Scandalicious (28 page)

“While I’m dressed like this?”

“Why not?”

“Because I look a hot mess.” She frowned at her boring work clothes: old jeans, plain top, a flour-covered apron, and dogged, but comfortable, black Adidas sneakers that were decorated with dabs of cake batter.

“I’ll put it on when I’m cleaned up and looking pretty.”

Deon held out the necklace. “No, I want you to rock this necklace right now.”

Solay turn around, while Deon gently placed the chain around her neck. He put his mouth to her ear. “You always look pretty to me, baby. And don’t you forget it.”

H
er palms were not clammy with nervousness. There were no butterflies in her stomach, no stirrings of anticipation. Willing to do whatever was necessary to be with Madam, she rode the bus to Colden’s house and rang the doorbell.

He came to the door wearing a jacket. Instead of inviting her in, he came outside. “Come on,” he said, taking long strides toward his Escalade.

She scampered behind him, trying to keep up. She’d never been inside his luxury vehicle…she’d never been allowed. As she climbed inside the spacious SUV, there was no rush of excitement, only curiosity. Was he driving her to Madam’s house? Melanee didn’t question him; she could sense that he was seething over something. Colden was always angry, and it had been her responsibility to service him in any manner that he required to improve his disposition.

Tonight, she didn’t care about his foul mood.

Colden drove in grim silence. Melanee gazed out of the window, daydreaming about her life with Madam.

After twenty minutes, Melanee noticed a sign that read,
Bucks County
. Why were they there? It was a nice area, but Madam lived in Montgomery County, and that’s where Melanee wanted to be. Deflated, she slumped in her seat.

Colden turned off the main street, and cruised along a residential area that showcased big, exclusive homes. Whatever trick Colden
had up his sleeve wasn’t going to work. Occasionally, he took her with him to visit married couples that were in “the life,” to give her the false hope that one day she, too, might earn the privilege of serving him twenty-four-seven.

Or maybe they were going to a private bondage party, being hosted in the home-dungeon of one of his wealthy friends.
Been there, done that,
Melanee thought with disinterest.

As they drove past one million-dollar home after the next, Melanee groaned inwardly. If she couldn’t be with Madam, she’d rather be inside her dinky little apartment, alone.

Colden came to a stop. Sitting amidst the lovely homes in the prestigious neighborhood was a house in ruins. The big, broken-down house, with overgrown trees and shrubs, was quite an eyesore. As the SUV bumped along the cracked and crumbling driveway, Melanee gawked in shock.

Nose turned up, Melanee observed the unkempt lawn that was overrun with tall weeds, overgrown trees, shrubs, and hedges. It was an eyesore—a horrible blemish to such a beautiful neighborhood. “Who lives here?” She couldn’t keep the frown off of her face.

“A recent acquisition,” Colden replied. “I’m getting this property for a steal. A few repairs and this baby will sell for one-point-five million…maybe more.”

“Oh,” she muttered, indifferent.

He cut off the engine. “Come on inside with me. I want your opinion. I was wondering if I should stick to the original, elegant but old-fashioned interior, or vamp it up with a more modern style.”

Melanee couldn’t have cared less. She opened her door and followed Colden, who was dangling a key ring, looking proud as if he possessed the key to a castle.

“Oh, my God!” Melanee uttered when Colden opened the door. Her eyes were wide with shock as she surveyed the squalor inside the old, crumbling house. The place was in shambles. There was an explosion of junk, spilling out of every room. There was so much crap blocking their path that Melanee and Colden had to step over mounds of scrap to get from the foyer area to the main room. Inside the would-be living room were old computers, shoes, bent-up boxes, turned-over chairs, lamps, picture frames, old phone books…you name it and it had been dumped there.

“What happened in here?” Melanee asked in a shocked tone.

Colden chuckled. “A crazy old man used to live here. He was a hoarder. He recently died and his daughter—a friend of mine—wanted me to take this place off of her hands, and so I bought it.” He smiled. “Lucky me!” Colden added, sounding as if he really felt the property was worth having.

“It smells awful,” Melanee commented, hoping Colden would quickly come to a conclusion regarding the renovations.

“Let’s see what kind of shape the kitchen is in.” Colden began the tedious trek to the kitchen, edging along and climbing over objects.

The only thing that was clearly visible was the ceiling; it was difficult to observe the walls or the flooring, with so much crap all the place. Trying to hurry Colden along, she offered her opinion about the smelly, rotting dwelling. “I think you should stick with the original old-fashioned elegance of this place.”
This place needs a wrecking ball,
was what she was actually thinking.

“Hmm,” Colden said, considering her input. “I’ll think about it,” he said as he weaved past heaps of rubbish.

The kitchen was a nightmare. It was filled to the gills with junk. An odor of spoiled food lingered in the air. Growing nauseous, Melanee didn’t venture into the hub of the mess. As if inspired
by a task that would be daunting for a fully staffed cleaning crew, Colden wedged past upside-down cabinets, microwaves, old radios, and an impossible amount of trash. The kitchen table was piled high as a hodge-podge of insanity: a rusted toaster, magazines, piles of bills, grimy bottles, mildewed clothes, and dusty electric trains along with broken tracks.

Colden pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his jacket pocket and began clearing the miscellaneous items from the table and tossing them onto the floor along with the many piles of scrap and trash.

