Sex in the Hood Saga (12 page)

Victoria felt dizzy. She hated that Duke's hot mouth on hers was erasing every bit of stress, sadness, anxiety, and fear. She loved the physical sensations of his lips, his delicious, expensive cologne mixed with his macho-as-hell guy smell, the huge bulk of his body, his exotic dark skin, and the tenderness in his eyes.

This was the first time she had been touched since all those hugs at the funeral, and her whole body was aching for a warm touch, for assurance that she could somehow get her normal life back, her safe, pampered, privileged life back. She could go to sleep right there because when she closed her burning eyes, the physical sensations of his kiss sucked her mind and body into a luscious lullaby where she was sure he would hold her in his arms and rock her all night long.

“Mmmm.” Her heart pumped boiling blood with such ferocity that her ears were ringing. It was threatening to drown out her resolve to keep her mix-race sex power in check. Duke didn't know it and wouldn't believe it, but by kissing her, he was literally flirting with suicide. He would laugh if she tried to tell him, but every second longer that he electrified her soul like this, he was unleashing her danger within. Danger that would be unstoppable if they went to second, third, and fourth base.

No way.
But never had she been kissed like this. Duke's lips were so soft and full and gentle. His breath was clean and slightly spicy. His nose against hers was more warm satin against her face. He nibbled slowly, and she responded the same way. It was the total opposite of Brian's frenzied oral assault with pursed, hard lips.

Just this afternoon, at first glance, Duke Johnson looked like the worst stereotype of an inner-city, drug dealing gang member thug. But now she was kissing him and loving it. Was this what he meant by her transformation, her fade to black?

One of Duke's giant hands raised up. He ran his fingertips down her hot cheek, as if touching to prove she was real.

She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, wishing he would do the same to her clit right now, because Celeste was writhing like a wild pink animal trying to claw her way out of these comfy velour pants. Even the blue panties fit perfectly, but now they were so wet, Victoria was sure she'd look like she peed on herself if she stood up. Tonight, she would stroke her pussy again.

Right now, she would be happy to spend the night right here, kissing him, not thinking about tomorrow or school or her life or her dead parents or her femme fatale mixed race sex power. Nope, if she could stay in this safe, innocent bubble, kissing this gorgeous knight in a shining Porsche at sunset after he rescued Alice from Ghettoland. . . .

She begged Brian so many times to kiss her pussy after she'd given him enough oral sex to make his eyes pop. But all he could do was talk about “secretions” and “period blood” and “yeast infections,” which she'd never even had. “It's disgusting,” he'd say. When he begged her to finally go all the way, she demanded to know why he wanted to stick his penis without a condom, into a place he'd called disgusting.

A soft moan from Duke, a deep, wonderful sound that vibrated through her chest, drew her from her thoughts. Would Duke kiss her there? Would she have to ask? Would his giant dick feel as good as movie stars made it look on the silver screen?

Suddenly, her lips felt cool. Exposed. His mouth was like a thousand feathers dancing over her cheek; soft, slow, airbrush kisses that made Victoria's head swirl. Over her nose, across her forehead, down her eyebrows and onto her eyelids. He was kissing her eyelids with such exquisite softness, she gasped. Moaned. Her eyes burned with tears.

Love. That was love, kissing someone's eyelids like that. For a moment, she had no mental picture of him, couldn't remember what he looked like. She couldn't even think of his name. She had never felt this in her brain, her body or her spiritual being. The feeling was similar to the rock solid sense of comfort and security she had felt with her parents, but this was more delicious. Intoxicating. Exhilirating. And terrifying.

Oh my God.
He sucked both her lips between his then ran his tongue between them. Victoria moaned. She grasped his jaw, her fingertips on his hot, thick, baby-soft neck. She had to suck on it, taste it, smell it. Her lips trailed down his jaw.

The rosy haze of sunset was casting a surreal glow, as if this were a scene in a movie she was watching and it wasn't really happening to her, even though her chest was rising and falling violently. For the first time ever, she was panting with need. Sure, she had breathed heavy with Brian, but he never made her feel dizzy. Never made her tingle down to her fingertips with the desire to do that mysterious act that men and women were supposed to love so much.

