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A male child will be born of pure African blood, on the same day as the first Asili Baba, a day which is known according to the Gregorian calendar as December 31. He will be born during a storm, and his skin will bear the mark of his forefathers…
As that prophecy rolled over in my mind, I rubbed my finger over the mark behind my right ear, a mark easily missed if one was not looking for it. It was a small blob, a shapeless spot that somehow managed to be darker than my skin. It, along with everything else in that prophecy right down to the unusual Mississippi snowstorm that brought Brownhaven to halt on the day of my birth were the reasons I was not only an immortal, a first man, as my people termed it, but my people’s chief, a king among gods. But every king needs a queen, and the woman who’d always owned my heart was worlds away from me emotionally, although we were only streets apart in physical distance. Weeks had passed since I’d seen her. I was trying to give her time, not crowd or pressure her, but the urgency of my need for her grew with each second we were separated. Coming here, seeing her; that’d only made things worse for both of us. I knew that because we were connected. I could feel her confusion along with her desire for me. Shit, I could almost smell her arousal, her natural musk through the radio as she spoke.
“It’s your girl, Temple, coming to you with another request. Close your eyes, kings and queens, and let’s take a ‘Voyage to Atlantis’ with the Isley Brothers.” Her voice was like warm oil sliding over sore muscles. She sounded so damn good.
I closed my eyes, calling up images of her. Her in my chambers devouring oxtails and rice. Her listening intently as I explained the impossible to her, her beautiful wide, brown, almond eyes fixed on me, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she became aware of what I’d done to her.
Then I found myself in that hotel room twenty years ago, kissing her, tasting her, fucking her, so deep inside her, I was sure that, even if it was just for a second, we became one person.
I shoved my hand inside my pajamas and gripped my dick as the distant sound of her moans rang in my ears.
“I love you, Temple. I always have, always will. I just…all I want is you,” I mumbled as I pumped my hand up and down my dick. I was the chief; if I wanted sex, there were countless immortal women who’d rush to my chambers back in Bilowga. Shit, I wasn’t a bad looking man; some might even say I was fine, handsome. So, finding a bed partner stateside wasn’t out of the question either, but the only woman I wanted to be inside of was Temple.
My sanctuary.
Behind closed eyelids, I imagined my mouth on her breast, my fingers inside her, her warm breath heavy and uneven as I pleased her. I massaged my dick faster and faster until I exploded., calling Temple’s name so loudly that I had to wonder if it’d flowed through the walls of my hotel room, down streets and around corners, right into her studio.
Temple
He was calling my name, his voice loud and tortured, desperate, echoing in my brain. His chords were thick with need and sorrow.
I was at work, earphones on as I basically sat in front of the computer staring into space, my mind on what it was always on—Sampson Ibrahim.
My thoughts were filled with images from our distant and recent past, his scent, his touch, and as one song ended and another began, I was with him. Not like before in Africa. This time, I knew I definitely wasn’t physically in his presence, but I could see him touching himself, his big hand gripping his bigger dick, working toward a release. His eyes were closed, his moans agonizing, and my name. At the precise moment he spilled his seed, my name flew from his mouth. And well, that made my pussy begin to throb uncontrollably.
I don’t know how I managed to make it through my show, but I did, although I was tempted to abandon ship, run into the nearest bathroom, and finger fuck myself into some relief. I held steadfast, signed off, and handed the reins over to the morning show host. Then I jumped in my car and hurried home to my vibrator and my bed.
10
Sampson
It was early when I stepped into the glass-enclosed shower and planted my ass on the built-in stone bench, my chin in my chest. I needed to contact her again, but my damn heart couldn’t take an outright rejection. Immortal or not, that shit would kill me.
A month had slipped off the calendar, and I was no closer to my destiny than I’d ever been. Maybe I just needed to give up, for now, come back in another twenty years. I honestly didn’t care if I had to wait another forty years to be with her. I was just afraid her time would run out before I could truly make her mine. All that mattered to me was being with her whenever, wherever, and however was possible.
I’m not sure how long I’d been sitting in that shower being strafed with hot water before I decided to turn the water off just in time to hear the knock at my room’s door—my standing breakfast order that I didn’t feel like eating. Nevertheless, I pulled on the complimentary robe provided by the Sable Inn and headed to the door, damn near passing out at the sight on the other side of it.
Her eyes were puffy, eyebrows knitted as she stood before me nibbling on her bottom lip.
“Temple?” I uttered. “Love, you look exhausted.”
“I am,” she softly said. “And not from work.”
“I can relate.”
“You were in my head again. You said you wouldn’t do that again without my permission.” She didn’t sound angry. She sounded almost tearful.
“I didn’t, love. I swear; I didn’t.”
“Then why did I hear you say you loved me? Why did I hear you scream my name? Why did I see you…jacking off?”
My mouth dropped open. “I…didn’t. I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t intentional on my part.”
“Right,” she scoffed. “You gonna let me in, Sam?”
Shit, what was wrong with me? “Yes, of course,” I said, moving aside to allow her room to enter the suite. She wore sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, a gold ankh necklace lying on her chest. Her hair was in a ponytail, and devoid of a stitch of makeup with fatigue etched into her face, she was still breathtaking, like the queen she was.
Still my sanctuary. Just being in her presence calmed me, even when she was mad at me. This woman was my safe harbor.
