Authors: Sasha Campbell

Suspicions (3 page)

BOOK: Suspicions

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Tears started running down her face. “Yeah . . . all right . . . but this shit ain't over. You gonna regret fucking with my emotions.” With that, she turned and walked to her car.

As I watched her leave, I began to wonder that maybe it was time I made some changes in my life. All the hitting and quitting was starting to become a problem. I thought being honest with a chick from the jump would save a lot of unnecessary heartache and pain. Instead, females seemed to find my lack of interest in a commitment as a challenge. My skill in the bedroom was something I was not going to apologize for. I listened to the women in the salon every day complain about men who weren't satisfying them. I was fortunate enough to not be one of them. What I had was an addiction. Just like drugs, liquor, and potato chips. A female couldn't seem to have my good loving just once. They craved my touch, my tongue, and my magic stick. But just like a crackhead, I left females feenin' for more. That's why chicks like Tameka tried to put salt in my game.

I didn't know it before, but I knew it then. I was going to have to make some changes, because females coming on my job, I wasn't having that. Thanks to Tameka, my tips for the rest of the afternoon were now going to be half of what they would have been. Females knew I was too fine to be single, but that doesn't mean they want it rubbed in their face either. And that's exactly what Tameka just did. Damn! Patricia was one of my biggest tippers.

I stepped into the salon. Noelle cut her eyes at me.

“We'll talk later,” she said, then moved back to her office.

Tiffany took one look at me and started laughing. “You need to keep that chick on a leash.”

That wasn't a bad idea. I shook my head and gave a half laugh to hide my embarrassment, then moved over to the chair where Patricia wasn't looking too happy. “Sorry about that.” I took my seat on the floor in front of her. “How about white tips to show off your cute toes?” I stared up into her eyes and moistened my lips with my tongue. Patricia's frown quickly curled into a smile.

“Whatever you think, Chauncey.”

“I got you, boo,” I said, and reached for the clear polish. In a matter of seconds I had smoothed things over.

As God is my witness, unless I'm feeling the next female, there ain't no way in hell I'm letting another get that close to me again.

Noelle

I'm one of those women who had sense enough to know when something was wrong. Well . . . something wasn't right with my marriage. I could feel it. Grant was too busy, or maybe I was the problem. Either way, I needed to slow down, take a deep breath, and fix whatever caused my marriage to sour, because I was smart enough to know I had a good thing.

Part of the problem was that while I was so consumed with making Situations, my full-service beauty salon, a success, I forgot about what's most important in my life: Grant and our marriage. No matter what, from this day forth, I'm going to take the time to show my man how much I love him.

My husband worked hard and brought his paycheck home. Not too many of my friends could say the same thing about their husbands. That's if they even had one. He was a good man and had every right to feel like a king when he stepped into his castle. And as his queen, it was my job to serve my husband's needs.

Just this morning it hit me, it had been ten days since we last made love. Sistah girl wasn't having that. I learned from my mother that if you weren't taking care of your man, then you better believe someone else was. Just the thought of some hoochie trying to get her claws on my husband was enough to make me want to yank off my earrings and go grab ajar of Vaseline. I never believed in sharing and I'd be damned if I was about to start now, which was why I had cleared my schedule for the afternoon and asked one of my stylists to cover any walk-ins. Most of my clients would probably be pissed, but some things were much more important. My husband, for instance.

In our twenty-year marriage, we had been relatively happy. Of course, we had our share of ups and downs, and even split up for about three months after a year of marriage. I was at fault. That was a selfish time in my life when I thought I was missing something, only to find out that I already had everything any wife could possibly want or need.

The timer went off and I rushed to the stove, opened the oven, and stared down at two charbroiled T-bone steaks. Perfect. Just the way Grant liked them. Reaching for an oven mitt, I removed them from the heat and put them on top. I glanced up at the clock. Grant had called just as he was leaving the office to let me know he was on his way home. Any minute and I should hear my husband's car pulling up in the driveway.

Reaching up, I removed two piping hot sweet potatoes from the microwave, split them open, and laved them with butter. I stuck the steam basket filled with fresh broccoli in the microwave so the second I heard Grant's car, I could hit the timer.

