by Meghan March
Not with Moses.
Never with Moses.
I trusted him from the beginning—me, the woman who doesn’t trust anyone or anything until it’s been proven beyond a reasonable doubt with me sitting as judge and jury. But with Moses, it was second nature to trust him. I guess that happens when someone saves you and then appoints himself your protector so nothing can happen to you as long as he’s on watch.
That’s what Moses did for me, and tonight, all I want is everything I’ve missed for the last fifteen years. We can’t get the lost time back, but we can start this very second by not taking now for granted.
When he lowers me to the bed, I pull him down with me, wanting the heavy weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. I’ve always loved the weight of him. So strong and capable. And as a woman who’s had to watch out for herself and couldn’t rely on anyone, being able to give him that part of me is like finding freedom I didn’t know existed.
Our lips don’t separate as he rolls, pulling me on top. I’m laid out above him, and I feel his touch everywhere. One hand coasts up my back, threading through my hair, and the other anchors my hips against the hard ridge of his cock. I buck against him, my body already going soft and wet for the only man who’s ever made me feel like a real woman. With Moses, I’m not an object, a toy, or a tool whose sole purpose is to get a man off.
With him, I’m my real self. I matter. My emotions, my thoughts, and my soul.
It took me years to be able to enjoy sex, because to me, it started out as a business transaction. But with Moses, it was never anything but exactly what it was meant to be—perfection in its own way.
He groans into my mouth, and I finally pull away.
Looking down at this gorgeous man, I say, “I need you. You probably want to take this slow and sweet, but I’m hard up, Moby. Fuck, it’s been forever, and I want you so fucking bad that I don’t have time for slow and sweet. I need this to happen now.”
“You’re gonna let me give it to you slow and sweet next, then. Because I want to savor you, mama. You deserve that.”
“Later,” I say, going for his shirt and dragging it up his muscular body.
He pushes up on his hands, allowing me to tug it from beneath him and yank it over his head. All that’s left is smooth, golden skin that speaks of his Creole heritage. I’ve never seen skin as beautiful as this man’s. My palms glide over his chest and the hard blocks of his abs.
“God, I love a man who takes care of himself,” I whisper.
“Pshhh,” he says as he reaches for the hem of my shirt. “I’m nothing. You, on the other hand, are a work of fucking art.” He slides the shirt over my head, and his eyes practically glow with appreciation of what’s beneath it. “These tits . . . Fuck, woman. Fucking perfect.”
I snort a laugh at that. “You can thank my surgeon for those. He’s the artist.”
Moses shakes his head. “Well, he ain’t here, so you’re just gonna have to listen to me tell you how fucking perfect you are.” His hands bracket my waist. “I can tell you put in the work too. You’re fit as fuck, mama.”
“Fit for fucking you,” I say, rocking against his hard cock as I tease him. “And, goddamn it, I need it.”
He lets me grind on him for a few more seconds before he flips us again. “Then you get what you need.”
My shorts are gone in a split second, and so are his. As soon as we’re both naked, it’s like someone has unleashed pure decadence.
We’re on each other, and our sole purpose is to feast. My lips skim over his pecs, sucking a nipple into my mouth and scraping it with my teeth. He moves me up, so he can do the same, sucking one into his mouth at a time. Wetness slicks between my legs, and I throw one over his hip to put his cock between my lower lips. As soon as I find friction against the rock-hard shaft, my body ignites.
“Oh, fuck yes. Oh God.”
“You gonna come just from bucking against my cock, mama? Because that’s hot as fucking hell.”
I’m already too far gone to answer him. My orgasm is right there, waiting for me to take it.
I grind harder until the pressure is too much, and I throw my head back and let out a scream. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Fuck, mama. Fuck.” Moses reaches between us and readjusts his cock, and I scream again.
“Hurry. Hurry. Now.”
With one hand gripping my hip, he slams home, filling me full with a single thrust. My body welcomes him, despite being out of practice, and my inner muscles clamp down hard.
“Holy fuck, woman. Goddamn.” Moses sucks in a breath before he pulls back and pounds home again. Stroke after stroke, he unleashes more pleasure than I can handle.
I start coming, and I swear to Christ, I never stop.
Every thrust has me screaming unintelligible sounds, and all I know is that if this is what kills me, I’ll die a happy woman.
I lose track of time, space, earth, and everything else. All that exists is Moses and the insane waves of pleasure swamping me. My head thrashes from side to side, until one of his hands cups my cheek and he plants his mouth on mine.
“Never letting you go. Ever.”
My pussy clamps down so hard, surely it’ll strangle his cock. Moses’s mouth crushes against mine before he throws his head back with a roar I feel to the very marrow of my bones.
My body goes limp, and I let go, allowing the pleasure to drag me under one final time.
He’s even better than my memories, and here in the flesh, it’s bliss.
Fifty
Moses
My heart thunders in my chest, pounding so hard it might explode. My lungs burn like I’ve sprinted for a gold medal, and my lungs heave in breath after breath.
I don’t know what the fuck just happened in this bed, but it goes so far beyond sex, I can’t even explain it. It’s . . . like coming alive after being asleep for most of my life.
