Atavus (3 page)

“Share,” he said, wiggling his back, reshaping the pillow for more lumbar support.

Selange’s cheek remained attached to his pectoral. He liked the warmth on his skin, a sign she lived and he wasn’t unfeeling.

“I had a dream we were lying in a pool of blood and you were saying hold on babe…hold on…but your voice started to fade away. That’s when you were doing all that craziness and I woke up, but in my dream, I didn’t see the end but honey,” she climbed over his legs, straddling him not for sex but comfort and cried the words he envisioned in an unwritten script. “It felt so real…honey I’m shaking…it felt like we died…and…and…all I thought about is how that’ll devastate our children.”

Alfonzo’s chest collapsed. “We’re not going anywhere, at least you’re not.”

Then she looked her husband in the eye, and stroked the fine stubble on his chin with her thumb. “Al, I love our children. But, I can’t lie honey; I won’t be the same without you.”

“Selange if anything happens to me, you’re going to be fine. I know you’ll take care of our family. That’s what I want you to do, comprende?” he caressed her soft arms and then lifted her chin. “You know, the first time I saw you, I had this strange sensation in my gut.” He smiled and his eyes softened to show his pledge of undying love. “I didn’t know what it was. I began to think I had acid reflux or something from all the spicy foods, tu sabe?”

Selange laughed, shaking her head and chuckling. “I gave you indigestion?”

His eyes sparkled happily. “Yeah, I developed a case of heartburn loving you so much.”

“That’s romantic,” her nose crinkled, “-and unromantic at the same time.”

Alfonzo enjoyed teasing his wife. “But, you’re my peptic remedy.”

“Yeah right.” She sighed and leaned her forehead to his neck. “Seriously, I wish I could snap my fingers and erase all of our worries. I especially, wish you’d stop eating spicy foods because your farts are killers.”

Alfonzo guffawed. “Hey, yours don’t smell like roses, I hate to break it to you chica.”

Selange’s chin rose regally as she peered down her nose. “Must you know sir, I am a delicate flower with floral scented flatulence and you are a barbarian.”

“Bullshit, you’re from Marcy projects my lady, but I still love you.” He descended lower, holding her waist and laughing in her face until she kissed his mouth and then blew hard inside.

“Taste my minty fresh breath, potty mouth.”

“More like puppy breath,” he teased. Actually, she did taste like mints.

“I can tell your rude ass is from uptown.”

“And people from Brooklyn think it’s a state. We’re from Nueva York, tu sabé mami?”

“Oh you went to the lower level of the basement with that statement.”

The handsome face contorted. “Up –town people are always up on their feet and far ahead of the pack. Keep up or stay your ass in Broke-Land, babe where the slower people walk.”

Selange laughed. Damn, Alfonzo had mental shotguns out, but she liked it. Testing how fast a person can retort with witticisms is a game in the ‘hood. She and Shanda did it all the time. Verbally sparring with friends is fun, the past time can get ugly though and you need a tough skin when things turn personal. 

Hurry up and put his fine tush in place, she mentally rallied.

“First of all, uptown is a direction, not a borough or a state. I guess Columbia mistook you for a cucaracha and that’s how you got in to claim the degree for the entire colony. Oh by the way, I saw your familia downtown entering the criminal court building counting monopoly money thinking they could bail your ass out with it but wait, maybe it was food stamps. I’m not sure because I don’t play games or believe Uncle Sam is really my Tio.”

“Ah shit, that’s cold –real cold.” Alfonzo smirked and rubbed his chin. She had socked him with a negative stereotype and he deemed it fair to respond. “Alright Selange my chica. Wait, is that your real name or is it Shameka Shaquana Símama? By the way, what’s up with you and your cliques sporting knock-offs and rocking Payless hooker heels that you’ve painted red at the bottom and added studs and spikes to the straps?”

