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  My nephews, Kareem, Raphael, and Anthony, had fun playing card games and taking pictures with him. Nylah seemed to fit right in with him, too. As I watched him, it was still hard for me to believe that this man was now part of my family. He interacted with everyone as if he’d always been here with us. Was I now to expect him to attend Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations? Surprisingly though, instead of being nervous in his company, I was rather enjoying it, making me almost glad Malik and Sato weren’t there, which of course would’ve changed the evening’s dynamics.

  “My apologies, First Lady, for not getting back you to about seeing the condo,” he said, interrupting my thoughts of him. “I’ve been pretty busy, but I would like to see the place,” he continued, displaying that disarming smile of his.

  “Yeah, Sis, Pops already rented office space, but he needs to get out of that efficiency he’s living in,” Kamille said, standing next to him, her hand affectionately on his shoulder.

  “A man like you won’t get a woman living in South Philly,” chimed in Brandon, as he poured Lemoncello for the four of us.

  “I thought Sato was your. . .”

  “Acquaintance,” he said, winking at me before continuing, “Oh yeah, I looked into that situation for you and didn’t find anything. So what do you think? Three bedrooms, nothing over the top, just a comfortable place for my grandsons to visit.”

  “I can have the realtor. . .” I began, but then Nylah interrupted me asking if she could spend the night with her cousins. I agreed because I was looking forward to spending time with Malik.

  “Tiff, why don’t you take Pops over there now. It’s still early.”

  “I need to get home before Malik and fix him some dinner.”

  “There’s plenty of leftovers. Plus I’m sure, knowing my brother-in-law, you have the exact time of his arrival. I mean, how long could it take? The place is empty.”

  It was only seven-thirty and Malik wasn’t due home until ten-fifteen, so I did have some time to spare and our goal was for the place to be 100 percent occupied.

  “I guess it’ll be all right, but we’ll need to make it quick.”

  “Thanks sis, you’re the best,” she said, then continued by whispering in my ear, “see he’s not that bad.”

  Leaving my sister’s, Haney followed behind me in a late model red Cadillac CTS. It took me less than 20 minutes to get from her house to 20th and Hamilton Streets.

  We parked on the street, him pulling in right behind me, but he remained in his car on the phone, watching me while I crossed the street. That annoyed me because I needed to hurry up and get this over with.

  Once he joined me inside the lobby, I gave him an overview of the building’s amenities, its 24-hour doorman, on-site parking, fitness center, which included an Olympic sized pool, and chauffeured car service for residents. There was no need to sell him on the neighborhood, which was walking distance to Center City, The Barnes Museum, Museum of Art, and The Franklin Institute.

  On the quick elevator ride to the 10th floor, Haney was preoccupied with texting, so in turn, I took to texting with Max on exactly where I was and with whom. After I unlocked the door to the unit, I searched for the light switches, but the only light was the kitchen, ceiling fan. Then I became frustrated with not being able to locate the air conditioning panel. This was not going good.

  “It’s okay, we won’t be long. I’ll take your word that it has air,” Haney joked, then proceeded to take a call that I presumed was from Sato as he made plans to meet her at Del Frisco’s for drinks.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said when he finally finished. “Let me hear your pitch.”

  Standing in the kitchen area, I said, “This particular unit, as you can see, faces Center City. The kitchen has granite counter tops, cherry wood cabinets and all the rooms have plenty of closet space with Brazilian hardwood flooring throughout.”

  “Very nice. Your brother hits all points, I see.”

  “As you requested, it has three bedrooms and two full bathrooms.”

  “Can I see the other rooms or are you just gonna tell me about them?”

  We began walking the unit as I explained, “Back here, this is the smallest bedroom, and could be used for an office or dressing room. Across there is the guest bathroom connected to another larger bedroom for when my nephews visit. And back here facing Spring Garden Street is the master bedroom with a soaking tub in the bathroom, perfect for you and Sato.”

