Love Redeemed, Book 4 (19 page)

“Goddamn, Brimm,” I drag out on a breath.

“Mmmmmm…” she moans and I feel exhilarated and anxious out my ass at the same time. With both hands, she grabs the elastic waist of my shorts and boxers and pulls the front down, just enough to expose the base of my strongman as it’s straining just below the elastic waist. Her tongue swiftly attempts to curl around the base and my right hand slams against the marble countertop in an attempt to keep my balance.

“Goddamn!” I hear
belting from a distance.

Apparently, Brimm
’s heard it, too, because she jumps from her knees, quickly shuffling to fold her wrap over her breasts. Impulsively, I push her behind me.

Fucking timing!

Lenny stands there with his mouth agape and eyes stretched wide. Jackson’s next to him, trying to fight his burning grin by ducking his head while cupping his chin. Mia walks up behind Lenny, wearing a puzzled expression, trying to figure out what the hell’s going on.

Abruptly, Lenny pushes her behind him.

“Oh, hell no! Your dick looks like the size of an anaconda right now through those shorts. My girl ain’t witnessing that shit!” Lenny shouts over his shoulder while covering Mia’s eyes. And it’s a good thing; it would only take her seconds to figure out what they’ve just interrupted.

I kn
ow Rayna isn’t aware that our guests stayed overnight. She also didn’t provide me an opportunity to share this information either.

What a fucking inconvenient moment!

“What the fuck did you give Ray last night, man,” Lenny shrieks. “Whatever the hell it was, do share so that I can get down!”

“Fuck outta her
e, man!” I hiss then pivot my head to peek behind me and find a mortified and shaken Rayna, who pins her forehead against my shoulder blade with her eyes squeezed shut while she scrapes her top lip between her teeth. “This is why I’ve grown preferable to no guests.” I snort as I speak specifically to her.

“I’m hungry as a mo
therfucker, D. I was just coming in here to see if I could snack on something before we bounce,” Lenny informs as he makes his way farther into the kitchen.

I turn completely, ben
d down, and throw Rayna over my shoulder. She squeaks like a child, surprised by my maneuver. “Azmir!”

After making sure her ass
is decently covered, I turn to face the crowd, of three now, in my kitchen and announce, “Brunch is on its way up.” I move toward the kitchen doorway opposite of the one the guests came into as I hold my lady by the ass. “I’m going to put my girl back to bed and will be back out to say my goodbyes when I’m done.”

I see
heat rise from Mia’s neck, up to her face, the embarrassment on Jax’s, and amusement on Lenny’s. Rayna shrills and as I make my way towards the corridor, I feel a sharp whack into my ass.

“Azmir!” Rayna chide
s, but I can’t miss the huskiness in her voice when she speaks. My girl knows her reward is quickly approaching.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, I’m back in the living room, kicking it with Jax. Lenny and Mia left right after brunch. I learned Evelyn left early this morning for a flight out to New Orleans. Rayna’s sleeping soundly after a long night and a rough late-morning fuck. Now it’s just me and my younger compadre, sipping on something wet—me on brandy, him on juice as I now realize Jackson doesn’t drink. It’s great having him in town. He’s
almost
like his old self, but I can see the stirred melancholy in his eyes. It’s almost as if his soul has been robbed.

“So, Evelyn?” I ask.

Arching his brows, Jackson exhales and returns, “Something like that.”

It’
s now my turn to raise my brows.

“C’mon, D. You know me,” he tr
ies to explain. “You’re not the only one with strategic motives.”

“Oh, yeah?”
I cock my head to the side, signaling the need for an explanation. “All I’m saying is that you’re young, fresh, and paid. I’m sure dames your age are biting at the bits for your pretty ass.”

Jackson chuckle
s coolly and slightly rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but they’re also vying for a ring. A goddamn commitment that ain’t happening. My ageless queens,” I know off the bat he’s referring to the older women he keeps in company of. “…aren’t expecting that. They just want a good time, an incredible fuck, and then to be left the hell alone.”

“Not from what I saw of Evelyn. You heard the comment she made about not being your plus one at my
birthday party.”

He snorts
, “Yeah, I did catch that, which is why I’ll be putting her ass on respite for a little while.”

I laugh
at that one as I see Jackson rise from his seat across from me. “I’m serious, D. Don’t judge me when your ass has waited until you’re damn near forty to get clinks on your wrists.
If
I follow the same path, I still have plenty of time.” He jeers as he starts for the door. I put my drink down and follow him.

