Non Negotiable

Prologue

 

Sandals Royal Bahamian Spa Resort

Stone-faced, ensnared in anger, Reverend Danny Jenkins nearly smacked his wife to the multi colored squares and circles asymmetrically laid out on the commercial carpeting in the Offshore Island hotel restaurant. Teary-eyed Deshawn Jenkins was stunned as her hand flew up to rub her face. Heart trapped in her throat, it was taking far too long for the whacks impact to fade. She searched her mind trying to figure out what devil jumped into her husband. Never had he before laid his hand on her, she thought rubbing her paining jaw.

  “Deacon Jacobs says he just saw you kissing a man by the pool not ten minutes ago! How dare you disrespect me, this marriage!” he accused, his voice chilled to a cool–0 below Fahrenheit.

  “That’s an outright lie,” she defended, her voice strangled in awe. Danny Jenkins stood enslaved in embarrassment about his behavior and anger about what was told to him by his best friend, the couple vacationing with he and his wife of twelve years. The thought of his wife in the arms of another man caused him to react without the restraint he preached about. He had no right to the pulpit. None. He was now in the category with thousands of men who’d lost themselves with violence. His pulse-pounding eyes whined down her shapely figure; the tan Dockers, the white Old Navy blouse buttoned clear up to her neck, and the brown his and hers penny loafers they bought from J. C. Penny. After three kids, Deshawn Jenkins was still beautiful, flawless. She had magnificent legs, breasts that were still quite sprightly, needing no augmentation. She was a natural beauty. Pastor Jenkins was wrought. Why would God wait until one day after the Baptist Convention Week to reveal his wife was a closet freak, possibly a cheating slut?

  “Man, I don’t think we’ll be meeting you guys for dinner after all,” he told the deacon standing close by with his mouth ajar. His eyes sprang back to his wife. “We need to talk, in the room, now would be a good time,” he said demandingly. Deacon Jacobs repositioned himself a little closer to Deshawn.

  “No Danny, not until you cool down. You promised me you would not over-react…I mean, that you would reserve your anger. I can’t condone this.” His best friend the deacon sounded sincere standing there looking like a church pimp in his Steve Harvey pin-stripped suit.

  “Then why did you lie? I kissed no one by the pool,” she snorted to the meddling deacon.

  “I know what I saw,” shuffled from his out of kilter lips. He recalled the vision of her in the bikini, her breast mountainous high. The suit, a hodgepodge of ‘vixen blood red’ tones.

  “Wait..wait.. The woman had on a skimpy swimsuit. Her hair was wet…soaked.” Quickly he turned to the pastor paying close attention to Deshawn’s dry French Roll, then down to the novel Prophet's Son, Descent to Darkness tucked under her arms along with one from the last of the “Left Behind” series.

  “I’m sorry. There’s just no way it could have been Deshawn. God forgive me.” Jacobs paused with his regrets. “She wouldn’t have had time to dry her hair, change clothes.”

  Pastor Danny Jenkins inhaled, shoved his sleeve three quarter inches up his arm, his eyes etched on his wife. “Forgive me. Please forgive me.” His pleading eyes warranted no immediate response. DeShawn’s eyes finally looked to match his.

  “You disappoint me. I’m highly disappointed in you. Highly,” she reiterated in an annoyed whisper throwing her cloth purse smothered in seagulls across her left shoulder. She lifted her penny loafers one after the other in a fast trott away from her husband and his deacon.

  Pastor Jenkins eyed Jacobs. He stepped away from him feeling utterly foolish as his steps slowed behind his wife, a woman that didn’t wilt away from many demons. Today, that demon was he. He was going to catch hell, but how was beyond his measure of thinking for moment.

  He married a good girl, a virgin; his high school sweetheart. Deshawn was an excellent parent and one of the most loved fifth grade math teachers in the district. Intentionally, he kept a certain amount of distance between himself and Deshawn as she headed to their suite. He needed a little time to rebuke the devil for taunting him. Moreover, what could he possibly say to make up for putting a hand on what God made?

 

  “I’m fine.” Deshawn answered the concerned voice of the passing woman that heard her soft whimper. She kept her back to the woman as her trembling hand fiddled with the key card. Never had she been so relieved to see the flashing of a small green light before as a monologue of thoughts wrote itself in her head.

  “Thanks. Thanks for asking,” she managed. The woman patted her on her back gently as a final gesture before walking on.

”Tight to life,” she told her as she strutted by in a cadence oozing with confidence.

 

ST. REGIS HOTEL NEAR FORBIDDEN CITY, BEJING CHINA-PENTHOUSE SUITE

 

Water splashed against the sides of an almost room-sized Jacuzzi. ‘Silk Market’ shopping bags lay stacked on the vanity next 1000 RMB, Chinese yuan. A mysterious woman stepped out of her bath water. Her slow rising body moved fluidly towards the silhouette of a massive chiseled male figure cuffed to a chaise lounge. In a corset and overlaying nightgown, the "mysterious" woman seductively ran a whip around the man’s neck. The woman stopped to admire the good-looking, debonair man with black jet skin like the sheen on an onyx stone. Dark obsidian eyes sat fixed behind a blindfold. The man sat completely still, stripped naked. She lowered herself down onto him. With hunger, she swiveled her pelvis against the girth of his manhood under his verbal protests. His penis was now submerged in an airtight thermos filled with warm pudding. An audible moan escaped his lips and a grunt harpooned forward. She removed his blindfold to allow his eyes a probe.

Her nipples kissed his nose, then his lips. His body jerked upwards. Swiftly, he lifted her, guiding her to wrap her legs around him. He pumped her hard.

“A deals a deal. You need to get rid of Coltrane.”He jerks her hair hard and kisses her passionately.His voice stern, he remits, “Coltrane’s my concern. You’re crossing the line threatening to put a hit on him.”

“We don’t need him. He’s useless, destructive, and loud.”

“You said you'd give me more time.”

“I’ll give you a lot more time in my bed if you let me do this.”

“Don’t try to manipulate me with sex.”

“That’s how you wanna play this, fine. You don’t take him down, I will,” she counters, her words choppy from his virulent thrusts. “After what he did to Giovanni, it will be an easy, sweet kill.” She bit at the man’s lip, softly.

 “Let’s be clear. Your all out hit against ‘the trane.’ stops here.”

“You’re too late. Hands are on the trigger…or should I say the needle, right about now,” she warned allowing her hair to sweep his face.

“You’re working against me. I’m justified and you ....you know...it”.More moans from her powerful constrictions around his penis. He flares into a pronounced climax, boiling over. Panting he accuses, “You’re a deceitful woman!” Tell me what I need to know. What have you done with… her?” His head tilted towards a photo lying near his wallet on the night stand.

 A smile pampers the woman’s face. “You can’t talk with your mouth full, so get busy,” she demanded provocatively guiding his head downwards.

“What do I get for my trouble?”

“You get to live.” She winked….

Ferociously, he sipped her succulent ambrosia and minutes later, evacuated her rain……………..

 Vanessa Morman