Selange mushed his head. She owned a pair of Christian Louboutin Botticellita’s. The shoes Red Bottoms were expensive. The on-line auction for many of her designer items brought in an impressive sum, which she used for facility maintenance in New York and Puerto Rico. The donators were scaling back. The non-profit community as a whole was suffering. Her charity wasn’t exempt. “But, didn’t you suggest I do that? You showed me your imitation Cartier that you glued miniature cubic zirconia on and said you saw a rich guy with one and made your own and I should do the same thing. Isn’t that what you advised Fonzie Pooh?”

“Now you’re talking nonsense and don’t call me that corny ass name. I don’t wear knock-offs babe, or envy anybody. You’re definitely tripping now.”

“Awww, did I hurt your feelings, papi?” She laughed, jutting her bosom in his face and wiggling them like a hoochie for a laugh. “Don’t worry; I’ll give you some pussy so you can feel like a conqueror.”

Alfonzo shook his head. “Your trash talking is getting personal. You’re definitely from the broken ‘hood, pissed because they’re orphaned and have to walk over bridges to see a Mami and Papi.”

“Oh, um, do you need a tit pacifier because you sound pitiful?”

“Nah, babe, I took it easy on you.”

“What? No, you folded. I’m the winner.”

“Nah, you put your tits in my face. That’s a sex foul, there’s no use of sexual parts to distract your opponent. You chica are unfair.”

“Nothing is fair when you’ve gotten your ass beaten. Suck it up, I won.”

“Qué? Ah man, those are fighting words that require tongue,” he said, simultaneously slipping his hands beneath her camisole to fondle her breasts and kissing her throat. “Um, mami, you’re making me miss New York.”

“Yeah, too bad you sold your brownstone to
me
.”

He stopped. “Que? I didn’t sell it to you.”

She smiled, leaning over to tousle his glossy black hair. “You did. It was a third party transaction. I couldn’t let prime real estate like that go –and I know you really loved that place. Freddie didn’t ruin the good memories I had.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.” He caressed her smooth skin, touching the healed gunshot wound. “You’re crafty. Sometimes, I forget how industrious you are.” He grinned and the dimple popped like bling. “When I have down time, we’ll slip in the city for a visit, incognito, rocking wife beaters and our kicks”

“I’m not the sneaker girl, remember?”

“And I’m not the sneaker hombre, but, if you want to hang without being harassed we need to fit in with our peeps. Strutting your ass in a fancy dress will only invite attention, feel me?”

“When you say that, I do want to
feel
you.”

Selange put her hands in his shorts when she said that and he reclined even more. “Damn, you went there?” he said mocking her while rubbing her neck, allowing her to work magic with a pleasurable finger and palm massage.

He looked forward to taking her to that spot where he chilled near Columbia to eat. His brows wrinkled when he suddenly remembered the place was one of his favorite eateries, that served Eritrean and Ethiopian cuisine. Strange, back then, he didn’t have an inkling about his African ancestry or hers, yet he loved the exotic taste of the foods long before they met.

In fact, it wierded him out that the elder Giacanti knew so much about Selange’s Ethiopian heritage. He could’ve been lying, but it didn’t matter. Selange seemed to enjoy hearing about the culture. Apparently, they were destined to be together if one believed in omens or her relation to the Queen of Sheba, thus, her regal airs, he smirked. Selange commandeered the old man’s book, and read whenever she had the chance. The way she took to the pages you’d think the book was an ancient scroll.

Then again, Selange was a sexy geek!

“When can we go?” she asked in a husky voice that relayed her desire for sex.

“Uh…damn babe,” he said followed by a grunt. “In a few weeks. I’ll make the time.” He lifted her slip and clamped his mouth to a perky breast. “Umm, I need to thank BK for this fine cuisine.”

“That tickles,” she said as he began flicking his tongue around her nipple, and then gently biting the nub.  “Honey, I need a large donation to cover the tuition for three at NYU. This year we don’t have enough in the budget. I also need a huge favor.”

“You need me?”

“Honey I need you so bad I’m drooling from below at the thought.”

