The Black Door (15 page)

“I need you too,” she said.

Trey removed his finger and embraced her tightly around the waist, then firmly rocked back and forth until he was inside. Her tight pussy hugged his dick like a long-lost friend, and they began humping and panting like two dogs in heat. Sweat dripped off of his body onto hers, until they were both covered in each other’s salty juices.

“Harder! Fuck me harder!” she yelled.

Her demand turned him on even more, and his thrusts became deeper and deeper, until he was bucking like a wild bull at the rodeo. Trey was lost in the moment and fucking so hard that he didn’t realize that his mask had fallen off.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” He withdrew and ejaculated all over her chest. He then reached down and massaged the hot creamy secretion around her titties.

Ariel’s head was reared back in ecstasy, and her eyes were closed, as she enjoyed his touch, “Hmm,” she moaned. “You make me feel so good.”

As Trey watched his cum glisten on her big luscious breasts, he could feel another erection coming on. “And you make my dick so hard,” he said in a deep baritone voice.

She was so caught up in the rapture earlier that she hadn’t paid much attention to his voice, but hearing him now, he sounded vaguely familiar. She sat up on her elbows and opened her eyes so she could hear him better. Ariel expected to see his black mask, but the mask had fallen off and she saw his entire face instead. Her body froze and she became as stiff as a corpse when she realized whom she had just fucked.

He felt her tense up. “What’s wrong?” He tapped his semierect dick against her thigh. “Don’t you want some more of this good loving?”

Ariel was speechless and scrambled around until she was on her feet. She grabbed her bustier, tied it haphazardly around her chest, pulled on her skirt, and ran for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” he yelled at her fleeing back.

Trey slumped back on the bed totally baffled. “What the hell just happened?” he wondered out loud.

“Oh, shit,” he said when he looked down and saw his mask lying on the floor. “Guess she didn’t like my mug.”

He reached down to pick up the mask and lying next to it was her sexy thong. Trey picked up the delicate piece of fabric and sniffed her essence. He still had questions as to her true identity, but one thing was for sure, whoever she was, she fucked like no other woman he had ever been with. He was determined to have her again, and again, and again, and . . .

SENATOR OGLESBY’S
home office in Washington was the epitome of a distinguished politician’s habitat. A handsome, brown tufted-leather sofa rested against the back wall, and matching high-back chairs sat in front of a hand-carved maple desk. Original Tiffany lamps adorned the corners of the massive piece of furniture. Of all the well-appointed furnishings, the coup de grâce was his “ego wall.” Each in their own matted gold frame were photographs of the senator shaking hands, slapping backs, and cheesing it up with presidents, prime ministers, ambassadors, and an A-list of well-known diplomats from around the globe; there were even some entertainers thrown in for good measure. The pictures were a clear indication that he was well connected and could reach out and touch the who’s-who of the country with a mere phone call. Though Preston could hold his own and had an impressive Rolodex himself, he still felt honored to be sitting among the presence of such dignitaries.

“I spoke with the president’s aide yesterday, and told him that I’ll have my list of potential nominees to him by Monday. And of course your name is first on that short list,” the senator reassured Preston.

“Robert, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your efforts.”

The senator leaned back in his chair and smiled. “What are frat brothers for?”

Preston had met Robert Oglesby at Georgetown Law. He was an incoming freshman and Robert was the upperclassman who was assigned to give him the grand tour. As it turned out, they had both pledged the same fraternity in college, and from that day on, they became fast friends. At the time, Preston had no way of knowing that Robert would play such a pivotal role in his future. The Oglesby family were third-generation politicians and were deeply entrenched in Washington’s political inner circle. Robert’s grandfather even had close ties with the Kennedy clan, so there were very few who wouldn’t gladly do him a favor upon request. And when Robert realized that his good friend wanted to sit on the Supreme Court, he was more than eager to assist.

Preston shifted to the edge of his chair and asked eagerly, “So what’s the next step after you submit the list?”

“That’s when the fun begins.” Senator Oglesby chuckled.

Preston squinted, so that his eyebrows creased toward the bridge of his nose. “What does that mean?”

“It means that an unofficial investigation of the nominees will be conducted to rattle any skeletons that are lurking in the closet. It’s damage control to uncover any unsavory scandals before the official investigation begins,” he said, pinning Preston with a questioning stare.

