DIRTY DUKE
As well as I knew how to cook, I hadn’t exercised my skills much during the course of our relationship. At just over five months in, we’d settled into a routine that consisted of either takeout or home-cooked dinner.
I was tired of takeout, so after finishing up early at the spa construction site, I had groceries delivered to plan our meal for the evening.
The aroma of shrimp lasagna baking slowly in the oven filled Duke’s apartment. Drying my hands after finishing up in the kitchen, I headed to the bedroom to tidy up. With the linens stripped and on the floor, the hunt began for a clean extra set.
There were none in the actual linen closet, so I moved toward his walk-in closet. Sure enough, several blankets and sheets were located on the top shelf. Too high for me to reach, I stalked back into the dining area and dragged a chair from the space with me as I returned to the closet.
Gathering the linens, I stepped off the chair and tossed them in the room on the bed. Then I returned for the blanket, which was much heavier than I had anticipated.
As I slid the comforter down the overhead shelf and into my arms, the crashing sound of something heavy colliding with the floor summoned my alarm.
“ Shit !” I yelped with my hand to my chest, seeking to settle my anxious heart.
“What the hell?”
Stepping off the chair, I sat the blanket down on it and kneeled to the mess scattered across the floor. Tapes. Lifting one, I turned it left and right in my hands for further scrutiny.
“ Pam ,” it read.
Lifting another tape and repeating the action informed me it was “ Jackie .” Tape after tape, my hands brushed over with various names. So many names. Too many to keep up with. I’d stumbled upon a collection.
Blinking rapidly, my face went slack. Tasha. Tina. Kari. Michelle. Brittany . April . Keisha . Mya. A shudder coursed through me, shaking my body to the core. The insurmountable sense of disillusionment filled me. The schema of my relationship came crashing to the ground alongside those tapes.
We weren’t perfect, but I was happy. I was content. I was moving past our interaction with Mya. I was focused on us. And here was yet another secret about Duke that I’d involuntarily unearthed, threatening to disrupt that. I didn’t need to pop a tape in the camera to know what they were. I was disgusted. Revolted at the fact that they were here in a closet we shared.
Who are you, Duke ?
He’d told me of a handful of women he’d recorded. He’d told me how he sent the videos out of spite to Mya, but the tapes scattered about the closet frustrated me beyond my comprehension. This wasn’t a handful. There were dozens of tapes.
Who was he ?
I picked up each one—there were at least forty of them—and piled them back into the box they’d been hidden in.
Who the fuck was he ?
Hastily, mental flashes of my time with Duke in a swing mounted to a door surfaced. I enjoyed every minute of it. There was a tape of me—of us somewhere, though it wasn’t among the box with the others. To be safe, I’d scanned through each one, grimacing when I didn’t locate my name. After returning Duke’s dirty tapes to the old shoe box, I rose, hastily swiping at the fat, unauthorized tears rolling down my cheeks.
I knew he had tendencies. Knew he had kinks. Knew he was a freak. As much was stated that night when I saw him in Genevieve . We shared similar appetites. I loved every minute of being recorded with him. But still , who the fuck were these women? Why were they here? In this fucking box. Hovering like ghosts of his past in this fucking box in a closet we shared. All of his past conquests. Like trophies.
Beyond apparent that he had a fetish, I was disgusted. Repulsed that I’d let my guard down with him. He’d hidden his collection so well, and he’d hidden it from me. Storing my sniffles aside, I exited the closet with the box in tow. A glance in the mirror revealed puffy, flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
Taking a moment to rectify that, I washed my face with cold water to suppress the edema looming. Once the task was complete, I took the box to the dining room table, positioning it like a centerpiece in the middle of our plates for dinner.
The timer for the lasagna went off. Shuffling the dish from the oven, I rested it atop the stove and sat my ass in the living room.
One episode of The Killdashians later, Duke came home.
“Bumble Bee! I smelled that shit outside the door, baby.”
Resting his briefcase near the door along with his shoes, he called out to me, creeping toward where I was sitting in the living room. With a flat, blank expression, I waited for his approach.
“It smells good in here. What’s that?” He asked, planting a kiss on my cheeks. Cupping my chin, he dragged my face toward him and pecked my lips. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Let’s eat.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, studying my expression. “I’ma go wash up, and you can tell me what’s wrong when we sit down.”
His hesitation was paramount, as was his scowl of scrutiny. Hiding my emotional deficiencies was an impossible task in his presence. I couldn’t hide from the Duke. Not the ruler of the vessel in my chest. He’d never acquire such a title if he didn’t know me and every inch of the organ beating inside me.
