by Layne Harper
After cleaning up, Grandmother extracts the diamonds from her bag. The flecks of purple paint which remain on her paper-thin, loose skin contrasts next to the shiny, brilliant rocks. Her hands tell the story of an aging, fabulous woman who would do anything for her granddaughter—even manual labor. “All right, kids, let’s go have a night cap at Eddy’s.”
I follow my family and friends out of the store after finishing the spot by the front door, feeling so blessed to be surrounded by such a fantastic group of people. As we walk down the sidewalk to our favorite neighborhood watering hole, I let them get ahead so I can take a moment to appreciate how fortunate I am. They’ve had my back through the good times and bad. They’ve loved me when I’ve been unlovable. I don’t know Roseanna well and she doesn’t know me, but she showed up and she helped her boyfriend’s friend in need.
As we pass by the dry cleaners, I yell to my gang, “I love you people.”
Bella turns over her shoulder and replies, “We must love you too because I’m covered in paint and my back is aching, and I haven’t thought about murdering you once.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aaron
September
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Check out the floors #NoPinkCaddy. More work to do, but I’m seeing hearts. Love them so much.
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
We’re so close to being ready for you to visit. Join me at the grand opening. Enter here. #BurntSugar
“Hi.” She yawns as she leans against the doorjamb dressed in short lavender silk shorts and a matching sleeveless top. Her nipples tent the material in the cool, breezy September morning. The glow from the sun just greeting the day highlights the peaks, casting them in a darker shade of purple. Her hair is a mess around her face. Sleepy eyes tell me that I woke her.
“Hi,” I reply standing on the next to the top step. “It’s early. Like six in the morning, I think.”
“Yeah.” She grins. “But this is when you’re going to bed.”
I don’t want to stand out here and make small talk. My lips tingle with the desire to brush them over the curve of her chin. Before I can reason if it’s a wise idea to maul her, I drop my bag and guitar case on the front porch, closing the gap between us, kicking the door closed behind me. I scoop her in my arms as her hands clinch my biceps. She yelps in surprise, but then snuggles into my chest as I carry her through her empty living room and into her bedroom.
Placing her gently on the bed as if she were an infant, I strip off my rough denim jeans and pull my shirt over my head. I leave my underwear on only because I think if I get completely naked there will be no stopping my dick from finding where he longs to be, and there’s also the weirdness about modesty when I was last here.
I watch her face carefully to see if she’s going to reprimand me for being too forward. I’d told her that we didn’t have to make love. I think I even said I’d be okay with watching a Disney cartoon. That’s all entirely true, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t have hope.
To my relief, she just looks dreamy. Sliding under the covers, I pull her to my chest. The silk material over her nipples, brushing against my pecs causes an involuntary moan to escape my throat.
My lips kiss her hair, forehead, ear, cheek, neck, and the beautiful little dip of her shoulder right before I reach her collarbone. She’s pliable in my hands—relaxed as if she recognizes that her proper place is in my arms. I push my luck, slipping one of the straps from her shoulder revealing the swell of her breast. Creamy olive skin, just a shade lighter than her chest, greets me as a beam of sunshine slips through the partially-open shutters. The throb in my cock is painful.
Ignoring it, I take my time kissing the skin touched by the summer sun and just the line that hasn’t seen its rays. I don’t move past that barrier afraid she’s going to stop me or give me another one hundred reasons why we’ll never last. My heart can’t take being shot down, at least not right now. Intimacy is what I crave.
I beg her to respond. I need her to give me a little sound or action that lets me know that it’s okay to keep going. I want her. I want to make love to her more than anything else in the world, but when I told her that I needed her to make love back, I was serious. I’ll wait forever for her to be ready, but God, I hope it doesn’t take that long.
Leaning on my forearm, I use my other hand to brush her tangled brown hair from her eyes. They’re shut, and she looks happy and peaceful. “Good morning, Miss Landry. Did you have sweet dreams?”