Energy buzzes across my skin and through my veins. I feel fucking invincible.
Beside me, Magnolia goes limp, and I pull her against my chest, not wanting any space between us. Her heart hammers in nearly perfect rhythm with mine as she fights to catch her breath.
I press my palm to her chest. “Slow and steady, mama. Slow and steady.”
She doesn’t open her eyes, but she follows my command, slowing her breathing from its frenetic pace.
“You killed me,” she whispers, letting her head loll to the side. “I . . . goddamn . . . what happened?”
A chuckle falls from my lips. “You happened. Jesus Christ. You’re . . . I don’t even know.” I need more oxygen before I can form coherent sentences. “Almost killed me too. But what a way to go.”
She snorts, and my lips twitch at the sound.
“Did you just snort?”
She does it again, and suddenly, we’re both laughing our asses off. That’s when I remember what it feels like to be happy.
We lie on top of the covers for a long time until the sweat on our skin begins to cool and Magnolia shivers.
“Here, I got you.” I tug the blanket out from beneath us and pull it over her body, curling mine around her to share my heat.
“You said something about food earlier, but . . .” She pauses to cover her mouth and yawn. “I’m gonna need a nap after that. Just a few minutes. I’ll be ready in just a few minutes.” And with that, her entire body relaxes, and she drifts off to sleep.
I hold her for two hours, never letting myself doze off, because I want to savor every moment of her in my arms. She’s the piece that’s been missing my whole life.
Fifty-One
Magnolia
It’s dark outside by the time we make it into the kitchen. I sit on a bar stool with a glass of wine in front of me, wearing Moses’s shirt and my shorts, watching as he chops onions, celery, and bell peppers—the holy trinity of Creole food.
“You sure you don’t want help? Because I’m a pretty damn good cook these days. I finally learned.”
He glances at me from ac
ross the island, his expression skeptical, but because he’s a smart man, he doesn’t say a word. I can, however, guess exactly what he’s thinking.
“One time. I burned rice one time on a camp stove when the city was underwater, but I really have learned since then.”
Moses’s smile tells me he was remembering the exact same thing.
“And, yes, I admit, I would’ve probably starved after the hurricane if you hadn’t kept me fed, but really . . . I’m better now.”
Moses pauses with the knife still in hand. “You want to make dinner tomorrow, you go right on ahead. Tonight, I’m cooking for my woman. You deserve it after nearly ending me in bed.”
I snort out a laugh again, something I haven’t done in . . . well, fifteen years. Apparently, it’s something brought on only by Moses.
“All right. Tomorrow then. Dinner’s on me. So, what are you making? Gumbo?” I guess the obvious choice given the ingredients he has assembled.
“Shrimp Creole. My grand-mère’s recipe.”
As soon as he mentions his grandmother, I recall him telling me about her all those years ago. “She raised you?”
He nods, continuing to chop. “Most important woman in my life, God rest her soul.”
“What was she like?”
He glances up at me as I take a sip of the wine. “She would’ve liked you. She would’ve gotten a kick out of your fire. Your determination. She didn’t hold with people who expected everything to be handed to them. Which was apparently why she didn’t care for my ma much. I don’t have anything independent to go off, so I gotta assume Grand-mère was right about her.”
Moses never mentioned either of his parents before, so this revelation feels big. I won’t pry, but I want to understand the man in front of me more than anyone in my life.
“You didn’t know your mom either?” I ask the question quietly and add the last word so he knows he’s not alone.
The rhythm of the knife slows to a stop.
“Sounds like you know about that too?”
I nod. “Complications with my birth. I made it. She didn’t.”
Moses’s entire body seems to soften where he stands. “I hate that for you.”
My shoulders rise and fall. “I struggled with the guilt of it—thinking I’d killed her—for a long time. But . . . I know now it wasn’t my fault. How could it have been? I was a baby. I didn’t ask to be born.”
“Yeah . . . that’s the truth. You sure as hell aren’t to blame.” He goes back to chopping, his gaze focused on the remaining chunk of onion. “My ma wasn’t good people. She got pregnant to trap my dad, or so Grand-mère said. My dad died when she was carrying me. Never lived to see me born either.”
My heart cracks for the pain in his voice. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He gathers the vegetables with his massive hands and tosses them into a pot. “Yeah, well, it turned out for the best, because after I was born, she dropped me on Grand-mère and split. No point in keeping me around since my dad was gone, and that’s what she wanted.”
“Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids, but I’m glad she had you and that you ended up with your grand-mère, because she was who you needed.”
A smile replaces the sorrow gracing his features for a moment. “Likewise, mama. Likewise. And Grand-mère, well, at least she was happy. Most grandparents wouldn’t be thrilled about raising another baby, but Grand-mère saw my dad in me, and she loved him like crazy.”
“You were lucky then.”
His chin dips. “Damn lucky, at least until I was fifteen. She got sick. Cancer. It was nasty. I dropped out of school when she had to quit working, because there wasn’t enough money to pay the bills and get her well. And I wasn’t about to let her fade away and not do a damn thing about it.”
