Never Again Once More (29 page)
Read Never Again Once More Online
Authors: Mary B. Morrison
The following is a sample chapter from Mary B. Morrison’s
eagerly anticipated novel,
eagerly anticipated novel,
SOMEBODY’S GOTTA BE ON TOP.
It will be available in August 2004 wherever hardcover books are sold.
ENJOY!
Monogamy wasn’t natural. Monogamy was a learned behavior that Darius couldn’t be taught. When would women realize sex wasn’t a bed partner of love? Besides, who would teach him how to be faithful? Jesse Jackson? Bill Cosby? Willie Brown? Bill Clinton? His dad, the ménage à trois king? All the men he respected, all the men he knew, were men. Fornicators. Adulterers. Players. The distinction of a real man was a real man kept his family in the foreground and his females in the background. Like backup singers. Once the song was over, their job was done. Thanks for having made him cum. Now go. With Darius, not many of his lovers deserved an encore.
“Ha!” Darius laughed then said aloud to himself, “You a fool boy.” His office was quiet all morning. No constant phone calls or interruptions by his secretary, Angel.
Any woman who wanted Darius Jones had to commit to him and only him. His woman had to have a job. Not any job. A high paying job. Preferably her own business. So what if he had enough money to take care of her. Her mama. And her grandmama. A woman without a steady income was venomous. A woman with too much idle time was lethal. No piece of ass was worth his millions of dollars. He was the only heir to his mother’s empire and one day would split his father’s fortune with one sibling who was barely four years old.
Those broke leeches in thongs, jiggling their asses on beaches or benches, at the bus stop, were the ones who were constantly plotting and planning—pregnancy, rape, battery—on how to become rich off of a man. For sex. For real. Any wealthy man would suffice. Mike. Kobe. Deon. Including him. Bullshit conniving tricks. They weren’t privy to suck his dick.
Rich pussy like the Vivica A’s, and Mary J’s, Halles, and Janets of the world needed stroking too. But they also had reputations worth protecting. Lawsuits to them translated into bad publicity. Lost revenue. They’d end the relationship before bringing forth charges. That’s the kind of woman Darius wanted. And if Darius ever caught his woman cheating, she didn’t need to waste his time explaining. Or packing. Because he’d personally have all of her shit moved out of his house. Immediately!
With Darius, no one got a second chance to make a bad impression. Except his mother. Darius pressed sixty-nine on his speed dial. His lungs expanded. The warm air escaped his nostrils, grazing his smooth upper lip.
“Hey, you,” she answered.
Her voice penetrated his soul. Chill bumps invaded his skin. The hairs on his arms stood tall. Darius wasn’t cold. He swallowed the lump clogging his vocal cords and said, “So, you packed yet? I can hardly wait to see you tonight. Make sure you arrive two hours early at the airport.” Darius deepened his voice then emphasized, “I don’t want you to miss your flight this time.”
Darius rolled his leather high-back chair until his abdomen pressed against the edge of his glass-top desk creating a crease in his wool jacket. Slowly he smoothed his finger over the photographic image of her naturally pink-colored lips. Thin and seemingly oh so very soft. She looked ravishing in the family picture they’d taken a month ago at Thanksgiving dinner with his parents.
“Are you still in the office?” she asked.
His hand traveled from her temple and traced the outline along her straight black hair, which cast a strikingly beautiful contrast against her nearly white complexion. His eyes fixated on hers.
Loving someone more than himself, more than life, more than making money, was absurd and not what Darius had planned. But this special woman—naw, she was more than a woman, she was a lady—had stolen his heart. First she’d become his platonic childhood playmate. Now she was his best friend. His only friend.
The honeysuckle scent of her hair, the subtle movement of her hips when she walked, the provocative melody of her voice each time she innocently laughed while calling his name, the gentleness of her touch whenever she groomed his dreadlocks, the taste of her words lingering on his palate as he gasped into the receiver consumed his thoughts. Nervous energy growled in the pit of his stomach reminding him he’d forgotten to eat lunch again today. Consciously he erased his boyish grin. She evoked feelings Darius swore he’d never harbor for any woman after having been betrayed by his ex-fiancée.