Her smile is so enticing that I fight to keep from kissing her lips. “I dreamt of a rock star. He showed up on my front porch, swept me off my feet, placed me in bed, and has made me feel like the most cherished girl in the world.”
Those words . . . Well, they touch me right in my heart. “Not a dream, sweetheart. Your rock star did all of those things to make sure you knew that you are indeed the most cherished girl in the world.”
MK’s hand strokes over her name, tattooed on my chest, leaving a trail of fire where she touches. “I love this,” she says. “I feel like no other girl can love you because you’ve chosen my name on your heart.”
“That’s my girl. You’re finally getting it. I’m yours and only yours.”
She wraps her arms around my neck pulling me on top of her. My mouth slams against hers completely unable to resist her full lips any longer. Our tongues begin a sensual, erotic dance. This is what I’ve written songs about. This feeling has caused wars between countries and taken lives. I now understand. Those lips are mine and will never touch anyone else’s.
Her nails rake down my back as my tongue laps over the pulse point on her neck. Then I almost lose my shit when she arches up pressing her pussy against my cock.
“Fuck,” I groan using every bit of will power that I possess to keep from ripping her silk shorts off and having my way with her.
She takes my face between her palms. “Look at me,” she orders.
My eyes travel from the top of the headboard to her gorgeous smile.
“If we do this, Aaron, tell me I’m yours. You have to promise me that there will never be anyone else but me.”
“Sweetheart, there’s only you.”
Her grip on my cheeks tightens. “I mean it, Aaron. Be man enough to get out of my bed and walk out my door if you aren’t in this with everything you’ve got.”
I pull back, sitting on her thighs, as I stare down into the only eyes I’ve ever let see my soul. “Mary Kay Landry, I’m yours. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. You kick me out. I move to the couch. You change the locks. I sleep on the porch. All I want in the world is to be yours like you’re already mine.”
There’s a hesitation to her smile and hardness in her eyes. “You doubt me?”
“It’s not a doubt.” Her tongue swipes over her teeth. “It’s that I want so much to believe you. I think right now, you’re absolutely telling me what’s in your heart, but I want to make sure that you will still feel that way once I’ve given myself to you.”
Frustration wrinkles my forehead. Once again, this is our dance . . . two steps forward and one step back. I make sure my voice stays level. “I can’t look into the future and tell you what lies ahead. My magic eight ball is broken. Love is a leap of faith.” I shrug. “I’m jumping in with both feet, and you must do that also.”
She scoots out from under me and leans against headboard. I flop across the foot of the bed preparing to hear more concerns and reasons why we shouldn’t be in a relationship. Instead, she surprises me. “I got read by a fortune teller.”
Looking up, I ponder where this conversation is going. She’d mentioned something about seeing a fortune teller in a past conversation, but she didn’t elaborate.
“It was for the opening credits of Burnt Sugar. We were just filming stuff that’s New Orleans. We went to Jackson Square, and Cindy thought it would be good TV to have images of me getting read by a psychic. Like here I am, MK who’s lost in the world, so I seek out supern
atural guidance.”
I roll on my side and use my arm to brace my head. I’m completely intrigued where she’s going with this. “Did you learn anything interesting?”
“First, do you believe that people can see into the future and stuff like that?” The way her head turns tells me that this conversation is very important to her.
Instead of giving her a flippant answer, I think about what I do believe. “The human mind is more complex than we can decode. I’m willing to believe that there are people who can connect with souls that have died, and that people, especially moms, can have premonitions about things about to happen. Do I believe that someone can tell me what I’m going to be doing a week from Tuesday? No, I think that’s dumb. But I believe souls are energy and that they’re not necessarily tied to our human form and sometimes people can tap into that energy.”
She swallows. “To be honest, I’ve never given it much thought. My mom said to stay away from the occult and the church backs her up so I have. I was leery of the reading.”
