Set: A Novella (Them Boys Book 1)

by Alexandria House

  He gave me a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You can leave if you need to.”

  I actually thought about it, because even though twenty years had passed since I’d last seen him, the Mitchell name still struck fear in me. With the mention of that name came the gossip, stories about the three brothers triple-teaming anyone who looked at them the wrong way. The brothers were mean, loved to fight, and terrorized the female population of the school, or so I’d heard. I was never foolish enough to get any firsthand knowledge, though. Nevertheless, my damn feet were still angry at me, so I said, “My throbbing feet say otherwise. Besides, you look harmless enough.” That was a damn lie. He looked fine, sexy, and the way his eyes were drilling holes into mine was anything but harmless.

  A melodic chuckle escaped his mouth. “I ain’t exactly harmless, but I ain’t everything y’all think I am either.”

  Kicking my shoes off under the table, I lifted my eyebrows. “Who is y’all?”

  “The whole damn class. A gang of people done sat at this table and damn near ran away when I told them who I was. Winston Coleman almost tripped over his own feet tryna get away from here.”

  Since Winston had always been an arrogant asshole who thought he knew it all, a notion bolstered by his position as class valedictorian, I laughed. “I woulda paid money to see that.”

  “It woulda been worth it.”

  I smiled. “So…what have you been doing all these years, Set Mitchell? How are your brothers? You married? Where do you live? Kids?”

  “Got damn, is this a job interview or something?”

  I shrugged. “Just curious to know what one of the most feared people I’ve ever known has going on.”

  “I ain’t realize you knew me.”

  Why did that make my pussy do a triple Salchow? Had to be that damn voice of his. He had one of those rough-ass DMX voices. “Okay, knew of. I wasn’t messing with you back then. You scared me, to be honest.”

  “Yeah, well…I guess I was a little fucked up back then, but I ain’t never hit no girls. That shit was a lie. My daddy woulda beat my ass. He didn’t play that.”

  The Mitchell patriarch was a cop, a big intimidating man who wasn’t to be messed with just like his three stair-step sons—Set, Jah, and Shu. If I remembered correctly, Set was the oldest, followed by Shu, and then Jah.

  “That’s good to know,” I replied.

  “Yeah. So I’m not married, never been married, got one son who is eighteen, I’m a retired professional boxer, and I own a gym now, work as a personal trainer. I live in Vegas. My brothers are good. Shu was in the military, but now he’s got a good factory job. Jah’s a mechanic. They both still live here.”

  “A boxer?”

  He shrugged. “I always liked to fight, but you know that, huh?”

  I shrugged.

  “So what about you, Kareema Sperry?”

  “Married twice, single now, one daughter, a newborn grandson, I own a daycare, and I live here…still. I don’t have any siblings.”

  He nodded. “You look good, gooder than a motherfucker, actually.”

  My pussy did a double, no, a triple Lutz this time. “Thanks, so do you.”

  After staring at me for a moment, he asked, “Wanna head out with me, go get a drink? This got damn music is making my head hurt. Hell, the least they could do is play some Eminem if they wanna keep it Caucasian.”

  I mean, the constant grunge and emo music was a bit unsettling, but I’d just arrived, was supposed to be meeting Tricia who was most likely somewhere dealing with her man and his public domain dick, and this was Set Mitchell. In addition to all of that, past instincts shouted at me to say no, but instead, I slid my uncomfortable shoes back on and fixed my eyes on him. “Where to?”

  We went to Ten10, a bar I’d never stepped foot in that had been a fixture in my city since I was a kid, sat at the bar, and soon, the liquor had helped us transition into an easy conversation. Set was smart, attentive, a grown-ass man that I’d probably still see as a school terrorist had it not been for Tricia ghosting me.

  “Two husbands, huh? They both fucked up?” he asked, as he peered over the rim of his glass of whiskey at me.

