Rhythm and Blu

by Jennings, S. L.

  “Riot,” I whisper, as if saying his name would make him appear. My eyes are shut so tight my eyelids hurt, but it’s the only way I see him.

  Relief is in my reach, all I have to do is bear down and grasp it, but I don’t want it to stop. Because the moment I do, he’ll float away just before being washed down the drain.

  “Riot,” I pant like I have so many nights over the years. And each time, he’d watch me as I came, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he tried to draw it out until I was too raw to move. But the more he’d try to hold back, the more I’d move. So I slip two fingers inside me and use the base of my palm to massage my clit, working him into a frenzy. When he’s mad, he fucks me with the intensity of that same emotion. A true artist, indeed.

  I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes tighter, preparing for him to completely wreck me for inspiring those feelings, but just as the flame evolves into a scorching inferno, my phone vibrates with a text.

  Shiiiiiit.

  I’ve needed this. I’ve needed to release my feelings for Riot and let them trickle out with the bathwater. But considering what time it is, it could be Haze calling for help. Meaning, my much-needed orgasm will have to wait.

  It isn’t Haze.

  It isn’t even Bari harassing me for an update.

  It’s an unknown number.

  And this time, the message is clear.

  Before I Let You Go.

  WATER SLOSHES OVER THE EDGE of the tub and spills onto the bathroom floor as I hurriedly lift myself from the tub and grab for a fluffy towel. I only spare myself a quick peek in the mirror while I dry off, noting how wild my eyes look despite the late hour. My long tresses are tied up into a messy bun with a few stray ringlets sticking to my wet skin. No makeup yet a noticeable rosy hue paints my cheeks and chest.

  I don’t know what I’m doing or even what I’ll find, but I foolishly go to the door of my bedroom, only sheathed in an oversized towel, and turn the knob. He stands in the doorway, leaning against its frame. He’s showered; his golden hair is dark and slicked back away from his face. Only a pair of thin, gray joggers hang from his hips, the outline of his cock so pronounced that my mouth waters. I tear my gaze away.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice is small, breathy. That’s what Riot does to me. I feel tiny and meek under his heated stare.

  “I told you.”

  I back up, giving him space to follow me into the room. He takes my invitation and closes the door behind him, then leans against it.

  “So that’s why you came? You want a kiss goodnight?”

  The corner of his mouth deviously curls into a smirk as if the towel is see-through. I tighten my grip on it.

  “I want whatever you’re willing to give me.”

  I shake my head. “You must still be drunk.”

  “Ain’t nobody drunk, Rox, and you know it. But you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

  “Feel better about what?”

  “About what we both want. And what we know to be inevitable.”

  Just to prove him wrong, I turn away, but faster than I can see, he pushes off the door and catches my arm, pulling me into him so that his front is pressed to mine. I look up. He looks down. And while I’m hyperaware of the state of our undress and the way his dick is thickening against my belly, I can’t step away. I can’t even blink.

  “I should go,” he finally mutters.

  “Yeah,” I whisper in response.

  But his grip on my arm doesn’t subside and my feet are cemented to this spot, just as my heart is bound in his hands.

  “It’s getting late.” He dips his chin just as I lift mine.

  “It is.”

  “I should go.” Another inch towards me.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Say goodnight.”

  Another unintelligible hum of uncertainty.

  “Say goodnight, Rox. Because if you don’t, I’m going to think you want me to stay.”

  “And if I do want you to stay?” I dare him. We’re so close that even if my towel wasn’t secure, it’d stay put between our bodies. But one wrong step and it’d tumble to the floor.

  “Then I’ll have no choice but to do this.”

  Everything happens all at once. His hands grasp my ass, pulling me into the hard throb beneath his sweats. Abandoning my towel, my arms wind around his neck and my fingers tangle in his hair. And our lips colliding, submitting to this familiar weakness yet struggling to understand this new, confused desperation. His tongue brushes against mine, dedicating lyrics to a love song composed just for us. I moan into his mouth, breathy little adlibs that harmonize with his low groans.

