The fabric had felt pleasant when she had held it in her hands the first time she pulled it out of the box. The moment it was on her body it felt positively...sinful.
Each drape and billow of the silken fabric slid along her skin, tantalizing her with a subtle form of foreplay. The skirt slithered around her legs, gliding over her thighs and slipping deep in between them with each step. The fabric whispered across the back of her legs, sending teasing shivers through her body. The hem tickled the crooks of her knees like playful kisses, each one sending a jolt of pleasure to her center.
Even her arms weren’t free from the sensuous assault. Goosebumps ran down them as each subtle shift of her body caused the sleeves to flutter like fingertips tickling across her upper arms and shoulders.
The bodice held her in a firm embrace, clinging to her small waist, the fabric giving ever so slightly to cup her breasts, as if presenting them to the world in all their glory.
Simply walking to the full length mirror that Stacey had hung on the back of the door caused Bonita to sigh with pleasure.
How in the world could any woman wear this thing in public?
She gasped when she saw herself. It was beautiful, stunning really.
Her original yellow dress had been purchased because it complimented her curves. This dress molded her figure, becoming one with her body. The physical experience it provided was nothing compared to the visual presentation. She stared in awe at the way the fabric draped over her shoulders making them seem more demure and feminine than they really were. The sleeves fluttered out like petals on a flower.
The neckline draped just enough to entice the eye, offering a tiny nibble of delight, a glimpse of round flesh, yet not giving away the entire meal. The dress made up for it elsewhere, the way the fabric rounded and clung to each breast, letting the viewer know exactly what a treat they were in for, should they be so lucky.
Her eyes continued down, noting the way the dress curved inward along her waist, making sure no part of her body was left untouched. Then it rounded her hips like a waterfall, flowing down to end at her calves.
Bonita saw her body through River’s gaze. The dress was perfect, too perfect. She imagined his eyes crawling over each and every part of her body: her breasts, waist, hips, butt, even legs and arms, cementing them all to memory. She pictured him recalling every inch of her, not just to buy this dress, but whenever the mood struck him. Did he use that mental image of her body for other purposes?
She wanted to be offended, disgusted even. But she wasn’t. Maybe it was the fabric toying with her senses. Maybe it was because, despite how wrong River was in every way, she thought about his body as well.
If she was being honest, she had also cemented a few of his attributes to memory: the way he flexed his muscles when he’d brought those books to the counter the first day she met him; the way he towered over her, staring down into her eyes with those intense green eyes of his; and yes, the basest part of her thrilled at watching him throw a punch, especially at a boy who no doubt deserved it.
She instantly perked up as she heard the key go into the lock. She hadn’t even meant to put on the dress in the first place. Now there was no time to take it off before her roommate stepped into the room.
Stacey paused in the process of closing the door behind her. Bonita couldn’t stop her face from getting warm with embarrassment, which did nothing to erase the guilty expression she no-doubt wore.
A sly grin crept to Stacey’s face as she took in the yellow dress. Then her mouth twisted with a penetrating stare as she inspected Bonita’s face. At that point, the grin grew wider.
“Well, the dress certainly suits you,” she said, finally closing the door.
She walked nonchalantly over to her bed while Bonita stared after her waiting for her to finally come out with it.
“Next time you might want to put the scarf on the door,” Stacey said plopping her tote bag on her bed. She gave a soft chuckle which only made Bonita’s face get even warmer.
Now Bonita was beyond embarrassed, she was angry. For some irrational reason, all of it was directed at River Wright.
The dress definitely had to go.
14
“I want to thank you for the dress you sent me, but I just can’t accept it.”
Bonita must have seen the initial confused look on his face and quickly continued on.
“I mean, it’s—it’s…” she paused and her eyes darted away from him, “it’s just too much. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to…”
She waited, obviously hoping for him to pick up where she trailed off. River was more than happy to let it linger. Especially with that wonderfully intoxicating scent that invaded his senses as her body went up a few degrees from her obvious discomfort.
“I mean I—again I do want to thank you—but my original dress was…and this one is just…. I mean it was very generous of you—perhaps too generous.” Now she was stammering, her face taking on a delightful shade that for some odd reason made River want to taste her. Then her face took on a look of determination and she brought her eyes back to him. “It’s just too much. I’d like to give it back to you.”
River stared down at her with a smirk he couldn’t help. Something about Bonita made him fall face-first into “cocky” mode, which wasn’t his usual style. For the most part, he played it cool with the rest of the world, honestly not giving a damn. With Bonita, he had a purely animal urge to impress, puffing his chest out like a damn peacock.
“Well, it really isn’t my style, Beautiful—I’m sorry, Pretty,” he said, his grin getting wider as he leaned in closer.
The prim and proper Bonita was gone, replaced by the one who was apparently tired of his bullshit.
“Don’t be an ass,” she said, her forehead wrinkling with annoyance.
