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All Rights Reserved
Intake, The Measure of Air
©2007 CaSandra Mathis
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~ Intake, The Measure Of Air ~ |
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©2007 CaSandra Mathis All Rights Reserved
Hold Me While I Let Go
I knew my words cut deep. I said them at a time and in a way that assured they would. I wanted him to be pissed. To be glad to see me go. Nobody forces the hand of Chalayne Elise Macklyn. Not even him. So, I put into motion the things that would get me what I was used to having—my own damned way.
I expected him to be pissed. He'd get over it. I expected him to forget me. I'd damn sure forget him. I expected him to have his driver drop my hesitant to go to the next level of our six month relationship behind off and good riddens. I expected him to be so fed up with my issues and ain't gonnas that he'd just leave me the hell alone; allow my return to the peace of nothingness enjoyed before he barged into my life and latched on like much needed velcro. But, never in a million years did I expect him to do what he did next.
I watched in shock as the front door became a blur; struggled in vain as he effortlessly pulled my sock covered feet across the hardwood floors. Realizing where he was taking me, I fought like hell to get away. I could have been a mosquito for all the good it did. He turned the corner exposing the double wide doors and all but threw me inside. Like a champion skier on snow covered plains, my feet slid across the deep, burgundy carpet, stopping in the center of the grandiose span of mahogany dressers, chests of drawers, and stuffed leather resting places.
I gazed around that most familiar place that I did not want to be. His bed was at the far side of the room, centered by a pier headboard, oak lockers and shelves that took up most of the thirty foot wall. The color scheme was as elegant as before. But, he didn't bring me there to critique his design expertise. So, when he slammed the doors and turned the brass lock, my eyes widened in fear.
"What's wrong,
Chalayne?" His voice had calmed. Eerily so. His handsome face was normal again. I
wondered where the yelling went. His eyebrows still arched, so the anger had not
subsided. Still, I was more pissed than afraid, incensed by his nerve to pull such a
stunt. He pushed me further into the room, tugged at my jersey until I was at the side
of his bed. "Yeah, this is just where you want to be." Reaching behind a bedside recliner he did something to cause the headboard to lower. I watched in amazement as he stepped onto the king size structure and felt along the now exposed wall. After tapping three times, the entire partition began a downward slide. I gasped.
"Yeah, baby! You're gonna love this visit to Big Papa's abode!" His voice was determined. His words, forceful. No where near as comical as they could have been had that menacing squint not returned and I wasn't shaking in my socks and nearing tears. Now, he was scaring me. The safe came into view and his words began to make sense. Silently, he turned and twisted the protruding knobs until the heavy door popped open.
"Where the hell did you get all of that?"
He ogled the cash filled tomb. "Oh that's nothing, baby. You want money? Rent? Stuff? You ain't gotta work 'round the clock, avoid me at all costs, or leave every time I get a stiff one. This is the place to be."
He grabbed several large stacks of one hundred dollar bills, removed their paper wrappings and tossed them about the bed, covering the comforter's center.
"Fifty thousand, baby girl. Oh, my bad. Fitti G's as your Hip Hop clientele might say. Is that enough bling for ya? Rent money? Will that buy this big baller, shot caller one, goddamned uninterrupted part of your life? One fucking evening where you don't have to run off in the name of work just 'cuz my dick gets hard?"
"My bad. You did say get rich, or die trying, not collect a pension and pinch pennies. Well, how's this?"
Like an automaton, he stepped back onto the bed and began throwing handfuls of money onto its center. At six feet, six inches with huge hands and long fingers, the bills came faster and faster. These had not been banded. They spread about the bed, some spilling onto the floor while others floated as far as the dressers and chests. Several fell at my feet. I backed away disgusted. By the time he stopped, the safe was emptied and the front and back of his throwback jersey bore trails of sweat from his face and neck. Eyes ablaze, he yelled, "three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Chalayne! If that's not enough, I can get more outta the bank in the morning. Skip it. I'll write you a check right now."