“Of course I’m still in the office. And my staff too. Just because it’s Friday and New Year’s Eve, doesn’t mean they’re entitled to leave early. I might let ’em go at three. Maybe. Now answer my question.”
“Don’t worry. I packed last night. And my dad is dropping me off in a few. I’ll call you when my plane lands in Oakland.” She paused then whispered, “I miss you, brother.”
Darius remained silent. Damn. Although they spoke every day, three to five times each day, he’d practically forgotten about the incident with her dad. Darius hadn’t seen her father since the day, over two years ago, when he’d beaten her father’s ass for causing his mother to hurt her arm and leg. In retrospect, Darius understood Lawrence’s frustrations with his mother because after that physical altercation Darius’s mother gave him the shock of his life. Thereafter, his feelings for his mother numbed his compassion toward women even more. If his mother were a liar, then every other woman was too. Except his lady on the opposite end of the phone. But the feasibility existed, so he couldn’t completely trust her either. What a fucked-up world to live in, Darius thought, when the only person he could trust one hundred percent of the time was himself.
Forgetting about her dad and his mom, Darius massaged his erection through his pleated slacks hoping she’d continue talking, but hopefully not about her dad. Her voice had him so turned on he wanted to make love. To her. For years.
Say something. Anything. Please.
His dick urged, repeating her tone in his mind.
I miss you
. He’d missed her too. But silence lingered in his ear.
Say something. Anything. Please.
His dick urged, repeating her tone in his mind.
I miss you
. He’d missed her too. But silence lingered in his ear.
New Year’s Eve this year would be unforgettable. He wasn’t going to propose, but he’d finally gathered the courage to logically express the depth of his love. His birth parents weren’t hers so factually they weren’t related. And since his mom was remarried to her soul mate, Wellington Jones, the man his mother should’ve married instead of Lawrence, Darius felt Ashlee and he were two consenting adults capable of making their own decisions.
Darius’s flight from Los Angeles would arrive into Oakland International Airport one hour before Ashlee’s plane from Dallas was scheduled to land. His luggage would remain at baggage claim because he wanted to surprise Ashlee by waiting at her gate with a dozen of her favorite long-stem white roses.
Breaking the silence she finally spoke, “Did you hear me?” Lightly she articulated, “I said, I miss you.”
Ashlee’s delayed response made Darius believe she was also thinking about him. The cordless phone slipped from between his ear and shoulder so he quickly activated the speaker. “Of course I heard you. I just wanted you to repeat it. That’s all.” He placed his fingers against his thick lips then laid the same two fingers atop the glass frame over her mouth.
She inhaled then softly said, “I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. How’s that? Turn on your cam so I can see you.”
No way
, Darius thought as he unzipped his pants and squeezed his head suppressing the cum vowing to escape his hard-on. He imagined what she looked like in the nude. Although they’d visited one another for more than ten years—he still had no idea if her nipples were lighter or darker than her breasts. If her pubic hairs were curly or straight. If her clitoris was small or large.
, Darius thought as he unzipped his pants and squeezed his head suppressing the cum vowing to escape his hard-on. He imagined what she looked like in the nude. Although they’d visited one another for more than ten years—he still had no idea if her nipples were lighter or darker than her breasts. If her pubic hairs were curly or straight. If her clitoris was small or large.
“Hey, lady. I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you later.” Darius stood. Securing his relaxed muscle into his black silk boxers he then watched the tiny metal clamps overlap until the last one reached the top.
His lungs suctioned in the much-needed oxygen for his brain when she exhaled an intoxicating, “Bye.”
Darius waited until she hung up then removed his tan coat, tossing it onto his chair. He entered the private restroom connected to his office and vigorously rinsed his face with cold water. While staring at his reflection in the mirror, Darius wondered why his mother had lied to him about his biological father? Why she’d waited twenty years to reveal the truth? Why didn’t his biological father, Darryl Williams, Sr., display the same love for him as he did for Darius’s two half brothers?
