"Ruler of my heart

Robber of my soul

Where can you be?

I wait patiently

My heart cries out

Pain inside

Where can you be?

I wait patiently"

Irma Thomas—"Ruler of my Heart"

Celeste's smartphone vibrated on her nightstand at six in the morning. She rubbed her head. Her scarf had come undone during the night and her locs tangled around her arm and side. She reached down for the phone and shoved it against her hair.

"Hello?" she said.

"Celeste…I can't come to church with you today."

She sat up and rested her back against the headboard.

"Oh…okay…"

" Mémé s health aide called me—"

"Is everything alright?"

"No. She's not doing so well…took a turn for the worse during the night. I've been here since two this morning."

"Did they say what's wrong? She's never been seriously ill or anything since she's been there."

"They don't really know. She was weak and having a hard time breathing before I got here. They have her using an oxygen tank now and she's better. Maybe Mike's death was too much for her to take."

"I'll come right over if you want."

"No. Go to your church service."

"I have to be there for work at four. I can stop in to check on you two."

"That would be good. Thank you."

"See you soon."

She hung up and slid down to the floor, prostrating herself for prayer. She asked God and her patron saint, St. Mary, to watch over Miss Irma. Celeste climbed back into bed and listened to the world outside waking up after excessive partying. Even her cottage moaned and shifted with creaking noises at the rising sun. Bounding out of bed forty minutes before service, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, rolled deodorant under her pits while checking the news about the missing tourists. There were no new updates available.

The drive over to St. Augustine was unhurried, and she found parking close by. After ninety minutes, Celeste stepped outside the Parish Hall with a dark smudge of ash on her forehead. She checked her phone for any messages from Terry, but no notifications popped up.

Back at her cottage, she cooked a simple breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs. Her friends chirped all over the groupchat app, complaining of hangovers, sore legs, and going back to work. She informed them that Terry hadn't stayed over, and they commended her on not simping out. The hours dragged by before she dressed in her work uniform and tied up her hair.

She checked in with her supervisor Anne at work, asking about Miss Irma.

"How did you know about her condition?" Anne asked.

"I'm friends with her grandson, Terry."

"I didn't know that."

"Is he still here?"

"He's with her now. We've transitioned into hospice care for her. Bryan said she doesn't have long."

"Wait…what? She's dying?"

Anne's watery blue eyes held the routine of elderly death in them.

"Yes."

"How could she go downhill so fast?"

"It happens that way sometimes. Not every patient has a gradual decline. They can be perky and thriving one moment, and then…gone just like that."

Celeste walked to her work locker and put away her bag and keys. She looked at her shift schedule and got to work immediately. Ducking into an employee restroom after cleaning six rooms, she braced herself by staring at her face in the mirror. Death and dying were inevitable at the long-term facility. Lord knows she'd seen enough of it working there. Things shifted to another experience when it was someone she cared about. She treated Miss Irma like family, and it hurt to know she would transition so soon. Another prayer went up from her and she crossed herself in order to build up emotional reserves to remain professional.

Passing through the long hallway, she headed to Miss Irma's room.

Terry kept a bedside vigil, cradling his grandmother's hand. Celeste was glad that they administered oxygen through a nasal cannula instead of a full mask. A hospice nurse checked the oxygen flow in the tank next to the bed and left the room quickly.

"Hi," she said.

Terry looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot from a lack of sleep, and his forehead lined with stress. She moved around the bed to stand next to him. Miss Irma slept with labored breathing.

"How is she?"

Terry shook his head, and his eyes scrunched up. Celeste hugged him from the side and he buried his face against her stomach. He wept softly. She held him, rocking his body to ease his spirit.

"She's lived a long, happy life. I'm grateful for that…but I don't want her to leave me," he said.

Tears misted Celeste's vision and she willed them back down, keeping her composure for him. His breath passed through her work smock, warming up the skin on her stomach.

"I shouldn't have told her about my cousin. She didn't need to know about what happened to him yet. I could've lied to her and said he was too busy to visit."

"Lying isn't good."

"I should've waited for another time."