Melanee gaped at Colden as he busily cleared an area on the table.

With a sinister look in his eyes, he asked Melanee, “How would you like me to fuck you on this table?”

Her eyes flicked to the filthy table. She recoiled with undisguised disgust.
You’ve got to be kidding me.

Colden stared at her. His brown eyes held a spiteful expression.

She wanted to cry; her bottom lip trembled. She felt trapped and helpless.

“Yes, Master,” she replied. She was panic-stricken, but was unable to refuse him. Colden still owned her, and Madam wouldn’t want a defiant submissive.

“Why are you still standing there?” A sly smile snaked across his face.

Though she tried to pull herself together, she was shaking. And her body tremors were not from revulsion.

He knew her so well. Knew how to excite her. Knew all sorts of kinky ways to bring out her submissive side.

In her haste to get close to Colden, Melanee stumbled.

He laughed. “Clumsy slut,” he said with a sneer. “Get naked,” he ordered her.

Shivery tingles pricked her body as she pulled the soft white sweater over her head. Holding the sweater, she absently looked around for a clear space to put her clothes.

Impatient, Colden yanked the sweater from her hand and tossed it. Melanee watched her clean sweater float and then land upon a mountain of bizarre junk. Her bra, jeans, and panties, and ankle boots joined her sweater.

Standing barefoot in the midst of the disgusting rubble, she could feel something mushy on the bottom of her feet, and seeping between her toes. Melanee didn’t look down; afraid to see the mess she’d stepped into.

Colden grabbed her by her hair and yanked her closer. She winced at the shock of pain as a few strands of hair were ripped from her scalp.

Roughly, he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around.

“Still not plump enough,” he muttered disdainfully, and then smacked the ass that wasn’t up to his standards.

Melanee flinched. He peppered her ass with a flurry of slaps; smacking one cheek with his right hand, the other with his left. Over and over, he slapped her buttocks until they were enflamed.

Her pussy was soggy with need.

“Get on the table,” Colden ordered, with his dick in his hand.

She hopped her sore, bare ass up on the disgusting table.

“Lie down,” he growled.

She obeyed. Her back and her naked ass became adhered to the cleared portion of the kitchen table, stuck by syrup? Jelly? Something sticky. She hoped like hell that the sticky substance wasn’t glue!

She soon forgot the sticky situation the moment Colden started plowing his length into her, giving her the dick of life.

“I
’ll be back in an hour.” Chevonne stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Lincoln’s. “Can you order pizza for the kids?”

“Sure. Do you want me to order vegetarian for you?” Lincoln asked.

“I’m sick of pizza. I’ll pick up a wrap at Chipotle after my workout.”

“Okay, baby.” Lincoln watched Chevonne’s ass as she crossed the large kitchen floor. She was one fine woman and he could never get tired of looking at the sway of her ass.

With her gym bag slung over her shoulder, she was out of the kitchen door. Through the window, he watched her backing her Beemer out of the driveway. His heart sank a little. Chevonne’s car was a constant reminder of that crazy dickhead she’d slipped up with. But what could Lincoln do: ask her to get rid of it?

Chevonne had no idea how much Lincoln knew about Raheem. Nor did she know that her psycho ex-lover had driven his brother out of town. Lincoln felt a small amount of self-satisfaction when he thought about Raheem being cuffed by the police. There was one less menace to society, now that the kook was locked up behind bars. At least temporarily.

Disgust over the whole situation put a sour taste in Lincoln’s mouth. It was still a shock that Chevonne had picked a ruthless thug to fuck around with. The dude Raheem was pure, maniacal evil.

No matter how you looked at it, cheating was cheating. The pain of betrayal would not have been any less if his wife had been getting it in with a corporate executive.

It was the seven-year itch, Lincoln surmised. All married couples hit a bump in the road at some point. Things were still tense in their marriage, but their sex life had heated up like crazy. For him and Chevonne, sex was like a powerful narcotic. Once the effects wore off, the throbbing ache was still there. There were some wounds that only time can heal.

Lincoln had faith that in time, his wife’s unfaithfulness would no longer be the running theme in his mind.

He pulled the pizza menu that was held in place on the fridge with a photo magnet of Tori and Amir. Gazing at the image of his kids’ smiling faces was a reminder of one of the reasons he was fighting so hard to save his marriage.

He put the pizza menu back on the fridge. Now was a good time to start putting the family’s state-of-the-art kitchen to good use.

“Amir! Tori!” he yelled. He made a sound of frustration, and trotted up the stairs. They were both in Tori’s room, watching TV. It was blaring sky-high.

“Turn that thing down.” He picked up the remote and pressed the volume, turning it down to a normal level.

“Aw, Daddy, we can’t hear it,” Tori whined.

“You both are going to go deaf.”

“How can the volume of TV make us go deaf?” Amir gave him a challenging look. The kid thought he knew everything; he could be a real pain in the neck.

He pressed the power button, turning the TV off.

“Why’d you turn it off, Daddy?” Tori’s face was scrunched in confusion.

“Because I want both of you to come downstairs and help me cook.”

“Cook?” Both children squealed in unison, frowning as if their father was speaking a foreign language.

“Mommy said we were having pizza,” Amir said sullenly.

“Don’t you kids get tired of eating take-out food every night?”

“No!” Amir and Tori were in complete agreement. Their eyes darted longingly toward the blank TV screen.