“What would you prefer I be? Cowboy? Cop? I can even play a—”
“Stop it!” she hissed, her face now full of irritation.
River was loving it. French Literature had just ended on Wednesday and she had taken the opportunity to boldly confront him while the rest of the students headed out.
Apparently, she had received his little gift. Now he wondered why she was bothering to give it back to him.
“Did you not like the dress?” he asked.
“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t,” she responded almost too quickly.
River frowned, wondering if he’d messed up on sizing. He was certain a size 10 would be perfect. Growing up under the same roof as his father’s fourth wife who was a shopoholic extraordinaire, he’d learned more than he ever wanted to know about designers, dresses, and sizing. With curves similar to Bonita’s, even if they were surgically enhanced, she favored Veronica Ortale. He did a quick, and very enjoyable scan of Bonita’s body as she stood before him. How in the world had he screwed up on that?
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. River used the opportunity to relish being this close to her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to smell. Close enough to—
“I mean, it’s—it’s lovely, but it’s just too much.” She said, her eyes flying open, breaking River away from his sordid thoughts.
She squinted suspiciously, as though knowing exactly where his mind had gone, then she shook it off. “I want you to come and get it.”
He couldn’t help himself, the double entendre popping into his head as soon as the words left her lips. “If you insist,” he said his smirk returning.
Again, her face darkened into that lovely shade he loved so much, so he pushed even further.
“Of course, you don’t need a pretense to get me back to your dorm room, Pretty.”
She frowned up at him.
“Fine, have it your way,” she sighed and shook her head walking away without saying another word.
River had no idea what that meant, but he’d obviously pushed too hard. All the same, having those few minutes right next to her, River considered the dress money well spent.
Bonita had pres
sed Marianne for River’s address, thus subjecting herself to no end of suggestive comments and hints about her intentions.
She was surprised when she saw the building he lived in. Being the son of Richard Wright, the “Real Estate Emperor of New York,” she would have thought he’d be living in some modern high rise or renovated pre-war located in prime real estate territory.
Instead, River lived in a small, modest building with probably less than 40 units total. There wasn’t even a doorman, just an intercom unit to buzz people up. She pressed the button next to his last name.
“River? It’s Bonita. I’ve brought the dress with me. Can you please come down and get it?”
She was fully prepared for him to either ignore her or subject her to another verbal spar filled with innuendoes. Instead, his voice came through the intercom.
“Can’t come down. Come up, I’m in 2A,” he said, letting go of the intercom button, giving her time to object. Then, she heard the buzz of the door as it was unlocked.
She stared at it in surprise. She certainly hadn’t counted on this. She frowned down at the box in her hands. It had been a big enough pain in the butt carrying it across campus and the one block to his place. She didn’t want to have to carry it all the way back, and besides, she’d come here to return it. What could it hurt to simply go to his front door and drop it off right into his hands? She didn’t even have to walk past the threshold.
“Bonita?” he queried over the intercom.
She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Okay.”
He buzzed her in again and she opened the door and headed up to 2A.
River was waiting there, leaning in the frame of his open door, smirking at her with his arms crossed. Why did he have to look so good in a t-shirt and jeans?
“You didn’t need a pretense to come to my apartment,” he teased.
This time she wasn’t having any of it. She simply held the box out to him wordlessly.
He tried heading her off. “Come inside,” he offered.
“I’ll stay right out here, thank you,” she said, still holding the box out to him.
Instead of taking it he reached up to hook his fingers over the top edge of the doorframe, taking on a stance of supposed casualness as he arched his body ever so slightly toward her. Her eyes instantly flicked to the edge of his t-shirt where it rose up, offering a good 2-3 inches of hardened stomach above the low slouch of his jeans. Before she could stop herself, they followed that very defined V. Fine black hairs became increasingly more dense the lower her eyes wandered, leading a path to….
She instantly brought them back up to his face where his grin had deepened, knowing exactly what she had been ogling.
Bonita recovered quickly enough, slamming the box into his chest so hard that his grip on the door frame slipped. A small glimmer of satisfaction ran through her. It quickly abated as she realized he wasn’t about to grab the box out of her hands.
Instead, the force of her pressure met the resistance of his unyielding body. He grinned down at her as she made a futile attempt to push it into him in the hopes that he would take it off her hands.
The next moment, Bonita felt her center of gravity fall as he purposely took two steps back. She fell into him as his resistance disappeared. River easily caught her in his arms and held her there. The only thing separating her from being pressed against his hard chest, abs, and…whatever was below the waist of his jeans, was the box holding the dress.
“What’s the matter with you?” she protested, pushing away from him with a frustrated grunt. “Listen, I don’t know what you think might be going on here, but I’m not interested.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Why not?” she repeated. “Well, for starters you get into fights.”
“The fight?” he asked with amused incredulity. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”
Bonita frowned at him.
