by Tiana Laveen
Her full pink lips parted, her breaths shallow then fast as he stroked her pussy with his thumb between thrusts, relishing every sensation, every sound, every second. Grabbing her calf, he paused for a spell and kissed her ankle. Her smooth flesh against the unevenness of his palm felt like such a contradiction… but just as it was meant to be. Where it was meant to be. He increased his pace, going deeper, and she moaned. Placing her hand against his thigh, she tried to control his manic, bottomless thrusts.
He slapped her fingers away, making her scream as he leaned forward, his body flush against hers to force that same arm above her head. Keeping his pace, he jabbed in and out of her slick, hot pocket. Their groans dated and married one another, wrapping around each other tightly, filling the room in overlapping echoes of indulgence. Ankles crossed around his neck, chest to chest, his lips against her ear. He breathed hard, hearing his own oxygen escape his mouth as he fought for the next breath, and loved how she cried out and pleaded while he delivered blow after blow.
“Shit! You’re killing me… too deep! Feels so good!”
“Never too deep, baby…” He snatched her chin and made her look into his eyes. “I always have to make sure you remember my name, so I’m going to fuck it inside of you, leave my imprint in this motherfuckin’ pussy forever, like a gotdamn tattoo!”
He rammed into her hard, back to back, making her yell so loud, his ears rang. He loved that deafening sound as he tore her to pieces, making her cry, shudder, cum, curse and love him all at the same time. His phone began to ring but he ignored it. He wrapped his hand around her neck. As her eyes bore into his, there was no denying it…
Their connection was different, special. Something was happening between them—something severe and in need of attention. It wasn’t just her pussy, her body, her sophistication, the way she gave herself to him in between those sheets and became his greatest wish. It wasn’t that he was able to turn a resistant woman out, one of his favorite past times… All of that definitely helped, but that wasn’t the main reason why he couldn’t stop thinking about this incredible woman. Couldn’t stop wanting her… needing to please her…
It was the way she touched him, the way she listened, the way she was genuinely curious about his life, and the way she looked at him…
The way she tried to understand him after what had happened in Vegas… She was scared as hell, but open to the conversation. She wanted to know the truth, a plausible explanation. He had no choice but to tell her. This wasn’t someone he never wished to see again; he had to handle this differently, for so many reasons. He was enchanted with her. She ran circles in his mind as if she were an Olympic runner. She consumed his thoughts with the way she opened up like a flower to him, showed him bits and pieces of her shattered life, and exposed herself to him—not just her body, but her very soul, in all of its broken glory. He felt something for her, but she’d unlocked so much more. She’d grown up in a house of craziness. How could she not pretend to be stable, ordinary? She needed it like a child needed love.
Burying his face against her neck and shoulder, he shivered when she lightly caressed his hair, as if she were reading his mind.
“I’m about to cum…” he murmured. “I want to hold it off though…”
“I want you to cum. I love how you look and feel when you do. You don’t have to wait.”
“I’m waiting for you… Cum with me.” He rose slightly, slipped his finger against her clit, and grinded on her with each thrust. He watched her intensely, gauging her reactions. She seemed to not only get off on his lovemaking, but she also enjoyed being the center of his attention. She liked the way he observed her… fancied her… desired her. Pressing her back into the mattress, arching her body beneath his, eyes wide open… she filled him with something indescribable. Together, they gasped, releasing simultaneously. He held tight to her, his body convulsing, muscles stiff, barely able to breathe as his climax came in harsh waves.
Sweat rolled off every inch of his skin, tickling his flesh. His dick throbbed and twitched in the condom, expelling the last bits of ecstasy. They lay together, breathing hard, holding onto each other for dear life. After a while, he reluctantly let her go and got to his feet to retrieve his phone.
“Do you have to go?” She sat up, wrapping the sheets around her body.
His missed call was from Harlem. He glanced back at her. Her eyes were big and wide, like a doe’s. The whites reminded him of pure snow.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because… you don’t, uh, you don’t have to yet if you don’t want to.” She blinked a few times, as if nervous to even say it, then she turned her gaze away. He realized at that moment that they both were stuck. They were struggling. Neither of them expected this, and damn sure weren’t looking for it. They were falling for each other. Fast and hard.
He must’ve stared at her too long as he sorted his thoughts because all of a sudden she turned her sights back on him, shook her head, and looked away again.
“It’s okay. You can go, I was just, uh, extending the offer. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal, huh?” He smirked. “What if I don’t want to go? What if I just have to?” He placed the phone down on the bed, grabbed his underwear, and slid them on, his dick still hard and covered in her essence. He had no desire to wash her scent off. He wanted to keep her all over him for a bit longer. “Huh? Did you hear me?” She said nothing, her attention on her cuticles, as if they were of particular interest. “I want to stay, Zaire. I’m going to stay. Want to… shit… I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, all right?” He shrugged. “I’m not a dater. I don’t “do” relationships, all right? I don’t even know how this really works so I guess we could go out for breakfast, maybe a movie later, some shit like that? Is that what you want?” He smiled, hating the confusion he felt, not sure how to put one foot in front of the other with this whole awkward thing.
