Jessica Watkins Presents
FOREVER
by TIFFANY PATTERSON
Copyright © 2016 by Tiffany Patterson
Published by Jessica Watkins Presents
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
Landon
“Keep it up! You can do it. It’s our last set. Finish strong!” I hear the annoying instructor on the workout DVD yell out as I come down the stairs to see the love of my life panting while she lifts each knee in quick succession to keep up. I tilt my head and bite my bottom lip, staring at her round ass through the light pink workout shorts she’s wearing. From the profile, I see her ass and tits jiggling as she begins her end of workout cool down. I adjust myself through my sweatpants and I move fully into the living room.
“You know I can help you work out if you need me.”
She’s startled when I come up behind her. “Landon, I didn’t know you were awake,” Melody answers breathlessly.
Her hard breathing reminds me of the night before when I had her panting for me to give her a break. “I mean, if you didn’t get enough of a workout last night.” I lean down and bite her earlobe, knowing she loves that shit. I smile when I feel her shiver in my arms.
“Babe, I need to finish stretching. I’ll be sore later on if I don’t.” She tries to squirm out of my grasp.
“Let me help you stretch.” I turn her to face me and I get lost in those large brown pools. I reach down and grip her full ass with both hands. Luckily for me, I have large hands because my woman’s ass is two handfuls worth of delectable firmness. I’ve always liked different types of women. It never mattered to me. If I found them attractive, I made my move. When I saw my brown skinned, curvy goddess by that pool in Puerto Rico, I knew she’d wind up in my bed. Little did I know she’d steal my heart in the process. Now, nearly nine months later, not only is she in my bed every night, but she is sporting a huge-ass rock on her ring finger letting the world know she is taken.
“I can stretch on my own, thank you very much.”
I finally loosen my grip and let her step out of my hold. I decide to watch as she bends over, loosening up the muscles she’s worked out. The stirrings in my pants begin again. “Why are you working out so much now anyway?” I ask. She started this kick about two weeks ago, around the same time I proposed.
She picks up the remote and presses the power button to turn off the huge flat screen TV mounted on the wall. She turns, placing a hand on her hip and gives me a questionable look, as if asking, ‘Are you serious?’
“What?”
“You can’t possibly be asking me why I’m working out so much. Hello?” she says, holding up her hand with her engagement ring on it. “We’re getting married soon. I have to look good in whatever dress I end up choosing and the pictures. I’m marrying Landon freaking Rogers, football god. I don’t even want to think about how many people will end up seeing our wedding pictures.” She walks over to our sub-zero refrigerator, opening it and taking out a pitcher of lemon water, pouring both of us a glass.
I gratefully take the glass of water and drink it down in one gulp.
“So, you’re working out because we’re getting married?” I ask after placing the glass in the sink.
“Well, yeah, I want to look good for you on our day.”
That response knocks me right in the gut. This woman can’t possibly see herself the way I see her. Even now, sweaty, in a pair of pink workout shorts, a black workout top, and barefoot, she’s the most beautiful image I’ve ever seen. Yeah, I know. I’m pretty far gone over this woman. Oh well…
“The only way you wouldn’t look good on our day is if you weren’t to show up, and I’m not about to let that shit happen. As far as I’m concerned, you’re already my wife,” I say as I make my way over to the kitchen sink closer to her. I pluck the now empty glass from her hand and place it on the counter. I capture her lips in a possessive kiss, laying claim to her. All of her. I then pull back. “I’m marrying you for you. Not because you fit into a certain size wedding dress or because you look good on my arm, which you do by the way. We’re getting married because you are the love of my life and I’m yours. Everything else is bullshit as far as I’m concerned.”
I have no idea where these words come from, but with her, it’s just easy to express what I’m feeling. I never want her to doubt me or what we have. I can tell I’ve said the right thing because she smiles and lowers her head, stepping into my embrace.
“I love you,” she mutters, squeezing me around the waist.
I move my arms around her sides, under her shirt and cup her breasts through the restrictive sports bra she’s wearing. I frown. I hate these damn things. I much prefer her in one of the lacy bras I’ve purchased for her in the last eight months, or better yet, no bra at all. That will be the situation soon enough, I think to myself as I lean down and lick the side of her neck. I taste the salty sweat from her workout. When she moans my cock jumps in my pants, demanding a release soon.
“Landon, we can’t. You’re going to make me late for work again,” she purrs.
If she thinks she’s going anywhere while this raging hard-on still exists, my sweet fiancée is sadly mistaken. “So quit. You don’t need to work anyway,” I taunt as I push her out of the kitchen.
“I’m not quitting. I need to shower.”
“That’s exactly where we’re going. “
When we make it up to our bathroom, I turn on the shower and adjust the water temperature. I turn to my love and pull her shirt over her head and toss it into the laundry basket in the corner. I move to her shorts and push them down her hips and legs. When she steps out of them I stand and unzip the sports bra, releasing those heavy mounds I love sucking on. I bend down and twirl my tongue around one distended nipple. I move to the other one and give it the same attention. I pull back when my erection begins to get painful. I push her cotton panties down her legs and make quick work of getting out of my own clothing. Without thinking, I pull her into the steamy shower.