Nodding, I get that. I don’t think I’d want to meet someone who could potentially tell me things I didn’t want to hear from my dead father.
“Anyway, she got all weird, and then said that someone who I thought was dead has re-entered my life. Then, she freaking described you.” Her voice speeds up as she tells me the story. Her eyes are wide, and she’s wringing her hands. “She said that our souls are together. She may have used the word destined. I don’t quite remember.” Her tongue swipes over her bottom lip. “I got scared and accused her of recognizing me and even said that Cindy had paid her to tell me that stuff.”
“Okay.” I nod. “That seems likely. It makes better TV if she reads you accurately.”
Her head moves back and forth. “Here’s the weird part, as if that wasn’t odd enough. She made a comment about my grandfather. He died way before I was born. Everyone always comments how alike Grandmother and I are. The psychic said that Grandfather told her to tell me to quit being difficult like Grandmother. My mom said that he’d always tell Grandmother that she was being difficult. Like both Mom and the fortune teller used the same word.”
She shudders. “I got out of there. I ended that nonsense because it was so freaky.”
“Do you believe that our souls are together?” If this fraud is helping convince MK to take me back, I’ll be happy to pay her also.
“You texted me at the exact second I ended the reading. You had a dream about our souls tangoing.”
I crawl to MK and rest my head in her lap, tired of fighting the overwhelming need to touch her. Immediately, her fingers go into my hair. “That was such a real dream. It was like I knew you were in New Orleans, and I knew I was asleep in a hotel, but our souls met in dreams so we’d never really be apart.”
“That’s beautiful.” She smiles. “I’m going to believe that’s true. No matter where your career takes you across the globe and even if I’m never able to join you, our souls will stay together.”
Her eyes get the dreamy glow that I’ve come to associate as my MK feeling loved. Her pointer finger starts at my Adam’s apple and makes its way to my heart. She traces her name. “Aaron Emerson, make love to me.”
I keep my composure on the outside, but on the inside, I melt into a little pile of sentimental goo. Scooting off the bed, I tell her, “Sweetheart, lay back and let me love you.” A knot builds in my throat, and I’m surprised that I can get the words out around it.
She complies with a beautiful, sweet smile.
“Hold on.” She looks perplexed so I explain, “I left my stuff outside. There’s something I need.”
If I could fly, I would. I fling the door open with such force that I check to make sure the doorknob didn’t dent the wall. My tab with MK seems to be growing. I don’t need sheetrock repair on my list. Grabbing my things, I drop my bag in the living room and rest my case on her kitchen island. After unsnapping the locks, I remove my guitar and walk back in the bedroom.
She sits up.
“I wrote this song when I was here Monday night. It’s still rough, and I’m working on it, but I want you to hear it.” I sit down on the edge of the bed at her feet and place the guitar in my lap.
“Really?” She laughs. “I just told you I want to make love to you and you want to play me a song?” This might be the number one thing I love about her. She’s always this southern belle, such a lady, but then she gets demanding and I feel like I get this side of MK that is only mine. It’s the one she keeps locked inside her carriage house.
“It’s worth it.” I sit with my legs crossed in front of her while resting the guitar on my lap. I begin strumming the opening notes to the song. “You see, I didn’t have a name for this when I wrote it, but after talking to you Thursday night, I realized you knew the name without hearing it. I give you your song, Burnt Sugar. But this is really me giving myself to you.”
The lyrics are sweet. They’re about me thinking that I wanted a single life, living like a lone wolf, and then long brown hair and chocolate eyes stole my heart, teaching me that what I thought my life would be like was completely wrong. The music I composed over the words is my nod to the city she adores. I’ve written a part for the sax and I even asked Sam what she thought of adding a bit of a Zydeco flair. Of course, that doesn’t translate well to me just playing and singing along to my guitar, but it’s not important now. I want her to hear what she means to me. My music says what it’s difficult for me to express sometimes.
