Property of a Savage Page 11

  “It’s all right. I've been living with it for seventeen years now. I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for a damn thing, you hear me?”

  She exhaled. Staring into my eyes, I literally saw the stress leave her body. Finally, I had her attention again. She was looking at me again, not through me.

  “Are you all okay over here?”

  I gritted as the store clerk interrupted our star gaze. Then I could hear my cell ringing inside of the dressing room again.

  Tempest cleared her throat and scooted away from me. “Yes, we’re okay. I like how this one looks, but I’d like him to try on the white one.”

  The store clerk smiled. “Sure. Why don’t you get out of that one, Damien, and I will get the white one for you.”

  Defeated, yet again, I shook off this constant need to get rejected by this girl. I left the couch and walked towards the dressing room that was just a few feet away. On my way in, I could hear my cell phone ringing. Once inside, I reached into the pocket of the jeans I’d worn to the store for my phone.

  “Hello?”

  “I knew you wasn’t shit, but, gawd damn, you marryin’ a bitch?!” Maya was livid and screaming at the top of her lungs. I was sure Tempest could probably hear Maya’s angry tears all the way outside of the dressing room.

  I whispered, not trying to embarrass Tempest in that bougie ass store. “What—”

  “Fifteen years, Dame!” she spat over my words. “Fifteen fucking years and you’re engaged to a bitch after three months?! I know you was fucking with her while you were with me!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can’t talk right now.”

  Maya’s laugh was psychotic. “Oh, you don’t know what I’m talking about?! Katrina Stanford knows! She tagged you in a picture, and the caption says, ‘Tempest and her fiancé.’ This is the bitch that you were in the club with! So, this is why you stopped giving a fuck about me!”

  “Maya, you stole from me and left me,” I reminded her.

  “For good reason, clearly, nigga!” she snapped.

  Frustration ran through me as I paced the dressing room. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

  “Why? Because you’re with her?!”

  I hung up.

  Shit.

  I then silenced my phone and hurried out of the dressing room just as the store clerk was returning with the white tux.

  “I’ll just hang it up inside.”

  “Thank you,” I told him as I took long strides towards Tempest.

  Seeing the worry in my brow, she asked me, “What's wrong?”

  I returned to my seat next to her with my face in my phone. “Who is Katrina Stanford?”

  Tempest’s eyes slightly rolled. “One of Nneka’s friends. Why?”

  I went to my Facebook app and went straight to my notifications. I saw the barrage of reactions to a photo that I had been tagged in a few minutes ago. Most of the comments were from people who weren’t on my friend’s list.

  “How the hell did she tag me in this?” I wondered out loud.

  “In what?” Tempest leaned over, trying to look at my phone.

  “Shit, we’re friends,” I realized once I had clicked on her page.

  I shook my head, knowing that I had probably just added this girl because she was a baddie.

  This world is too damn small. Social media is even smaller.

  I quickly deleted her and removed the picture from my page.

  “What’s going on?” Tempest pressed.

  “She tagged me in a picture from your mother’s birthday party. The comment said, ‘Tempest and her fiancé’. My kids' mother saw it.”

  Her perfect mouth fell agape slightly. “Shit. Is everything okay?”

  I shook my head. “Probably not.”

  “Do you need to leave?” she asked, concerned.

  “No. I was only able to agree to do this because she left me. She can’t control what I do.”

  “But she is probably hurt. You all just broke up.”

  I shrugged. “She lost respect for me a long time ago, clearly.”

  “You need to tell your family, though. They will need to be at the wedding.”

  “I will.”

  “Tell them the truth if that will make it easier.”

  I chuckled and refused with a shake of my head. “You shouldn’t trust my ghetto ass sister to hold her tongue.”

  Tempest laughed. “Can you come over sometime this week to talk about the seating arrangements for the reception?”

  “Sure.”

  Sighing away the frustration of Maya’s call, I stood and returned to the dressing room. I couldn’t imagine the shitstorm that was awaiting me the next time I saw Maya. But her feelings weren’t my responsibility anymore. I was marrying Tempest for my kids and their futures, and to be able to quit the game so that I could be present in their futures.

  Maya Bradford

  Dame had tried to be slick and removed the picture from his timeline, but he was too late. I had done enough snooping to find Tempest’s mother’s Facebook page. There I had found the pictures from the event that the initial picture had been taken at. Dame was all up and through the photos. He was so comfortable with this Tempest chick, so efficient and loving.

  I was sick to my stomach.

  He had completely abandoned me because of this bitch. Three months after I had left him, I couldn’t even get him to be in the same room with me long enough to try to get him back. I was struggling emotionally and financially. I had gone on so many interviews for jobs that didn’t pay enough to cover the rent and utilities. Dame was only giving money straight to the kids, and he would kill me if they ever told him that I had taken money from them.

  My life had completely turned upside down without my helpmate. He had turned his back on me, and now I knew why.

  Angry, I sprang into action. I wiped my tears and stormed into the living room where the kids were watching TV.

  “Your father is getting married.”