“Savage?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to know what you want from me. I want you to tell me again, like you did on the plane, but give me the updated version because a lot has happened between then and now. I feel like we’ve almost lived an entire lifetime in just a few visits. I’m scared. I care… about… I care about you, okay? I’m intrigued… and uh…” she paused for a moment, “I am admitting that I’m interested in you, as a person to date… to be with. I want to get to know you better, beyond the bedroom.”
He nodded, then reached for his pants and put them on.
“All right. I understand. I don’t feel the need to try and lay it on thick as my friend said again, so I’ll just come out straight, okay?”
“Yes, please do.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I wanna be with you. Like, together… just us. I want the same thing you want, to get to know you. I still want to fuck a lot though so that outta the bedroom shit kinda threw me for a loop but…” She laughed at that. “Yeah… I think we’re on the same page.”
“I don’t want to be with you though, Savage, if you’re going to be having sex with other women at the same time. If I allow myself to get emotionally attached to you, I can’t share you with other women.”
He swallowed. After a brief hesitation, he moved closer to her, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah… I can appreciate that. So I will make a promise to you that I won’t fuck any other women while we’re tryna see where this goes, okay? What about you? Is the pussy locked down now? It’s just mine, right?”
She smirked at him and nodded. “Of course.”
“All right. Get cleaned up and dressed. Let me take ya out to get a late-night dinner or early breakfast from one of these twenty-four-hour joints. I’m starving.”
“No, no, no.” She shook her head, waving her finger in his direction before flinging the sheets off herself and sliding off the bed. “I’m going to prepare for you a home cooked meal if you’re hungry, okay?”
“You can cook?” He couldn’t help but be surp
rised. She didn’t seem like the type.
“Hell yes I can cook. I can throw down! Now come on, have a seat on the bed. I am going to take a shower, throw on a nightgown and my robe, and we’ll go down to the kitchen together. The remote for the television is right there.” She pointed across the room before disappearing into the master suite bathroom, closing the door behind her. He sat there for a spell, scratching his head.
The woman was full of surprises. And he liked that shit. He liked that shit a lot…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
From Hell to Breakfast
Zaire pulled her robe up for what felt like the one hundredth time. The silky silver material kept falling from her shoulder and gathering around her elbow as she moved about, spatula in hand. She maneuvered the utensil back and forth in a butter coated skillet of scrambled eggs while the bacon sat on a nearby plate, the grease absorbed by a few layers of paper towels. The fluffy homemade buttermilk pancakes patiently awaited the fried apple topping she’d prepared from scratch and the hash browns, seasoned with onion and green pepper, were still warm enough to melt the cheddar cheese she’d sprinkled on them. She’d sliced strawberries and an assortment of other goodies as well. Truth be told, she hadn’t cooked a large banquet like this in eons. There was no reason to; she lived alone, and she wanted to watch her weight. Today, however, was special.
She glanced at the man who’d turned her into a puddle of giggles and joy, and smiled. His back was towards her and though she couldn’t see his face, there was no doubt he was smiling, too.
In the open living room on the white couch, Savage sat bare chested, hunched over with the remote control in his grip and his glass of orange juice on the clear coffee table before him. His coffee was right alongside it, steam still rising from the cup. He was watching a rerun of the obnoxious hit show, ‘South Park’. She’d seen it a time or two, and that was a time or two too many. The crass, outlandish adult cartoon was enough to make her head explode, chock full of absurdity, sheer stupidity, and political incorrectness, but he appeared to be enjoying himself nonetheless, chuckling every other minute or so. She imagined from his line of work that the senselessness of it all was a welcomed reprieve.
“Are you hungry, Maximus? It’s almost finished!” she called out. It sounded odd at times calling him by his first name. She ping ponged between it and ‘Savage’, just as he did with Zaire and Eva. Perhaps they were both acknowledging their double personalities—something else they had in common.
“I’m fuckin’ starvin’!”
She turned off the eye of the stove, grabbed two stone-colored square plates, and placed everything on them just so. After garnishing with a sprig of fresh mint and a slice of tomato, she made her way into the living room and handed him his plate, along with a napkin folded over a fork and knife. “Oh shit… Wow. This looks amazing, baby.”
His eyes glazed over with wonder and before she could even get situated next to him, the man was digging into the damn food like some ravenous maniac. She watched in amazement as he chewed and smacked his lips, occasionally chasing the bites with a hard gulp of the tangy, fresh squeezed citrus delight.
“Now I know you’ve had good food before. You took me to a nice restaurant in Vegas. You probably even have a private chef. Why are you acting as if this is the first time you’re eating something decent?”
