles, the other splayed across his chest, pressing him to lie back.

Ginger felt Jackson’s buttocks moving, and pushed his penis farther into her mouth, then she heard a slow hum in the back of his throat. Ginger performed fellatio along and around Jackson’s strained sex, until she tasted the clear liquid lubricating his rigid member. Jackson began calling Ginger’s name over and over while twisting his body to a sitting position.

Jackson pulled her head to his mouth, and kissed her hard, tasting the musky film coating her lips. Sweat streamed down both their bodies as they slid near the edge of the bed. Knowing her task was not finished, however, Ginger took control of the situation, disengaging her lips from his. Pushing his legs apart with her knees, she lowered her head and stroked his love muscle. As smoothly as a breath, she again took him into her hot mouth, as she knelt before him at the edge of the bed. Grabbing his buttocks, she pulled him deeper into her welcoming mouth. Sucking. Loving. Licking.

Jackson’s clutched her head, gyrating his lips frantically, thrusting himself deeper, farther into Ginger’s mouth. Arching his back, Jackson stiffened, straining against his desire, trying to prolong the pleasure that was overwhelming him.

Flicking her tongue around the rim, Ginger blew lightly over his throbbing head, her lips smooth and soft, wide, open and wet. She brushed the top of her tongue over his tiny hole, flicking it in and out, and around.