  As soon as I’d announced that, Joziah and Brea’s attention was snatched away from the TV.

  I could literally see Brea’s heart breaking as she asked for clarity, “What?”

  “Yep. Look.”

  I handed Brea my phone. Joziah scooted close to her and peered over as Brea scrolled through the photo gallery of what I had learned was Tempest’s mother’s birthday party.

  Joziah’s nose was turned up as he stared at the phone. “Who is this lady?”

  I sat beside them. “Some girl your father was cheating on me with.”

  Brea sucked her teeth and tossed my phone onto the couch. “Is that why we had to move out?”

  “Yep,” I nodded. “She’s young, too. She’s probably going to have kids with him, and they are going to be living in our old house.”

  “In my room?” Joziah asked with disgust.

  Brea shook her head, sucking her teeth with disgust. “Probably.”

  What I was doing was low, but what I had been doing had not been working. I needed to use what Dame cared about the most to get his attention. Sadly, that was not me.

  Chapter 11

  Tempest Murphy

  I didn’t know what had made me tell Dame about my scars that day at the tuxedo store. I guess I was tired of looking like some emotional roller coaster around him. However, now, I felt so vulnerable when he was near.

  “Nah, I don’t think you should sit my sister with your family.”

  I giggled looking at him as he sat across the dining room table from me. I had to force myself not to stare at him for too long. He was adorably sexy, even more that day. The wife beater and basketball shorts he was wearing left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  “Why not?” I teased, already knowing the answer.

  “I told you she is hood as fuck. You wanna be embarrassed at your reception?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  Damn, he’s sexy.

  “Dam
e, stop,” I laughed.

  He shrugged. “Shit, she might not show up anyway.”

  “Why not? Is she still not talking to you?”

  Dame grimaced. “Hell nah. She so far up in that nigga’s ass, she scared to speak to me.”

  I playfully pouted. “I’m sorry.”

  “It's all right. She’ll be back when she needs me for something.”

  I had gotten more and more comfortable in Dame’s presence. His rough exterior felt safe, as if I had no worries as long as he was around. It was becoming harder and harder for me to ignore the chemistry between us. Maybe revealing my truth to him had been an attempt to self-sabotage the way he looked admirably at me. In the back of my mind, I wondered why he still watched me with the same passion as he did before he knew of my deformities.

  I put my eyes back on the seating chart in front of me and continued to fill it in. I fought to settle my breathing because my heart raced every time he looked at me.

  Every. Single. Time.

  “Our engagement party is in two weeks,” I told him, trying to focus on the task at hand.

  “Word?”

  “Have you told your family yet?” I peered up at him questionably.

  That was one of the rare moments that his intimidating concrete expression vanished and that boy-like humble smile appeared.

  I gasped. “Dame!”

  He smiled bashfully, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

  “I’m going to tell them,” he promised through the smile.

  “Two weeks before the engagement party? They are going to have so many questions.”

  “Shit, I don’t have that much family. It's only my mama and my sister.”

  “What about your kids?”

  A sadness covered him. “They haven’t really been talking to me the last few days. They got attitudes, but they are at that age where it's to be expected. I honestly don't want them to have to come to any of the wedding stuff, though. I think that would be putting them through too much. They’ve only known me to be with their mother.”

  “I totally understand. We can just tell everyone that they recently moved out of town.”

  “Bet.”

  It was happening again. He was staring at me with those gorgeous eyes that managed to look soft, despite there being absolutely nothing soft about this savage. He was powerful, but vulnerable at the same time, and that was so intriguing. How could a man be so dominant, yet give off such a submissive aura, as if he would do anything for me if I would just let him? He commanded my attention but wanted permission to take over.

  I tore my eyes away and gave my attention back to the seating chart, asking, “Why are you staring at me?”

  Why had I asked that question?

  “You always got on long sleeves around me. Is that because you’re hiding your scars from me?”

  I looked down at the long-sleeved Xavier University t-shirt as if I had forgotten I had thrown it on with some gym shorts when Dame had announced his arrival.

  “Yes,” I confessed.

  “Show me.”

  My eyes fluttered rapidly as I stared at him with disbelief. “Show you what?”

  I fought for my eyes to shy away from his, but I was under his silent command.

  “Your scars.”

  I gasped sharply. “What? No.”

  “Show me,” he insisted, slightly sitting up.

  I frowned. “Why would you want to see something like that?”

  When he stood up, my heart started to race as if it were running to get away from him much faster than my legs could carry me. My gaze slid side-to-side as he came around the table towards me. I let out a tiny gasp when he took my hand and stood me up. Being this intimately handled was so powerfully overwhelming. But I summoned enough strength to meet his demanding yet breathtaking gaze. Behind his power, his eyes twinkled, as if they were happy to be looking at me. For that, I didn’t want him to see my scars, because I was scared that twinkle would fade.

  He demanded my attention. With that gaze, he was making me feel us… feel this, as he softly persuaded me, “Show me.”