“Landon! My hair!” Melody yells.
I laugh at the scowl she gives me. I forgot how pissed she gets when I get her hair wet.
“Sorry, babe,” I say, but instead of letting her grab the shower cap she keeps by the shower door, I press her body against the wall. I reach up and take the little holder she was using to keep it in a bun. I put my hand in her hair, massaging her scalp as her kinky, coily locks fall down around her shoulders. “I’ll wash it later for you, babe.”
“Landon, I don’t have time to wash my hair,” she pouts.
She doesn’t, but oh well… Instead of responding, I lean in and take her lips once again. She doesn’t refuse me. She never does. Our kisses are always amazing. Whenever our lips touch it’s always as if it were the first time. I take my time allowing my tongue to explore the depths of her warm mouth. Her arms reach up and grip the back of my head, just the way she knows I like it. She presses her entire body against mine. I break off the kiss and immediately fall to my knees. I place my arms under her knees and place her legs over my shoulders, bringing me level with her intimacy.
“Landon, hurry.” She begins thrusting her hips in my face an
d I can’t refuse the delectable meal she is offering.
I know she does need to get to work soon, so I decide to go directly for her hot spot. I flick my tongue over her distended bud, and then twirl my tongue around it. As I suck her sensitive clit, I insert two fingers inside her. She is already wet, so I slide in easily. I pump my fingers into her at the same time my mouth continues working on her clit. Her grip on the back of my hair tightens as her hips pick up speed.
“Ohh, fuck!” she yells as she cums.
I feel her pussy walls tighten around my fingers and I groan against her sex. When the last of her convulsions leaves her body, I place her legs down, and immediately stand, pushing my thick cock into her. I push all the way in to the hilt, and she gasps as I moan against her neck. “You’re so fucking tight,” I grunt. I pull her head back by her hair and kiss her hard and I begin pounding into her.
“Fuck me, baby,” she pants as she thrusts her hips into mine. “Just like that. Oh shit.”
I fucking love it when she talks dirty. I grow even harder from her words, and reach down to pull her legs up. I brace our bodies against the shower wall and push both of her knees toward the wall, opening her up wider for me. I give her one long stroke and then a short one, followed by another long one. I keep up this rhythm, allowing the top of my cock to graze her clit every time I push into her. “That how you like it, Red?” I ask, reverting to the nickname I gave her for the red bathing suit I first spotted her in. It’s my favorite color on her.
“Yes, give it to me.”
“As you wish.” I pump in a frenzy, giving her everything I have and soon we are both cumming. I pump her full of my semen. We stopped using condoms months ago when she went on the pill. Hell, I would’ve stopped using them birth control or not, but Mel insists on being married before even entertaining the idea of getting pregnant.
“Now, for your shower and to wash your hair,” I gasp, still working to catch my breath from our lovemaking. I cut her off with a kiss when I see she is about to protest. I love this woman. Nothing is ever coming between us. I simply won’t allow it.
****
Melody
I hurry through the huge double doors of the school building and rush up the steps, making sure that the black, pencil skirt I am wearing doesn’t ride up my backside. I make it into the main office slightly winded and sign my name in at 7:59. The bell rings at 8:01. I barely made it. While I’m still not considered late, I like to get to my office at least fifteen minutes early to go over my day. Although, I’m not a teacher, and I don’t have a classroom to set up or assignments that need to be ready for my students as soon as they enter the door, I do like giving myself a few minutes of breathing room before that first bell rings.
“Just barely made it in, I see. Again,” the hint of laughter in her voice causes me to chuckle.
“But I made it,” I turn and reply to my good friend, Paulette. Paulette is actually the school nurse. She used to work full-time at an area hospital, but once she got married and started her own family, she wanted a position that had a little more free time and regular hours, so she took on a job with the Philadelphia School District. She’s been at this school for the last five years, which is just as long as I’ve been here.
“I remember those days back when Paul and I were in the honeymoon phase. We could barely keep our hands off each other. Now, we consider ourselves lucky if we manage to wake up without one of the kids’ feet inserted in our faces.” We both laugh. And yes, Paulette’s husband’s name is Paul. Irony, I know. He’s a bigtime banker who works in Center City, Philadelphia, but they live just outside the city. Paulette pushes her mid-back length straightened hair back behind her ear and then wraps her arm around mine. Her light complexion speaks to her biracial ethnicity. Her father is Jamaican, and her mother is white American. “So, tell me the details. Would that big strapping football god not let you leave this morning?”
I laugh and shake my head at her silliness. I’m not one to divulge the intimate details of my sex life with my fiancé, and she knows this. “All I will say is that afterwards that man would not let me leave until he assisted with washing my hair and before he fed me breakfast, knowing that I didn’t have time for all of that.”