Her eyes become glassy as she leans forward with a smile the size of Texas. “It’s perfect. Have you thought about adding a bit of NOLA to it?”
“Yeah.” I nod and regale her with my ideas.
She suggests speeding up the tempo so it’s more upbeat. “I think that might be theme music for Burnt Sugar. Are you willing to share?”
Am I willing? It never occurred to me that she’d need music for her show. “Fuck yeah. You think I’d let someone else write anything for you?”
She leans forward and takes the guitar from my lap resting it next to her. Her eyes are hooded as her tongue swipes over her bottom lip. “Play my body like you play your guitar.”
Best. Invitation. Ever.
My initial thought is to dive on top of her and be inside in like fifteen seconds flat. I could go ahead and blow my load then spend the next forty-eight hours ravishing her body.
Deciding against that plan, I scoot to the end of the bed and begin sucking each of her pink polished toes into my mouth as I massage the arch of her right foot. Her pleasure moans tell me that I’m doing a badass job.
After moving to her left foot, I kiss my way over the bump of her ankle and I notice a tiny freckle next to her rounded tendon. It’s so cute that I run my tongue over it and give it a long suck.
When I start traveling upward, she taps the back of my head. I look up and see that she has a scowl on her face. “What’s wrong?”
She says with a sheepish grin, “You see, I forgot to shave before you arrived.”
“And?” I ask her. No clue where she’s going with this train of thought.
“Well . . . I have dark hair, and it grows fast. The prickles may cut your lips and tongue, and that would be kind of awful. You’d be singing on stage and everyone would wonder why . . .”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up, MK. Lie back and let me love your gorgeous body. Do you think I give a fuck if you have stubble on your legs?”
She crosses her arms and flops back down on the mattress. Only she can find a way to be difficult during this time.
“Would you rather that I just went straight to eating your pussy? I mean I’m trying to have some foreplay here.”
Her hand slams against the mattress. “You don’t have to be crude. I was being polite by giving you a warning. You’re a grown ass man. You do what you wish. But you can’t say that I didn’t warn you.” Her Cajun accent is thick. I picture her threatening me with a frying pan.
“What I wish is to slam my dick inside o
f you and make you fucking forget all the dumb shit that passes through your brain while I’m trying to take you to the place of Bliss you’ve told me about.”
She wiggles her hips and places her hands on her stomach. “Okay. I’m ready to find Bliss,” she replies in a cutesy voice.
Standing up, I run my hand through my matted hair. “See, now you’ve confused me. Should I start back where I was before I was rudely interrupted by your inner thoughts, or should I start with where I was headed?”
She kneels on the edge of the bed placing her boobs tantalizing close to my lips. Her lips touch mine and all my confusion and frustration fades away. “I want you to show me how much you’ve missed me.”
Looking up into her large eyes, I give her my cocky smile as I grab my dick through my underwear. “It’s evident right here, sweetheart.”
Playfully, she hits my left arm. Then she makes things much easier by removing her silk top and shoving a nipple in my mouth. Thank God, this woman was made for me.
“You taste like the sweetest treat,” I tell her as I move to the other breast. She’s a fine delicacy. She’s dessert with whipped cream.
Her hands give my hair a tug when I bite her nipple. The touch of pain mixes with the extreme pleasure of feeling her body pressed against mine. It’s hedonism at its finest.
Each breast fills up a hand. They’re perfect—not too big and not too small. I hold them as if they’re the most precious treasure ever. “I love your tits. They’re perfection just like you.”
Nails drag down my spine. With a groan, my head falls back and her breast pops out of my mouth. Her lips covers mine as if she’s trying to absorb my sounds of pleasure. Our tongues tango just like our souls did in my dream, and I wrap my arms so tightly around her that she’s sure to know just how much I need her.
Placing her on the bed, I pull the silk shorts down her legs and toss them over my shoulder. “No panties? Were you planning on seducing me?”
“I might have hoped that we would reach this place.” Her look is mischievous, and I adore it.