Sweeter Than Honey Read online

  Sweeter than Honey

  Also by Mary B. Morrison

  Who’s Loving You

  When Somebody Loves You Back

  Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This

  Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top

  He’s Just a Friend

  Never Again Once More

  Soul Mates Dissipate

  Who’s Making Love

  Justice Just Us Just Me

  Coauthored with Carl Weber

  She Ain’t the One

  Sweeter than Honey

  MARY B. MORRISON

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Dedication

  Dedicated in loving memory of Elester Noel, my mother, who committed suicide after being brutally battered by my father for years. My mother gave birth to eight—some say nine—children and she checked out of this world like many other battered women, not knowing her self-worth.

  Acknowledgments

  I thank God for the woman that I am and will become. I’m blessed beyond measure. I’m sexy, confident, intelligent, uninhibited, and most important, I love myself first, knowing that through God I will attain the greatness of all my desires. I’m fortunate to possess a passion to write and the determination to succeed.

  Thanks and welcome to my new editor, Selena James. I’m looking forward to a long and prosperous relationship. I appreciate all the hard work and dedication of my entire Kensington family. Karen Thomas, my editor for life, I say unto you, “We are family and thanks for everything.”

  I absolutely love my author friend and writing partner, Carl Weber, aka the Prince of Drama. I experienced so much growth as a writer while we coauthored She Ain’t the One and I can’t wait to get started on He Ain’t the One. While in New York collaborating on She Ain’t the One, I had the opportunity to have lunch with Carl’s wonderful wife, Martha, some of his staff at Urban Books, and also dined with a number of Carl’s authors while we were on tour and I have no idea how Carl finds time to write his New York Times best sellers. All I can say is, “Carl is a gentleman in the purest form.”

  Authors Naleighna Kai, Gloria Mallette, and Marissa Monteilh willingly opened up their hearts when I asked them to share with you very powerful and personal messages in the I Am Worthy section of this book, and I appreciate each of them. I hope their words inspire you to write in your own words why you feel worthy.

  My son, Jesse Byrd, Jr., lights up my life. I’m so proud of him. As many of you know, Jesse is on a basketball scholarship and my wonderful godson, Robert “Chew” Owens, also is on a basketball scholarship, so you know I’m smiling from ear to ear.

  I’m grateful that my fantastic siblings, Wayne, Andrea, Derrick, Regina Morrison, Margie Rickerson, Debra Noel, and Bryan Turner are so supportive of me, and I love my cousin Edward Allen.

  Thanks to each of my fans. I want you to know beginning this new series, The Honey Diaries, wasn’t easy because like you, I too was deeply in love for seven years with Darius and Fancy and Jada and Wellington and all of the characters from the Soul Mates Dissipate series; therefore, my new characters took time to develop.

  I must thank my manuscript readers, Mother Bolton, my manager, Eve Lynne Robinson, and my awesome agent, Claudia Menza. Much love to Lou Richie, Bernard Henderson, Jerry Thompson, Michele Lewis, Vera Warren-Williams, Blanche Richardson, Karen Richardson, and Emma Rodgers.

  I have the world’s greatest manager and photographer, Eve Lynne Robinson. I thank Eve for enhancing my career, expanding my vision, and taking excellent care of me. Now my graphic Web designer/image brander, Kim Mason, is unequivocally second to none. I cannot thank these women enough.

  Where Did I Go Wrong?

  I know the bad things he does to me are my fault.

  He’s really a good man, and maybe if I would’ve shut up and not talked back he wouldn’t have slapped me in my mouth. Maybe if I hadn’t cursed him out or degraded his manhood, he wouldn’t have yelled at me. Maybe if I had changed my dress instead of telling him what I wasn’t going to wear, he would’ve allowed me to go out with my girlfriends. Maybe if I could learn to sex him better, suck his dick a little longer, or stopped telling him “no” more than I said “yes,” he’d stop cheating on me.

  What did I do to make him hate me so much when all I’ve done was try to love him? I need some answers. I’m lying in this emergency room: a broken heart this time. Maybe next time I won’t be so lucky. Actually, if God cared about me at all, he’d bring me on home. I’m tired. I’m ready. I’ve been ready for quite some time now. Surely heaven can’t be like this.

  Getting my ass kicked on the regular is no way to live. Yep, I’m convinced that heaven has got to be a better place. Hell, hell has got to be a better place than living with him. All I ask is that my mother take care of my kids. I know she’s tired too. Done, done her part and then some, but I ain’t got nobody else to look after my babies.

  Why didn’t somebody see him hitting me? Kicking me? Biting me? Spitting on me? Raping me? Using my body for a punching bag? A doormat. My hair for a dishrag. If I hadn’t made enough money to pay all the bills, I’m sure he would’ve bashed my face in again by now. Why was he cursing me? Shouting at me? Calling me bitch! Bitch! Bitch! So much that when anybody else calls me by my name, I don’t even answer. Why is it that I can’t do anything right to please him? No matter how hard I try.