“Imagine that. A man who wants to make sure you look good and are fed before starting your work day. We should be so lucky,” she swoons.
“Shut up. Like Paul would ever let you starve.”
She sighs lovingly. “I know. We’ve got some great men. Well, I won’t keep you. See you for lunch,” she says as we arrive at my office a little ways down the hall from hers.
“All right, I’ll talk to you later,” I respond as she turns and heads to her own office.
The next few hours are a blur of meetings with social workers, parents, teachers, and students who seek my services throughout the day. I thoroughly enjoy my job working as a middle school psychologist, but it definitely has its challenges. On any given day, I may discover that one of my students grew up in a home with horrific abuse or neglect, or that he witnessed his older brother being gunned down at the age of six, or that he’s sharing a home with multiple relatives and may not have had enough to eat the previous day. Dealing with home lives like that, there’s no wonder that concentrating in school is often low on their list of priorities. Around two o’clock I enter my office after my last social worker meeting, and toss my keys on the desk. I stare at the Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs poster on my wall. It’s a friendly reminder to check in with myself throughout the day to make sure I have taken care of all my basic needs. I also use it as a tool to help deal with my students. If their basic needs of safety and security aren’t met, there’s no way I can get them to open up to me to focus on what’s really bothering them.
“Hey, Ms. James.”
I smile as I turn to greet one of my favorite students. I should take that back. As a professional, it’s my job not to have favorites, but sometimes I can’t help it.
“Good afternoon, Gabriella,” I reply, moving papers off the office chair so she can sit.
Gabriella is an eighth grader in my school. It’s her final year before going on to high school. I’ve been seeing her since she was in sixth grade. Like many of the students in my school, she’s being raised by a single mother who works long hours. She doesn’t get a lot of home support, and navigating those early teenage years without some help can be an adjustment. For the most part, she’s a great kid. She’s a bit quiet, shy even, and that coupled with the fact that she’s very pretty with her long curly hair, caramel skin tone, and golden eyes, means she’s often targeted for bullying because some other girls deem her stuck up.
“How’s your day going, Gabriella?” I always begin our weekly session the same way.
She shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”
From that response alone, I know she has something she wants to discuss. I sit back in my chair and cross my legs, remaining quiet, allowing her the room and space to sort out her thoughts.
“Sheila tried to start with me again in the hallway.” Sheila is another girl she has been having trouble with. She even had to switch classrooms after Sheila showed up at her house with a group of girls ready to fight. Luckily, Gabriella’s mother was home and refused to let her daughter out.
“What happened?”
Gabriella proceeds to tell me about how during class transition, Sheila rolled her eyes and started whispering to another girl once they saw her in the hallway. For the most part, it’s typical teenage he-said-she-said stuff, but it has the potential to grow into big trouble if an end isn’t put to it.
“Oh, and I met someone,” she continues, jumping from one topic to another.
I can see by the starry-eyed gaze in her golden eyes that this someone is a boy. “Tell me about him.” I smirk. I work hard to maintain a professional relationship with my students, but I also want them to be able to confide in me. Gabriella spends the next ten minutes telling me about this boy, Miguel, she met through her cousin. Appa
rently, he’s in high school, which causes me to raise my eyebrow, but I don’t say anything. I just make a note in my file to keep an eye on this budding relationship. We go on to discuss her classes and what high schools she’s thinking about enrolling in next year. I’ve encouraged Gabriella to apply to a couple of the high-ranking high schools in the city. I know with her grades and test scores, she’d be able to get in and would do well at a better performing school.
At the end of the day, I pack up my belongings and get ready to head home for the evening. I can’t wait to see my man. Although it sucks his team didn’t make it to the Super Bowl this year, I have to say I am loving coming home to him after work most days.
“I see your fast ass hurrying home to that man of yours.” Paulette snickers from behind me as I enter the staff parking lot.
“Uh-huh, and your ass is right behind me too,” I tease back.
“Well, you know…” We both laugh at that. Paulette likes to tease, but she stays running home to her husband the same way I run home to mine.
“We still on for lunch this weekend?” I ask, loading my car.
“Sure are,” she confirms.
“Good. Later, girl.”
Chapter Two
Landon
“So, Landon, tell us your prediction for the big game. We know you have some thoughts,” Mike O’Reilly, the primary host of this sports commentary show prompted.
I’m guest hosting because it’s the Friday before the Super Bowl, wherein, unfortunately, my team isn’t playing. We lost the final game in our playoff bid, which would have sent us to the big game.
“Well, Mike, San Diego’s got a strong defense, and if they can hold off Chicago’s offensive line, I think they could take it all the way,” I say, remembering how San Diego’s defense had overpowered my own team’s offense just a few weeks ago.
“You know, Landon, I agree with you. But Burkowski’s been putting up numbers this post-season, showing what he’s made of. San Diego will have a tough time stopping him,” he responds of Chicago’s up and coming quarterback.
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