"Terry, don't blame yourself."

Miss Irma's eyes fluttered open. Celeste lowered her head to make eye contact.

"Hi Miss Irma," Celeste said.

"I'm so tired, Papa," Miss Irma said.

"Rest, Mémé…don't waste your energy trying to speak. I'm right here with you."

Celeste rubbed his shoulder and sang the first three stanzas of "I Need Thee" for Miss Irma in hushed tones. The older woman's agitation melted away. Her rheumy eyes held Celeste's gaze, and Terry patted his grandmother's feeble, blue-veined hand.

"I better get back to work and leave you some privacy," she said.

Terry stood up and hugged her, his bulky arms squeezing her close.

"Thank you for singing to her."

"I'll come by later during another round to check on y'all. Stay strong, hear?"

He nodded his head and sat back down.

Celeste hurried back to her busy schedule, cleaning and moving clients into the dining room for their evening meals. She marked off tasks as she completed them to keep her focus on working her eight hours. During her first break, she went outside to smoke against a side wall, wondering how Miss Irma was doing and how Terry held up. She called her mother and left a fussy message on her voicemail about Freddie.

Her cousin Pia sent her a link of Celeste dancing on a porch in a Mardi Gras compilation video along with images of Big Chief marching through their neighborhood. Returning to work, she led the finished diners back to their private rooms, or to the evening movie watch-party in the commons area.

She stopped in front of the doorway of Miss Irma's room. She cracked the door open and peeked inside. Terry held his head down near his grandmother's thigh. He slept soundly. Miss Irma's labored breathing became more pronounced and Celeste recognized the wet, gurgling noise with each exhaled breath released. Her time was near.

She reached down to close the door all the way and Miss Irma turned her head, lining her gaze with Celeste. Miss Irma's lips moved and Celeste couldn't hear what she said. She moved into the room quietly, trying not to wake Terry.

She bent over the bed to listen.

"Keep her," Miss Irma said, each word a strain on her breathing. "No matter what Papa says…no matter…what no one says…keep her."

She raised a weak hand and pointed toward her closet.

"The truth… is in there, child."

Terry shifted his head on the bed and opened weary eyes.

"Mémé?" he murmured.

"Oh, I do love you so…Papa," Miss Irma said.

He kissed his grandmother's cheek, and Miss Irma closed her eyes.

For good.

Terry's lips parted, but no sound came out, his grief so profound that vibrations in the air couldn't push out his pain of another loss. He held Miss Irma's hand and stared at her as if he could bring her back with a loving gaze.

"I'm truly all alone," he whispered.

Miss Irma's heart monitor alerted the medical staff and Celeste exited the room, blindly wandering in the opposite direction. She left the facility and cried against her car. Ten minutes later, she pulled it together again and walked back to Miss Irma's room.

The medical staff allowed Terry to sit with Miss Irma's deceased body for an hour. Celeste pulled up a chair and sat next to him in silence. Terry stared at Miss Irma with a damp face and a sorrowful mood.

"Even when you know it's coming, you're never prepared…not really. Ninety-nine years she walked this earth and loved me for every single one of them."

He closed his eyes and a single tear ran down his left cheek.

"I was so grateful to know her," she said.

Terry reached for Celeste's hand and held it on his thigh.

"You were a light in her lonely days while I was away. I can never repay you for the care and love you've shown her the last year of her life."

Anne knocked on the door softly and entered. Celeste knew she had forms prepared for Terry to sign, and two hospice workers waited outside to take Miss Irma away.

"I have to go back to work, but later…tonight, you're welcome to stay with me."

He wiped his face and nodded.

Walking away from Miss Irma and Terry was the most difficult thing to do, but she had to let him deal with the aftercare of the deceased on his own.

###

Terry cremated Miss Irma's remains.

That surprised Celeste even though Catholics didn't forbid cremation. They had guidelines stating that remains had to be buried in a consecrated place, but an older Catholic like Miss Irma typically preferred a traditional burial with the body kept intact for Resurrection Day. Terry didn't act very religious and sorted out his grandmother's affairs according to her will. Miss Irma had a pre-paid burial package at a local crematorium. Three days after her death, Celeste stood with Terry at the St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 columbarium in the serenity garden. He interred Miss Irma with his cousin Mike and refused to have any kind of service.