River let out a quick laugh. “You know what? I’m not even going to explain that one for you. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. Go ask Marianne what that fight was about. It may just change your opinion about me.”
“Okay then what about the knife you brought to school?”
River gave her a confused look, then his expression changed as he realized how far back she was reaching. A dark cloud fell over his face.
“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” he said, his voice like granite. “The bad boy son of the notorious Richard Wright. I’m sure you even heard the stories about what I looked like back then and just jumped to conclusions, right?”
She shied away from him, sensing the pent up resentment boiling underneath the surface. His face softened a bit in response.
“So why did you have a knife?” she asked quietly.
“It wasn’t a knife,” he said, then his jaw hardened. “What happened back then is my business, no one else’s.”
Bonita had a hard time picturing the River she had known so far as something dangerous. A bit of a flirt, sure, but not someone she should be afraid of. Now, she wasn’t so certain. There was obviously a lot more to this, but River had already shut her out.
He quickly took the box from her. “I’m sorry you didn’t like the dress.”
She blinked in surprise as the box was plucked from her hands. Then she stared at him for a few moments as though waiting for more.
But River had nothing more to give her. He took the box and walked away. She stared at his back a few moments longer, then turned to leave, closing the door behind her.
What in the world had just happened?
River didn’t see her leave, but he heard the door close softly as he laid the box down on the couch in his apartment.
He fell down next to it, his body releasing the built up tension. He turned his head to look at the box. This wasn’t at all how he had anticipated the interaction would go. Obviously, he hadn’t expected her to drop her panties and hop into bed with him when he buzzed her up. But he did think maybe there would be a bit more flirting back and forth, tearing down those walls she put up between them.
Then she had brought up what happened at Gascony, which had brought up memories and emotions that had taken him a long time to overcome. Now they were rushing back at him with an intensity that startled him. He took a moment to breathe, letting the past erode with each exhale.
Once he recovered he turned to the box next to him.
So Bonita didn’t like the dress. Had she even opened the thing? He reached over and untied the bow to the box, lifting the lid off and setting it aside.
The question was answered as soon as he opened it. She’d done a fair job of putting it back, but the crumpled tissue paper told him the dress had at least been removed. He bent over to take a closer look.
He smelled her all over it. Hints of peaches and cocoa butter, with a heavy undertone of something more…primal. It instantly caused his dick to twitch.
River buried his face in the silky fabric. It felt soft against his cheeks and nose, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it would feel like to be buried between Bonita’s satiny thighs.
He pictured her standing in front of him wearing the dress, the silken folds gliding over her legs, draping over her breasts, hugging each and every luscious curve.
Then he imagined her taking it off.
As Bonita slipped the fluttering arms down her smooth shoulders, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.
As the yellow fabric slid down her torso, revealing her full, round breasts, the large round head of his cock emerged from his shorts.
As the dress fell to the floor in a puddle of silk, his hand slid over the dribble of pre cum, using it to help fully harden the length that was already stiff in his hands.
River groaned and pulled his face away, reaching out to grab the handy bottle of lotion on the side table. As he coated the length of his cock, warming it up with his strokes, he pictured her.
“Yes,” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.
&nb
sp; Her eyes looked up at him over the top of her glasses as she slid her mouth down to take him in completely.
So fucking sexy.
River let the imagery continue its natural progression until he could take no more and he erupted with a long, loud groan. His head fell back with release. As his breathing steadied, he brought his head forward again and stared hard at the wall across from him.
He had to make Bonita his.
15
“Mom! Dad!” Bonita ran over to hug her parents as soon as she recognized them in the crowd of people emerging into Penn Station. They had ridden the train into New York for a quick Saturday visit.
“Hello pumpkin,” Reverend Maurice Jackson said grabbing her in a bear hug. He lifted her up, making her squeal in protest. She always made a show of being treated like an adult, so she would never let on that she loved these shows of affection of his.
When he finally set her down, she turned to hug her mother and was enveloped in Juanita’s arms. The familiar smell of honeysuckle mixed with something Bonita always thought of as “home” surrounded her. Bonita closed her eyes and absorbed it.
Juanita Jackson had that look that made people wonder exactly what she was. Her eyes were brown, somewhat tilted at the edges giving them a slightly Asian hint. Her nose was long and straight, slightly more-so than her daughter’s. Her lips were full, just like Bonita’s. It was the hair that did it. Being half-black and half-Chicana it fell halfway down her back in silky curls, though she usually had it wrapped tightly in a conservative bun.
Bonita had similar coloring, being only one or two shades darker than Juanita’s heavily tan skin tone. She also had the same high cheekbones. Her hair was thicker and her curls tighter. She definitely had inherited her curves from her mother, who was still impressively voluptuous in all the right places.
Her eyes she had inherited from her dad, large and deep brown. He was tall and had the dark coloring of molasses. He was still fit, though his dark hair seemed to be leaning more toward salt and pepper these days.
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