I smirked happily as I glanced around at my fabulous kitchen with cherry cabinets and granite countertops, admiring the room. I had to thank God because I was truly blessed. I have a beautiful 3,200 square foot home located in historical Bronzeville with every modern amenity possible, an Acura TL in the garage, and a successful business. There was no way I was losing my husband. I dreaded that one day he would come home and tell me we had grown apart or, even worse, he was bored. So I'd given it a lot of thought and I finally figured out what we needed to get our marriage back where it used to be.

A baby.

Having another baby was the perfect answer. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of all the fun Grant and I would have creating another child. Our son, Scott, was 18 and spending his first year away at the University of Wisconsin. Over the years, there had been other kids, foster kids, but I had always wanted a daughter of my own, one with Grant's gold-green eyes and my mocha skin. Grant will probably think the only reason why I wanted another baby was because my best friend, Whitney, was pregnant with her first. And yeah, that might be part of it, but deep down I had always wanted a little girl. Unfortunately, time was of the essence. I was going to have to convince him quickly, because I would turn thirty-nine on my next birthday.

The second the garage door rose, my heart started pounding like crazy. Grant was home. I hit the timer on the microwave, then rushed over to the dining room table and lit the three candles that made up the centerpiece. After checking the bottle of wine sitting in a bucket of ice and making sure it was cold, I hurried into the living room and turned on Whitney Houston's new CD. Her voice was nothing like it was back in the day, yet it didn't matter. Whitney had a sultry new sound that I couldn't get enough of hearing. I barely had time to strike a seductive pose when the side door opened and Grant stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey.” First, he looked surprised; then his juicy lips curled into a smile that showed off his deep dimples I loved so much. Did I mention how sexy my husband was? He had a medium build. Grant gained a little extra around the middle over the years, but he was still fine. I watched those golden-green eyes drop to my chest. “Wow!”

Inside, I was shouting,
Cha-ching
! That was just the reaction I had wanted. One thing I could bank on was that my husband loved my body. I was a full-figured diva and wherever I went, heads turned, both men and women. Not only was I beautiful, but I was confident inside my body. I may be big, but I had style and knew how to select outfits that played up my thick hips and generous cleavage. I looked down at my costume and chuckled softly. I had almost forgotten I was wearing a skimpy maid's uniform that left very little to the imagination. I even had on a bonnet and a tiny white apron. “Sexy, what took you so long? Dinner is starting to get cold,” I added with a playful pout.

“Then give me a few minutes to change and I'll be right down.” Grant walked over to me. “Damn, you're looking and smelling good.” He pressed his succulent lips to mine.

“Thanks, baby. Now, go change.” I smacked him across his butt.

“I'll be right down.” He glanced over his shoulder at me, smiled, then hurried up the stairs to the master suite we shared.

My eyes followed as he left the room. The second he was out of sight, I frowned. I didn't miss the beer on his breath. Lord knows I wanted to ask Grant where the hell he'd been besides work. My husband taught English at Kenwood Academy. School would be out in three weeks, and I knew he was trying to grade research papers for all eight of his classes and had been working longer hours; however, he hadn't said anything about going out for drinks. Usually he told me when he was hanging out with his boys. So what was he trying to hide? Let me tell you, it took everything I had to hold it together.
Not tonight, Noelle.
Maybe I was just jumping to conclusions. My interrogation would only start another argument, and that was not at all how I planned to spend our evening. Tonight was going to be perfect. It had to be. My marriage was everything. There was plenty of time to ask about the beer later, or maybe not at all.

I quickly set the table and carried over all the food. I was putting broccoli on our plates when Grant stepped through the door. The moment I stared up into his almond brown face, I remembered all the reasons why I first fell in love with this man. Grant was fine back in the day, and twenty years later he still could turn heads.

“Sweetheart, you didn't have to go to all this trouble,” he said with a nervous smile. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the dim lights and scented candles.

I swayed my hips over to him. And since he stands at sixtwo and I'm six inches shorter, I lifted on my toes and kissed his succulent lips. He had gargled. Yum, did he taste good.

“Damn, baby, you look good enough to eat.” His golden gaze dropped down to my cleavage. The twins stood to attention. My nipples hardened under his intense stare. “Why don't we take this to the bedroom?” he suggested, then kissed me twice more.

I was tempted, but I had gone to way too much trouble. “Not yet, Romeo. There's plenty of time for that later. Now sit.” I moved over the bucket, reached for the bottle of wine, and popped the cork.

“Noelle, what's the occasion?”

