“I know that’s right,” Maya said, slicing into Arabia’s thoughts. “Do you. Live your life. Now back to this man who you’ve fucked. Was it good?”
Arabia closed her eyes and shuddered. His touch, his mere presence, alone made her wetter than a lake. The man made her want to crawl out of her skin. He made her come hard. Made her pussy hot. Made it spew her juices like an erupting volcano.
“Yes, girl. It was. Had me in my car driving down to Philly for it.”
Maya laughed. “Ohmygod. You driving to a man for some dick? Oh yes, the world is definitely coming to an end.”
Arabia rolled her eyes up in her head, but she laughed as well. “Whatever.”
“So far, I like him.”
Arabia’s cell buzzed. She stared at the caller ID, and smiled. Thick Chocolate. The name she’d programmed into her phone for him. Her body flushed at the thought of him.
God, she had to get ahold of herself before she went up in flames. She pushed the phone aside in a feeble attempt at not answering. She didn’t want to come off desperate. Thirsty. Hungry.
But, shit—she was desperate, for more of him. She was thirsty, for another taste of him. She was hungry, for more of his good fucking.
She smiled. “Yeah, I like him, too.”
Maya chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh nothing. I was thinking, what if you’ve finally found someone you can love.”
Arabia coughed. “Oh, no, bitch! Don’t curse me. You know I’m severely allergic to that.”
“Girl, bye. How would you know? You’ve never been in love.”
“Well, I’ve been in like. Close enough.”
Maya snorted. “Lies. But you keep telling yourself that. Then again, this is you we’re talking about. Miss Heartless. So, yeah, you might be right.”
“Ohmygod, Maya. Kiss my ass. I’m not heartless.”
“Okay, Arabia. Whatever you say, boo.”
Arabia’s phone vibrated, and this time it was a call. Thick Chocolate.
Heat swept through her.
Oh, God . . . fate or omen?
The devil was trying to make her sin.
She wanted to answer. Wanted to hear his voice.
And she had to fight an inner battle to not want those things. She had to fight the urges, even as the sight of his name on her screen sent a flutter of butterflies twirling in her stomach.
The call went into voicemail.
“Anyway. Does this someone you like have a name?”
Arabia smiled. “Yes. Cruze.”
“Cruze?” Maya repeated. “What kind of name is that? Is he black? Please tell me he isn’t some white man, Arabia.”
Arabia laughed. “No, Maya. Relax. He’s not white. He’s very much black.” She licked her lips at the thought of suckling his dark berry to get to his sweet juices.
She yanked her phone from the counter, and texted. HEY
She was holding her cell, staring at it, when it buzzed in her hand.
WYD? he texted back.
“Well, that’s a relief. Is he mixed?”
Arabia shrugged, then shook her head. “I don’t know. With his high cheekbones and smooth dark skin, he could have some West Indian in his blood. Or maybe he’s . . .”
THINKING ABOUT U, she responded back in earnest. It was the truth.
“Or maybe he’s what?”
Arabia shook her head. “Straight from the Motherland. No. He is from the Motherland. He’s an African warrior.” Mmm. Hung like a Zulu god.
AWW. DAMN. THINKIN ABOUT U 2
Arabia grinned, then bit into her bottom lip.
She wanted to see that man. Had to see him.
I’LL CALL U. 5 MINS?
Seconds later, he sent another text. COOL
She set her phone down, her body overreacting and overheating to raw feelings of excitement, desire—and need. God, he made her feel so vulnerable and raw, like he was peeling her skin back and opening her up.
She couldn’t wait another moment longer. “Maya, I love you, girl,” she said abruptly. “But I gotta go. I’ll call you one day next week.”
“Well damn. Who said—”
Click.
She ended the call, before she could finish her sentence. Then she reached for her cell again.
And called him.
Thirty-Two
This shit felt too good to be true. . . .
But he hadn’t felt this happy—this relaxed, in years. Not since Ramona.
Fucking Ramona.
No matter what he did, somehow she always managed to find a way to creep up in his thoughts. She was poison. And he wasn’t about to allow his infected thoughts of her to snatch what semblance of joy he was feeling.
He couldn’t compare what he felt now to back then.
Yeah, Ramona had been his first love, and she’d been his first taste of heartache, too. Hell, she’d been his first everything.
But he had been a lil’-ass kid then. Now, he was a grown-ass man. He was more than a hard, horny dick. He knew more. Had grown more experienced with women. And he knew when a broad was playing him, or trying to catch a come-up.
That wasn’t Arabia. Fuck no. She was different.
She was her own woman. And, yet, she knew how to play her position and let him be the man. Her man. Well, that wasn’t what she called him.
But it was definitely moving in that direction.
Cruze smiled inside. Yeah, that’s right. Her man. Though he hadn’t officially come out and called her his girl. He’d been toying with the idea.
She was definitely wifey material.
She was more than he imagined she’d be. Yeah, she used her femininity to seduce him. But she’d somehow—with her sass and brash—found a way to pull him from out his shell. Darkness whirled around him, and, yet, she’d unknowingly become a bright light in his somewhat gloomy existence.