  “Be careful, First Lady, you’re sounding jealous or are you frustrated?”

  “I’m neither.”

  However, I was beginning to perspire from the lack of air conditioning and the fact that he was walking so close behind me into the master bathroom that I could feel him creeping into my skin.

  “Is that good enough for you?” I asked, the walk-through now complete as I moved back toward the door.

  “Can you show me the view again from the living room?”

  Now I was agitated; there was nothing to see and the sun was beginning to set. He reached up and pulled the chain turning off the kitchen light and fan.

  “I’d like to see the lights from the city.”

  Reluctantly, I walked back in the living room and stood next to the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony.

  “Mr. Haney, I don’t know what else you need to see. With this apartment, you have everything you asked for, and the rent is $3,500 a month. Can you afford that?”

  “Have I done something to warrant your attitude? I thought we were okay.”

  “Why didn’t you return my calls? Is that one of your tactics, ignoring me?”

  “I was busy taking care of things for the Mayor,” he replied, standing in front of me, close enough that I could smell his aftershave. I tried to move around him, but he blocked me by putting his hands on my shoulders.

  “My husband doesn’t need. . .”

  “Be careful, First Lady,” he said, not having to remind me that Malik had needed him and so had I.

  “I have to go. Do you want the place or not?”

  Ignoring my attempts to keep it business, he prodded, “You’ve been calling me so I know you wanted to see me.”

  “To show you this place, that’s was all.”

  “Tell me, First Lady, how does it feel to have everything you want? You’re the Mayor’s wife and you have Raquel Turner Cosby as your ally, what more could you want?” he asked, his hand now caressing the exposed skin around my neckline, drawing my eyes upward toward his.

  “I have to go and stop calling me that,” I stammered, turning my back to him, all while anticipating his next move.

  Taking my hand, he kissed the soft skin under my wrist. “You used to like me kissing you right here.”

  Feeling myself getting pulled into his spell, I snatched my hand from his and said, “Mr. Haney, I didn’t come here for this.”

  “Nobody says my name like you, say it again for me.”

  With the back of my hand, I wiped at the sweat beading up on my nose then told him, “We’re done, it’s time to go.”

  “Stop fighting me, Tiffany. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want,” he told me, all while his hands slowly unbuttoned the back of my dress until it hung loosely on my shoulders.

  Sweat gathered under my bra, which he unclasped, releasing my breasts into the palms of his hot hands. I attempted to gather up my dress until he forcibly stopped me by pinning my hands down at my sides, rendering me as helpless as I’d always been in his presence.

  “Mr. Haney. . .” I began to say when he tilted my head to the side.

  “Six years and you’re all I thought about. You have no idea what it’s like to want a woman like you,” he said, his fingers now massaging the nape of my neck, until his hands reached up, undoing my bun, removing one hairpin at a time, until my hair slowly fell to my shoulders.

  “Mr. Haney, I. . .”

  “Shut up, Tiffany,” he whispered in my hair, all while taking deep breaths of my essence.
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  “Please, I can’t, please,” I begged, not sure if was for him to stop or continue.

  His beard brushed back and forth across the cheeks of my face, sending chills crashing through my body.

  “You remember how good Mr. Haney used to fuck you? One time, that’s all I want,” he said.

  He was right, I did remember and it was those memories that, if I were truthful, had brought me to this very spot with him pressed against me. But it was different this time; I was married and I couldn’t use the excuse that he’d drugged me or I was drunk because this time it was what I wanted.

  I turned my head just enough to offer him my lips and he took them, licking them, kissing them, sucking on my tongue, and gently with his teeth, he began biting my lips.

  “Tell me what you want, First Lady,” he said, his voice barely audible as his mouth still covered mine.

  And that’s when I forgot I was First Lady, married to the Mayor of Philadelphia because at that moment I was a reckless woman wanting to be satisfied by a man who knew me in ways my husband didn’t. Malik had always been a good lover, but he never went outside certain boundaries and I never asked him to for fear he might think me too salacious. But Haney was right, I knew what I wanted.

