Never Again Once More

Book 2: Soulmates Dissipate

by Mary B. Morrison

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

From a sultry voice in African American erotic fiction, comes a story of love, faith, happiness, and juicy bedroom antics. Jada has two men on her plate and the appetite for both - how can she be true to her marriage and herself at the same time? Continuing from her previous novel Soul Mates Dissipate, Essence and Blackboard best-selling author Morrison crafts a highly enjoyable, feel-good tale that is deliciously graphic.

Release date: April 7, 2011

Publisher: Recorded Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

“Lord give me strength,” Jada whispered as she dropped her cell phone into her purse. Inhaling through her nose, she removed her electronic notebook from the overhead compartment and sighed heavily. Never mentioning Wellington Jones by name, she had posed multiple relationship questions to the stranger seated next to her in row one, since he had been happily married to the same woman for over fifty years.

“Sir, thank you for lending an ear.” Jada took one step back, allowing him to retrieve his belongings. His brown scuffed briefcase was torn at every corner, and the gold-plated latches had turned mostly silver. The black rubber beneath his walking cane was worn to the slanted wood.

The elderly man licked his dentures, scratched his receding hairline, and replied in his raspy voice, “That’s why God gave us two. One so we can listen to how selfish we sound and the other for us to hear. Seems as though you’ve been listening, but you’re so busy hearing yourself, you haven’t heard what he’s trying to tell you. I’ve managed to stay married because my wife, she respects my manhood and doesn’t try to reduce me to being one of our twelve kids.” Then he dug into his butt, relieving himself of a wedgee.

Respect was earned, not given because a man was anatomically correct. “But did I mention to you”—Jada moved closer so the person beside her wouldn’t overhear—“he impregnated another woman?”

The old man wasn’t as kind to speak low in return. “So did the Reverend Jesse Jackson, but you don’t see his wife abandoning him. And if Hillary can forgive Bill, why can’t you forgive . . .” This time he dug deeper into his butt and grunted, “What’s his name?” His hand quivered, touching hers.

Frowning, Jada said, “Wellington,” for the first time during their discussion.

“Yeah, that’s it. Jandra, you’re a pretty girl. I’ll tell you like I’ve told all of my kids, ‘Pride and love is like oil and water. They don’t mix.’ The sooner you realize that, the healthier your relationship will be.”

He still hadn’t pronounced her name correctly; but his wisdom surpassed her logic, so Jada moved ahead of him, impatiently waiting as the exit door opened.

The flight attendant smiled cheerfully. “Thank you for flying the friendly skies.” Absent her smile, the attendant resembled one of the girls from Robert Palmer’s rock video “Simply Irresistible”: pale face, straight black hair slicked back, and red lipstick.

Jada’s lips parted, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she stretched her five-foot-nine frame until an arch formed in her lower vertebrae. When her black thigh-high boot crossed the threshold and landed on the walkway, a gust of cold air raced up the front split in her cashmere skirt and kissed her red lace thong. Briskly tracing another passenger’s footsteps, Jada wished Candice would be late so she’d have an excuse to avoid reliving her best friend’s wedding and honeymoon plans.

Not only was Candice timely, but she was the first person Jada noticed when the attendant opened the second exit door leading into the concourse.

“Hey, girl. I thought you were going to backslide, especially since you didn’t call me last night.” Candice extended a Holy Names prep girl hug, giving Jada three pats on the back. “I like the sexy style. You look like a woman in search of a new man. That’s a good thing.” Rambling on, Candice pinched the edges of Jada’s jacket and peeped inside. “I’m scared of you, Ms. Thang, a split almost up to your clit. Terrell would never allow me to wear this.” She released Jada’s blazer. “But what’s up with all the black? Are we mourning our loss?” Fanning the wind, Candice emphatically said, “Forget Wellington. He doesn’t deserve you.”

The little old man slowly walked by hunched over his cane, “She’s got that right,” he said.