“Well, bring on Columbo, Kojak, and the entire
CSI
team, because I have absolutely nothing to hide,” Preston replied with total confidence.

The senator raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I knew of a case where the nominee appeared blemish free on paper, but had a convenient memory lapse and totally forgot about a former mistress, only to have her resurface five years later when the hearings began. Of course she crawled out of the woodwork brandishing pictures of him in a compromising position. Needless to say, he was tried and condemned once the pictures were published, and he kissed his chances of being a justice good-bye.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about some floozy cropping up out of nowhere trying to sabotage my nomination. I was married,
faithfully,
I might add, for fifteen years, and now I’m engaged to an established and well-respected attorney. So I assure you, my personal life is more than intact and up to the scrutiny of an investigation.” Preston had been tempted to cheat a number of times. He and his ex-wife basically led two separate lives; when she couldn’t rattle his cage by trying to turn his son against him, she moved out of the bedroom into the guestroom, forcing him into celibacy for the last two years of their marriage. Always with his eye on the bigger picture, Preston was smart enough to know that an affair could taint his character, if it was ever exposed. And now sitting here listening to the senator quiz him about his private life, he was overjoyed that he hadn’t given in to temptation.

“That’s good to hear. So, tell me, when am I going to have the pleasure of meeting the future Mrs. Hendricks? She has a great reputation in the legal community, and will truly be an asset to your nomination.” He reached inside his desk drawer, took out a black, leather-bound daybook, and thumbed through the pages. “How does next Tuesday sound? The Mrs. and I will be in New York for a couple of days to see a few Broadway shows. If you’re available, you two can join us for dinner one evening.”

“That’s works just fine. I’m sure Ariel will be delighted to finally meet you,” Preston lied. He knew that Ariel was envious of the time that he spent with the senator. But maybe after meeting him and hearing firsthand how involved the entire process is, she would have a better understanding and cut him a little slack.

He penned the date in his book. “Okay, it’s settled. Now what about your professional life? Every case that you’ve ever presided over will be dissected under a very keen microscope. Both sides will read over the decisions you’ve handed down over the years, trying to decide if you’re going to be a top-down justice like Thomas and Scalia, or a bottom-up justice who’s sensitive to precedent and the facts of every case. You know the law is actually politics in disguise. It’s not an exact science, since laws are basically created to champion one cause or another. And the Judiciary Committee will try to determine if you’ll favor the right or the left.”

Preston didn’t say a word, just nodded his head. The senator then went on. “And what about your religious affiliation? We’ve known each other for eons, but I don’t know if you’re Catholic or Protestant or Baptist. Well, whatever denomination you are, you’d better dust off your membership card.” He chuckled. “And become active, if you’re not already It’ll bode well for you to be closely affiliated with a church. And another thing that’ll look good is if you’ve done some pro bono work.”

“I have, as a matter of fact. I’m the lead counsel for the Boys’ Theater of Harlem, and have been for years. I negotiate their contracts; it’s my way of giving back to the community,” Preston said proudly.

“Excellent.” The senator reached across his desk, opened a humidor filled with fat hand-rolled cigars, and took two out. “Well, if I was a betting man, I’d say you are the perfect candidate and should have no problems securing the nomination,” he said, snipping the tip of each torpedo-shaped cigar, and handed one to Preston.

Preston leaned back in his chair with a huge grin plastered across his face and stuck the stogie in his mouth. He could just picture himself ensconced with the esteemed justices and handing down the law—the final word—which couldn’t be disputed. And why shouldn’t he? He had built a stellar career over the years without any unsavory blemishes for the sole purpose of sitting on the Supreme Court; his professional and personal lives were above reproach. So let them investigate to their hearts’ content, because his life and those around him were absolutely blemished free.

ARIEL WAS GRATEFUL
for the weekend and that she had a two-day reprieve to get her head right before going into work on Monday. She lay in bed most of the day drifting in and out of a fitful sleep. Her dreams were a series of turbulent nightmares, jolting her awake the moment she settled into a deep slumber; but they were no comparison to the real-life nightmare that she experienced at The Black Door. Ariel’s mind was still reeling at her shocking discovery.

“How could I have been so naive?” she asked, pounding her fist into one of the down pillows near her head.