Kicking through the mound of bills, he leapt from the bed. I watched in horror as he took his check book from the nightstand. I couldn't have worked any harder, planned my life any better to prevent this kind of crap. Yet, here it is, slapping me smack dab in the face.
"There ya go, Sweetums." He tossed the check across the bed. It fell at my feet, but I refused to look down. "It's blank, but signed. Fill in the numbers as you please. Hell, you do whatever you want anyway. And, oh, forgive my lack of interest, but somewhere between voluntarily losing against you in basketball and falling in love with your my way, or no way acting ass, I forgot to ask your rates!"
I'm not sure when the tears started, but that's when I became aware of my crying. I opened my mouth, but no sound could be heard. Only choking. Angry, hurtful choking.
"What's the matter, Cee? You don't like money? What a switch!
Helplessly, I gestured with my hands. If he'd just give me a few moments to regroup, I could leave with my last ounce of dignity intact. That must have been too much to ask. Despite my pain, he was not backing down. And, despite his attempt to break me, I was not giving in. With all the strength I could muster, I began to back away. One step, two… I could do this. No matter how hard I sobbed, how wobbled my legs, I could do this.
"Oh, hell no! You accused me of sabotage? Well add kidnapping, 'cuz neither of us is leaving until this is settled. Besides, the money's here. To hell with rent. You can buy a house, new furniture, whatever. You're one bad, mamma jamma. Got over a quarter mil and didn't even have to break a sweat."
I bolted for the door, but was caught before I got half way. Had it been a normal room, a normal house, I'd have been outside by now. Instead, my struggling frame was lifted effortlessly and carried back towards the bed.
"There's the money,
Chalayne. Go on. Take it! It's yours. Take it!" Before I knew it, I was airborne; my entire body tossed as if I were a rag doll instead of a fully grown, five foot, nine inch, one hundred, sixty-five, pound woman. I landed on my back, smack dab in the midst of soft comforters, pillows, and mounds of cash. My arms and legs flailed helplessly. My jersey flew over my face as one hundred dollar bills floated high into the air, some melding onto my skin as I scrambled to lower my top, while others drifted like feathers onto the carpet, nightstand and chair.
"I am not a whore!" I was shocked when the words hit the air. I'd been trying to say them since his taunting began. Now that I had, I felt strong. Hurt as hell, but empowered just the same. "Do you hear me? I am not a whore. You can't buy me you stupid, stupid… Ugggh!"
Suddenly, the air was forced from my lungs. I couldn't believe he'd jumped his huge body onto mines. All two hundred and fifty, muscle fed pounds of it. But, that was not the only reason I couldn't speak. He'd forged his long, sensuous tongue between my persistent lips and was kissing the hell out of me. My head dizzied with desire, but I was too hurt to give in. We'd never had sex before and this was not the way I'd planned to go about it whenever that right time I said I was waiting for finally arrived. I tried to avoid him, but he was strong as an ox and his lips felt too good for me to slap the hell out of him as I'd have done with anyone else. I felt him on my neck and breasts. Even through my jersey and bra I could feel the heat.
"Stop it," I yelled.
"Get off of me. Get the hell off of me!" I may as well have been talking to the wall. Pushing against it too. He wasn't listening and damn sure wasn't moving away. My shorts come down to my knees, but the weight of his legs prevented me from kicking to get free. Now I was pissed. Hurt be damned. Emotions out the window. Nobody forces my hand. Especially no man whose all but called my hard working ass money hungry.
I felt my panties give way; the pinch of pain as he ripped them from me. I tried kicking, but with my shorts around my calves, I couldn't get the separation I needed. That didn't stop him. He got all he wanted and more. Sliding down my body, he and that thick, ridiculously long tongue attacked my heated core. Never had I been assaulted in such a manner. So perfect, so sweet, so determined. Using my hands was out of the question. He'd locked onto my wrist until my arms had tired. With each surge of intensified passion, the labored breaths caught in my throat. I was crying now. Harder than before. The tears poured, even amongst the screams as my body enjoyed the most intense orgasm ever. Betrayed by the longing in my very being, I cried. From the depths of my soul, I cried, and jerked, and bucked, and cried. And then it was still. Seconds passed and I thought he'd let me be. Remove himself so that I could restore my disheveled clothing and my pride and get the hell out of there.