What was that supposed to mean? Jada had taken enough of his insults, and if he wasn’t seventy something, she’d tell him to go straight to hell. Sighing again, she thought, Ms. Thang, not Mrs. Jones. Maybe he was right.

Jada placed her computer bag in Candice’s wavering hand and retrieved the waterless sanitizer from her purse. “Let’s stop at Starbucks; I could use an iced frappuccino.” Sniffing the freshness on her fingertips, she tilted her head back, lifted her smooth straight hair, and gradually released it behind her shoulders.

“How’s Terrell?” Jada raised Candice’s hand, tugged at her clothes, and pointed at her head. “Where are your acrylic nails? What’s up with the Suzie homemaker muumuu dress? And why are you wearing that pent-up out-of-date hairstyle?”

Candice’s flat shoes really made her every fraction of five feet, four inches. Her once lavish nails were now nubs so short her flesh protruded beyond the edges. A soon-to-be thirty-three-year-old diva was retired in her prime because the broom she was about to jump had already swept her raving beauty under the carpet. Candice had once dressed so provocatively she stopped everything except time.

Terrell wore muscle shirts whenever he wanted and smiled in the faces of gorgeous women, justifying his actions based on his professional image. The most sought after male model, in higher demand than Tyson, had landed his first acting role staring opposite Morris Chestnut, so he’d immediately postponed marrying Candice.

Jada remembered the days—less than six month ago—when she worked at Sensations Communications photographing the world’s finest male models, including Terrell. But once Wellington’s wicked aunt Cynthia landed Melanie a job as her boss, Jada typed up her resignation, handed it to the receptionist, and kept on stepping. As long as Candice Jordan catered to Terrell Morgan’s needs, he was satisfied. That was exactly what Jada refused to do, compromise herself for the sake of having a man.

The airport was overcrowded. Travelers lined the walls and blocked the aisles. “Flight eighty-one has been changed to gate eleven.” Outbound passengers grumbled loudly; some of them dragged kids along. Since Jada had experienced the inconveniences of LAX on numerous occasions, she anticipated the seemingly standard announcement.

Standing in line next to her, Candice replied, “My husband is fine. My husband didn’t like the nails or the body-hugging clothes; but my husband loves this hairstyle, and he loves me.” Candice fingered the chestnut-colored curl hanging alongside her face. “I have our wedding planner in the car. You’ve got to see the fabrics and colors. You’re going to be the most attractive maid of honor.” Candice flipped her wrist to display the diamond marquis her fiancé had recently bought.

Maid not matron. Jada was genuinely happy for her girlfriend. If Candice hadn’t invited her to Will Downing’s concert over a year ago, Jada probably wouldn’t have met Wellington. Neither would Candice have met Terrell. They should have been planning a double wedding and reception. Tension throbbed at Jada’s temples, so she pressed firmly, repressing the pain.

Handing Jada her drink, the cashier curled Jada’s fingers over the ten-dollar bill. “The gentleman in the tan suit prepaid for you and your friend. What would you like?” she asked Candice, then turned back to Jada. “Oh, and he told me to give you this.”

Jada flipped the card over and read, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Lowering Jada’s arm, Candice said to the cashier, “I’ll have a café latte with steamed soy milk.” Looking at her friend, she continued, “Terrell says I’m lactose intolerant and shouldn’t consume dairy products. See, girl, you’re reeling the men in already.” Candice peeped at the front of the card. “Impressive.”

Jada had already checked out the man with the immaculately trimmed beard. His teddy bear love handles seemed to snuggle under a sheer layer of confidence. He wasn’t Wellington, but the brother was tall, sexy, and distinguished. He looked like money. Smelled like money, too, when he walked by and winked. His cologne wafted by her, alluringly fresh and clean; not harsh, bold, or like a cheap bar of soap. His nails were manicured. A watch and a ring adorned his left wrist and pointing finger. Diamonds and platinum. Not colored stones and gold. Casually scanning and assessing a man from head to toe was one of Jada’s greatest diva techniques. Maybe she’d call him next week after her furniture was delivered.

