Rhythms of Love: You Sang to Me / Beats of My Heart. Beverly Jenkins
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grandmother chuckled. “He is nice, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“A girl could do worse.”
“Yeah, but not a girl like me. He’s probably got a harem full of women back home.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Cinderella. I saw the way he was watching you at the table. He’s interested.”
“Yeah, but in what? Probably just wants to put my mop on his wall with the rest of his bedroom trophies.”
Her grandmother laughed.
“I’m going to bed,” Reggie declared.
“And I’m coming down to watch some TV.”
They met at the bottom of the steps and shared a hug.
Crystal whispered, “I love you, baby. Think about what he’s offering.”
“I love you more. I told him I would and I will. I promise.”
The embrace ended.
Reggie gave her grandmother a mock warning. “And don’t stay up too late, missy. You need your beauty sleep.”
“I’ll be up right after the late-night, dirty movie on Skinamax.”
A chuckling Reggie climbed the stairs shaking her head.
Sleep was long in coming. Jamal Reynolds filled Reggie’s mind. When she finally did drift off, his whispery voice telling her to “stay sweet” was the last thing she remembered.
In the dream, Reggie and Trina were climbing a mountain in a swirling, blinding snowstorm. Trina was above her on the mountain and Reggie knew she’d be left behind if she didn’t keep up. They were both perfectly outfitted for the weather, with parkas, backpacks and spiked boots, but the treacherous conditions made the struggling Reggie barely able to see Trina above her in the heavy snow. She kept yelling for Trina to stop so she could catch her breath, but Trina kept getting farther and farther away until the only thing Reggie could make out were the Day-Glo numbers 404 on the back of Trina’s pack. Cold and exhausted, Reggie called again, only to have her voice snatched away by the howling, screaming wind, and then she was alone.
Next thing she knew she was in a dark cave illuminated by a fire. Soft jazz could be heard. Jamal was sitting in the corner, and when their eyes met he stood. Dressed in all black, he came toward her. With each step he took, her clothes magically melted away. When he finally reached her side she was nude.
Then the scene changed and they were on a bed and his mouth was slowly worshipping the peaks, hollows and curves of her body. His fiery lips blazed slowly over the base of her throat and the crooning points of her breasts. While he lingered there, his hand played between her legs, doing such magnificent things her hips were rising and she was moaning in the jazz-hushed silence. He was nude, too, now—dark, hard and sleek. “Are you ready to be loved?”
The scandalous pleasure of his lips and hands had her so breathless, she had to fight to find the voice to reply, “Yes…”
So he took her and she came with a long strangled scream, then bolted awake.
Breathing hard, heart racing like a hydroplane on the Detroit River, she wildly looked around in the darkness. She was in her bedroom. Thank goodness! Her nipples were hard. The secret place between her thighs was throbbing and her whole body felt ripe with need. It was as if he’d slipped into her room, made love to her and slipped away again. She fell back onto the mattress. Mercy!
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