  I hope somebody cares because I sure don’t. Not anymore. I’m ashamed to go around my family. I’m too embarrassed to confide in my friends. Outside of work I don’t have a life. Haven’t seen my folks in a minute. Lord, what happened to him to make him this way? Was it his mama? Was it me? He used to be nice to me. He used to say, “I love you.” Actually he still does tell me he loves me, but I know he doesn’t mean it. Does he? He can’t possibly love me and treat me this way. Can he? I’m numb. I’m scared. In a world filled with people, some happy, others just like me, I feel so all alone.

  Lord, I love You but if You don’t save me this time, I’m going to have to repent in advance if that’s possible, because I swear, if he hits me one, I swear, just one more time…I’ma kill him dead…or die trying.

  The choice is yours, Lord.

  I’ve never abandoned you. All I have to say unto you is…the choice to stay or leave is yours. Always has been. Always will be. How can you claim you love Me and at the same time not love yourself? I am you and you, my child, are Me. I’ve already set you free. It’s already been done.

  Freedom is a choice.

  If you don’t want My blessings, you won’t receive My glory. I’ll simply give your blessings to someone who’s willing and ready to receive. You can’t get My blessings if you continue relying upon him instead of Me. It’s like winning the lottery but not knowing your numbers hit. My blessings unto you are useless if you don’t acknowledge the fact that they are yours.

  Knowing is not enough. You must accept My blessings in order to attain a better life. You must embrace a higher level of consciousness. Every time you walk out of your front door, you decide to return, unlock the door, and enter the house. Knowing he’s there, knowing you haven’t put him out, knowing he’s going to continuously abuse you, yet you leave and then return day after day. Again and again you pray to Me, frantically begging that he’ll change. Your prayers have been answered because each time he becomes more and more violent.

  Oh yes, he has to answer to Me. But when are you going to see that you, My child, are the one who must change? Your willingness to transition into a greater consciousness will determine your happiness, your goodness, your blessings, your glory…all you have to do is flip on the light switch and stop living in darkness. The electricity is already there. Use it.

  Trust in Me. Your abi
lity to connect to Me is there. Focus your attention on yourself, not him. The time has come for you to stop believing that your relationship with him is the only one you are worthy of.

  Stop hiding behind your contrived smile. Stop crying yourself to sleep at night. Stop acting like everything is all right. Stop putting him before your children. My child, let not your heart be troubled. When you come out of your conscious coma, awaken to truth, take responsibility for your life, or next time, honestly, there won’t be a next time.

  If you keep going back to him, I’ll see you soon…real soon.

  Welcome to Book #1 of my new series…

  The Honey Diaries

  Happiness is an acquired emotion.

  Pussy is sweeter than honey and more valuable than money.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  EPILOGUE

  BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  PROLOGUE

  Lace St. Thomas

  She’s successful now. Money. Diamonds. Cars. Furs. To whom much was given, much was required. Let her tell it, and if anyone could’ve looked over her shoulder, I’m sure they would’ve agreed, not much was given unto her except grief and pain. She wasn’t different from most folks. Everybody had a story to tell. Practically rearing herself, how did she ever survive? Her entire childhood, no matter how hard she tried to please her mother, she was never good enough to measure up to her baby sister.

  What good was having a parent who constantly put her down? A mother who shattered her self-esteem, never believed in her dreams, always leaving her to pick herself up every time she fell. Why was each of her lessons learned the hard way? Unfamiliar family made her feel like a stranger in her own home. Nah, growing up she never had a home. It was more like a halfway house. No amount of bricks and mortar could encapsulate a loving environment.

  Maybe her father could’ve showered her with the love that her mother didn’t or simply wouldn’t, but she doubted her father knew she was alive. They could’ve exchanged breaths or broken bread at the same restaurant table at separate times. Her on Wednesday. Him on Thursday. Her life was full of unknowns. And even as a woman, she had no idea where to find her daddy. Perhaps one day she’d really try.

  Flagstaff, Arizona, a town with a population of less than sixty thousand, somebody had to know…what she didn’t. His whereabouts. Without question the man who provided the seed to fertilize her mother’s egg had to be better than the henpecked man her mother had anxiously agreed to marry. Her stepfather-to-be was a virtual vagabond who’d violated her not-so-sweet sixteen innocence and changed her life forever. Inevitable change left unforgettable scars on her soul. Many cold days and sleepless nights she wished she was either dead or never born.