Although her coochie, aka Lady C, craved affection, Wellington’s semen was the only sperm Jada honestly wanted swimming inside her paradise. His lips were the only ones she wanted pressed against her lips, her breasts, and her clit. The idea of getting to know someone new sucked. New issues. Unbearable habits. Why hadn’t she followed her first thought and rented a car. Now she was trapped with Candice for the rest of the day. With a sigh, she left the coffee shop and headed for baggage claim.

Helping Jada retrieve her luggage, Candice recovered the suitcase from the conveyor belt and rolled it to her car. “Stay with us until you get settled,” she suggested as they got in the car and left the parking lot.

Homelessness was a better alternative than watching Candice mimic the housewife role of Florida Evans from Good Times. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I need solitude.” Jada paused for a moment, watching the cars in the fast lane zoom by. Lowering the visor to block the sun, Jada sipped her drink and said, “Candice, I know you dislike Wellington because he cheated on me, but you have no idea how much I love him. It hurts me when you brag about how perfect your world is while constantly reminding me how fucked up my situation is.”

Candice’s head snapped to the right. “Girl, where did that come from?”

Ignoring the question, Jada continued, “I’m not desperate to find another man, to get hitched, or to get laid.” Okay, maybe the getting laid part wasn’t true, because her menstrual cycle was due, and she was so horny the friction between her thighs could bring her to a climax. “Besides, everything I had planned for my wedding, you’re using for yours, including exchanging soul mate rings. And what’s up with the marquis diamond ring. That was my favorite cut, not yours. But not once have I protested, and I’m not complaining now. And another thing, you need to stop telling Terrell everything I tell you. Am I your daily soap opera topic of conversation? You know Terrell and Darryl are still friends.” Finally Jada had said what she’d held in far too long. Slowly her migraine started subsiding.

Jada seldom heard from Darryl Williams, but he called—even if he was on the road with his NBA teammates—whenever Terrell updated him on her latest happenings. Friendships with her ex-men were common and important, but she detested when Darryl delivered a verbatim report to her about herself.

Candice had been her girlfriend since third grade, but ever since she’d met and moved in with Terrell, their closeness had become a triangle when it came to secrets. Candice boasted about Terrell’s bedroom skills in such detail, Jada felt as if she’d fucked him, too. The head of his penis was smaller than the shaft. The base of his penis was thinner than his shaft, almost like the shape of green zucchini. His nuts were the size of two mouth-sized gumballs when they shriveled up. And his cum tasted natural, like vanilla extract, except when he drank beer. Now Jada understood why Daddy used to say, “Never tell your girlfriend how good your man is in bed because she will find out behind your back.” Fortunately for Candice, Jada had access to dicks through her reserve list, to which Wellington had become her newest active reserve member.

“Whew! Girl, you are right. You do need solitude. I’ll try not to be so happy when I’m around you.” Faster than a stunt man on fire, Candice did a stop, drop, and roll. She parked in front of the hotel but didn’t get out of her car. “I’ll tell my husband you said hello. Call me tomorrow. Bye, girl.” Candice drove away so fast the tailwind literally closed the trunk.

What was up with wearing out the word husband? They weren’t married yet, and Candice was so blinded by love she couldn’t see that Terrell was obviously content reaping all the benefits of a married man while maintaining a singles’ lifestyle.

After checking in, Jada raced to her room. Before the frappé settled in her stomach, the chilled liquid poured from her mouth. Leaning over the toilet, Jada heaved repeatedly. She removed her clothes and showered, letting the water rinse the residue from her mouth. Then she turned off the water, stepped onto the rug, and dried her hands on the plush white towel. Admiring her dripping-wet radiant onyx complexion in the mirror, Jada punched in zero zero one on her cell phone, tossed back the floral comforter, pressed the talk button, and sprawled across the white sheets as her skin air dried.

“Hi, ba. I’m glad you made it in safely. It’s so good hearing your voice. I miss you already.” Wellington’s captivating tone made her forget all about her pains.