Her friends started worrying about how closely she attached herself to Terry, isolating herself more and more from family and associates. She blew them off, wanting to enjoy his company without their interference. The only downside to their relationship was that Celeste dreaded going to work at the elder care facility and the chicken plant. It meant less time spent with him. His bereavement lasted five days, and she traded shifts here and there and called in sick to the chicken plant to make the most of the hours alone with him.

She cooked low sodium soups for him and brewed lots of tea, insisting that he eat and take in liquids despite his grief. He obliged her. They watched lots of movies and held each other in bed at night. He liked to rest his head on her chest while she hummed and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.

She played the piano for him often at sunset, keeping her French doors open so the music drifted outside as the evening breeze cooled down her cottage. Most of her repertoire consisted of gospel hymns or classical arias. As a child, her voice lessons focused on singing classical music and downplaying secular music. Her parents dreamed of her being an opera star. Their greatest disappointment in her musical gifts was the day she dropped out of Tulane University's prestigious Newcomb Department of Music in her junior year. She'd lost sight of what path to take in school and dropped out in frustration. Playing piano and singing were things she enjoyed as a hobby, not a career choice.

Watching Terry close those gorgeous eyes while she sang "Adoramus Te Christe" thrilled her to the bone. He appreciated her talent, especially the way she could sound down home with all her gospel runs, but then turn around, striking the keys with a fiery piano rendition of German composer Carl Orff's "O Fortuna". She tickled the ivory stirring up playful riffs imitating Professor Longhair and Alan Toussaint. Serenading him with her version of "Ruler of my Heart", Celeste adored the way Terry drank in every sung word, gifting her with his unwavering attention. Music was in the blood of her family, the heart of New Orleans. What was the city without its music? Without Black folks? She poured out her love for New Orleans, her people…and him, through her talented fingers dancing across the keys.

He could never keep his hands off her throughout their time together.

Sometimes he liked to play with her locs absentmindedly while she rested her head on his lap, listening to love songs on her sound system. He'd fondle her breasts, plucking and pinching her nipples at unexpected times, forcing her to take off her shirt and unfasten her bra so he could suck on her tits. She loved getting on her knees and stuffing his dick between her breasts. Titty fucking brought out the beast in him. Nothing was sexier than his eyes narrowing into half slits, watching her soft, ample breasts rub up and down his shaft, his slit dripping copious amounts of sticky fluid. She'd stick the tip of tongue deep into his slit and he'd groan, the rumble in his chest turning her on.

They spent a whole afternoon like that, titty fucking while she was down on her knees, then switching to her reclining on the sectional with him straddling her waist, using his big hands to squeeze her tits while he humped that battering ram between her cleavage like it was her pussy.

She'd squeal when he nutted all over her nipples, then he'd keep stroking his dick until he shot a heavy load on her face next. He'd smear the cum around and make her lick it off his fingers, all the while telling her she was amazing. Her plump tits looked like two big ole pound cakes covered in glazed icing by the time he started jerking off again, aroused beyond measure by her appearance soaked in his creamy white jizz. He repeated this over and over until he shot hot ropes all over her lips and open mouth. His stamina was unreal.

Still covered in semen, he'd flip Celeste over onto his knees and spank her, building up her pain tolerance over a session, and then rub her ass cheeks with those massive palms to soothe the scorching heat his hand strikes left on her backside. Their safe word never had to be used, because he instinctively knew when Celeste reached her limit. She gave herself willingly to him, sucking his dick and balls whenever he needed tender-loving care. Her head bobbing in his lap giving loud sloppy toppy became ritual. He gave as much as he took from her. Reciprocity was his middle name, and he kept his face buried between her legs twice a day.