As he disappeared to the back room, I fixed our plates, marching them to the table. An hour passed since I’d located his stash, giving me time to cool down, but my anger, my jealousy, my shock all rose like a dormant disease. Absorbing deep breaths to calm myself, I sat at the table and waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Finally, he approached the dining table and sat down. Eyes affixed on me, he said nothing and did nothing as I said a silent grace and began to eat.
“You went through my things?”
Just like a nigga. Deflect.
Leisurely, my head rose as I chewed the first bite of lasagna. It was so good. Too good. Too bad it would be tainted by the bullshit of the evening. Stabbing another helping, I directed the fork to my mouth again. The indulgent spices were rendered unsavory by the bland look on his face. He scratched his beard, boring into me with those irresistible cinnamon eyes. Eyes I used to love marveling at. Eyes that used to set me on fire with lust. Eyes that used to touch every inch of me before he ever raised a finger. Eyes that had gone blank and bleak.
“I was just trying to make the bed.” Finally, I responded after my mouth was clear of food.
“How did making the bed turn into this box being on the table?”
“Why the fuck don’t you keep the linen in the goddammed linen closet?” I sneered. His patience and deceptively calm demeanor riled me. I was expecting anger. I was expecting him to elevate his voice. For once, I was expecting him to break his usual cool and collected conduct. He didn’t.
“Serenity.”
“Don’t. I was grabbing the blanket from the top shelf when your collection came crashing to the floor.”
“Hmm,” he said, finger-combing his goatee. “So, why didn’t you put it back? Why is that shit sitting between us?” Plainly, he issued the double entendre as if inquiring about the weather.
“Seriously, Duke?”
“What the fuck would you like for me to say, Bee? You sat that shit here for a reason. Now, I’m compelled to believe you did so to drive a wedge where it doesn’t belong. State your purpose or put it back where you got it from. This passive-aggressive shit isn’t you. Or is it ?” He squinted.
I scoffed. Crossed my arms. Braced myself in my seat.
“Don’t turn this on me.”
“I’m not turning anything, baby. I just want to know what’s wrong. I asked you when I came in, and you said nothing. I assume I’m about to enjoy a delicious dinner with you only to find I’m walking into—what the fuck is this?”
He motioned to the box of tapes.
“I was hoping you could tell me. I didn’t go through your shit, Duke. I’d never. But I’d be remiss not to ask why you have dozens of sex tapes of women.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Shifting slightly, my lips puckered, and my eyes rolled.
He flipped the lid off the old Magnanni shoe box. “This ain’t shit. These are old tapes. Most of them are from my younger years, before I even got married. Most except—”
“The one of you and her .”
Absently, he shook his head. Unable to place if it was disappointment or frustration, I didn’t address it.
“Did you watch any of them?”
Wildly, my lashes fanned my face. “No. I can’t handle that.”
“You handled it just fine when you were at Genevieve . Or when you were swiping through my phone that night,” he clipped, reminding me of the night we met. “What’s so different now?”
“ What so different ?” I scoffed. “Nigga, the difference between now and then is I love you, and I don’t expect my man to be keeping these types of things stored in the closet we share. I don’t expect my man to keep this type of shit from me.”
“Bee, the motherfucking tapes are old. Some of them even show me with longer hair, and all of them show me without a gray patch clinging to my chin. These tapes and the bitches on them don’t mean shit to me.”
He rose, causing the chair to scrape the floor as he did so. Ambling to the bedroom, my eyes stalked his presence until I could no longer see him. Indistinctly, I heard him on the phone before he returned to where I was still sitting. Collecting the tapes and stuffing them under one arm, he outstretched his free arm in my direction.
“Come on.”
“Where—”
“ Serenity ,” firm and even, he said my name. It wasn’t a request.
His tone. I’d heard it over Zoom calls. Phone calls. In all matters of business, he’d put it to use. Seldom did he use it with me. It was both startling and arousing . And I hated my pussy for responding when we were supposed to be upset. From where I was seated, I looked up, chancing a gaze into fiery cinnamon eyes.
“ Now .”
Patience depleted, the fire deepened.
Grabbing his hand, I followed behind as he stalked toward the front door. Not bothering with the hard bottoms he’d worn earlier, he slid into his Gucci slides and motioned for me to put on a pair of shoes as well.
The slamming of the penthouse door caused me to jump once we were on the other side of it. Duke, noticing my discomfort, dragged me closer to his frame. Down the hall and elevator, we ventured until we made it to the front lobby.
Outside, Reed awaited us near the black SUV.
“Where are we going, Duke?” Again, I sought to satisfy my curiosity as my ass slid against the leather seats.
“To put your fears to rest.”