“Yeah, I miss you, too.” If not for the static in the line, their connection would have been undetectable. Dead silence. A million thoughts stirred in Jada’s mind, but she didn’t know what to say next. She’d terminated her relationship with Wellington. She wasn’t going back to him, and she was tired of discussing his infidelity. But she also missed the hell out of being with her man. Ex-man.

“When are you coming back to Oakland?” His seductiveness drew a prompt response.

“Next week. To get my car.” A coochie deluxe tune-up wouldn’t hurt either because she loved experiencing those sex-released endorphins, those hormones that made her feel like dancing and singing. Wellington’s lovemaking made Jada happy to cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner anytime of the day or night. Hell, sometimes she even vacuumed the whole house or jogged around Lake Merritt, waving and smiling at adults, kids, seagulls, geese, and the sparse flamingos. But Jada also needed to visit Dr. Bates to take a pregnancy test. Her sickness was never accompanied by vomiting, so Jada suspected the worse and prayed for the best.

“Call and let me know when you’re coming. I’ll help you drive back. And maybe you’ll come over for dinner before you leave? That’s if you’re finished boycotting and egging my place.”

Jada laughed. “Cheap shot. Anyway, the last time Chef à la Wellington charcoaled steaks into brittle bits, we ended up eating out.”

“If I recall correctly, my Nubian—”

Covering her free ear, Jada screamed with laughter. “Don’t say it!” Jada didn’t want Wellington to remind her how her quasigourmet meal had been so horrid she washed her food and his down the garbage disposal. The salmon croquettes had been harder than hockey pucks, so Wellington had dropped one on the dining room floor, grabbed the broom, and handed her the sponge mop.

After Wellington’s first bite of her pecan-orange bundt cake, he’d said, “Um, you’ve got to taste this. Close your eyes and open your mouth.” Then he’d promised, “You’re going to love this.” When the dessert hit her palate, each of her five senses had protested. Jada had darted her eyes in search of a place to quickly spit it out because she definitely wasn’t going to swallow a lump that tasted worse than earwax. They had then fallen to the kitchen floor laughing until their insides cramped, their saliva exchanged between hungry lips, and their knees became sore from making love on the linoleum all night long.

Jada pictured Wellington’s dazzling smile, bald head, thick eyebrows, goatee, and his eight pack. Soft hairs outlined his chest and every crevice in his abdomen. His perfectly erect nipples were five shades darker than his caramel complexion. His gentle touch, sensuous lips, passionate kisses, and orgasmic lovemaking were unforgettable. His firm ass, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound, six-foot-four physique, and seductive mannerisms were etched in her brain forever.

Breaking their silence, he said, “Call me in the morning, ba. I’ll talk with you later.”

Melting at the hearty sound of his voice, Jada felt the words “I love you” suspend in air and surround her spirit. “What are you wearing?”

Wellington whispered, “A smile and a hard-on that’s begging for your affection.”

“Wet your fingers and massage the head for me.” Jada eased her fingers into her mouth and did the same to her clit.

“Ooh, yeah. I’m stroking The Ruler. He’s growing an extra inch just for you, ba. Open your chocolate thighs wide so I can taste you.”

Jada missed how they used to role-play. Her fondest memory was when she’d dressed like a Jamaican and flirted with Wellington in a Caribbean accent at the Farmers’ Market. She convinced him to buy exotic fruits that she’d feasted on, off of his succulent flesh outside by his swimming pool during sunset.

“I’m pulling your face in closer, Big Daddy. Trace Mama’s rabbit ears with your juicy tongue. Nice and slow.” Jada moaned into the receiver as she enjoyed the external orgasm continuously seeping from her clitoris.

“Damn, ba, all of this cream is for you. Your hairs are marinating in my cum. Rub it in,” he commanded.

“I’m flowing with you. Sip in my last drops.” Jada caressed the moisture between her inner lips and slid her index finger into her vagina, welcoming the strong pulsation accompanying her internal orgasm.