My mind was frazzled. My body drained. I'd yet to recover from my pleasure drenched climax when he began kissing his way back to my lips. The warmth of his legs met mines and I realized he'd bared his lower frame. I didn't care to see it, but the feel of him against me said all I needed to know. His length ran a good portion of my thigh. His width was such you'd have to see to believe. He kissed at my still falling tears, removed my shorts and tossed them onto the floor. Opening my eyes, I said, "let me up. Right now. Let me up."
He lifted my jersey. I thought of my mid section. Even with the weight loss and the neatly defined six pack, I still found room for improvement. With a gentle hand, he massaged my abdomen, bending ever so slightly. When his huge frame had nearly doubled, he ran his tongue the width of it, kissed it several times. Still, I refused to give in.
"I want to go home." Eyes focused on the raised, stucco ceiling, I repeated, "I want to go home."
Suddenly, he was kissing me again. I knew what it was that he was trying to do. The man was huge. And, while he'd made up his mind that he was going to take me, he didn't want to hurt me. How considerately inconsiderate. He was hurting me anyway and in ways he either didn't understand, or didn't give a damn. I felt his hand between my legs, his fingers moving my thighs aside. Still, I was determined to run at the first opportunity. Spring from the bed and head for the door, butt naked if I had to and not stop until I'd reached my car. His estate was at the end of a winding, private road and centered on ten acres of private, heavily landscaped property. So, unless some neighbor miles away had high powered binoculars and nothing better to do than stare at his house until a naked woman ran out the front door, no one would see me anyway. I nearly laughed aloud as a visual of my plan unfolded. I could only imagine how ridiculous I'd look, especially now that I remembered I hadn't driven.
"Uhmmm," I moaned.
Moaned? "Oooooh, oh, oooooh." Was that me? Absorbed in my plot to escape, I absentmindedly succumbed to the pleasures of his touch, or rather probing as he literally sexed me with two of those penis sized fingers. My legs had spread and my lower half was behaving as if it didn't know my upper half was not at all pleased. When I looked up, he wearing one of those grins that said 'I knew I had you all along.' My anger multiplied. "Get off me! Get the hell off of me!"
I tried to close my legs, but he quickly planted those massive thighs and ever so thick piece of elongated meat dead in my center, forcing me to endure the overwhelming sensation. Realizing my hands were free, I swung out forcefully. If I slapped him hard enough, maybe I could get rid of him and that incessant grin at the same time. I'd never heard him laugh so loudly. "You hit like a girl," he cooed, laughing even harder.
I was about to reply when those irritably sweet lips covered mine. I tried to close my mouth, to force him out. It was then that I felt his hands slip to either side of my behind; his fingers manipulating as he positioned himself for entry. Without warning, he forged ahead, forcing apart lips that had been dormant far too long. I screamed at the top of my lungs as he pulled away, then entered me again and again. This time he had no problem finding my tongue as I'd all but thrown it outside of my mouth.
I didn't know if it was the pain, or the indescribable surges of pleasure that made me cry out, but cry out I did. With each downward thrust, each aggravating spiral of gratification, my lungs released the sentiments of my being. I clawed into his back, grabbed him forcefully, then clawed again. I couldn't tell if I was moving him away, or pulling him closer. I just knew I felt him in the depths of a soul that merged deeper and deeper into his even as he pounded my flesh with neither care, nor concern for my orders to do otherwise. I knew he'd yet to completely come inside; realized his intent was to not hurt me. But, none of that mattered anymore. I was feeling, trusting, loving, and hating every inch of him that brought those vulnerabilities back into being.