“I’ll tell you just what a wise man recently told me: Time is not your friend, neither will it ever be.” I pat him on the shoulder. “So, if you’re lucky enough to find that
one
that makes you think with your head, heart, and cock—and occasionally all at the same time—don’t hesitate to make her your forever.”

We stop at the front door and Jackson turn
s to me, “Is that what happened to you?” He jerks his chin towards the back of the apartment.

I pause for a second to consider my words. It’s been difficult for me to articulate my feelings regarding Rayna
. She’s most frustrating and all-consuming. Even now, while talking to Jax, in the recesses of my conscience, I’m deciding on what I will spoon-feed her for lunch. And how if I would wake her prematurely just to spend time with her. She’s my treasure.

“That woman brings me both pleasure and pain. The weird thing is feeling a rush of pleasure even in the midst
of pain, because it means that no matter how fucked up I feel, or how scared I am at the prospect of losing her, there is still some pleasure in having been connected to her.”    

Jackson cracks a smile as he lifts his arm to give me dap. “Well, enjoy it, man. This love thing has always been mystical to me
.” He shakes his head. “Seeing you holding it down makes
love
an
inconvenient truth
, my brother.”

“Indeed
.” I return the love and pull Jackson into a hug. He’s a good dude and still young on years, but I’ve no doubt that he’ll get it soon.

I walk Jackson out then go and join my domestic
ated fiancée in bed, hoping to catch a little shuteye along with her. The anticipation building on my way to the master suite concerns the hell out of me and feels good all at the same time.

Rayna

              The night of the
Mauve
event I’m in a massive suite at the
L’Irmatage
in Beverly Hills, getting prim and proper. I have a belly full of butterflies because I’ve never been to a signing event before, much less not one of this variety. I mean, not only am I going as the date of the celebrant, but I also happen to be his fiancée and this is our first event under that title. Prior to our engagement, there was so much bewilderment around the status of our relationship—for me as well as others. And even though being insecure regarding Azmir is old hat, being by his side, during a monumental occasion in his life, I’m anxious with expectation.

“Chin up…just a bit, Rayna,” Chantal order
s as she evens out my chin with foundation…spray…or whatever it is she’s applying while Adrian was working my hair from behind.

“We’re almost ready,
Cookie, and you’re going to be beat some kinda fierce, honey!” Adrian sings in drag. We dissembled the dining room to make a makeshift glam squad headquarters for me. Sitting patiently, I’m showered and moisturized. Once they’re done, all I have to do is slip on my costume.

I hear extraneous noise
s from out in the living room, snatching my attention.

“Is t
hat your fine ass millionaire, Cookie?” Adrian inquires.

As I
pin my ears back
, so to speak, I hear dribs of his silken voice and eventually those sounds draw more consistent and clear.

“How’s it going in here?” His baritone
vocals pour into the room, causing the hairs on my neck to erect.

“She’ll be ready in twenty, Mr. Jacobs,” Chantal, a
French makeup artist, assures with professional ringing.

“Almost done with her mane, F.A.M.,” Adrian
informs. I successfully conceal my laughter.

Fine Ass Millionaire, really, Adrian?

After a pause, I hear a chirp from my phone and turn it over.

Are you wearing panties this evening?

I gasp, “Azmir!” I trill, much to myself. I’m not sure why I’m so embarrassed.
Perhaps because you have two people barely inches away who could catch a glimpse of your fiancé sexting you
.

I text back:
Why would you text me something like that?

I sh
ake my head and giggle quietly, not wanting Adrian’s nosy butt to ask me who and what I’m texting.

“Because I asked you a question verbally and you didn’t answer,” Azmir’s silky
thick voice chides, causing a sensation of warmth to blanket me. I can tell he’s feeling slighted, I just don’t know how much.

Thinking quickly, I type back:
If I don’t will you take advantage of it?

“Maybe
,” he growls aloud, “…maybe not.”

I jump
up and around in my seat only to find him gone.