Bouncing on that big dick became another favorite pastime in the evenings. He'd glue his mouth to her ear and tell her in crude language with throaty groans how much of a good girl she was for taking all of his dick in her tight snatch. She became delirious when he lifted her up and down on his erection, as if she had no weight at all. He stood up and really showed off by arm-curling her on and off his length in the air, her thighs spread across his biceps. They went through two bottles of lube fast… and so many orgasms.

Occasionally they untangled their limbs, and got out of the house to walk to the French Market for fresh air and non-sexual exercise. They picked out interesting arts and crafts, bought pralines, visited Congo Square and checked in with her older cousin who ran the Backstreet Cultural Museum that highlighted Mardi Gras Indian history. Terry walked by her side carrying shopping bags home like they were a regular long-time couple. He came back to himself, being with her. That's what he told her. Celeste's heart grew brave, and she admitted to herself that she was falling in love. The embers of romantic love sparked and burned into a steady glowing orange flame, and each day she added a bit more kindling, keeping the hearth of eros warm in her heart. Terry's affections grew even more pronounced and his actions hinted he felt the same way about her. He took care of her, paying for everything while he stayed with Celeste, even covering her light and gas bill. His mourning period blossomed into courtship.

A week after interring his relatives, Terry asked to do something with her.

"Let me videotape you."

"You really wanted that directing gig, huh?" she teased.

He gently pushed her leg to get her off the couch.

"Set up your camera and ring lights…right on the floor again," he said. "Wear the burgundy bra and panties. Throw on your six-inch heels…bring me the binding rope, too."

Celeste set about gathering her equipment and dressed the way he wanted. He stuck the dildo on the floor and adjusted the lighting to a natural setting that mimicked warm outdoor light. She pulled her carnival mask over her eyes. The only make-up she used was a pink lip gloss.

She stood before him and handed over the red satin binding rope. He tied her upper body carefully, creating a line of small knots along her spine, and bound her arms together, pressed into her chest.

"Comfortable? Not too tight?" he asked, mindful of not stopping her circulation.

"I'm good," she said.

His gaze dusted across her form, approving of the physical masterpiece waiting to do his bidding. Freddie used to pester her about letting him handcuff her to their bed a lifetime ago and she always refused, uncomfortable with being hooked to a headboard.

Look at her now. Tied up by a man she hadn't known a mere two weeks ago.

Terry ran his large hand down her side, testing the bondage rope and stroking her skin. He frowned and shook his head, undoing the rope quickly.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Take the underwear off. Your skin looks better with the rope by itself," he insisted.

She pulled off her bra and shimmied out of her panties with his help keeping her balance. He tied the rope again, but this time he placed various knots on her erogenous zones, nipples, and clit. The unused length of rope he turned into a leash knotted loosely at the front of her throat. He held the leash in his hand, turning her into his sexual pet. She liked that her arms were free, even though he was in control of her movement.

The emerald coloring of his eyes became alluring sirens. They matched his inviting lips and aroused her all over. Every time she moved, a knotted portion of the rope rubbed, tugged, or created friction on her sensitive parts. Especially her clit. Terry licked his fingers and pushed a small knot into that swelling jewel.

"Sticky already," he said, licking his fingers. "My little nasty girl."

His voice sounded deeper…hungry. Her pussy started purring then. He tugged on the rope resting on both sides of her vulva and she whimpered. The friction there felt exquisite on her soft, plump outer labia. He left just enough space for her opening to remain available for his use.

"How did I get so lucky to find you, Celeste?"

She pressed her eyes shut. The vibration of his voice teased the skin on her neck. He kissed her throat and licked a favorite spot that he always buried his teeth in when he came inside of her. The bruising on her neck, under her breasts, and on her left thigh never went away completely. Those times he did bite her—and he bit often—brought on a high better than smoking weed. He'd bite, suck at the skin like he was giving a hickey, and she'd float into a cosmic orgasm every time.

He moved his lips to her chin and kissed her there, his tongue tracing circular swirls until he reached her ear.

"I want you to ride that dildo like you're riding me. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

He kissed her and pried her lips apart with his tongue, darting inside her mouth with an ardor that overwhelmed her ability to stay in the present. Her mind flew away into the future, dreaming of romance and building a life with him. Pure fantasy.