  By now, the only sound in the empty room was the slurping sound of his tongue licking me, making we want this man so bad that my body trembled as I stood there in my kitten heels.

  “You sure you want what I have to give you?”

  “Yes, yes,” I cried, when I heard the unbuckling of his belt, which only made me beg even more. “Yes, Mr. Haney, please take me.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear; tell Mr. Haney what you want,” he demanded, roughly pinning me against the glass, my arms stretched above my head. I held my breath waiting for it, but instead of plunging himself inside me, he teased me, swirling circles, round and round my pulsating lips. Not only was driving me insane, but the walls inside me were contracting, trying to grab onto him, until I was so weak with desire that I literally began to cry. Then without warning, he pushed, he pushed hard until the strength of it took my breath away.

  He didn’t move and neither did I.

  “Breathe, First Lady, it’s okay. I know what you want,” and with that, using the entire force of his body, he plunged himself so deep inside me that my body shuddered and my scream resonated throughout the room. I couldn’t hold on, I was sliding down the window and my orgasm was exploding, running down my legs.

  Then in slow motion, holding onto my hips, he moved my body with his and it made me think of the dance Max had taught me. So I gyrated and moved with him, my eyes closed listening for a beat only I could hear. That’s when he started moving harder, penetrating deeper, then pulling back and smacking me on my ass and each time the harder the sting, the harder my orgasm. Unable to control myself, I cried out to him, “Oh my God, Mr. Haney, oh my God.”

  I could hear him muttering words, but they weren’t clear and just when I thought I might fall through the window, I began falling to my knees. But he held me by my waist and pulled back, easing himself from deep inside me. But I knew him, and he wasn’t finished.

  “Come with me,” he said, before hoisting me onto the granite counter, where he tossed my purse aside, its contents spilling onto the kitchen floor.

  I pulled at him, bringing him to me, biting his chest, grabbing him, wanting him in my mouth, but he stopped, making me scream, “What, what do you want?”

  With his lips curled up in the corners and without breaking a smile, he proclaimed, “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

  Two hours later, with the back of my dress half buttoned and my skin clammy with sweat, I gathered up my things, and hurried out of Hamilton Square to the safety of my car, far away from Mr. Haney. I snapped down the visor mirror to see that the reflection peering back at me wasn’t the First Lady, it was that of the thirty-year-old Tiffany Johnson. But who had Haney been? In the past, he’d taken what he wanted, and now tonight, he’d been a combination of passion and aggression, at times it almost felt as if we were making love. It didn’t make sense.

  Using my fingers, I combed through my mussed hair since all my pins were gone. My lipstick was smeared, so I scrounged around in my purse for my handkerchief. My hand touched something foreign, an envelope, inside was his deposit, $10,000.

  When I pulled into the driveway, the house was dark, so I knew Malik wasn’t home yet. I sat there flushed, trying to organize my thoughts, all while savoring the taste of Mr. Haney in my mouth and his scent all over my clothes.

  BEEP! BEEP!

  The sound of the car horn startled me. Taking a look in the rearview mirror, I panicked. Oh my God, Malik was home.

  Scrambling to get out of the car, Malik had opened my door before I could, then pursed his mouth to kiss my already swollen lips. I prayed he couldn’t taste all the places that my mouth had been.

  “Hey, woman, where you been? Where’s my daughter?” he asked, peering into the back seat for Nylah.

  With my heart furiously drumming against my chest, I said, “She spent the night at Kamille’s.”

  “Perfect, because we’re celebrating tonight,” he told me as I wiggled to get out of his embrace.

  What was he talking about? Had I forgotten our anniversary, his birthday? What cause did we possibly have to celebrate?

  Seeing the puzzled expression on my face, he said, “The arrests? C’mon let’s get in inside, I don’t want you to melt.”