  I took a sip of my second rum punch and sighed. “Well, husband number one’s name should’ve been Fuck Up—immature, lazy as fuck, and had the nerve to cheat on me while he was unemployed for the thousandth time. My daughter was like two when we divorced, but you know what? I don’t think it’s fair to count him as a husband since I married him when I was eighteen.”

  He chuckled. “Where’d you meet Fuck Up?”

  “In high school.” I cleared my throat and dropped my eyes. “I married Shawn Thomas.”

  “Oh, shit! How’d a girl like you end up with him? Y’all ain’t even from the same universe!”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “I knooooow. Tricia dragged me to some party at the skating rink, he was there, and I guess he noticed me and my titties for the first time.”

  “So you like bad boys, huh?” he asked, with one raised eyebrow.

  “Puleeze. He grew up in the hood, yeah, but Shawn was all bark and no bite. You should know that. Didn’t you kick his ass once?”

  “Nah, he wasn’t about that life. Talked all that shit in front of folks, and when it was time to get down, the motherfucker didn’t show up.”

  “Oh.”

  “See, you can’t believe everything you hear, Kareema.”

  “I do see.”

  “And husband number two?”

  “He died five years ago. Cancer. He was a good man, though, treated Tori, my daughter, like she was his own.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Through a sigh, I said, “Me, too.”

  “You gonna get you a husband number three?”

  “Hell no! You ever getting you a wife number one?”

  “Fuck no! I like my freedom, love living alone. I can’t stand for motherfuckers to be up in my space.”

  “I know that’s right!” I held my glass up as if toasting his sentiment and took a swig of my drink. “I’m used to being alone now. Don’t think I could deal with someone in my space either.”

  “See, you get me.” He held his glass up. “Fuck marriage and relationships and all that shit.”

  Clinking my glass against his, I agreed, “Yeah, fuck alllll that!”

  He drained his glass and set it on the bar. “You were so quiet back in the day. Guess you outgrew that shit, huh?”

  “Yep, like you outgrew kicking asses.”

  He smiled and so did I. Then we just sat there looking at each other, our eyes transmitting some shit that didn’t make sense but was real. Our attraction and nearly palpable chemistry were very, very real.

  He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks, but those clothes did nothing to hide the muscles covering his tall body. There was a shadow of facial hair on his face, hair neatly cut into a low fade, thick lips, and those got-damn monochromatic eyes. My God in Zion! Set Mitchell was fucking appetizing.

  “Kareema?” he almost growled.

  “Yes?” I responded, lifting my eyes from the open collar of his shirt to his face.

  “I always thought you were pretty. You’re still pretty. Fine, too.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Well, since I was too scared to look at you back in the day, I’ll just say thank you and that you are truly handsome and exceptionally fine right now.”

  With a huge grin, he said, “Thank you, and I can’t get mad at you not wanting to look at me. I earned that reputation. I was a fool, a hot head, and I legit have no idea how I avoided getting arrested other than the respect other officers had for my pops.”

  “Shit, I thought you did get arrested.”

  Through a laugh, he said, “No, but Jah has an extensive arrest record. Pops couldn’t save his ass.”

  “I can see that. Of the three of you, Jah was the most intimidating and the biggest.”

  “And he’s the youngest.” He shook his head.

  “Yeah, I th
ought he was. What about Shu?”

  “That nigga’s like a ninja. He’s big like me and Jah, but you know he’s always been quiet.”

  “Yeah…”

  “And he’s so quick, he can kick an ass and be gone before the person knows what hit him. Never got caught in his shit.”

  I laughed and he shrugged with a silly grin on his face.

  We both fell silent as we finished our drinks, and when he broke the silence with, “Wanna come to my hotel room with me, Kareema?” with a look of total and complete lust in his eyes, the logical portion of my mind screamed, “No!” However, my vagina, which was in desperate need of maintenance after a five-year drought, was controlling my mouth.

  So I said, “Yes, I do.”

