Sex in the Hood Saga (11 page)

Timbo was pounding, but this was the last place he needed to get busted trying to mix ebony and ivory. Yet.

“During dinner,” she said, “when you were watching me eat and walk and talk, you get so still you're like a mannequin. I wanted to reach over and take your pulse.”

Duke let out a low, sexy laugh. “Oh, my pulse 'bout as strong as it's gon' get.” He raised his hips slightly, shifting to let huge, hard Timbo roll to a looser spot under his white cotton briefs. “My pulse poundin'.”

Her big blue eyes cut at him in a way that only a sista could do. She just didn't know it yet. “Please,” she said with her white girl business tone, “whatever private detail you were about to share, keep it to yourself.”

Damn, her sexy-ass voice, especially with that prim and proper in-the-boardroom talk, put his dick on swole. Her voice was deep, kind of raspy, not slow but not fast, just right, and every word came out like she was in complete control of how she pronounced each letter. If she could suck his dick into her mouth as elegantly as she blew out words and sentences, Duke was in for one helluva treat. One helluva life.

“You walk like a panther, too,” Victoria said. “Like every step has this feline grace, like your joints are liquid and you're just flowing along silently. Like the most powerful, most treacherous king of the jungle.”

“Make a nigga scared, too.” He laughed, remembering how he pounced on Izz this afternoon. It was exactly how she described it, and she didn't even see it. “Callin' me a treacherous panther. Miss Animal Planet. Baby girl, I could listen to you talk all day long.” The lust in his voice hung in the warm air. A fresh waft of hot, clean pussy made him dizzy.

“You a virgin?” he asked.

She got perfectly still. Her thick black eyelashes lowered then that giraffe neck turned with a slight jerk. She pulled all that black hair to the opposite shoulder and fixed her gaze on him.

He stared back. Her unblinking eyes were like blue ice, cold, hard as picks. That would come in handy when she was negotiating for him. Otherwise, all he would have to do was blow on her horny ass and she'd melt in a creamy puddle all over his face. Yeah, someday very soon she was going to squat on his face, take some tongue up that virgin pussy, and blow her nut all over his nose, cheeks, mouth, and eyes.

“Baby girl, if you think you can beat the Duke in a stare-down. . .”

“You have panther eyes,” she said in a way that made her lips look extra sexy. They stuck out, pouting, and shining like she had just licked them.

“I won!” she laughed. “You looked at my lips!”

His body and eyes were still, facing her as she tossed her head back, laughing.

“Tough guy.” She giggled. “But seriously—”

“Seriously my ass.” His hard voice cut her off. “Don't trick me.”

“Don't lose your own challenge,” she said with a slight neck jerk. “See, look at your eyes right now. They shimmer like a panther's eyes. Like, they're so rich in color and texture. During our stare-down, they were tough and like, aroused. Now they're analyzing the situation.”

Timbo was jumping with every word.

Someday I'm gon' fuck her while she talkin' just like that
. “Damn,” he exclaimed. If she kept it up, he was going to have to taste that intelligent language. Kiss her. Suck that skill right out of her mouth and try to pull it into himself. That was why she was going to work for him, so she could literally be his mouthpiece; an extension of his brain.

“My dad was like that,” Victoria said slowly. “After my mom died, he would just sit and stare at people. Like he was figuring out who was on his side, and studying people. Then, boom. He put everything he'd learned to work and built his business bigger and better.”

“That's my plan for Babylon,” he said, his lust now turbo charged by exciting visions of her at his side, building their kingdom bigger and better than any inner city thug could ever imagine.

“What's that?”

“My company. You'll see, tomorrow, when you agree to work for me.”

“I can't work for you,” she said, crossing her arms. “Don't say that again.”

His heart skipped a beat then pounded harder than ever. The hot surge of blood went straight to his dick. It made Timbo hurt
.

A nigga could get some lead pointed toward his head, just to scare him, for talking to Duke Johnson like that. Cussed out, beat down, showed out. But this white bitch was talking to him like she was the boss, and that hard glint in her eyes, sharp as a knife blade, as she sliced a look his way.

“Damn, baby girl, you like that movie,
Clueless,
about them valley girl chicks in California. Ain't got no clue. You got balls as big as mine, and ain't scared to swing 'em right in Duke Johnson face!” His voice rose on his last name in a mock shocked tone.

Her cheeks turned almost as red as her lips. She crossed her legs, squirmed her ass deeper into the seat. The idea of that hot pussy cradled inside the baby blue velour, shooting flames against the couch, made Duke want to lift her up and pull her down on the telephone pole that was jolting so hard it felt like it could split his pants.

But footsteps in the hallway made his dick deflate. Instantly.

Victoria felt more hope than she had in a week when an older woman's cheerful voice echoed into the family room. Maybe it was Duke's mom or his aunt, and she would let Victoria stay there until she figured out where in the world she was going to live. Anywhere but that horrible house of hell on Babylon Street.

“My baby boy,” the woman called.

His expression was still cool and calm, but his eyes flashed something different than she'd seen all afternoon and evening: nervousness. He stood, smiling like a kid who wanted his mom to tell him he'd been a good boy.

