by Kennedy Ryan
“I thought they’d be here,” Jade says.
“Just because Grip dragged us on tour with him,” she says, giving him a gentle elbow to the stomach and a grin, “doesn’t mean my children have no structure whatsoever. They’re not rock stars, and are in bed the same time every night.”
“The hotel’s around the corner,” Grip says. “Come back with us. We’re rolling out soon. Another show. Another city tomorrow.” He runs a hand over his face. “I’m exhausted and wanna crash.”
He smiles at us. “You guys are welcome to come with us and have some dinner. My mom smuggles a hot plate into our hotels because she refuses to eat room service. It’s kinda ghetto, but you’d be amazed what she can pull off with such limited resources.”
“That’s Aunt Mittie.” Jade laughs. “Yeah, I need to see her before you roll out.”
She looks up at Kenya. “You down? You gotta meet her.”
Kenya looks to us, a question on her face. As cool as Grip seems, and as much as I’m sure Aunt Mittie can make miracles with only Crisco and a hot plate, I really just want to be alone with Lotus. She’s a Grip fan, though, and I won’t deny her the experience.
“Totally up to you,” I tell Lotus, keeping my expression neutral.
“It sounds like so much fun,” she says.
I swallow my disappointment and start convincing myself that we’ll have time together tomorrow or another day. The closer she gets to Fashion Week, the less time she has. And my time will be non-existent soon because I’ll have to show up for training camp. Then pre-season games, then regular season. Hopefully playoffs.
“But I better not,” Lotus continues. “I have an early morning.” She looks up at me. “I think I should get home and rest,” she says. “That okay with you, Kenan?”
Our eyes cling, and the same banked desire I’ve suppressed all night, fought every time our hands brushed or our legs accidentally connected under the table, burns in the look Lotus gives me.
“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “Early morning here, too.”
“Early morning, my ass,” Kenya says, giving me a knowing look. “Well alright. You still coming to my game tomorrow?”
I reach for a hug and kiss her cheek. She makes a disgusted face in response, and everyone laughs.
“I wouldn’t miss it, baby sister.” I give Jade a quick hug, too. “Great finally meeting you. You’ll be at the game tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Jade replies. “I heard I might get to meet your daughter.”
“Probably not,” I tell her ruefully. “She thought she could make it, but her mom texted me that she has a dance commitment. Maybe next time.”
I turn my attention to Grip and his wife. “Really great meeting you,” I tell them, extending my hand for fist pounds.
He grins, tucking Bristol, who looks like she’s about to fall over from fatigue, in closer to him.
“I love that skirt, Lotus,” Bristol says. “Jean-Pierre Louis?”
“Yeah, it is.” Lotus lifts a frothy layer of her black skirt. “And thanks.”
“I love his stuff,” Bristol adds.
“Lotus works with JP.” I toot her horn, since she obviously doesn’t plan to.
“No way!” Bristol’s eyes widen and sharpen with new respect. “It’s the one show I want to attend during Fashion Week.”
“I can get you a ticket if you like,” Lotus says easily.
“Seriously?” Bristol walks over and pulls her cell from her pocket. “Let me get your number.”
“I was invited to play in the celebrity game at the All-Stars next year,” Grip tells me. “You know ballers want to rap, and rappers want to ball.”
“Not this baller,” Lotus offers. “Kenan’s more of a jazz guy.”
“For real?” Grip’s brows arch. “I love Miles, Monk, Coltrane, Ella. Who you into?”
“All of the above and then some,” I reply, pleased to find someone my age with a real appreciation for another era. “You’ll have to come see my vinyls.”
“Oh, you’ll have to see his, too,” Bristol says with a grin. “He’s obsessed. Vinyl and sneakers.”
“Yeah, I noticed the eighty-fives,” I tell him, nodding to his Jordans.
“Well you know,” he preens, “just a lil’ something for New York.”
We all laugh and start the final round of hugs and goodbyes.