In the limo, en route to the venue, my nerves
haven’t calmed in the least. I don’t know why, but I grow jittery. Azmir, on the other hand, looks mouthwatering in his dark blue
Hugo Boss
suit, black dress shirt, and matching oxfords. He’s left a few buttons undone in his shirt and each time my eyes catch the view, I can swear my tongue itches. His stark beauty and virile countenance always causes my breath to falter. And when I study his physique, my heartbeat doubles. As always, Azmir radiates reckless class and elegance. It doesn’t matter if he’s wearing jeans, sweats, basketball shorts, or tuxedo pants; he’s virile art on display. The allure is his incognizance to it.

He seem
s a little preoccupied himself, but far from suffering the nerve bug that I’ve succumbed to. I don’t know how he’s holding it together before such a big event. He’s asked if I’m okay at least a half a dozen times from his first sight of me in my gown until we arrive to the red carpet.

Red carpet.

Holy crap!

When I arrive
d at the hotel earlier, Shayna was there, providing the
five steps, then pose
method of walking the carpet. She forewarned about the earsplitting yells from paps, demanding eye action. My chant the entire prep time was
I can do this…for Azmir, I can do this
.

However, when Azmir pull
s me from the limo with such glint in his eyes, and gives me a moment to adjust my gown, my balance sways as I gaze over Dawn Taylor. It’s not her usual sinister smile, hidden behind her usual crimson lips that has always raised my guards when in her presence. It’s not even how her pupils darken as she gawps Azmir’s virility that throws me. It’s that she’s wearing a sleeveless, full-length blue satin gown, appearing more like a partner in the signing rather than the handler of one.

Azmir must notice, too, because as soon as both our feet
are planted on the concrete and we stand erect, he stills once he registers her presence. It seems like minutes before anyone moves or speaks. It’s suddenly and crystal clear to me that Dawn tried to throw me the shabby stylist to out-dress me for this event. What’s even more audacious is her knowing Azmir’s colors and matching with him. It all makes sense, but what am I to do; cry like a baby to Azmir and rat her out? No! I will not allow Dawn to affect me publically.

The screeching yelps for Azmir to
pose is what snatches us from this extremely awkward moment. Azmir doesn’t speak to Dawn yet, but takes me by the small of my back, guiding forward. I don’t want to, but immediately tell myself
this
is one of those moments where I have to wear a mask of unyielding, unflustered confidence as it concerns her.

Dawn
turns to Marcus, Azmir’s muscle, and asks him to follow another gentleman who will take him to the entrance of the venue where he’s to wait for Azmir to finish the carpet and then resume his duties. Marcus gives Azmir a look, asking if he’s cool with it. With a soft nod and a swift blinking of the eye, Azmir consents and Marcus walks off. Dawn lifts a virtually invisible wire from her jewelry-clad neck and speaks into it as she presses her finger into her ear, apparently listening in, communicating with someone.

Then, w
ith her usual agenda-filled leer, Dawn directs with a long arm, “Mr. Jacobs,” she ducks her chin. “Rayna,” she gives me fleeting eye-action. “…this way. I’m sure Shayna has gone over the step/pose method of red carpet walking with you both. I’ll be here to direct you with this. Just be mindful that we must be thorough and quick. You will hear lots of demands, but please keen your ears to my calls as I will guide you through it all to maximize publicity.”

Azmir nod
s, but immediately diverts his eyes to mine. There’s something in them. I can’t tell if he’s nervous or livid but, simultaneously I waft a lungful of his tantalizing cologne against his classical facial features, and it brings me unmitigated comfort. One thing is for sure, and that’s I have to prepare myself to walk this long red carpet in five-inch heels and alongside a man with larger than life stature on my arm. We start immediately once we make it beyond a metal barricade that separates the photogs from the carpet. Dawn walks ahead of us with me following her and Azmir behind me, to my right.

The flashes and clicks beg
in right away. My practiced smile that I’ve trained for over the past few days arrives, my shoulders rise and squares as Adrian advised. My mouth is filled with cotton balls and elephants dance in my belly. I try desperately to control my tremors because I want to prove to Azmir that I can handle his world just as much as I want to convince myself.

“
Azmir!
”…“
Jacobs!
”…“
Mr. Jacobs’ guest!”…“Azmir’s friend!
” they all yell, demanding our attention. I notice no one addresses me directly. They don’t know my name.

It’s okay, Rayna.
I chastise my unusually burgeoning ego.