My will, my stubbornness was the foundation upon which I would seal the legacy for my sons. The tools I needed to battle an industry of Hip Hop that didn't take kindly to women trying to reach their administrative top. Didn't pave the way for those of us who threatened to succeed men who'd been in the game for years. Performing in, or out of bed was allowed. But, dabbling in the money end? Taking slices of the ga-million dollar pie? Unspoken no-nos of which I'd already broken over half the rules. To weaken my resolve was to place the entire venture in jeopardy. My sons were my life. I was there's. This could never be.
I twisted my pulsating frame, making my way across the bed, but before I could maneuver through the bills, he'd grabbed hold. Instantly, I felt his intentions. His lips were firmly set against my exposed cheek. His tongue, headed towards that heated place was circling me into a frenzy. Gently, he bit into my flesh, then harder. The sensation shot through me. I gripped the side of the bed, reaching back to push him away. Again, I begged him to stop. Pleaded for him to let me be. Again, he would not comply.
Taking hold of my wrist, he pummeled my core with delightfully excruciating licks, laps and the longest, soul stirring sucks. He went at me, smacking hungrily as if devouring an energy bar after a long, grueling work out. Several moments, another orgasm and a ton of tears later, he made his way back up my body, this time turning me over and onto my back. Methodically, he stripped me of my top. I couldn't stop crying. The confrontation was too much. I wasn't ready and didn't think I would ever be.
He straddled my body, giving me a clear view of the culprit used in the attack as he removed his jersey and t-shirt. My eyes took in its natural splendor. My body recalled its momentous, though brief introduction. And, though one day, not far into the future it would surely have become my best friend, right now it was my worse enemy. The broad grin returned, this time offset by the smoldering of his soft, brown eyes.
"I don't want to do this," I said. He kissed me. "I'm not ready. Please, don't make me." He kissed me again. Longer. My body flushed and he rubbed my arms as if to ward off a chill. His thumbs covered the buds that had become my hardened nipples, kneaded them ever so lightly. I closed my eyes, asked him again to stop. His lips covered my breasts, one, then the other for a time that seemed forever, then both, forced together by those large, mettling hands that insisted on invading my space. His tongue flickered back and forth, expertly trading places with his mouth, lips, and teeth. I held my breath for fear of losing my composure yet again.
"Open your eyes." His voice caught me off guard. He hadn't spoken in such a long while, I barely recognized it. "Chalayne, open your eyes."
I did and a tear escaped. "How can you do this to me?"
His hands resumed their movements. He opened me, probed me ever so gently never taking his eyes from mines. I felt the head of him. It was massive, hot, demanding. He looked me dead in the face, and in a most determined voice, he said, "You can save that futile attempt at giving me a guilt trip, point guard, 'cuz this ain't no b-ball game where you make the rules that suit you and I let you to because you suit me. This is not a game I am willing to lose. Now, I don't know the outcome of this, the repercussions, nor rewards for my actions. But, I can assure you of one thing… Chalayne Elise Macklyn, before this night is through, you're either going to love me so much you'll never leave, or hate me so much you'll go and never come back. Sorry I can't offer you more. Those are the only two options you've got, 'cuz they're the only ones my heart can handle. I don't want to lose you. Ohhhh, Chalayne..."
He cradled my lengthy frame as if I were a delicate prize and made the sweetest love to my sob wracked body imaginable. My legs spread with every thrust; brought themselves around his waist as if with a mind of their own. This time when he whispered into that erogenous curve of my neck, I heard him as plain as day. His voice was strong. Sure. Without missing a movement, he said, "I love you, Chalayne. From the first moment I saw you, I've loved you. That's why I couldn't let you go tonight. At least not without showing you what I'd been trying to tell you all along. I can only pray that I have not frightened you away, but instead, brought you closer to my being, to the heart I've shared with you from our beginning."
©2007 CaSandra Mathis All Rights Reserved
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