No, Cruze hadn’t expected things between them to heat up the way they had, but they had. And, hell, he wasn’t complaining. Things between them were popping hot and heavy. And they were quickly becoming an item. No lie. He was feeling her, hard. And he knew she was feeling him too.
Still, he didn’t quite know what to do with these new feelings. He didn’t know when it’d happened, when something inside of him shifted. But he was addicted to her. He craved every smooth, silky inch of her. However, he didn’t want to play himself. So he held back. He held back from freely giving into the pleasure. He fought the urge to let go and simply go with the flow.
All he’d ever known was pain.
And loss.
And disappointment.
So this, this was foreign to him.
And, yet, he didn’t want anything to ruin it. Happiness was always short-lived for a muhfucka like him. And . . . and he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost this, this feeling.
He tried not to overthink it. Tried to stay in the present. Hell, that’s where he wanted to be—in the moment . . . with her.
So he shook the ominous thought of something this good being a sign that something bad would soon follow from out of his mind.
His cell phone rang. It was Ramona. He shook his head. And Arabia eyed him from the corner of her eye as he frowned at the screen. Any other time he would answer on the spot. Drop whatever he was doing for her. Not today. He sent the call to voicemail—surprising himself, then shutting off his phone.
He’d get at her later. Right at this very moment, his priority was sitting next to him. He was trying to chill with Arabia’s fine ass with no interruptions.
Usher’s “Can U Handle It” seeped out though the speakers, and he leaned his head back on the headrest as Arabia drove.
He inhaled.
Shit, it felt good to be chauffeured for a change.
She’d surprised him—and herself—when she’d called him and said she wanted to take him out. On a date. He couldn’t help but smile. No female had ever offered to take him anywhere except to bed.
So when she pulled up to his crib in her Aston Martin, and kissed him lightly on the lips when he slid into the passenger seat, Cruze knew then . . . she was the one.
He still hadn’t kissed her; not in the way two lovers would. But he’d come a long way with a peck on the lips. And Arabia seemed okay with that.
She didn’t pressure him. Didn’t try to take more than he was willing to give. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed, or unappreciated.
He stole a glimpse at her through the corner of his eye.
Damn, my baby looks good driving this whip; her sexy ass.
She licked her lips as she maneuvered through the city traffic with ease, and he felt his dick stirring in his boxers. He opened and closed his legs, pressing them tightly together, then opening them wide again. He clasped his hands in his lap, and pressed down on the building pressure in his dick, fanning his legs.
Shit.
He wondered if she even knew the type of effect she had on him. How aroused she made him. She made him come undone every time he was around her.
Feeling Cruze eyeing her, she glanced over, and smiled.
He turned his head to her, his eyes coming to rest on her, and smiled back. And there went those dimples that she’d grown to love. She felt her heart flutter and her cunt clench, as his eyes grew dark and unexpectedly liquid as he looked at her.
Heat swooped around the cabin of the car, making her hot, wet.
God, what was happening to her?
The sight of him made her sizzle with desire.
She stayed wet for him.
Stayed hot for him.
Stayed ready for him.
Lord, help her. She wasn’t in love. But she was beyond lusting him. She couldn’t recall when it’d happened. When she became so, so, open to him.
But it had happened.
And he was slowly becoming the air she needed to breathe. Yes, the woman was wild for him. He made her hungry. Oh how she wished there was a way she could put her car on cruise control and lean over and suck his dick. She’d suck his balls dry right now in broad daylight in all this weekend traffic. She wanted to feel his warm nut coating her tongue and sliding down the back of her throat.
She swallowed back the greedy need that pooled in her mouth, and shifted in her seat.
Cruze made her dizzy. She hated admitting it. But she was obsessed. Bewildered. She wanted him—not just his body, his lips, his dick—but every part of him. He was so dark, so brooding, so badass, but beneath the mask, she saw glimpses of a compassionate, kind-hearted, passionate man.
And she yearned for him to bare his soul to her. She wanted him to unleash his burdens, to let her into the dark spaces of his heart and mind.
And that—those desires—frightened her.
Yet, he managed to make her smile. Managed to make her heart dance to the beat of something exciting. Made her think of possibilities that she’d never given thought to.
“Yo, you good?” Cruze asked in that deep, panty-wetting voice that made her shiver with want, snatching her from her thoughts as he reached over and gently squeezed her thigh.
Arabia looked over at him, every nerve ending in her body aflame with want. Her gaze caught the side of his thick neck. She swallowed. She wanted to lean over and suck on his Adam’s apple. Instead, she nodded and said, “I’m more than good. I’m great.”
Cruze’s brown orbs darkened, and his lips shaped a coaxing smile. “Me, too, babe.”
Babe.
He called her babe—the word sliding from his lips like warm honey, and Arabia felt her stomach heat.
It was a first—him calling her that. And she liked it. She liked it a lot. And his smile—God how she loved it when he smiled. It always felt sensual. Inviting. Even if it wasn’t meant to be.
“You should do more of that,” she said.
His brow raised, his eyes lighting with interest. “Do more of what?”
“Smile.”
“Oh yeah?”