Ariel wanted to talk the situation out with someone so she could get an objective point of view. But there wasn’t anyone to hash things over with. She thought about calling Meri, but she would be anything but impartial. And Ariel wasn’t in the mood for another one of Meri’s long-winded speeches about how she should satisfy her needs since Preston was too busy to satisfy them. As a matter of fact, it was Meri’s advice that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. If she had never gone to The Black Door in the red mask, disguised as Meri, none of this would have happened. If only she hadn’t given in to her carnal desires, she’d be basking in the glow of her impending nuptials, instead of wondering if her indiscretions would ruin her
and
Preston’s future.

“Damn it!” she shouted, and jammed the pillow again with another forceful blow. Ariel lit into the plump pillows and beat them ferociously until they were as flat as a pair of two-by-fours. She took her frustration out on the inanimate objects because she couldn’t physically beat herself to a pulp. And that’s exactly what she wanted to do for being so damn
stupid
and getting herself into an impossible predicament.

Just as she finished her assault on the innocent bed accessories, the phone rang. The noise startled her and she stared at the ringing phone in horror, like it was sent Express Mail directly from Satan. She froze. Ariel didn’t know whether to answer it or to throw the annoying thing against the wall. At first she thought it might be her black-masked lover, but then she realized that there was no way that he could possibly have her telephone number. Fortunately, the ringing stopped before she could decide what to do. Ariel slumped back on the headboard, relieved that the voice mail had intercepted whoever was on the other end. But her reprieve was short-lived, because no sooner had the house phone stopped then her cell phone rang. She fished the tiny gadget out of her purse and looked at the caller ID, exhaled, and flipped open the phone.

“Hey there,” she panted, slightly out of breath from going postal on the pillows.

“Uh, hi,” Preston said, and then paused. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, picking up on the undertones in her voice.

“What do you mean?” she asked defensively.

“You sound breathy, like you just finished running the New York Marathon.”

“I. . . uh . . . just rushed in from the bathroom,” she lied.

“Oh, I was wondering where you were, because I called the house phone before I called your cell.”

“How was your trip?” she asked, steering the conversation into another direction.

“It was great!” He beamed. “The senator and I had a very productive meeting. He basically gave me the rundown of what to expect, and I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that the ball is finally rolling.”

“That’s good news,” Ariel said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which wasn’t much.

Preston was so absorbed in his favorite topic—himself—that he didn’t pick up on her lackluster response. “Why don’t I come over and tell you all about our meeting?”

Ariel rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She wasn’t in the mood to hear Preston droning on and on about his precious nomination. She wanted—no needed—to concentrate on her own problems, and she wouldn’t be able to focus on a solution if Preston came over and filled her head with his political agenda.

“Honey.” She coughed slightly. “I think I’m coming down with another cold. I’m going to take some NyQuil and turn in early.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Well, you get some rest. I need you to feel better before Tuesday.”

“Why? What’s Tuesday?”

“The senator and his wife are coming to town and they want us to have dinner with them,” he explained.

Ariel wanted to scream! The last person she wanted to meet was the senator. He was a constant presence on the phone, interrupting them at the most inopportune times. She was afraid that she’d tell him off to his face, and didn’t want to make a scene in public.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. I have a partner’s meeting Tuesday afternoon, and if I know long-winded Bob, I’m sure he’ll talk well pass five o’clock. I probably won’t get out of the office until late,” she said, trying to get out of what was sure to be a boring evening of political mumbo-jumbo.

“I’m sure they’ll understand if you leave a few minutes early. Honey, I really need you there. The senator is anxious to meet you.”

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “maybe I can join you at the restaurant instead of you picking me up at my apartment.” She conceded, realizing that it was useless trying to escape the inevitable.

“Great. I’m going to make reservations at Town for six. Try and get some rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Ariel said good-bye and hung up. She had accommodated Preston’s need (as usual), but her problem was still foremost in her mind. “What the hell am I going to do?” she asked aloud, hoping a voice from above would magically give her the answer she craved. When nothing but silence greeted her, she realized that a genie wasn’t going to appear and blink her problems away.

“Well, I know one thing for sure,” she said to herself. “I’m never going back to The Black Door.”

Once those words left Ariel’s lips, she felt better, but she knew that that was just like putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. Sooner or later, the flimsy piece of adhesive would give way and expose the ugliness that she was desperately trying to hide.