Darryl was a former NBA all-star whom Darius had overtly idolized most of his childhood, including the four years Darius started on the varsity basketball team in high school. Darryl was his college basketball coach at Georgetown, which explained why his mother never came to any of his college games. His mother apparently had an epiphany when her mother died and decided it was time for a damn confession. A truth that mentally scarred him. Possibly for life.
Fuck Darryl Williams! Darius Jones didn’t need anybody but Darius Jones. His beloved grandmother, MaDear, the only woman that never lied to him, would’ve said, “Don’t waste time disliking people who don’t like you when you can appreciate the many people that do love you.” Darius knew MaDear was right, but after MaDear died disappointment and resentment befriended him.
Although sometimes Darius drowned in his waterless tears, real men, when their hearts ached with sadness and their souls suffocated from failure, didn’t show signs of weakness. Darius remembered because MaDear’s husband, Grandpa Robert, whom she’d joined in heaven, told Darius when Darius was four years old, “Boy, looks like you been crying. Crying is for girls and sissies. Remember that.” Darius never forgot. Tears. Confessions. There was no way Darius would ever let Grandpa Robert down by displaying a wimpish attitude. Sensitivity belonged to losers like Rodney, the undercover bisexual brother who infected his ex-fiancée with HIV. Anger and outrage were more acceptable. Darius thought again, what a fucked-up a world to live in.
Buying his office building and loaning him a million dollars was just another one of his mother’s ways to compensate for her guilt. And he had every intention of making her suffer for the next twenty years or at least until he felt she’d repaid her debt. Everyone was indebted to something or someone. But if his mother hadn’t married Lawrence, Darius would’ve never met his number one lady. So perhaps he should’ve been grateful, but gratitude required expressing feelings.
Shifting his thoughts back to his lady, he smiled in the mirror, running his fingers over his locks. He gathered each shoulder-length strand in a ponytail then admired the sweet brown succulent flesh hundreds of women had enjoyed feasting upon. Her flight would arrive at ten o’clock tonight. What would she wear to his parents’ ball tomorrow? Hell, it didn’t matter. Possessing the same qualities as his mother, his stepsister always looked great. Just like his ex-fiancée, Maxine. Ladylike. Feminine.
Why was his childhood so innocent and his adult life so skeptical? As a child he could do no wrong. Women adored him. Fantasies of having his own family. A loving wife who’d only love him and he’d exclusively love her. At one time he believed that was true. Until those two fifth graders told him he could have both of them or his boring girlfriend. She wasn’t boring. She was quiet. There was a difference. But two were definitely better than one. Darius once believed marriage was sacred. Until he witnessed his mother divorcing Lawrence for no good reason other than she wanted another man.
Why did grown-ups lie about simple shit? Santa? The Easter bunny? Who was this dude Cupid? Someone who was supposed to make him believe he was in love? Most people weren’t. Most people were lonely or afraid of being alone so, good or bad, they clung to the familiar. Not Darius.
Darius walked out of his corner office, one flight down the back stairway, entered the exit door, stood over his new employee and folded his arms high across his cashmere shirt. Quickly she clicked on the minimize box at the top of her computer screen and the game vanished.
“Naw, put the screen back up,” Darius insisted, staring over her shoulder. “I wanna see how good you are because obviously you’re no good for my company.” Darius waited. “You’ve got ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight . . .” he always counted backward so when he stopped, he was at number one because he was number one. The best at business, politics, economics, sports, and sex. Especially, sex. Darius’s eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom of the seventeen-inch flat screen monitor. Two hours remaining before his driver would take him to the airport.
When the screen came into view, Darius pointed toward the door and said, “Get your shit and get the fuck out of my office.”
“But, it’s the holidays and there isn’t any work to do. I can ex—”
“Don’t waste any more of my time or my money.” He’d warned her in the orientation last month not to use his company’s equipment or services for personal reasons. At the top of the items listed on the acknowledgment form by his Human Resources Director was the computer, followed by the telephone—both cellular and office—supplies, beverages, and so forth. “What’s my mission statement?” Darius asked, watching the woman hesitantly remove his company’s cell phone and credit card from her purse.
She mumbled, “If it doesn’t make money, it doesn’t make sense.”
“So, what? You thought I was joking?”
“But, I can ex—”
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