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Emma walks over to one of her walls, and the woman's eyes come to mine. The determination I see in them makes me sag in resignation. She's not going to let us leave without a sale.
"Oh, these are so beautiful,” Emma says softly, her voice audible despite the loud of hum of noise that fills this large outdoor market. Market is a generous word for the cluster of alleys and corridors that have been inhabited by local artists and craftsmen vying for the attention and foreign currency that the people shopping here are loaded with. It's not a place where locals shop, at least not without serious haggling, but it's a great place to find some of the finest examples of Ghana's craftsmanship in the country.
"Harry, look. I love them,” Emma’s arm stretches behind her, her fingers wriggling in a beckoning motion, without taking her eyes off the carvings on the wall.
I come to stand by her and admire them. The craftsmanship is remarkably intricate. Then my eyes land on one in the same shape as her tattoo.
"Can you reach that one for me? Addie would love it, " she murmurs, eyes still glued to the wall.
"No, I can't. My arms are full," I say irritably, but I'm also mesmerized by the carving.
"Madam, I'll go call my husband. He's just there," the lady calls before she runs across the narrow walkway that bisects this strip of the Art Center.
"What does it mean?" I ask her while we wait.
"Look around, see all of the clothes, the carvings, and stuff? Those symbols, they're called Adinkra," she says, her hands coming up to run over the other carvings on the wall. “They express themes, values, histories that belong to the Akan people - that's the group of people who make up the largest ethnic group in Ghana. The one on my back is Fawohdie. My parents gave me a pendant in that symbol when I was a girl." I stare at her profile as she speaks, so softly, her focus on the symbol intense.
"What does it mean?" I repeat, more insistent.
"It's a symbol of freedom and emancipation," she says, her eyes coming to mine for the first time. "Where's your pendant?" I ask her. Her back stiffens, and she looks away from the wall and turns to face the entrance of the stall.
"I don't have it anymore. I lost it," she says. Her jaw twitches, and her sentences are clipped.
“You should get the one up there, I’m sure she’d give you a deal on two.” I glance in the direction the woman had gone.
"I wish she hadn't run off. I don't even want to buy it," she complains irritably, gathering hair in her hand the way she does when she's agitated. She cranes her neck and comes up on her toes as she tries to locate the woman.
"Are you sure? You asked me to get it down for you," I remind her.
"I'm sure. Look, let
's just go before she gets back. I don't want either of them," she says and then starts to walk away.
I look around for the woman, feeling guilty about leaving while she's gone, but Emma’s already disappearing through the crowd. I watch her go, knowing she's heading to the car and put down some of the packages I'm carrying. I snag the carving from the wall, look at the price, handwritten on a tiny white sticker on the back, and leave her twice the amount.
I drop it into my pocket, pick up the bags I put down and follow her out.
17
Lilly
Harry's carrying me from the living room to his bedroom. Each step he takes brings my throbbing clit in contact with his cock's insistent pressure. I'm so ready for him, I start moving up and win, trying to ride him.
"God, you're killing me." His words tumble into my mouth as he lays me down on his bed. I hear the rustle of my hair as it settles on the bed's comforter, creating a huge halo of curls around my head and onto my shoulders.
His eyes shine bright under his hooded lids as they feast on me. His beautiful, kiss stung lips form the words, "You're so goddamn beautiful" as his hands work the button and fly of his jeans, and in seconds they and his boxers are gone.
He whips his shirt over his head and his body, so tall and strong and beautiful, is on glorious display. He fists his thick, hard cock and gives it a slow, strong stroke, and his head falls back in ecstasy as he strokes himself leisurely. I salivate at the sight of him, his beautiful neck begging for my kisses. My pussy is flooding with all of the desire the motion of his hand is building.
"I need you." My impatience is undisguised, my finger diving between my legs, and I groan at the sensation that rips through me as my fingers touch my sensitive, slick pussy.
He slowly lowers his head, his eyes trained between my legs as mine go back to watching him stroke himself.
"Come to me," I implore, my body aching at the promise of him inside of me. I reach for him with my free hand outstretched arm, and he stalks toward me. His beautiful body rippling with each step, the shadow of the moon turning his muscle’s movements into a symphony of tenses and flexes.
He leans over me and with a final stroke that ends on a grunt uses his now free hand to brush the hair off my shoulder. He places an open-mouthed kiss there before his lips start to travel downward. The ecstasy of his mouth on my body is almost too much to bare, and I writhe underneath him. I'm one throbbing mass of need. And heat. And mindless lust. My fingers claw at him, and when his mouth clamps over my nipple, my back bows and my moan cracks on a sob. The heat of his mouth, the power of the suction, the reverence of the cradle his hand makes for my breast as he suckles me threaten to send me over the edge.
"Harry?" I pant out his name, and my hand goes between us. I grab his cock and stroke him, reveling in the weight of his cock in my hand. His hips move, and his lips tear from my breast. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, and his hair falls in dark waves over his forehead as he looks down at me. His eyes are smoldering and desperate as he thrusts up into my fist.