  I know this is wrong. I’m not only encouraging Riot to cheat on his girlfriend—I’m an active participant. No one in their right mind would have opened the door dripping wet with only a towel on if they weren’t expecting something to happen. And while a part of Riot will always belong to me, that piece of him only exists as memories in my mental photo album, its pages faded with time and circumstance. And those well-loved memories don’t belong in this world.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, pushing against his chest to put a few feet of distance and common sense between us. My towel is hanging on for dear life, so I tighten it around my chest. “What are we doing? We don’t do this. We can’t do this.”

  “We just did,” Riot rasps, his body still very affected. I saw the outline of his cock when I first opened the door. Now his bulge is so pronounced that I can almost see the veins pulsing through its cotton barrier. And it’s damn near to his knee.

  I can’t stop staring at it.

  Insert dramatic gulp here.

  “See something you want, Rox?” He steps forward, grasping his erection through his sweats. He moves his hand up and down its impressive length showcasing how incredibly thick and hard it is. And then he stops, giving me just enough to tease me. Damn him.

  I shake my head but say, “You know what I want. But you also know we can’t go there. It’s not right.”

  Another step in my direction. “What isn’t right? You know as well as I do that we’re supposed to be here together. Did that seem wrong to you?” He closes the distance between us in one long stride, takes my hand, and presses it against his bare chest, right over an impressive tattoo of his mom’s face. “Does this feel wrong?”

  I can’t lie. “No.”

  “And what about this?” he challenges, sliding my palm over the taut ridges of his abs until it hits his low waistband.

  “No.”

  He inches lower and, knowing what’s next, I snatch my hand back before I do something I really want to do yet may regret later.

  “No! No, Riot, it doesn’t feel wrong.”

  “Then what are we even talking about? You want me. I want you. This is how it was always meant to be.”

  I snatch my hand away. “I think you’re forgetting something, or rather, someone. Your girlfriend is passed out drunk in your bedroom.”

  He scrubs the back of his neck, working out the tension gathering at the base of his skull. I stare in awe at the way his chest and abs flex with just the simple movement. Holy-fucking-hell, I’m hopeless.

  “You don’t need to worry about Poppy.”

  I reel back. “You broke up?”

  “No. But you don’t need to worry about her.”

  My eyes do a three-sixty. “Sorry, that’s not good enough if you think you’re getting into my pants.”

  An amused smile graces his lips. “You aren’t wearing any pants, Rox.”

  I look down as if I’d somehow magically adopted some damn pants. Ugh, I hate how he can make me lose my head.

  “Yeah, so? You aren’t getting into my towel either. I’m not sleeping with you.”

  Now it’s time for Riot to feign shock. He staggers back, a hand over his chest. “Who said anything about sleeping with you?”

  “Uh, your dick is pretty much saying it right now.”

  Riot flattens his lips and
shakes his head as if he’s disappointed. “I can’t believe you would think that of me, Rox. I thought you knew me better than that. I can’t help my body’s natural reactions, but I never said I wanted to fuck you.”

  “You don’t?” I frown, confused and a little hurt. Ok, I know I was attempting to take the moral high road, but I never thought it’d make me look like the sex-crazed deviant.

  “I just wanted to lie with you for a little while, maybe hold you. No sex involved.”

  Huh.

  He’s either seriously gaming me or he really doesn’t want me in that way. The latter stings, but I have to respect him for not living up to the manwhore label. And even though I’m so horny I can barely think straight, maybe this is just what we both need. Or maybe I just want to call his bluff.

  “Ok, fine. Let’s cuddle.”

  I walk over to the bed and hop onto the edge, grasping my towel to avoid a nip slip or worse.

  “Uh, don’t you want to put on some pajamas?” he asks with an arched brow.

  “Nope. I sleep nude,” I lie. “But since you just want to cuddle, I figured this would work.”