“I’m back on the west coast in a few weeks,” I tell Grip. I don’t look at her, but Lotus stiffens beside me. Her hand clenches mine. “Let’s try to get up before All-Star weekend.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Once we’ve gone our separate ways, Lotus and I walk back to the Great Lawn and into the park. I broach something I’ve been thinking about all night.
“Lotus, we haven’t had much time together since we became . . .” I hesitate over what to call us. “. . . more than friends.”
“True,” she says, linking her elbow with mine. “And it’s only gonna get harder. I’d almost forgotten you have to go back to San Diego soon.”
“Yeah, I got about a month left. Training camp starts in September.” I guide us over to a bench to sit for a second. “I want to make the most of the time we have before I go.”
“And the show is only three weeks away,” she replies. “It’s about to get crazy. No sleep and barely time for anything besides JPL.”
“Yeah, I know.” I bring her fingers to my lips. “Come stay with me tonight. We don’t have to—”
“Yes.” Moonlight softens the angles, the bones of her face. “We don’t have to fuck, you were gonna say.”
I laugh and pull her into me, wishing I could drag her onto my lap right now. “Basically, but I want tonight with you. I want to wake up and have breakfast.”
“French toast, and bacon and eggs?” she asks tauntingly.
“Uh, egg whites and fruit for me,” I reply with a smile. “But go for yours.”
She shifts until our eyes meet.
“Oh, I’m definitely going for mine.”
26
Lotus
On the ride to Kenan’s apartment, we sit in the back of the Uber holding hands, that one point of contact reverberating through every cell of my body. We speak very little, but there’s no need. The air grows heavy with unspoken want and smothered desire. My head spins with fantasies of how he will please me tonight. How I might please him. I’m not planning for this to be the night, but I’m more open to him than I’ve ever been to anyone. It’s not just sex I want, which is all I’ve ever had. It’s that elusive intimacy—the sharing and exchange.
He doesn’t release my hand on our brisk walk through the lobby. As soon as we step onto the elevator, he turns my back to the wall and takes up the seduction his silence began on the long ride home. He nips at my lips, and kisses down my chin and over my breasts, suckling my nipple through my blouse.
“Kenan,” I breathe, my head flung back against the elevator paneling. “I want this.”
He kisses the curve of my neck and shoulder. The elevator dings and opens, and he tugs me by the hand to the door. His long strides make it hard to keep up, but my eagerness has me stumbling to try. Once inside, he turns my back to the wall and goes down on his knees in front of me, a supplicant king. He brushes his tongue repeatedly over the flower blooming around my belly button. I moan, digging my fingers into the dense, ungiving muscles of his shoulders. He drops lower, kissing my pussy through the sheer, fluffy layers of tulle and silk panties, a growl jerked from his throat when he inhales.
“Fuck, you smell . . .” He glances up, his eyes dark and feral. “You smell like you want me.”
“I do.” My voice is as ragged as my resistance—as frayed as my control. I frantically pull my skirt above my thighs and expose my panties and myself. “So much.”
Groaning, he runs his nose up and down the front of my pussy and mouths me through the panties, greedily seeking, finding, sucking my clit through silk and lace. I scratch the wooden door at my back, looking
for purchase, for strength to stand. I can’t bear another minute without his mouth on me. Brazen, desperate, I pull the panties aside. His mouth seizes me, feasting, licking in the slit, taking my lips hostage between his. He reaches up, his huge hand grazing my stomach and sliding under my cropped shirt to squeeze the pierced nipple.
I don’t know how I’ll get what I need without fucking him. I need to be filled with him. I need every inch of this empty space inside me occupied, taken over by his body, by his patience and care. By him.
I pull away and go down in front of him, heedless of the marble floor, cold and hard under my knees. I grab his neck, pull him toward me, take his mouth with mine and taste myself on his tongue, an erotic recognition that tightens my nipples and leaks down my thighs. My hands fumble with his belt—I’m trembling with the need to have him. He doesn’t stop or help me, but thrusts one hand into my hair and rubs between my legs with the other, sneaking under the panties to insert two fingers inside me.