  Set

  In my room that night, I kind of lost my nerve. Kareema was and always had been so pretty. I used to stare at her in class but knew she was a good girl. I also knew I had no business messing around with a good girl. I’d been fucking since I was twelve, had a jacked-up childhood, and spent high school trying to fight my way to…something. Peace? Shit, I still don’t know. And in that hotel room, half drunk, I wasn’t sure if I deserved to be with her any more than I did in high school. Evidently, she sensed the shift in my mood.

  “You don’t…you changed your mind?” she asked timidly, pushing my mind further into the past.

  “About what?” I questioned.

  With a shrug, she said, “Well, I assume you didn’t invite me to your room to study the Bible.”

  I had to smile. “No, not that.”

  “The Quran?”

  “Nope.”

  “A boy scout manual?”

  I laughed. “You wildin’ now.”

  “Well?”

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind.” I was standing there with a noticeably rock-hard dick so I couldn’t deny that I wanted her even if I didn’t deserve to have her.

  Stepping close to me and resting her hands on my chest, she uttered, “Great, because it’s been a while for me. I was going to be very disappointed if you’d changed your mind.”

  I stared down at her, at her round face, thick lips, eyes nearly hidden behind the thick lashes of her lowered eyelids, and I kissed her, my hand on the back of her head, my fingers digging through her hair to her scalp. She moaned, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me closer to her. I can’t lie; from the moment Kareema appeared at my table, I’d had thoughts of fucking her fine ass, and from the way she was pulling my dress shirt from my slacks and fumbling with the buttons on it as we kissed, it appeared she’d had the same thing on her mind.

  “Hold up,” I said, backing away from her. “This ain’t gotta be a sprint unless you got somewhere else to be. Slow down, baby.”

  She was breathing hard, her eyes falling from my face to my crotch. “I haven’t had sex since my husband died. I don’t have to be anywhere else, but I do need you to hurry up and fuck me.”

  Shit, since she put it that way…

  I damn near tore that shirt off of myself, was out of my pants and underwear in a fucking millisecond, and had helped Kareema undress in record time when I stopped and stared at her. Those titties were a got damn work of art. Big and full and—

  “You are fucking fine as hell,” Kareema muttered as she bit her bottom lip.

  “You too, baby,” I said. “Kareema, you ain’t drunk, are you? I don’t want you to do this drunk.”

  “I’m as sober as a church mother. I ain’t no lightweight, Set Mitchell.”

  “You sure?”

  She answered me by grabbing my face and kissing me. So I said fuck it, led her to the bed, laid her on it, and strapped up, figuring she didn’t have the patience for prolonged foreplay. Stretching my body over hers, I attempted to slide inside her with a mouth full of her right titty, but couldn’t.

  Five years? Shit, she was as tight as a virgin.

  “Relax, Kareema,” I whispered, kissing her neck.

  “I am relaxed. It’s—it’s always like that. It’s a problem, I guess. You have to work your way in.”

  My dick was so hard now, I was sure I could pound a nail into a wall with it. But instead, I slid down her body and covered her entire pretty pussy with my mouth, licking and slurping on her clit until her legs clamped tight around my head and she released a bunch of unintelligible words. Then…then she squirted, she squirted all over my got-damn face, and all I could do was blink and fucking gawk at her pussy in amazement.

  “You didn’t tell me you were a squirter,” I said, licking the fluid from my lips.

  “I’m s-sorry. I should’ve told you,” she whined, as she reached down and covered her pussy with her hands, her legs still trembling.

  “It’s all good,” I said. Shit, it was better than good.

  I moved her hands and settled between her thighs again, making use of the slickness I’d worked to create. As wet as she was both inside and out—hell, she was wet before I ate her pussy—I still had to work my dick inside her, but once I got in there?

  Motherfucking got damn!

  I had never, ever felt anything like it, had to close my eyes and concentrate to keep from crying, because it felt so good. I slid in and out of her, her pussy gripping my dick with each stroke, and I felt like I was going to lose my mind. When I felt her walls begin to quiver around me, felt warm fluid shoot from her again and hit me as I held her titties together and sucked both nipples at the same time, I jerked and whimpered and filled the condom.