He pulled away from her lips and held her trembling body.

"Crying? Why, baby?" he asked.

She shook her head, and he hugged her.

"Should we stop this?" he breathed.

"No. I can do it."

"Are you sure? Have I done something to upset you?"

"No…I'm happy. I want this…I want you…"

He grinned so hard that his gums showed, looking like a little kid who won first prize at a Spelling Bee. Did he smile at his wife that way when she was alive? Celeste thought about that woman more and more. Could Terry love her enough to want to wife her up one day?

He stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand.

"I love you," he said.

Celeste's heart imploded.

Her knees quaked, and he held her against him with a beatific smile on his gorgeous face.

"Do you feel the same about me?"

Celeste threw her arms around his neck, and he lifted her onto her toes. He chuckled and pressed his forehead against hers.

So fast…it all came about so fast that Celeste wasn't sure that she hadn't made up the encounter or the words that came out of his divine lips.

He loved her. Truly, madly, profoundly.

They kissed again, their tongues sliding into sweet configurations, each one of them trying to show the other the depth of their feelings. Celeste even thanked Freddie in her heart for showing his ass and removing himself from her life to make way for this light-eyed prince who swept her off her feet literally.

Terry spun around with her in his arms and she laughed, feeling dizzy from the rush of love confessions.

He checked the camera settings to record her, and Celeste crouched over the lubed up dildo in her high heels and knotted rope binding.

"Show me how much you love me," Terry said.

His eyes took on a deadly seriousness and Celeste shook her hips and reached down to her toes, displaying her wide open labia. The toy was flexible and bent at an angle to help her control how deep it went. Her pussy twitched in anticipation of penetration, and Terry groaned behind the camera.

"That's it, Celeste…baby that pussy is glistening."

She rolled her hips and lowered her body down to the floor, crouched on her heels, and rested her vulva against the tip of the jet black toy was flexible and bent at an angle to help her control how deep it went. Patting her labia, she fingered herself, playing for the camera and him.

"Right there baby, hold it…"

She squeezed her vaginal muscles, letting her opening wink open and closed for him. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Terry tug on his dick through his gray sweatpants. He already had a tent pitched there and his pre-cum stained a visible quarter-sized wet spot.

"Slide down on that shit," he commanded.

His voice echoed in her ears, and she obeyed.

Up and down she went. The dildo spread her pussy lips apart and her tight opening choked it with loud squelching noises. Terry's eyes volleyed back and forth from the laptop on the coffee table and the camera lens he recorded from. He held the leash end of the bondage rope and it gave the appearance of the viewer controlling Celeste's body. She wound her hips and slid on and off the dildo, riding the tip, constantly looking over her shoulder, her mask creating the mystery ultra-fuck experience that her viewers paid to see. She turned around to face the camera, using her strong knees to rock forward and back on the fake dick. Terry pulled on the rope, forcing her head up.

"Got that dick creamy, baby," he said.

Celeste slapped her vulva and looked at how frothy she made the dildo. She fucked it like it was Terry's fat dick. He stopped looking at the camera view screen and watched her fuck with gushy pussy live. Celeste became wet enough to start making splashing noises each time she dropped down on the dildo. The knots in the rope spurned her on, their friction on her nipples and clit leading her to a dangerous precipice.

Terry pulled down his sweatpants just enough to release a massive erection that he stroked above her with delicious erotic skill. It looked so fat and juicy. Her mouth watered and her pussy contracted after a long stream of pre-cum spilled out of his tip and fell onto her thigh. Celeste pressed into her clit with the rope knot, and an unhurried orgasm rippled in surging waves along her outer labia, causing her to squirt all over the floor. She'd never done that before. Terry's dick started spitting cum after her release, and his semen rained down on Celeste, covering the satin rope in wet, messy splashes. Her lover's eyes burned with lust and he pulled her onto her feet by the leash.

Spinning her around, he penetrated her standing up, bending her forward and yanking on her locs. Gripping her throat, he pummeled her cheeks, sinking that thick heat deep into her until his balls slapped against her ass. It wasn't enough for him.