Silvery explosions of fear and panic and resolve snapped her brain to attention for a second, but they were splashed down, melted, drowned by the gush of molten lava that was her body's blood boiling away her brain's ability to reason and control her lips, her limbs, and her pussy.

Her tongue trailing down Duke's neck inspired him to tip his chin up, offering a wide plane of delicious, dark chocolate skin. Victoria inhaled it loudly.

“Oh my God, you smell so good,” she whispered. Her mind was spinning. “And you're so soft.” Her wide-open mouth took in his flesh, sucking, tickling the sensitive nerves underneath.

“Oh, baby girl,” he groaned. “Feels like fireworks in my neck.”

She squirmed in the seat, rubbing her clit against the crotch of her pants, squeezing her pussy muscles. She could cum just like this.

But as she nuzzled his neck and ran her hands over his rock hard pecks, wishing she had the nerve to touch the huge bulge in his pants, he was as irresistible as Mrs. Fields brownies. His lips and his skin were as moist and sweet and rich tasting as her favorite confection, but if she could exercise and bum off the extra calories from a brownie, how could she make amends with herself for this? For shimmying from the white elite at the top of the socio-economic ladder, all the way down into the black pit of inner city blight. How could she ever climb back up and out? If she got involved with this guy even for a minute, if he were a true thug, then he would never let her leave. Or maybe she'd get tangled up in his illegal enterprises and get in trouble with the law. Maybe she'd get pregnant. She stiffened. Pulled away. Leaned her head back on the seat. Languid, she kept her eyes closed, slowly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Please take me away.”

Duke tapped the stereo to turn on his favorite R. Kelly CD as they crossed back over the Belle Isle Bridge. Beamer better have his ass back at Babylon with a good explanation about why he hadn't answered his phone when Duke called from the restaurant. Twice. It wasn't like Beamer's goofy ass could forget what happened the last time he didn't pick up the fucking phone when Duke called.

As he drove, glancing at the dark blue river under the shadows of sunset, he flexed his jaw muscle to bite down the anger he felt toward Beamer and mixed-up-in-the-head Duchess. They needed to straighten out a few things before they got back to Babylon Street, which was just a few minutes away on the East Side.

“Yo, Miss Daisy.” She was still lying back with her eyes closed. “If you tryin' to snooze so you can wake up from this black dream, I got some news you can use as a reality check.”

Her nipples poked through her shirt.

Timbo was an iron rod. Damn, he couldn't stay mad at her because she was so damn sexy. But that was what got him in trouble with Milan, being blinded by her sex and not seeing the evil scheming in them eyes.

Naw, Duchess was different. The complete opposite, as a matter of fact, however he was feeling right now, it was all right. It was all going to work out perfectly, according to his vision.

Part of him wanted to wait until Duchess was ready, which wouldn't be long. If he changed his mind, he had plenty of pussies back at Babylon to take care of it in the meantime. Chanel, yeah, she was looking so fucking sexy at the party today. She'd be the one he'd call. But she was all sex.

I want more. A chick who excite my body an' my brain.
Any other bitch who teased him like Duchess just did would never get away with it. He'd have something loud to say. Not that he'd do anything. Duke never took pussy that wasn't offered. Shit, this afternoon he didn't even take the pussy that was offered. But if a chick were a tease, he'd tell her something about herself. But Miss Daisy, being in such a clueless state of mind, was so horny she didn't know up from down. No surprise then, that one taste of Duke and she was hooked. She would be back for more, especially after that nasty-ass cousin of hers tried to do a dyke dive on her tonight. If losing her daddy was making her feel anything like Duke had felt when Prince got killed, her mind was as mushy as a bowl of grits right now. He was surprised she hadn't straight up lost it, at least for a minute.

“I believe I can fly,” he sang softly as they wove through traffic. “I believe I can touch the sky.”

She slapped the stereo, but rather than turn it off, she switched it to the radio. A male newscaster was saying, “New developments in the suicide scandal of millionaire businessman Dan Winston. The IRS is now producing documents that prove the suburban family man was laundering money for a powerful crime cartel that is expected to be named in an indictment.”

Victoria sat up, eyes wide open, reaching to poke the dial into silence, but her fingers stopped midair.

“Authorities are also re-opening the investigation into the mysterious death of Winston's young black wife, and are now trying to locate the couple's three biracial children for questioning.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, turning as white as her teeth. “One daughter in particular, Victoria, worked in Winston's offices and may have crucial information about his suspicious business dealings.”