  Minutes later, as we lay side by side on the bed, both breathing loudly, she asked, “What the hell are you mixed with? The folks that made the Kama Sutra?”

  “Both of my parents are black. My black-ass daddy gave me these eyes along with a lot of other shit.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the eyes. I was talking about the dick. Shit!”

  I chuckled, but I’d be damned if I didn’t feel the same way about her pussy.

  4

  Kareema

  Now…

  I took in the view of terrain that was so different from the green trees and grass I was accustomed to as we ate on his balcony. It was beautiful, beautiful and hot, but what I’d always heard about dry heat being different from the strangling humidity signature of the south was true.

  “You like the food?” Set asked, his voice making my stomach quiver. I was too damn old and had been through too much shit for his mere voice to affect me like that, but I couldn’t help it. It’d been like this since the first time he touched me three years earlier.

  “Yeah, it’s really good,” I said.

  “Not as good as the wings from Tasha’s back home though, huh?”

  I grinned. “Nah, but they’re close. These taste like the building probably passed health inspection. Tasha’s probably doesn’t even have a damn permit or license or whatever.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, elbows on the table, hands gripping a half-eaten chicken wing. This forty-one-year-old motherfucker was only wearing his boxers, and his chest looked so good that I wanted to slather wing sauce on him and lick it off. He was just so damn fine!

  His eyes were still laughing when he bit into the wing again and stared at me as he chewed.

  I took that moment to ask a question that had been occupying my mind since he invited me to visit his home a couple of months earlier. “What am I doing here, Set?”

  He stopped chewing and frowned. “Huh?”

  “You don’t like people in your space, but here I am, all up and through your space. Why?”

  He wiped his hands and mouth with a napkin, raked his eyes over me sitting across from him in a bralette and shorts, and finally said, “Because I want you here.”

  “So you changed your mind about not wanting folks in your space?”

  “No. I still don’t want folks in my space, but I do want Kareema in my space, in my bed, on my face. I love it when you squirt on my face, Kareema. I love that shit.”

  I cleared my thro
at and took a swig of my soda. “Let’s go back to bed, Set.”

  *****

  A week after the twenty-year class reunion that morphed into a weekend of mind-blowing sex with the infamous Set Mitchell, I was sitting in my office at the Kinder Kuties daycare center avoiding paperwork and perusing social media on my phone when my eyes widened. Set and I hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. I just left his hotel room and went back to my regular life. He did the same, and I thought it was over, but there I sat staring at a friend request from him that I quickly accepted. As an infestation of butterflies filled my belly and my pussy began doing the Running Man, I toured his page, analyzing picture after picture, and found that as fine as he was now, he was even finer when he was at his boxing prime.

  But he was fucking mouthwatering then and now.

  Shit!

  As I followed a link he’d shared to an article about the grand opening of his gym, a private message from him popped up that I read in his voice: Thanks for accepting my request.

  Me: Of course. How’ve you been?

  Set: Good. You?

  Me: Good.

  And that was it, our first post-fuckathon conversation. Soon we were messaging each other every day—making small talk, sharing funny memes. Then he invited me to a business trip he was taking to Atlanta one weekend a couple of months after the reunion, and I said yes. I don’t know what business he had in Atlanta, though, because we spent nearly every waking moment in bed, naked and screwing. That’s when he began to become an addiction for me. Hell, the very thought of him made me sweat and squirm. After that, we exchanged phone numbers, Set invited me on more trips, and what was supposed to be a one-time hookup between two people who were both miles away from wanting a relationship became an…arrangement. When we were together, we were together, but we held no expectations, there were no rules or voiced possession of one another, just monthly or bimonthly baecations, many within driving distance of my city. Okay, so he had a habit of asking me who my pussy belonged to and I had a habit of telling him it was his, but that was just some heat of the moment stuff. Anyway, I had no idea what he did or who he was with when we were apart. I only cared about what I felt when we were together.