  He half snorts then comes over to the bed and takes the space beside me. “I think this would work better if we got under the covers.”

  I nod but I’m a nervous wreck inside. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”

  We climb to the head of the bed to slip between the sheets and comforter. There’s still a good six inches between the side of his arm and mine, so we’re not quite cuddling but it’s a start.

  “Music?” he asks.

  “Please.”

  He fishes his phone out of his pocket, presses play, and sets it on the nightstand. I was so distracted by the other bulge in his pants that I hadn’t noticed that he had it on him.

  I get that Riot and I have a connection to 90s jams, but seriously? I was two seconds away from release when he interrupted me. And he plays this? Can a sista get some Masta P and the rest of the No Limit soldiers since she has to abstain?

  “Please do not tell me you put on your coveted Bedroom Mix Vol. 2.”

  Riot rests onto his side, a smile in his voice when he says, “How did you know?”

  “Track one is Dru Hill’s ‘Beauty’, followed by Jodeci. And let guess, Jagged Edge is up next. Not exactly random,” I answer, turning to face him. “Besides, it’s kinda burned into my brain since we listened to it a couple hundred times.”

  “That’s true. However, we were also occupied while it was on. And I wasn’t really listening to the music.”

  “What were you listening to?”

  His teeth run over his bottom lip, but I doubt he’s nervous. “You.”

  I know my face is beet red, but I don’t cover it. “Oh, God, don’t remind me.”

  “What? Don’t tell me you’re not a vocal lover anymore. I loved that about being with you. You felt so much, so deeply. And you didn’t mask it. Real talk, for a teenage boy, that shit blasted my ego into outer space.”

  “So I guess I’m to blame for your enormous head,” I jibe.

  When our laughter dies, we’re left staring at each other. Knowing that even this is dead wrong yet craving so much more.

  “Come here,” Riot gently commands.

  Just cuddling, I remind myself as I lay my head in the crook of Riot’s arm. His other hand pulls me into him before coasting down my back, over my ass, and to the back of my thigh. He hikes it up so my bent leg hooks around his. Thank goodness we’re under the covers or he would have gotten an eyeful.

  We lay there like that for what seems like hours. Riot plays with loose strands of my hair, then slides his fingers over my jaw and down my neck. His fingertips skate over the skin just below my collarbone.

  “What’d you do with the necklace I gave you?” he whispers, an almost boyish grin on his lips.

  “What necklace?”

  “The one I gave you the last Christmas we spent together.”

  I shrug and lie right through my teeth. “No clue. Might be at my parents’ house somewhere. Who knows?”

  I know where it is. And until five years ago, I had worn it every day, still holding out stupid hope that he would come back to me. Riot had saved up for months to purchase the white gold necklace with the tiny crystal-studded microphone pendant. When I opened the small, wrapped box and saw what was inside, I wanted to cry. It was more than just a piece of jewelry to me. It represented the unique bond we shared and the love that spawned from it. It was a promise.

  “Yeah,” Riot mutters solemnly. “That was a long time ago.”

  I wish I could tell him I still have it, that I still cherish it like it’s Christmas morning every day. But then I’d have to admit that I was still pathetically in love with him. Who holds that bright of a torch for their first love?

  “I’ll look for it the next time I visit. I’m sure it’s in my old jewelry box.”

  He slides his finger down from the base of my neck to the space right above where my breasts meet. “Yeah, you do that.”

  We’re talking about a necklace, yet the heat in Riot’s eyes tells me he’s thinking of something else entirely. My leg tightens around his.

  “I told you I wasn’t here for sex, and I meant it. However, there is something I would like to do.”

  “Something like what?”

  His finger dips lower. “I can show you. But you’re going to want me to fuck you.”

  “What?”

  “I mean it. You’re going to beg me to fuck you. And like I told you before—I’m not here for sex. So if you think you can’t control yourself…”

  “Oh, please. I’m not the one about to punch a hole through my pants right now.”