I go still against his chest, my breath stilted, my hands useless on his zipper, my hips rolling in time with the fingers invading and retreating. His thumb rubs my clit while he fingers me with dogged certainty, his eyes locked with mine.
“Oh, God.” My head drops to his chest as a tingle begins in my toes and flutters through my calves, my knees, my legs, and converges to the spot he is still ruthlessly, methodically possessing. And then I can’t fight it. With one hand on his zipper, the other clenched around his bicep, I come. The orgasm runs rampant over my body, leaving no part of me untouched. A scream rips through me—rips through the apartment. Dry sobs tear at my throat and, wracked with pleasure, I bury my face in his neck, open my mouth over the muscled curve, and bite down. He tenses, growls, his muscles tight under my hands.
We go still. I draw back enough to look into his eyes, and our labored breaths collide between our mouths. Not releasing his gaze, I lower his zipper, slip my hand into his jeans, and pull on him through his briefs.
“Lotus,” he mutters, his eyelids hanging heavy, his pupils blown wide with lust.
I don’t wait for whatever he’ll say next, but push on his shoulder, coaxing him to his back, to the marble floor. I urge his shirt up and lick my lips at the sight of his torso, a slab of sculpted muscles. And those nipples.
My weakness.
I straddle his belly and bend to take one into my mouth. I moan at the taste of him—the smooth and rough texture on my tongue. I reach down and pull his dick out, rubbing up and down in rhythm with my head bobbing over his chest, sucking his nipples. He emits gruff, strangled sounds and plunges his hand into my hair, urging my head downward. I yield, leaving kisses as I descend. I whisper “yes” over his pecs, the sturdy cage of his ribs, the contraction of his abs.
His belt is already undone. His zipper, down. I glance up, ensnaring his eyes when my mouth reaches the most vulnerable part of him. I gulp. Kenan is a big man. I assumed he’d be no different here, and I was right.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I tell him, not even trying to keep the reverence from my voice. He’s perfectly formed, chiseled, massive.
Mine. For tonight, for as long as I can keep him, mine.
I take his dick down my throat and swallow, relishing the wild sounds he gives me as a reward. I lick up and down, from root to crown, not overlooking an inch. I dip lower, taking his balls into my mouth one at a time, lavishing them until they’re shiny, wet, slick.
“Fuck, Lotus,” he moans, both hands fisted in my hair so tightly it stings. I don’t care. I just want to feel with him. I slip my tongue into the slit at his tip, and at the first taste of the salty milkiness, I lose control. I’m a starved beast, gripping his powerful thighs with my hands, the rough hairs abrading my palms. I’m manipulating his balls and taking him so far down my throat I choke, saliva pooling in my mouth and running from the corners.
“Baby, I’m coming.”
I nod jerkily, holding his hips in place and taking him down farther. My throat contracts around him with every hard-won gulp.
“Jesus, Lotus.” His handsome features twisting with agonizing pleasure, he caresses my jaw as it works around him.
The first warm spurt coats my tongue and the roof of my mouth, and rushes down my throat. I moan at the taste of him. Voracious, I hollow my cheeks to milk him of every drop. When the stream finally stops, I lick from the base to the tip, gathering all of him that I can. Saving the taste, savoring him. When I’ve licked him clean, I crawl up his chest and tuck myself into the crook of his arm, my ear pressed to his heart seeking its reassuring thump. His fingers sift through my hair, and one large finger traces the blossoming zipper tattooed up my spine.
We lie there for a long time, heedless of the fact that the marble floor of his foyer is cold and hard. Heedless of the messy stickiness we coaxed from each other’s bodies. It’s quiet, except for our slow, calming breaths filling the air. Our bodies are teaching us the scope of true intimacy. It’s another’s pleasure over yours. It’s hunger unique to one other person—satisfied only by him. Only by her.
“That was . . .” Kenan’s words fail, trail away, but I don’t need them.
I touch his ridged torso and sprinkle kisses over his chest.
“I know,” I whisper, my eyes wet with emotion. “I know.”