Tossing her over his shoulder, he carried her into the bedroom and dropped her onto the bed. He entered her again with one thrust and she gasped at the sensation of fullness.

"Tell me you love me," he begged.

The earnestness in his tone shocked Celeste. He needed verbal reassurance from her that he wasn't alone in the sentiment.

"I love you, Terry."

"Say it again…again…again…baby…"

He loved on her like she'd never been loved on before. Pure. Gentle. Real.

"Fuck me…yes…I feel you squeezing me, shit…don't stop…damn, girl! Damn, Celeste…fucking this dick…keep fucking me…ooh shiiiiit!"

Terry stopped short of cumming and untied her. He rubbed the indentation marks on her skin, kissing each one until satisfied that he soothed them all.

"Feeling okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

He lowered his head to suck on her nipples. She rubbed on his hair and he tended to her breasts like it was his first time playing with them.

His large physique covered her in muscles, sweat, and even tears. He kept his watery eyes on her face, and they repeatedly told one another, "I love you."

It had to be real.

His dick stretched her pussy in ownership. She pointed her toes at the ceiling and gripped his wide back, her nails digging into his sweaty flesh, breaking skin. He cried out her name, and that alone triggered her pussy to spasm and send tight contractions along the length of his dick. The orgasm that curled her toes came deep within, down in the bottom of her pussy where his dick rested. Celeste's eyes rolled back. He plunged his teeth into the side of her neck, sucking with those full lips and greedy tongue. His dick swelled and pumped warm cum into her. Thrashing her head about, she couldn't get over how he wrecked her walls. He spilled deep into her womb and she wept, her pussy still throbbing around him.

Celeste could've died happy in that moment. Cumming on the dick of the man she loved…and who loved her back…priceless.

"I love you…I love you…I love you," he said over and over until she passed out.

###

Heavy raindrops.

Celeste made coffee for herself and Terry in her kitchen. Her old faded blue house dress looked just as gloomy as the weather outside. She poured the liquid into mugs full of cream and sugar, stirring them with a spoon before carrying them out into her living room.

Terry peered at the courtyard through the French doors. The curtains were drawn back so they could watch water falling from the sky.

"Doesn't look like it'll clear up today," she said, watching him.

He didn't acknowledge her right away, just stared up at the darkening clouds.

He'd been with her for an additional week and his mood had changed. Their interactions and lovemaking remained top notch, but his mind seemed preoccupied with something outside of her.

He was afraid of something.

On their outings he walked like a man dodging trouble, preferring to avoid crowds and always looking over his shoulder. He gave her money to buy food alone and holed up in her house like a shut-in. She questioned him about his behavior and he claimed to not be feeling well. Spooked and nervous, Terry became a different person and no amount of cajoling from her made him open up about it.

She handed him a mug and he turned to look at her.

"I think it'll rain all week," he said.

She walked over to the sectional and sat down, sipping her coffee and dreading going to work at the chicken plant in a few hours. Terry sighed and drank from his mug.

Celeste moved over to the piano to play him something comforting, but the first chord she struck on a piano key didn't sound right.

Terry's somber eyes looked gray in the distance between them.

"I have to go back home, check on the restaurant with my business partner. I've been away too long and I have responsibilities there," he said.

She nodded in understanding, swallowing the lump that grew in her throat.

"Will you be able to come back and see me?" she asked.

"Not for a while, Celeste."

"I get it. You had a life before you came here. I can't expect you to stay forever."

"Baby, don't cry…"

Celeste covered her face with her left hand. Terry sat down next to her on the piano bench.

"Hey…hey…" he said.

He hugged her, and she cried into his neck. The man had proved that there was love after love, and she wished she could relive every moment she spent with him. She sensed deep down that he didn't want to leave...but had to. If a man couldn't tell her the truth about why he wanted to go away, she was smart enough to let him leave. He told her once he had issues in the past being in New Orleans. Maybe it was some old gangster shit and he had to get outta Dodge fast. Whatever it was, she wasn't going to get involved.

Celeste rested her head against his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat and remember it. The rain outside did the rest of the crying for her.