Duke focused hard on the metallic green Crossfire sport coupe ahead of them. His left hand kept a cool grip on the bottom of the black leather steering wheel, but inside, he was grinning like a mug.

She would hide in style, though, at Babylon, doing things that would flip a big ass middle finger at those fed ma'fuckas who killed her daddy and now wanted to rape her fine ass with their wicked ways of the white world.

Victoria slapped the stereo button.

“Oh . . . my . . . God. They say it like I'm some armed and dangerous mafia princess. I'm eighteen!”

She crossed her arms hard. Her bottom lip poked out and trembled. That news report set off a sob that was slicing through her gut, squeezing her chest, threatening to burst out of her sleep- deprived body.

No, I will not have a breakdown in front of Duke. Never let 'em see you sweat.
She maintained her hard, serious tone. “I'm never gonna talk to those wicked pricks again. After Daddy died, they questioned me with this accusatory tone, as if I'd shredded all the documents then pulled the trigger myself!”

Actually, she had fed box after box of files into the shredder, all late on a Wednesday night while Daddy rummaged through boxes of papers he'd pulled out of the storeroom. Was he trying to hide something wrong that he'd done? Or had he been wrongly accused and wanted to make sure nothing in the office could be used against him?

That sob zigzagged up her neck, making her throat swell into a hot, aching lump. Her head was light, spinning like a tornado inside. Fatigue fogged her mind.

If she had helped Daddy destroy evidence of wrong-doing, did that make Victoria guilty of a crime? If the feds caught her, could they prosecute her and send her to jail?

“Miss Winston,” Duke spoke with a cool, flat tone. “They got you on a BWB.”

“No, I am totally innocent.” The corners of her mouth curled down. That sob was surging up, ricocheting around her mouth with her words. “I'm the victim! I have no parents, no nothing, now I'm thrown into the ghetto with a perfect stranger driving around aimlessly with no place to sleep tonight.”

Duke swerved to the right. He screeched to a stop in front of a tall apartment building.

“Now I really can't go back to Gramma Green's. The FBI is after me! Right?”

The sob shot out. It was a gut churning groan that filled her burning eyes with tears. Hot droplets spilled down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook. She gulped air, exhaled hard. She couldn't let Duke see her like this. He might think she was weak. Her open palms met her face as she bent toward her lap. There, in the darkness of her hands, with stinging eyes closed, she sobbed into the baby blue velour of her long legs.

A huge, hot hand stroked circles on her back. It was as if he were smoothing over her jagged emotions. His hand on her back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, reminded her of the way her mom used to tuck her in bed and tell stories while she rubbed her back. “Let it out, baby girl.” Duke's deep voice was like a cozy blanket over her senses. “I got cha back. I always got cha back, baby girl.”

Victoria's every cell trembled as she expelled a week's worth of anger, anguish, and anxiety. She was breathing violently, loudly sucking down lungfuls of air then heaving forward as her lungs flung it out just as quickly. Was she hyperventilating?

How? She was as clueless about the world as Duke said she was. Green. Naïve. Totally unprepared to make her way in what looked like a wicked world. But she knew, deep down, she could do it. Duke would help her. She would figure out a way to make it happen so that she would be untouchable if things came crashing down like they did for Daddy. Whether he was right or wrong.

“Duke,” Victoria whispered, rising. Her face felt hot, wet and swollen, just like her pussy. “I have to tell you something.”

His eyes glowed with tenderness as he said, “My station is tuned to all Duchess, all the time. Ev'a since I firs' seen you on the news last week.”

“Well I got a news flash, and I can already hear you saying ‘ridiculous.'”

He smiled.

“I have like, a sex curse. It could hurt you.”

“A curse,” he said playfully. “You mean like a witch? You already put me under a spell.”

“Stop laughing!” she shouted to stop another sob from exploding up, out, at him. “You and the whole world think I'm a stupid little girl who—”

He grabbed her wrist. His touch made her gasp. If only she could press up to his chest, let him wrap his arms around her trembling body, and just sleep in the soft, sleek protection of this sexy panther named Duke Johnson.

“Ooooh, them eyes stormin', like lightnin' shootin' at me.”