Arabia nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why you say that?”
Arabia glanced at him and shrugged. “You always seem so deep in thought. I don’t know. Distracted.” She turned back to the road. “You have a beautiful smile, Cruze,” she said huskily. “When you smile, you make me want to smile too.”
His eyes went liquid again. And then his lips tipped upward, and those dimples flashed. “Maybe I have a reason, now, to smile more,” he said earnestly, reaching over and running the back of his long, thick fingers down her cheek.
Arabia’s skin heated and she blushed, glancing over at him again.
“I dig you,” he said. “A lot.”
“Me, too,” she said, then smiled. God, why did this man make her spine tingle at the mere sight of him looking at her?
She turned back to the road, exhaling. He was more than she expected, more than she could have ever hoped he’d be. She wasn’t sure where things were headed with them, but somehow she found herself dreaming of more, hoping for more.
Jason Derulo’s “Kama Sutra” started playing and Arabia found herself bobbing her head to the beat with thoughts of tying Cruze up. The thought made her pussy heat.
She pressed a button on the stereo to lower the volume, then asked, “Would you let me tie you up?”
Cruze looked at her, barely managing to stifle the frown forming. “Tie me up, as in using a rope to tie me down?”
Her breath hitched at the imagery of him being stretched out naked, his arms and feet tethered to the bedposts. “Yes. Well, no. I’d use silk scarves.”
He blinked. Then shook his head, but he was grinning. “Helllll no.” He laughed. “Yo, you wilding. I ain’t with that bondage shit.”
“Well, would you let me blindfold you?”
What the fuck? She stayed trying to do the most. Kinky-ass. Cruze shook his head. “Nah. I’m good on that, too.”
Arabia laughed. “What, you scared?”
“Never that, baby. But why you tryna tie a muhfucka up, anyway?”
Arabia looked over at him. “Maybe I want you naked and vulnerable.”
Cruze shifted in his seat. “Yeah, a’ight. How ’bout I tie you up?”
Arabia moaned. “Mmm. Yes. Tie me up, daddy,” she teased.
Cruze’s dick thumped in his lap. He laughed, shaking his head. “Yo, you wild.”
Again she looked at him, her eyes dark and hungry. “You make me wild, Cruze.”
He swallowed, feeling his body heat from the inside out. He smiled again, his heart warming.
A few moments later, Cruze noticed they were on I-76 heading west. “Yo, hold up. Where we going?” he asked.
Arabia grinned. “It’s a surprise.”
Cruze shook his head. “Yeah, a’ight. Surprise me by telling me the surprise.”
She laughed. “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, silly. Now sit back and relax.”
Several moments later, she veered off on exit 342, then followed the signs toward her destination. When she’d called him to take him out, she’d decided she wanted to do something she hadn’t done in years. Be silly, and have fun.
“I’m taking you to meet my relatives,” she offered, holding back a snicker.
Eyebrow raised, Cruze eyed her suspiciously. “Your relatives? You have family out here?”
“Yes,” she said, turning onto West Girard.
When Arabia finally turned into the entrance for the Philadelphia Zoo, Cruze gave her a confused look. “I thought you said we were meeting your peoples?”
“We are,” she said calmly. “They’re here on exhibit.”
“On exhibit?” he questioned. “What, they perfo
rming here or something?”
“No, they’re not performing.” Arabia parked the car, then looked at him. “We’re here to see my cousins. The spider monkeys.”
Cruze burst out laughing.
Thirty-Three
Cruze was a habitual early riser, always waking up the same time every morning. 4:30 a.m. Most times, he’d awake earlier due to the nightmares that often plagued him, finding their way into the crevices of his mind, snatching him from any hopes of sleeping through the night. But last night, he’d slept peacefully, waking to the gentle caress of the sun streaming through his bedroom.
Instinctively, he reached for the space beside him, wanting to feel her heated skin beneath his fingertips. She’d stayed the night. A first. And he wanted to pull her into his body, and wrap her into his embrace.
But there was no Arabia.
He listened for any sound of movement—there was none. It was eerily silent. And empty. He frowned, coming more awake as he rose up on his elbow and stared at the indented pillow, then the empty spot where she’d lain beside him, her soft body curled into his side.
His chest tightened and he blinked, open to the possibility that she might have left. But . . . why would she?
Because . . .
He shook his head. Hadn’t they fucked each other breathless through the night? Hadn’t he given her a side of him he hadn’t given any other female? Yeah, he did. So where the fuck had she gone? He didn’t want to think the worst; still he cursed under his breath, feeling those old wounds of abandonment peeling open again. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to stay the night, then he wouldn’t be feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut.
He bit back another curse. He didn’t want to admit that not waking up to her still in his bed had crushed him, making it almost impossible to breathe. He glanced around the room and clenched his fists. The fucking bitch didn’t even have the decency to leave “a thanks for the good fuck” note.
Pissed, he yanked back the covers and threw his legs over the edge of the bed just as she came sauntering back in the room carrying a wooden tray with a bowl of fresh fruit and melted dark chocolate. Shit. Now he felt like a stupid-fuck for calling her out her name and for thinking the worst of her.
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