“Lawd ha'mercy,” the woman called. “Ma baby boy come see his momma.”

Victoria smiled, letting all the love in the room give her the hug she'd been aching for all week. Not that she expected a hug from Duke's mom, but she was giving off such strong mother love, it was enough for Victoria too.

The woman, who was a good foot shorter than her son, whisked toward them, raising her hands to grasp Duke's cheeks. She was wearing a pink straw hat with big flowers on top and a delicate net covering her full, bronze face. Her pretty pink dress was belted against her trim hourglass. Its chiffon skirt floated behind her as she approached on white pumps and stockings that matched the satin gloves dangling from the pink straw purse over her shoulder. Her face glowed as her dark brown eyes focused only on Duke, as if Victoria were invisible.

“My baby, Knight! You come home early!” The woman's sing-song voice echoed with gratitude so strong it gave Victoria goosebumps.

“Naw, Momma, it's me, Duke,” he said as her hands cupped his cheeks and he wrapped his arms around her back for a hug.

“Lawd ha'mercy. I miss that boy so much I be 'lucinatin' my baby boy done turnt into my biggest boy,” she exclaimed, stroking the back of his bald head. “Call me bad as e'rybody else, mixin' the two o' you up like you one an' the same.”

Duke's jaw muscle flexed and something bad flashed in his eyes. Did he resent that he looked like his older brother?

“That's okay, Momma. Two more weeks you'll have him back.” He glanced at that brown leather backpack on the coffee table. “I brought—”

“You brought Ellie Mae wit' a suntan up in ma home, boy.” She kept hugging Duke, but her voice turned from sweet and soft to razor-sharp. “You tryin' to follow in yo' big brotha footsteps? How you 'spect me to love somebody who look like the reason Knight in jail? Ain't no half-white girl welcome in ma house.”

“Momma, she black.”

Victoria's brows drew together.
I am?
If that was what it would take to sweeten this lady's voice, then—

“Can't nobody who grew up that white be black in they heart,” she said. “She might could be mulatta, but hist'ry show you can't neva trus' somebody wit' that much enemy flowin' through they blood. Knight the locked-up proof o' that.”

“Momma!”

“You wanna see twenty-one next week, don't let Knight hear 'bout ya new little friend. An' don't ev'a let 'im see you makin' a mockery o' his sit'ation.”

Duke's tall, broad shoulders appeared shorter and narrower as she spoke, as if his mother's words were hammering him down.

“Momma, she different,” he said softly. “This the girl we seen on the news when I brought you Chinese food Tuesday night. You said—”

“Boy, don' tell me what I saw or said. That was in general, not a invitation to come up in here wit' her an' you lookin' all love-struck. Now y'all go 'head.”

Victoria's heart was pounding. She was almost as scared as when that pit bull came at her, when the police approached outside the restaurant. What in the world happened between Knight and a white girl that got him sent to prison? And how could this lady in pink who looked at Duke with so much love possibly transfer her hate for Knight's white female friend onto Victoria?

The white people who used to love her hated her blackness. Now this black lady wouldn't love her either, because she hated white. And all of them were hating her based on their malice toward the whole race, not her personally. She hadn't done anything but show and crave love.

This is so unfair.
It had nothing to do with what a sweet, intelligent, polite girl she was. And judging how big, bold Duke had that wimpy expression and even wimpier posture under his mom's disapproving glare, Victoria was going to keep her lips zipped.

Duke could not believe he exposed himself like that. He never let anybody see the power his mother had over him. Nobody. And the only person who had even more juice over him than Momma? Knight. Momma was wrong comparing Duchess to that bitch whose family went crazy when they found out she was trying to kick it with Knight.

As for now, the sooner he and Duchess drove away, the better. Maybe when Momma opened the backpack and saw the cash, she would feel better.

It was just a matter of Duke bringing out the black in this beauty, and Momma would warm up in a Motor City minute.

Something pink flashed to his right. Duke turned. Momma was in the front doorway, throwing Duchess' sweater, jeans, pink panties and bra and red sandals out on the front walk.

“Oh my God,” Duchess gasped with huge eyes. Momma slammed the door.

Duke walked up to collect her clothes. He folded them and put them in the trunk.

“I'm sorry she actin' like that,” Duke said softly as he drove away from the curb. “In time she'll see.”

“I guess I should get used to arousing hatred in complete strangers,” Duchess said in a way that made his heart hurt. “Now what? I am not going back to that filthy house with dogs, smoke, and roaches.”

“I know a spot where we can talk and relax for a minute.” Duke turned onto five-laned Jefferson Avenue, driving past apartment buildings on the river to the Belle Isle Bridge. He loved how the bridge's white arcs extended across the deep blue Detroit River to the lush green island park. It was city folks' only place to play on a hot September night like this.

“Did you say relax?” She turned to him, glaring as if he were crazy. “Take me to my grandmother's. They find bodies on Belle Isle. People get shot there!” Her head snapped and a sista-rhythm rang in her words. “And if black people hate my appearance so much, I am not tryin' to be somebody's target practice.”