  When we got inside the house, I rushed toward the stairs, but he grabbed my arm pulling me to a stop.

  “Where you going so fast? Let’s have a drink and order some food.”

  “Go ’head, I wanna take a shower first,” I stammered, trying to hurry upstairs before he noticed my half buttoned dress.

  “Hold up, I’m coming with you.”

  What was he doing? We hadn’t showered together in months. I tried to think of a million excuses for him not to join me, and even considered bringing up Cyndi, but after what I’d just done, it didn’t seem fair.

  In our room, I stripped down, stuffing my damp clothes into the hamper and hurried into the shower stall. Luckily for me, Malik’s mobile rang while he was undressing. Maybe it would be something urgent enough for him to leave the house. It wasn’t, and before I knew it, he was standing naked in the shower behind me. I was all out of excuses.

  “Turn around, woman, I haven’t seen you in three days,” he said, when I kept my back to him.

  Finally I faced him, but was too ashamed to meet his eyes. He began lathering me with my new shower cream, Arlesienne, gently sponging away the scent of Mr. Haney. The more he sponged me, the more I was filled with guilt, almost making me want to confess. What kind of woman was I to lay with another man and have my husband wash him away?

  “Tiffany, baby, I missed you. I couldn’t wait to get home,” he said, his soapy hands cupping my breasts, with my nipples defying me by hardening in response.

  The more Malik’s hands massaged me, the more turned on I became. How could that be? Haney had given me numerous orgasms, and now here I was, staring into the eyes of my husband, young, hard, and soft in all the right places. I wanted him.

  “It feels good, don’t it?”

  “Malik, I’m sorry.”

  “Be quiet, woman, and give me what I want; get down on them knees.”

  I did as he asked, taking all of him in my mouth, until he pushed down so hard that I began to gag from the mere length and width of him, and the water that rushed in between us. Reluctantly he set me back on my feet.

  “I know I been loving you hard, but I can’t help it. It’s your fault, it’s what you do to me,” his stern voice told me, while slowly began inserting one, then two fingers in what was already warm and waiting for him.

  At that moment I couldn’t wait for my husband to have me, yet I was so confused as to why when I’d just been with another man. But he didn’t give me time to consider the reason why because in one swift move,
his muscular arms lifted my body off the shower floor, and holding me up against the tiled wall, he pushed himself inside me while I held tightly onto his shoulders.

  “Wait, Malik, I’m not ready,” I screamed, at the force with which he took me.

  “Shut up, Tiffany, shut up and take it,” he demanded, while water streamed down between us, and my nails dug deep into his flesh.

  I was taking it and I no longer felt guilty. I wanted Malik to have me because he was right, I did like the brute force of him, showing me who he really was and told him as much.

  Then with the same quickness, he stopped, pulled out, set me on my feet and said, “You know what I want.” And what he wanted was to go into that place deep inside me where he’d never been, my chocolate truffle.

  “Malik, wait, n-o-o-o-o, don’t,” I begged, trying my best to get out of his grip, feeling like he was about to punish me for my earlier transgression.

  “Shut up, you can handle it. I’m your husband, I’m the Mayor, now give me what I want,” he demanded.

  “I can’t take anymore, please not like this.”

  He didn’t listen and instead repeatedly smacked across my face, once, twice, then kissed me deep, telling me, “This belongs to me, you hear me woman, this belongs to me,” and with that he bent over, taking what was rightfully his, leaving me no choice physically or otherwise, but to submit all parts of my body to him.

  Afterward, my body was so weak and limp, and cradling me in his arms, he carried me to bed, kissing my forehead, and then, tucking me under the covers.

  The last thing I heard was my husband on the phone ordering a pizza.

  Chapter 17

  Disney World

  While I was at home packing for our trip to Disney World, Malik entertained the Asian Affairs Commission, along with Jason Wu and Sato, at Citizens Bank Park where the Phillies were playing the Nationals.