Selange had him in that mood where he’d give her anything. However, he learned to always ask questions when someone’s buttering him up, and that includes his wife. Love hadn’t caused a fatal brain injury. “What’s the favor and why don’t you have the finances to cover the scholarships? Have any of your contributors pulled out?”

She kissed his cheek, licking the indentation along the bone. “I’ve noticed a decrease in donations. Some of my loyal backers have fallen on hard times. They’ve sent what they can but I need the money in the fund for disbursement this quarter or I might face an audit.”

Alfonzo made a mental note to check into this. “Okay, now what’s the favor that has to be asked while my dick is on high alert?”

“Ari’s planning a surprise birthday party for Nico on the seventeenth. Can you make sure he’s not working and get him to Sophie’s before eight?”

Alfonzo stretched his neck as she licked his jugular and then went up over his chin, hovering at the bottom of his lower lip as she gave him a lube job making it hard to think. Another mental note;
Clear my calendar and Nico’s the night of the seventeenth or I’ll never hear the end of the shit.

“Enough with the chit-chat babe, I don’t want the stress of a list before we make love.”

Her hands slipped free from his staff as he hungrily nibbled and sucked on her lips, enjoying her musical chuckles as she struggled to remove her feminine boxers that he purchased. He busted her sleeping in his after returning from a business trip and decided he’d buy her some girly ones.

He refused to lend a hand as she struggled with his shorts, finding it difficult to get past his muscular thighs. He deliberately hindered her efforts until she went stiff and grabbed him by the ears the way a stern mom would do to a badass kid. “Stop playing hard to get. I’m not chasing you anymore.”

Alfonzo put his mouth to her breast and talked out the side of his mouth imitative of an old cartoon character named Popeye. “Anything worth having isn’t an easy achievement, now hustle BK if you want to hop a ride uptown.”

Selange laughed hysterically. “Oh my god, you are really full of yourself!”

Impatient, he removed his shorts with ease, gripped her thighs and pushed up to her honey-filled tunnel, slurping the sides with his dick. She smiled and then moaned in pleasure, widening, getting greedy with her pussy by clamping and demanding his heavy cream with the dessert. He massaged her buttocks, keeping her low and close as he sucked her sweet tits, massaging inside in every direction, confusing the shit out of her until she couldn’t keep up. He switched gears with his dick like a pro, stroked the bone cutting her ass in half with his fingers, entering her opening and gave her double thrusting. She sucked in sharply, leaned forward gasping, breasts taut and moaning in frenzied decadence her adoration.

Selange was enraptured, holding and kissing his skin with hot breaths, promising him everything but she's all he wanted. Her roller fell loose when she arched to the ceiling in willing surrender when her husband’s fire consumed her movements.

She was pliant, her creamy honey oozed and Selange bit her lip unable to withstand the energetic caresses and barely held on as she rode. The posterior finger stimulation and Alfonzo’s heavy strokes plugging her pussy were euphoric.

Alfonzo’s toes curled, experiencing the elation with heat in his groin and his heart into his woman. Selange had to understand;
his
trash talk to
her
would always have affectionate solid dick and finger lashings –after.

Alfonzo grunt in a beastly fashion. He desired more….
many
more years to see their children grow and hear a wife talk trash to a pro.  

Chapter Two

A heavy downpour brought a misty cloud of gray-white steam that lifted over Haussmannian Paris. The wide boulevards in the heart of the city with buildings of regulatory heights and designs were monotonous in a regular visitor’s opinion. The old buildings, thousands in fact were destroyed to provide uniformity as a defense during the time of war. There's always a conflict brewing somewhere, unseen except by those caught in the middle.

The City of Lights held a dull filtering at night due to the heavy rain. The men walking side by side with umbrellas were deep in conversation. The thinner of the pair adjusted the large umbrella as he spoke. They walked toward their cars and soon they would depart in different directions. This was to be their last meeting to discuss the thorn clinging to their feet. The ascension of an outsider had usurped an old tradition. Men have egos, so do women. Alfonzo Diaz-Giacanti unknowingly struck at the artery of too many with his disavowal of old agreements.