A fresh, hard sob made Victoria burst into tears. Her whole body was shaking, hurting with sadness, fear, extreme sleepiness. She was crying like a baby. She couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. Didn't care what he thought. She bent at the waist, cupping her face in her hands as her knuckles pressed into the soft velour covering her knees.

What if she just gave up? What if she just gave in? She could let her sex-crazed body take over her mind, let her circumstances take over her life, let her curiosity run free into the darker side of her heritage. Her first grade school picture in Gramma Green's living room flashed in her thoughts.

But the delicious smelling man leaning over to stroke the back of her head, with the soft, soothing lullaby voice and the warmth she felt without opening her eyes, was all she had right now. It felt like more than she'd ever had outside of her mother's lap and Daddy's hugs and guidance to groom her into an intelligent person in business and in life.

Sobs made her whole body tremble under his gentle stroke on her back. The overwhelming grief and anger and unknowing of the moment swirled in her head.

“It's a'ight, baby girl,” Duke whispered into her hair. I'd be scared, too, if I was fallin' in love with some big black dude from the hood. An' come to find out the feds was after me too? Shoot, you deserve to go off. In full effect.”

“If you knew the truth, you wouldn't touch me.” She sobbed, feeling light-headed. “My curse could hurt both of us. Plus if I work for you, those blood-thirsty investigators—”

“Would never find you.”

She raised up, staring at him through tear-blurred eyes. “This is so bizarre I feel dizzy. The job you have in mind would only get me in more trouble, whatever you do at your so-called company. Whoever you are!”

“Yo' stomach full?” he asked softly.

“I could've found something to eat—”

The tenderness in his eyes hardened. He had a scolding tone when he said, “An' I coulda lef' yo' white ass in yo' Grammomma house wit' roaches, pit bulls an' yo' dyke-ass cousin. I coulda let that dog attack yo' pretty face. I coulda let you go hungry. So, go back tonight and think about exactly who I am. Duke Johnson the hand that feed you. So don't bite.”

“I already did,” she said with a sassy tone. She sat up straight, staring hard-as-nails right back into his beautiful onyx eyes. “I bit you on your neck. And you loved it. Now, what crime did you say they got me on?”

Disbelief flashed in Duke's gaze. Then he said, “A BWB.”

“What in the world is that?”

“Breathing While Black.”

“I'm not—”

“Ain't no gray area in them white ma'fuckas' eyes. One drop of nigga blood, you black. So now, to them cock-suckin', sell-they-own-momma-up-the-river FBI cats, you black. And they wanna get cha, 'cause they couldn't get cha daddy. He gone. Stay wit' me, baby girl, an' they'll neva fin' Victoria Winston. She jus' changed her name to The Duchess.”

Duke screeched into traffic. She laid her head back, staring up at the darkening sky. Suddenly, a rhyme spun in her mind. She recited it with spoken word rhythm. “I'm so confused, bein' used as a news scandal muse.”

Duke turned. His eyes sparkled with intrigue.

“Don't know where to go, feelin' so sad, so mad, so bad, 'cause the life I had,” she looked closer into his eyes, “went up in gun smoke. A cruel joke, like a yoke around my neck. What the heck am I doin', thrown into the hood? Am I no good? Misunderstood?”

“Yeah, baby. Rap that.” Duke smiled, touching the stereo. A deep bass beat by Bang Squad played under her poem.

“Now I'm black, catchin' flack, with a lack of money. It's not funny. My life was honey, now it's—” She hit the radio. “That music is distracting.”

“You rappin'. Tha's all rap is, rhymes wit' music.”

“I suppose you want me to put pasties on my boobs and say vulgar things about sex. I'm a poet, not a rapper chick.”

“A flower by another title still a flower,” Duke said, trying to remember what he learned in eighth grade English.

“Ugh, get it right or don't say it.' A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”'

“You a'ight, baby girl,” Duke said with a laugh.

She laid her head back, yawning like she could sleep for three days, but soon as he turned onto Babylon, she turned white as a ghost. Her pretty hands gripped the sides of her seat. She shook her head, fear flashing in her eyes. Her chest was rising up and down quickly like niggas had a tendency to do when Duke pulled them aside and evaluated their performance at Babylon.

Duke ached at the sight of Duchess looking so scared.