  “Maybe so,” he shrugs. “But I bet if I reached beneath your towel and slid my fingers up your inner thigh, my entire hand would be drenched.”

  My eyes go wide. Shit, he’s right. And just the mere mention of his hands anywhere near my wetness makes my insides tremble, reigniting that ache I had chased just minutes before in the bathtub. That deep, all-consuming throb that made me arch my back as I slipped my fingers between my soft folds and whispered his name… Fuck. If he only knew.

  “Whatever,” I say in place of the truth. “I can handle anything you’ve got, Riot. And I guarantee it won’t be me that’ll break.”

  Because I’m already breaking.

  “Okay,” he smirks, his baby blues darkening to cobalt. “Just remember, I warned you.”

  “Keep your warning and get on with it,” I snap back when I should scream “Stay far the fuck away before I flip you onto your back and straddle your face!” But I’ve never been able to turn down a dare, especially when it came to him.

  He starts by gently sliding his arm from under my head so he can prop himself onto his elbow, then he lays me flat so I’m forced to gaze up at his focused expression. I reach to caress his strong jaw, but he catches my wrist.

  “Be still. I don’t want you distracting me.” His tone is almost harsh.

  “Distracting you from what?”

  He doesn’t answer, but when he dips his head down to trail kisses from my shoulder to my ear, it’s all the explanation I need. Again, I try to touch him, but he grabs both my hands and pins them above my head.

  “Why can’t I touch you? Are you trying to play out some kinky Christian Grey fantasy? Because straight up… I hit back.”

  “No,” he mutters against my skin, licking his way back to my shoulder. “I don’t want you to touch me because I know you. And I need to concentrate.”

  “Concentrate on what?” The last word comes out as a gasp as he starts on the other shoulder, this time letting his teeth gently scratch up my neck.

  “Not fucking you like you want me to.”

  I would have the good sense to argue but his kisses travel a little further south to the tops of my breasts, coming dangerously close to my nipples.

  “You know you can’t…” He of all people should know that the moment he sucks a nipple into his
mouth, all bets are off.

  “And I’m not. Chill.”

  He shifts his body over mine, leaving me no other choice but to open my legs for him. However, he’s careful that the tip of his cotton-clad erection doesn’t probe my naked flesh. Then he resumes his journey down my body, stopping to palm my breasts through the terrycloth. But instead of ripping the towel away to give me what I crave, he kisses me through it, the pressure of his mouth giving me the illusion of having my nipples sucked, but not actually doing it. And it drives me mad.

  Twin hard peaks strain against the fabric, pebbling to the point of pain. Riot covers one with his mouth and flicks his tongue over the noticeable bud, the thick fabric absorbing the feel of his hot, wet mouth. He runs his teeth over it before biting down hard, causing me to moan and arch into him. Had that been my bare skin between his teeth, it may have hurt. But through the barrier of the towel, it’s not nearly enough.

  My nipples sting with the need for contact and it takes every ounce of my willpower to not scoot down an inch to let the head of his dick graze my clit. But I’m not ready to admit defeat so early in the game. I just have to hope that his self-control is wearing as thin as mine.

  Riot kisses down the middle of my belly, stopping to dip his tongue where my navel would be. When his mouth hits my pubic bone, he pauses, and looks up at me, his gaze wild and his lips kiss-burned by the towel.

  “Fuck, Rox. I fucking smell you.” He bites his lip and groans before dipping his head to scent my arousal once more.

  “Maybe you should get a little closer than that.” I’m only teasing, so when he does, I nearly leap off the bed.

  “Easy, baby,” he murmurs as his chin presses into the patch of towel that covers my mound. Then he uses his mouth to add another layer of wet heat, working it in a slow rhythm that almost feels like his tongue slipping through my slick flesh.

  His fingers take the place of his mouth and he strums my clit like the strings of his guitar. He looks at me—one hand bounding my wrists, the other rubbing my sex, lips parted, eyes two hazy slits.