A laugh from deep in his gut made Duke toss his head back. He cracked up at the deep blue sky.

“This gon' be quick,” he said.

“What! Turn around!”

“It's your transition, baby girl. Your fade ta black. Know this at all times: Anyplace you go wit' The Duke, anytime, you safe. I rule D-town. Don't nobody mess wit' The Duke.”

He pulled into the first parking lot near the river's edge. The setting sun was a huge orange fireball casting a wide red stripe over the rippling river. The mirrored round towers of the General Motors world headquarters in the Renaissance Center looked like five gold fingers stretching into the pink sky.

“What if people decide to mess with you if they think you're havin' jungle fever?” Victoria glanced around at black folks barbecuing at picnic tables, fishing, and rolling past in SUVs with the jams blasting. “If you expect me to sit here chit-chatting—”

“Ghetto survival lesson numba one: Be fearless. If you scary, e'rybody smell it. If you act like you the boss, like can't nobody touch you, then people respect that.”

“My dad told me that too.”

“Then do it.”

“He meant in business.”

“If you ain't scared here, then you won't be scary in a board room facin' some pit bull ma'fucka who wanna rip yo' throat out if he don't get his way.” Moreno's sneaky eyes—all three of those dudes were just as sneaky as the next—flashed in Duke's mind. Victoria Winston would disarm those sleazy bastards so tough, none of them would even know their own name.

“Duke, when you say I'm scary, that means I scare you.”

You do, but I ain't neva gon' confess it.
He stared back, silent and still.

“If you say ‘I'm scared,' that means ‘I feel afraid.' The words ‘scary' and ‘scared' are not interchangeable.”

“Let me go get an apple for the teacher. Ain't that what white kids do? At my school, kids gave teachers a knock upside the head.”

She leaned close. His lips parted. Was she doing a 180, about to kiss him?

“See, your eyes.” She stared the same way that doctor did in the emergency room when Duke cut his eye as he was trying to save Prince. “Panther eyes.”

“So, doc, you ain't scared. I'm 'bout to pounce your fine ass?”

“You want something from me. You wanna butter me up.”

“Ain't like you got no chips.”

“I am my own trump card.” She raised her chin, poking her chest out. “And only I choose how and when to play it.”

“Damn, girl. Soundin' just like me.”

“See,” she said, her hot breath tickling his cheek as she stared into his right eye. “When you get excited, your eyes sparkle, like onyxes, these beautiful black jewels. My mom had an onyx choker and earrings, but they didn't sparkle as much as her eyes.”

The sadness in her eyes made his heart hurt.

“But what am I thinkin'?” When she looked into his eyes, could she see the fantasy film strip playing his mind, of them fucking on the hood of this car in the orange haze of sunset, right here on Belle Isle? Could she see how he wanted to bend over that round ass and bury Timbo deep up in that virgin timberland, make her cum so hard she wouldn't be staring hard at anything but him when she begged to get fucked senseless all over again?

“Well,” she sounded real scientific. “Since thoughts are electricity popping between the neurons, I mean the cells in our brains—”

This chick was seriously concentrating on his eyeball. Her face was close enough to kiss. If she didn't move back and stop pushing her left titty up against his arm, making her soft, sweet sex smell make him want to pounce like that panther she was describing.

Duke shivered, not just with lust but with fear, because when he kissed her and she agreed to work for him, when she became his Duchess ruling over Babylon with him, could he handle that? Just like Momma always said, “Be careful what you ask for.”

The only successful relationship partnerships Duke had seen between a man and a woman in love, were on TV. He'd never met his own daddy. Never knew any kids whose daddies were around for a long time, living like the ridiculous Huxtables. What made him think he could succeed at it himself?

“We literally think at the speed of light,” Duchess said.

“I'm gon' kiss you at the speedo' light if you don't stop teasin'me.”

“Your eyes captivated me,” she said with that scientific stare into his eyeball, “when we met at Gramma Green's. The way your irises shift, it's so cool, like I see these fascinating sparkles of bronze and copper and onyx all set in dark brown velvet.”

The way her lips were wrapping around all those big words and blowing them out, right in his face, it was just too much. If there were a big CONTROL switch in Duke's brain and he had been holding the lever back as tightly as he could, then something just sucked away all his strength and he let go. Let that ma'fucka slam into the red, alarm-ringin' OUTTA CONTROL zone. It could have been worse, in the black, LOBOTOMIZED BY DUCHESS. Pussy zone. Naw, right now the red zone just meant he had to kiss her.

Duke pressed his mouth to hers. Her words jammed into his lips. She tried to close her mouth, to pull away, to push his chest with her long, elegant fingers, but the scent of her sex coming up like a cloud from her pussy let him know that her mind over matter didn't mean a thing when he took control of her body. She got still. Her lips were open, letting him nibble them like the juiciest barbecued ribs in sweet-spicy sauce that been smoking all day, the smell making his mouth water for hours. Now he was going to slowly savor every bit, knowing he could feast on this for a lifetime.