  Oh well, by every means necessary, she did survive. The worst, she prayed, was all behind her now, specifically the two men who wanted her dead: her ex-man and her ex-boss. Because she’d never had a positive male role model, all of her exes added to the long list of reasons why she didn’t trust men. All the men in her life were satisfied as long as she gave them what they wanted. Did whatever they desired.

  The johns who abused her were long gone too. Today, she was surrounded with good women she regretfully at times treated worse than…hm, let’s not dwell on the negativity that learned behavior begets. For once, everything in her life was perfect, including her new man.

  For once in her life she was happy more than she was sad.

  What Happens Inside of Vegas…

  Is a Damn Shame

  CHAPTER 1

  Lace

  “You’re never going to be more than a trifflin’, lyin’ lil’ slut! You make me sick! My God, I wish I woulda followed my first mind and aborted your ass instead of listening to that deadbeat lying-ass motherfuckin’ daddy of yours. I can’t believe you up in here under my nose tryna fuck my man! Why can’t you be more like your sister? Get out of my house and this time stay the hell out!” were the last words I’d heard my mother say before she slammed the door in my face.

  Was she referring to my baby sister? The golden can-do-no-wrong child?

  What had I done this time?

  It wasn’t my fault that on my sixteenth birthday, my mother’s fiancé saw in me what most men saw: a young, cute, innocent face, a firm, cellulite-free ass, perfect, plump, perky tits, and long legs stacked with a virgin cherry that they desperately wanted to burst. Well, he wasn’t positive about the virgin part until his hard calluses, dirty hands, and jagged fingernails slipped inside my pink panties. His stale morning hadn’t-brushed-his-yellowish-brown-teeth breath exhaled in my face as he squatted in front of my pussy. He poked, probed, gazed up at me, smiled, and then said, “Aw, man. You really are a preemie,” kissing my virgin lips while checking twice for confirmation.

  “Ow, you’re hurting me,” I said, shoving his forehead. As I crossed my legs, the scratches on my kitty stung worse than paper cuts.

  That incident happened over thirteen years ago, but psychologically it hurts like he violated me yesterday. To this day I can’t stand men with dirty or rough hands or bad breath or yellow teeth.

  “I’ma tell Mama,” my sister had said, standing in the doorway, covering her big mouth.

  I snapped, “Stch. Go tell Mama ’cause I ain’t do nothing wrong!”

  Truth was I was very afraid, fearing Mama would side with Don and Honey. The only reason I’d let him find out I was untouched was that my mama constantly accused me of being a whore and a slut, so I wanted to prove her wrong. My sister was the fast one, sneaking boys into her room after Mama went to sleep, going to jail for petty theft, and staying out all night on the weekends smoking weed.

  With any reason not to feed us or to have the house to herself with Don, Mama didn’t care where we went or how long we stayed. I guess my being the opposite of my sister hanging around the house reading books or listening to music most of the time invaded Mama’s privacy.

  Don’s eyes widened. He swiftly sucked air into his mouth, snapping his head toward Honey. When he pushed me, I fell to the floor screaming, “Mama!”

  My mother, Rita, raced into the family room, bypassing Honey. Rita stared down at me. Hatred narrowed her eyes that never blinked. I spread my legs, hoping she could see what Don had done to me. This was my chance to have him confess he was wrong and confirm I was pure. But he didn’t. I lay there trying to figure out why a grown man would take advantage of a minor and why my mother would let him.

  Sinking into the gray carpet, I felt my ignorance giving me away to the streets when my mother deemed me competition as opposed to her little girl. True, most times I was guilty of something, but not trying to have sex with my mother’s man or the boys I went to Flagstaff High School with.

  My heart exploded like a bomb when Mama believed her husband-to-be’s words, “Rita, get rid of her…your tramp of a daughter just offered me her pussy,” over mine. “Mama, I swear I didn’t, he�
��s lying. He stuck his finger between my legs. Go on, tell ’em I’m a virgin. Honey, you saw him. Tell Mama what he did,” I cried, spreading my legs wider this time. Instantly I’d become a casualty of compassion.

  Before my sister answered, the strands of my ponytail wrapped around my mother’s fist. Content that he was out of the spotlight, Don sat on the sofa with his lint-filled Afro and sagging gut gargling beer like mouthwash while fingering the remote, flipping through channels like nothing was happening. Instead of helping me, Honey bent toward the floor, grabbing my white ankle socks. The tip of my brand-new tennis shoe slammed against her chin, knocking Honey on her ass.

  It was an accident. I’d never done anything to hurt my sister. Honey was the only sibling I had.

  Angrily, Mama dragged me faster. The rug beneath my butt felt like a flaming match frying through my skin. Frantically kicking the air, I yelled all the way to the door, “Bitch! Let me go! Grab his fuckin’ ass!” I peeled my fingers from the door hinge, barely escaping the slam!