Mama Dearest by E. Lynn Harris Page A

his name one minute, and screaming, calling him all kinds of “motherfuckers” the next. This man was making me feel so good. He scooped up the back of my knees, looping them over his shoulders, opening me all the way. He rose up to look at me, the candlelight hitting his face so I could just see those shiny lips of his, and his penetrating stare that had my heart racing.
    “I want you to relax, okay,” S. Marcus said in a soothing voice. “Because I’m about to make you come, but not just once, baby. I’m going to make you keep coming till you tell me to stop. Is that okay with you?”
    I tried to speak, but I was breathless from all the attention, so I just nodded my head.
    Before he went back down, he said, “This is going to feel like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, so don’t hold back on me. Scream if you feel the need. Dig your fingers in my back, but just enjoy yourself. Will you do that for me?”
    I swallowed hard and nodded again as I watched him slowly lower his head between my thighs. A moment later, I felt his warm, wet tongue enter me, followed by one of his fingers. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and even though I tried to stop myself, for fear of looking silly, I screamed out, coming immediately, it felt so incredible.
    Afterward—I don’t know how long, because I had totally lost track of space and time while Marcus made me come five times—we lay in bed. Although I felt like never before lying there in his arms, I was still feeling anxious about going home to New York.
    “What’s bothering you, Yancey?” S. Marcus asked.
    “I’m okay.”
    “I’m sure you’re not but you will be soon.”
    “You sound sure of yourself.”
    “I’m always sure of myself.”
    I decided to be honest. “I was just thinking about tomorrow. Getting back to New York.”
    “Are you excited?”
    “I have mixed emotions,” I admitted. “It’s back to unemployment unless I can get a gig.”
    “Well, if it helps brighten your spirits, I talked to one of my boys and he is interested in looking into a reality show.” He gave me a look of curiosity. “I googled you and you’ve done some things. In fact, why didn’t you tell me? I think we got enough to make it happen.”
    I sat up suddenly. “You do?”
    S. Marcus smiled. “Yep, I do. We just need to get some upfront capital and shoot some episodes and get a network like Bravo or VH-1 to do a deal with us.”
    “I love Bravo. What kind of deal can we get?”
    “We’re looking at one where we would get a percentage of the commercial time sold. It can be very profitable. But we have to get the right producers onboard.”
    “That sounds wonderful.”
    Then he turned serious. “Can I ask you something?”
    “Sure,” I said, unable to guess what he was about to say.
    “Were you able to forgive your mother?”
    My heart dropped through the floor. My mother? Like my mother who was in jail?
    “What are you talking about?” I asked.
    “Come on, Yancey. It’s all out there on the internet. Every story that’s been written about you and then some. I read the reports about her shooting someone at a deposition and you testifying against her. Do you go and visit her in prison?”
    I kept my eyes averted. “I went a couple of times, but prison depressed me. I could never stay longer than an hour.”
    “So you do talk to her?”
    “She’s my mother and I have feelings for her,” I said defensively, “but our relationship is complex. It always has been but I wish it was the typical mother-daughter bond. I guess not every woman is cut out for motherhood.”
    He hadn’t sounded condemning. If anything, he seemed amused. “She sounds like a character.”
    I shook my head and smiled. “You don’t know the half of it. Can we can talk about something else? Please.”
    He pulled himself out from under me, then turned to face me, leaning up on one elbow. “We can talk about whatever you want or we don’t have to talk at all. Is that