Deep inside, her pussy knocked hard like an out-of-control, overloaded washer machine on a fast spin cycle. That was the results of her daily vaginal weight lifting. The gold ben-wa balls were no longer a challenge, so one day while visiting the pleasure store, the owner had introduced Jada to the ceramic and smooth wooden eggs. Jada had charged both sets and the instruction manual to her VISA. At first learning muscle control to simultaneously move the ceramic eggs in opposite directions, left and right, and up and down, was difficult. But after Jada started stringing the one-pound weight into the bottom opening of the wooden egg and lifting and holding it with her vaginal muscles, rotating the ceramic eggs was a cinch. Jada’s clenching drove Wellington so nuts his orgasmic groans intensified, sounding like The Rock lifting and then body slamming Stone Cold Steve Austin during a WWF Championship match.

“Say you love me.”

“I love you, Wellington Jones.” More than he’d ever know, and at the moment more than she was willing to admit. Her soul magnetically absorbed his spiritual energy.

“I love you, too, ba. I’m gonna go clean up this wonderful mess you’ve created. Don’t forget to call and let me know when you’re coming to get your car. Good night, my Nubian queen.”

“Yes, it is a very good night.” Jada recharged her cell phone on the nightstand and continued lying sideways across the jumbo-sized mattress. She cried hard into her pillow so the people in the adjacent room wouldn’t hear her sobbing. Why did she keep crying over Wellington when she didn’t want him? How long would her head and heart remain out of sync? The old man on the plane had given her a lot to think about. Should Jada abandon her pride in order to salvage their love? Or give up Wellington and maintain her dignity?

Wellington loaded Jada’s trunk with a portable battery charger, flares, a first aid kit, and an empty gas can. He double checked the spare tire and made certain his AAA roadside card was in his wallet.

All of his life was neat and orderly. Preschool. High School. College. Cynthia had overruled his plea to play football and enrolled him in golf lessons. On his first date with Jada, he’d thrown on his new rags, sagging his denim shorts and wearing his baseball cap backward. To impress Jada he’d adjusted his attitude to his attire and played it cool. He was always smooth, but seldom cool. Not as in calm. Slick. He wasn’t the type of guy who could get caught fucking another woman, then convince his woman she was to blame or it wasn’t his fault. If confronted, he told the truth or opted not to respond.

“We’re all set.” Hopefully this wasn’t his last chance to spend time with his Nubian queen. “Did you phone your mother to make sure they’re not busy?” Wellington recalled when Jada told him how she dropped by unannounced and saw her mother dressed in a bustier, garter, and G-string, waiting for Robert to come over.

“Yeah, she’s packing. Robert is taking her to Las Vegas tomorrow. Those two are always traveling some place.” Jada reached for the handle.

“Oh, no you don’t. We may not be a couple, but some things haven’t changed.” Wellington opened and closed Jada’s door. He checked the pressure in each tire. Then he adjusted the steering wheel and the mirrors, and pulled away from the curb.

“Thanks for driving my car to L.A.” Jada affectionately rubbed her thumb aside his mouth.

Instantly he licked his lips, asking, “What was that?” He sucked her pointing finger into his mouth.

“Oh, toothpaste or something. Don’t worry. It’s gone now.” She smiled, intertwining her legs until both feet rested atop opposite knees.

“Umm, I should have gotten it myself.” He glanced at her feet. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” Wellington cruised Highway 1 South toward the San Mateo Bridge. He liked her new purple stonewashed unitard. Stretchable. Flexible. Sexy. The outline of her crotch stalked him, so he scratched the back of his neck. “Um. Would you please unfold your legs? You’re distracting me. I’ve never seen you do that.” He tucked in his lips to moisten them.

Placing her bare feet on the off-white mat next to her slip-ons, Jada answered, “After you abandoned me at the restaurant at Pier 39, I decided meditation wasn’t enough, so I enrolled in yoga. It’s the best mental and physical exercise I’ve done. You s. . .