“Nothing . . . just thought we'd eat in the dining room for a change. It seems like the only time we ever use this room is during the holidays. All this table does is collect dust.” I waited until he took his place at the head of the table before I came around and poured him a glass of Moscato.

“Thank you, baby.” I poured myself a glass and took a seat; then we bowed our heads so he could say grace: “. . . and Lord, bless the hands that prepared this food. Amen.” Grant dug in and his moans told me the food was good. Soft music, good food and wine, I had set the perfect mood.

“How was your day?” I asked, because I read in
O
magazine it's important for couples to share their day-to-day lives together.

He gave a pained look. “Kids. Some days I love teaching; others, I want to hit some of them upside their hard heads. Girls coming in with tits and ass showing, and got nothing but attitude. I don't know what happened to parenting.”

I shook my head, feeling his pain. I never could understand how he could do it. There was no way in hell I could have tried to teach someone else's bad-ass kids. “I know. I hear the women in the salon complaining all the time about the girls their sons bring around. Not that the boys are any better.”

“Mmmm, baby, this is good,” Grant said after taking a bite of his steak. I made sure it was medium, warm with a slightly pink center, just the way he liked it. “No, in my opinion, the boys are worse. When I was growing up, my mother would have knocked me clear into next week for some of the shit these kids say and do.”

“I know that's right,” I replied with a chuckle. My mother-in-law, with her bougie behind, was no joke. While we ate, Grant and I talked about my day at the salon. At the back of my mind, I wanted to ask him about the beer, but I left it alone. We were having too good an evening to ruin it.

The song ended and an old mix CD I had in the five-disk changer came on. I started rocking my hips the second I heard Atlantic Starr's “Secret Lovers.” “Ooh, Grant, remember that used to be our song?”

“It sure was.” He rose from the chair and took my hand; we moved into the living room and Grant held me in his arms. I rested my head on his chest, smelling Jay-Z's new cologne, 9IX. I had bought it for him for Father's Day.

“Noelle, this is nice,” he replied as we swayed to the music.

“I know. We need to do this more often.”

“Yes, we do.” He pressed his lips to my forehead, cheek, and lips. “How about we go up to bed and do a different kind of dance?”

He ain't said nothing but the word. We moved to our bedroom, dropping articles of clothing along the way. By the time I was lying flat on my back, Grant was slipping his boxers off. I stared down at his erection standing at proud attention. My husband doesn't have the biggest dick in the world, but it was perfect, just like the rest of him, and he definitely knew how to work it.

Grant kneeled down on the floor beside the bed and slid my hips down toward the edge. “Open your legs,” he ordered.

Desire throbbed through my body. My baby was about to do what only he knew how to do. Have his just dessert. I opened wide and he grabbed on to my thighs and pulled me into position. The first lick from his velvety tongue about sent me in convulsions. He always knew how to find my spot. Sensations began to build with each stroke. I grabbed his head, loving the feel of his thick curly hair between my fingers. My hips began to rock and move frantically. How could I have gone more than a week without him? Grant had skills. I held him in place as I rubbed hard against his tongue until I finally exploded. He continued his magical strokes until my breathing slowed.

“Mmmm, come here,” I purred and pulled him up beside me on the bed. There was no way I was letting him go unsatisfied. “That felt so good.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. The kiss was so deep I started squirming. “Baby . . .” I whined.

“What?”

“Hurry up.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You, Grant. I want you to make love to me.” I was slick, wet, and ready.

He straddled me. “How bad do you want it?” The intensity of his expression made me shiver.

“Real bad,” I whimpered. “I need you.” Grant entered me slowly. So slow he was driving me crazy. I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him deeper. “Ohhhh.” I exhaled. That felt good. His strokes were slow and controlled. He pulled almost completely out before sliding deep inside again. I thrashed around on the bed because he was torturing me, or better yet punishing me. I would never deny my husband what was rightfully his, because I definitely didn't want him making love to anyone but me. Soon he picked up speed, plunging deep inside, and I moaned loud and clear.

“Noelle,” he hissed as he tried to maintain control. I tightened my walls around him, and it wasn't long before he was screaming my name and stroked hard and fast until we both came together. I laid there with him in my arms, rubbing the sweat on his back and raining kisses to his cheeks. This was the way I wanted things to always be between us.

“Grant?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“I . . . I want another baby.”

Grant jackknifed straight up in the bed. “Excuse me?”

BOOK: Suspicions

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