I can hear the sadness in his voice, but also a sense of pride. He did the right thing.
“She was lucky to have you too.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I learned right quick the jobs I could get with no diploma weren’t gonna pay me enough to make a dent in the money we needed.”
I know all too well where the story is headed, but I say nothing, just waiting to hear Moses tell it.
“I got involved with other things that could make the money we needed, and goddamn, did I piss her off. She told me sacrificing my future wasn’t worth it, but there was nothing I wouldn’t have done to save her.”
I fold a leg underneath myself. Regardless of how deep this conversation is, it’s also easy in a surprising way. “I’m willing to guess she understood the choices you made, even if she wished you would’ve made other ones.”
“Maybe. But realizing I had a talent for stealing other people’s shit and selling it for a solid profit wasn’t exactly the work of God she always hoped I’d do.”
He gathers other ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator, and I could literally watch him move around a kitchen forever. The food already smells divine, and watching him cook is one of the sexiest, most satisfying sights I’ve ever seen.
“You were a kid, trapped in circumstances beyond your control. What you did was out of necessity.”
“I know. But that’s where necessity ended. Because when she died . . . I went crazy. Hated the world. Hated myself. Hated God. How could he take such a good woman and end her life so soon?”
He stirs the vegetables, turns the burner down a bit before adding stock and more spices, and then continues.
“I didn’t give a fuck about my soul after that. I got deep into shit, decided I was gonna be a kingpin, and climbed my way to the top of the toughest crew in Biloxi. I had no fucking limits. There was nothing I wouldn’t do. Rage dictated my every move. I wanted everyone to hurt the way I did. I didn’t care about anyone or anything.”
Moses’s throat works as he swallows, and I stay silent. He needs to get this out. He finally looks up and makes eye contact again. This time, his green eyes are glowing.
“I did some fucked-up shit, Mags. Real fucked up. And then . . . I met you. And that’s when shit changed.” He snaps his fingers. “In the blink of an eye, I knew I couldn’t keep doing what I was. If I would’ve kept running that crew, I’d have been dead by thirty—if I even made it that long. So I couldn’t go back to Biloxi after Katrina. It would’ve been the end of me. Everything shifted for me after you.”
This time, I swallow a lump in my throat, because I had no idea meeting me was a turning point in his life. I thought it had been just me who’d changed. “You wanted to live? That’s why you didn’t want to go back?”
He shakes his head slowly and takes a swig of beer from his neglected bottle of Abita. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go back, it was that I couldn’t. Sometimes you just know, to the marrow of your bones, when something is gonna kill you sooner rather than later.”
“I get that.” I bite at the corner of my mouth, debating whether I should say what I’m thinking.
Moses notices. “What?”
What’s the worst that could happen? I think, then open up to him.
“I get it, is all. If I hadn’t inherited that house, I was sure I’d end up back out on the streets. Eventually, I would’ve been just another dead hooker someone found in an alley. That house saved me.”
Moses locks eyes with me. “That’s why I didn’t beg you to leave with me. I couldn’t expect you to take a chance on me and give up everything you knew. Not then. Not when I had no idea where my path was going to take me. Not when there was a good chance you or me or both of us could end up dead.”
We’re both quiet for a few moments, and he opens a can of tomatoes to add to his delicious-smelling pan.
“I’m glad you didn’t push for me to go with you. Even though I wanted to stay with you bad, I knew I needed to be where I was.” A bead of condensation rolls down my glass of chilled white wine. “You know I never fucked another regular john after you left?”
He freezes and stares at me like a deer in headlights. “What do you mean by that?”
“I couldn’t do it. So I became someone else—a legendary madam who everyone would want and almost no one would get to have. I don’t know if I would’ve done it if I hadn’t met you. I might’ve just kept on the way I was. But I couldn’t. I made myself exclusive and expensive, and from that day forward, I never fucked anyone for money who I wouldn’t have fucked for free.”
Most men wouldn’t smile when their woman, a former sex worker, told them something like that, but Moses’s face lights up like a Mardi Gras float.
“I’m glad you finally realized your value, mama. I could see it back then, but I didn’t think you did.”
I take another sip of the wine and feel it flushing my cheeks. It has to be the wine because I don’t blush. Right?
Staring at my glass, I say, “It all worked out the way it was supposed to, I guess. I was no saint, so don’t go thinking that. But . . . I found a way to get what I wanted from that life without it eating me alive. Well, until now. I wouldn’t call the past few days ideal . . . except for spending them with this cocky motherfucker who likes curling my toes.”
His grin widens, and his teeth show when he laughs out loud. “You deserved the best.” He quiets for a beat, and then adds, “I only hate that I wasn’t here for you the whole time. To give you everything you needed.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t want you to give it to me. I needed to earn it myself. And I did. I made my own choices. Had control over my life. Found power in myself I never would have if you’d been around to do all the heavy lifting.”
His brows rise as he pours dry rice into boiling water. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? A former gangster-thief and a madam, who both made a life worth living despite the odds stacked against us.”
I lift my wineglass and salute him. “I’ll drink to that.”