Page 107 of The Deadly Candies

As she guided his manhood toward her, he hooked her left leg over his arm, pushing it back firmly, giving him leverage to plunge deep inside her.

Henry shuddered, pleasure overtaking him. Loving Brenda physically was nearly as intoxicating as loving her spiritually. Brenda Freeman was the most beautiful woman in Harlem. He saw how the other men in church gazes lingered and took care of a few that he felt insulted him with their over friendliness.

If there was one thing he did in his life that made him worth a shit was being worthy of her. Saving her and Janey that night had saved him. Now they were in Harlem, and he had more money than he’d ever been able to make on the Plantation.

He was truly the luckiest man alive. A beautiful wife and daughter. He had the world.

Brenda let her head fall back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck, and he traced it slowly with his tongue, savoring the salty taste. His dick plunging in and out of her now with ease, as his balls tightened and he fought the urge to burst inside of her. Even now, she was of childbearing years, and he wouldn’t risk another pregnancy with her. But damn him he couldn’t pull out.

He made love to his wife eagerly—first hard and fast, then slow and gentle—as Brenda pressed her hand softly against his mouth to muffle the sound of his pleasure.

“Calm down, baby,” she whispered tenderly. “I’m yours.”

* * *

The girls steppedout of the room, giggling as they headed toward the stairs. Kathy suddenly paused, grabbing Debbie’s arm. “Wait—you hear that?”

Debbie glanced toward the bathroom door. Their eyes widened in confusion, then curiosity drew them quietly closer. As they approached, the unmistakable sounds of Brenda and Henry came through—her parents’ muffled grunts, Brenda softly urging Henry to quiet down.

Kathy scrunched up her face in horror. “Yuck!”

Debbie quickly covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. Exchanging a knowing, embarrassed look, the two of them bolted for the stairs, their laughter bubbling out freely as if they were children again.

32

Harlem (Kathy’s House) 1949

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Ely asked quietly.

“Sure,” Kathy said. He had driven them in her daddy’s Cadillac to the Sexton Place, the Harlem basement business of Martha Sexton, one of the master seamstresses uptown. Big Mama and Claudia were behind the curtain, busy working with Martha to adjust Debbie’s dress and carefully conceal her little baby bump.

Kathy pushed up from her seat and followed Ely outside. Her mother had left earlier to tend to the bakery, leaving just the two of them to manage the dress viewing. As they stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk, Kathy smiled, drinking in the city noise and the warmth of familiar, friendly faces. But when she turned to Ely, the joy quickly faded; a shadow of concern clouded his expression.

“What is it? Something wrong?” Kathy asked nervously.

Ely took a deep breath. “Had a talk with your Pa last night. I always wanna be honest with you, Kat. I know how happy you are to be home, how much you’re hoping to stay?—”

Kathy’s heart dropped. Her eyes widened in alarm. They hadn’t even been back a full day, and already Ely was preparing her for disappointment.

Ely glanced away, his voice heavy. “Your father has a lot of pressure on him. You gotta know that first. He loves you, Kat—he misses you more than you know.”

“But?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Ely’s voice tightened. “Bumpy Johnson made a deal for your life with the Sicilians—with that Italian boy’s father. Luciano himself agreed to it from Italy, and Carmelo’s father intends to honor it. They exiled you from Harlem, Kathy. Your father’s been playing the villain with you and your mama because he didn’t want either of you to know the truth—that he had no choice. He got special permission to bring you back this time, and he convinced them to let you stay for a full week. But after that, if we don’t leave… the Italians will break the peace. If they come for you, they come for Harlem. Your daddy will do anything to protect you.”

Kathy stumbled backward and sank down onto the stoop, staring numbly at her shoes. Her father’s joyful greeting upon seeing her suddenly made sense, along with his coldness when she'd left before, the unanswered letters—so many unanswered questions suddenly became painfully clear.

“Kat—”

“Don’t say it, Ely.”

“Let me finish. Your daddy doesn’t want you to leave again. He has a plan to bring you home permanently,” Ely said carefully.

She lifted her gaze, confused. “But you just said there's a price on my head if I stay.”

He nodded slowly. “Your daddy thinks Bumpy can get the target lifted if he can prove you and Melo are done forever—if he can make them believe it.”

“How exactly does he plan to do that?” Kathy’s voice trembled.

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