We implement the five step/pose method
for a few feet. Under Azmir’s arm, experiencing his familiar scent and feeling his well-acquainted body heat against my anxious frame, the jitters start to subside. My breathing begins to even and my steps are solid, executed with confidence. And in my introspect, I’m amazed at how in tune and synced our bodies are. I move and pivot with enough men while dancing to know that synchronism isn’t ordinary. You must know the personal space required for your partner and the timing in which it takes them to decide the next choreographed
or
innate move. That’s the challenge of dancing with a new partner. It’s a needed skill for dancing.

Here, with Azmir, our moves
gel as we dance the red carpet fluidly. With this revelation, I peer up to find Azmir’s gleaming regard on me. There’s a soft smile on his tempting lips and the area around his eyes are light—untroubled, blithely even. In this moment, I cannot question or deny that this man is in absolute love with me. His adoration is palpable and here in this space in time, I’m not frightened by it. I don’t want to run from it. I want to take it head on and give him any and everything needed to make him happy. Give him the contentment he deserves.

Step, step, step, step, step, and pose…

“Rayna, this way please,” Dawn directs, snapping me out of my fortuitous trance. Because my guards are now down, I obey without a second thought.

We
’re only a quarter of the way done with the carpet and I move to the left of her, leaving her to Azmir’s side. She points to the cameras she wants him to pose for. I even notice how she speaks directly to several of them, giving them factoids about Azmir,
Mauve
,
Cobalt
, and
Global Fusion
, which I now know is the mergers and acquisitions firm he owns with Richard. I notice when she splays her hand on Azmir’s arm in a gentle and almost affectionate manner.

I
’m proud to see Azmir display his charming, coochie-creaming smile, even if it isn’t just for me. I’ve been so used to having him alone and experiencing the magic and wonder of his exclusivity that sharing him here with all of these eager people makes him larger than life. It’s a fascinating phenomenon. It’s his moment and he’s owning it. The masculine nod that he gives after a paparazzo expresses they’ve gotten enough desired shots of him and then moving on to the next, melts my core.

I cringe inwardly when I realize Dawn
’s in some of the shots, smiling with an air of companionship. I continue ahead of them, being sure to stay out of the way. I can’t lie and say I don’t eventually feel awkward and like a mismatched ornament.
She’s wearing his blue!
There was a time, not too long ago, where I would haul ass from this scenario when another woman craftily, attempts her claws into Azmir. Not today. I want this moment for Azmir and I will not waver from being by his side as he experiences it. It isn’t easy, but I will not run. I smile and gracefully wait out the time until I’ll be wrapped under his arm…where he wants me.

At some point, we bumped into other red carpet walkers—extremely well known ones. His old buddy
, Kobe, is here with his petite wife and they are the first to pose with Azmir. They keep their banter to a minimum as Dawn guides Azmir farther down where he takes shots with Quincy Jones who appears far more geriatric than I ever imagined. He moves slow and slouches at the shoulders, but his killer smile is still in tow. Nonetheless, his presence warms me as I’m reminded of Azmir singing
and dancing
to one of his many genius hits that night at the marina.
Moody’s Mood for Love
will always be etched in my heart, as the memory will be with me forever.

We bump into the rapper, Nelly
, who’s much taller than I realized. He has a potty mouth as he jeers familiarly with Azmir. Then we move on to Stephen Hill. He’s extremely…goofy, very silly as he chats with Azmir.

The ultimate
is when we meet Gayle King and when she turns to him, her eyes light up as she sings, “Divine!”

Hold up!

Did Oprah’s best friend, the editor-at-large
of
O
magazine, and co-host of a major morning show just refer to Azmir by his less than corporate-professional moniker? The wind has left my body as I watch them enfold one another like it’s old hat. They exchange a few words in a conversant manner before we move on. I can’t believe it.

Who is Azmir Jacobs?

I tr
y to stay out of everyone’s way as I realize it’s all managed by folks talking into wires just like Dawn. There are dozens of celebrities that Azmir poses with, reminding me of his stature—that I still don’t quite understand.

This
goes on until Shayna Bacote takes me by the arm, which alerts me that we’ve arrived at the end of the carpet. As I follow her into the opulent foyer of venue, I immediately notice that she’s wearing a simple black sheath dress that falls at her knees with black opaque hosiery and patent leather ballerina flats. I know Shayna typically wears heels and can easily surmise her desire for comfort as she works this evening—soooooo dissimilar to Dawn’s. This is a different style of professionalism compared to her contemporary who’s dressed to accompany the man of the hour.