  Damien Coleman

  I kept our gaze fixed as I grabbed the hem of her shirt. As I lifted it, she started to tremble.

  “Stop, Dame,” left her soft lips timidly.

  “No,” I simply refused.

  I was expecting her to fight, but she didn't as I continued to lift the shirt over her head.

  The scars weren't what took my breath away; it was finally seeing her without the layers that left me speechless.

  The raised imperfections and discoloration wasn't unattractive to me. It didn’t scare me. Nor did they make her wonderful physique ugly or hard to look at. They just reminded me of the many battle scars I had.

  I reached and softly ran my hand over her arm, feeling the braille-like pattern of her skin. She jumped a bit, and I looked at her again, silently asking her to just please let me see her.

  Her body stiffened again as I bent down, bringing my lips towards her chest. When I kissed her cleavage, tasting her defects, she gasped.

  I felt her hands on my shoulders, pushing me back. “Dame—”

  “Stop,” I resisted as I softly grabbed her waist and pulled her closer.

  She was now trembling uncontrollably as I looked up at her, cupping her face and placing my lips on top of her quivering ones.

  She winced, moaning slightly at a high pitch as my tongue parted her lips. I softly pressed its way inside. The moment I was able to taste her, my dick stiffened, reaching out to what it had wanted for months.

  Suddenly, she turned into a savage. She was no longer timid. It was as if the taste of me had made all of her reservations disappear. Finally, she was revealing that she was just as hungry for this as I was.

  I picked her up as we kissed in a way that I had never imagined. It was hot, wet, passionate, and sweet.

  I don't believe I had ever been kissed that way in all of my thirty-two years of existence. I had been told that kissing was more sensual than sex. I had never understood that… until now. I felt like I was tasting hot passion. Her lips were warm and tasted like strawberry. Her arms locked around my neck as I spun her around and sat her on the very table that we were just sitting at.

  As we broke apart for air, my forehead rested against hers as we breathed like beasts while sucking in each other’s oxygen. I timidly reached back to unfasten her bra, afraid that she would stop me.

  She hadn’t. It fell onto the table. I stepped back, marveling at what my eyes were having the privilege to see.

  Fuck them scars. Tempest was a work of art to me. Those flaws resembled a huge tattoo on her torso, symbolizing a battle she had suffered through, yet survived.

  Licking her lips, she bent over, reaching for my shorts and shoving them down. Her eyes bulged at the fact that I was free balling. Yet, she did not look at all disappointed at the erection that was pulsating into a steel curve. She reached for it, caressing it as I slowly ran my thumb over her right nipple.

  Unable to take it anymore, I gently grabbed her neck, spreading her legs with the other hand.

  “I can’t wait anymore,” I growled.

  I snatched her shorts down only far enough to gain access. My mouth watered at the smooth, bare, phat mound facing me.

  I grabbed her by the waist and brought her closer to me. I then laid her down gently.

  I guided my way inside of her. She was so tight and wet, grasping my dick, that I buckled. Completely caught off guard by how sensational she felt, I fell on top of her, bracing myself as I pressed into her slippery wet door.

  She gasped. “Fuuuuck.”

  This pussy was good, like good good. Good like those warm cheese biscuits at Red Lobster. Good like a weekend with no fatalities in Chicago.

  Gathering myself, I started driving myself into her. The force of my thrusts caused a soft knocking of the table against the wall.

  Her moans in my ear caused the hairs on the back of
my neck to stand at attention. My teeth were clenched. I feared how long I could last.

  With her legs wrapped around my waist, she started to move with me.

  I gritted, “Shit.”

  Beneath me, she was breathing harder while encouraging me. “Yes. Oh, God, yes, Dame.”

  Still resting against her, I started to tongue kiss the raised deformities on her shoulders. I wasn’t just making love to her, I was making love to her body, those scars, specifically. I wanted her to be able to own them, especially when she was with me.

  The next morning, I woke up with her face in my chest as she slept soundly. I looked up at the ceiling, recalling the multiple rounds of sex we’d had before passing out.

  I had no idea what time it was, but I knew that it was morning because the sun was rising. I needed to be at work, so I slowly pushed her off of me. As I climbed out of her bed, she started to stir in her sleep.

  “Good morning,” I whispered as I looked around for my clothes.

  She giggled. “Good morning. I think your clothes are still in the dining room, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  I chuckled, the memories of us fucking our way into her bedroom still giving me lustful chills.

  “I gotta go to work.”

  “Me too,” she yawned as she stretched.

  “What time is it? I don’t see my phone.”

  She looked around the dimly lit room. She then reached towards the nightstand where her cell phone was. “A few minutes after seven.”

  “Shit. I need to hurry.” Naked, I jogged into the living room in search of my clothes. They were still sprawled all over the dining room floor. I started to quickly step into my shorts as she appeared, leaning in the doorway of her bedroom.

  “We good?” she asked, timidly.

  I threw my shirt over my head. “Yea. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  She shrugged, holding a sheet that was wrapped around her body. I hated that. I wanted to snatch that cover away so I could see her.