27
Kenan
The events of last night, after we gorged on each other in the foyer, are murky. We were both exhausted. I picked Lotus up in her skirt and top, leaving her purse, panties, shoes, and my jeans right at the door. We barely made it to the bed, collapsing in the center and falling asleep almost right away. I wake with her back spooned to my chest, and her soft roundness hardens my cock even beyond the typical morning wood.
“Someone’s happy to see me this morning,” Lotus says, her voice husky with sleep and, I hope, arousal. She turns to face me and slides one slim, toned thigh between my legs. My arms tighten around her, and I wish we could wake this way every morning. Is it too soon to think like this? To start exploring scenarios where we can be like this, together, all the time?
“I am very happy to see you,” I murmur into the velvety sweep of her neck. “I want to see you all day. Is that possible?”
“All day?” She lifts her head and props herself on her elbow to peer down at me. “It’s a Sunday, but JP still may need something being this close to the show. Can I check with him before we make plans?”
“Sure.” I’m distracted, dotting her jaw with kisses and rubbing her thigh beneath the tulle skirt. I roam higher and find the firm, naked curve of her ass. We look into each other’s eyes, and last night’s memories, the fiery moments, resurge between us.
“I didn’t get to really see you,” I tell her, my voice deep, scraping bottom with desire. I find the tiny button at the back of her skirt. “Let me look at you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
She shifts to make it easier for me to get the skirt off. With her panties in the foyer, I have an uninterrupted view of shapely, copper-toned legs, subtly curved hips, and a plump, bare pussy.
Grooming goes a long way.
I tug at the hem of her shirt, wanting to see her breasts, the bar that pierces one of her nipples. The shirt is almost over her head when she starts to struggle, to pull away.
“Kenan, no,” she says, her voice pitched high.
“Baby, it’s okay. I’ll stop,” I start reassuring her, but lose track of my thoughts when I see dark bruises on her upper arms.
“Kenan,” she whispers, completely naked in my bed, her eyes wide and worried. “I can ex—”
“Who?” I cut in, slamming my teeth together to contain my fury. “Who did this? How did you get these?”
“It’s noth . . . it’s nothing,” she says. “Let it go.”
“Tell me right now who put their hands on you,” I clip out. “Do not lie to me.”
“Kenan, you’re making a big deal out of—”
“Dammit, Lotus.”
“Okay. I
t was Chase,” she says in a rush. “Geez. It was Chase, but he didn’t mean to. He just grabbed me rougher than he—”
“Chase grabbed you when you went to confront him? You said you handled it, and that he didn’t give you any trouble.”
“I did and he didn’t,” she says, sounding slightly defensive. “I was fine on my own.”
“These,” I say, lightly touching the dark marks on her arms, “say otherwise.”
“Please don’t blow this up into a thing.” She rubs her eyes and releases a frustrated breath. “I can take care of myself. I kneed him in the balls and threatened legal action. It’s done.”
“Why’d you have to knee him in the balls?” I ask, my voice low and my frustration high. “What’d he do?”
She blinks at me, her gaze opaque, giving nothing away.
“Look,” she finally says. “Kenya told me you overreacted at the gallery.”
“No, I didn’t.”
She levels a wry look at me. “If it was anything like how you acted when you came to the studio . . .”
She leaves the rest unsaid, leaves me to replay it all in my head. Kenya did have to say I had PTSD to keep me from getting sued or arrested.
“Okay. I may have overreacted a little,” I admit. “But these bruises? I can’t let this go.”
“I told you I handled it. I already talked to him.”
I watch her in grim silence. I’m not going to talk to Chase. I’m going to punch him in the face. I don’t make any promises, don’t say a word, which seems to worry her even more.
“Kenan.” She drops her head, crazy curls all over the place, into her hands. “Please leave it alone.”
Impossible. First, he takes a photo of her partially nude without permission. Then he has the balls to display it without a release. Then he leaves bruises on my girl?
My girl.
God, that feels right. I called her my girlfriend last night without even thinking about it. It rolled right out of me and felt as natural as breathing. As right as anything good I’ve ever had.