“Yeah.” He jammed a forkful of sliced strawberries into his mouth, his gaze roaming over his plate like a nomad who’d come upon an oasis. “I have good food all the time, but I don’t…” He paused to swallow. “I don’t have a private chef, nothin’ like that.” The sound of his fork clinking against the plate sounded vicious, as if he were stabbing everything to death. She placed her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “I need my privacy. I mean, I have people come in and clean ’nd shit, but always with a security guy watching. As far as food though, I usually just get take out. This is incredible!” He burst out laughing when one of the characters on the television explained something about an anal probe.
She studied his arms and chest covered in tattoos, still reeling at how much ink covered the man. He was hairy, tanned, broad shouldered, intimidating as fuck… and she grew wet just by looking at him. He looked exactly how he behaved, there was no guess work with this one. “Baby, to tell you the truth though, I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
“Really? Was your mom or dad a good cook? Wait, hold that thought.” She got to her feet, retrieved her glass of juice that she’d left on the kitchen counter, then returned to his side. “I asked about your parents cooking for you when you were a kid. Did they?” She sipped from her glass then set it down next to his.
“Nah.” He stared straight at the television, chewing sloppily and seemingly distracted—perhaps not interested in delving deeper. “My mom pretty much just threw some shit in the microwave and when my dad was home, sometimes he’d just pick up somethin’ from a fast food place or food truck, somethin’ like that. My mother made coffee, cereal, and lit cigarettes.” He chuckled dismally. “I only saw my father make me hot dogs and pop tarts every now and again… oh, and bowls of chips and pretzels on special occasions, with dip. On my birthdays I got pizza, cake, and ice cream—store bought. My mother wasn’t much of a cook.”
“What about holidays? Thanksgiving? Christmas?”
“We’d go to the Chinese buffet or over one of my dad’s friends’ houses.”
As she sat there looking at the man with the thick brows, long dark lashes, and heavy muscles, she realized he was more of a feral animal who’d somehow made it out of not only an unusual wilderness of a childhood, but one that was missing essential pieces to his past puzzle. Savage was definitely a fitting surname.
He’s like Tarzan…
“You practically raised yourself, didn’t you?” she asked as she bit into a piece of lightly buttered toast.
“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. You’re jumping to conclusions based on what I said about the food ’nd all. There are other ways to nourish a child… and they definitely fed my mind.” She nodded in understanding. “My parents raised me for sure. The thing of it was, they had a lot of faith in me. After they showed or taught me somethin’, they knew they didn’t need to waste a lot of time going over it again. I was shown very early on how to take care of myself. Remember, my mother had to do the same. She was a survivor. Her parents had abandoned her because so she ended up in an orphanage. She was abused in there, and figured out ways to endure.”
“That makes sense. What did they teach you?” She took another bite of her toast.
“She and my father taught me how to get up and get ready for my day, how to make a bowl of cereal and fry an egg. I washed my own clothes, cleaned my shoes, ironed the collars on my shirts, walked down the street to a friend’s house. His father would cut my hair until I learned how to cut my own. I was good with dogs. I could train them because my father taught me how. We had some pit bulls and mutts, and would sell the puppies. I was a good teacher that way, just like my father.
“My dad took me over his friend’s house who was a Jiu-Jitsu fighter. I found out, after messing with him and his kids in their garage, that I liked fighting. My dad had another friend who was a body builder. I also discovered I liked lifting weights. My dad lifted weights, too, so between the two of ’em, I bulked up pretty quick. I liked it. It took my mind off… some things.”
She wanted to ask him what those things were, for he seemed to fall in deep thought then. His expression turned into a scowl. But she decided to hold off and just wait.
“I liked racing my friends, you know, to see who was the fastest. Most of my friends back then were biker kids, just like me.”
“That makes sense. We usually become friends at that age with whoever we attend school with or the children of our parents’ friends. It becomes an extended family.” He nodded. “Did you play sports in school?”
“Yeah. I played football and basketball. I liked athletics, period. I was
pretty good. It was just somethin’ to do. I tried to be a part of everything, ya know? I was even in the debate club but got kicked out of it for always cursing.” She shook her head and couldn’t help but laugh. “Anyway, school bored me, but my mother would be on my ass if I missed too many days. I did just enough to get by. The kids there were square or involved in stupid stuff for no reason. I mean, why be in a life of crime if ya really didn’t need to be? Just dumb. So, uh, back to your original question. No home cooked meals…
“I got raised, but the other stuff just wasn’t a daily thing. They didn’t nag or get on me unless I wasn’t following the rules. They’d tell me something once and I was expected to do it. If I didn’t, there were consequences.” He took a sip of his juice.
“Consequences? Were you physically abused?”
“I was disciplined. Not a beating that almost cost me my life or anything crazy like that, but maybe I was grounded, ya know? No friends over, no bike, no allowance, shit like that.” She nodded in understanding. “So.” He picked up his cup of coffee and tasted that. “Since you’re all in my business, let me get into yours. Who taught you to cook?”
“My father.” She couldn’t help but grin.
“Are you real close with him?” He smiled. “Seems like it from what you’ve shared with me so far and that big, pretty smile on your face.”
“Very much so.” She adjusted her robe once again and crossed her legs. A strange looking character with a rotund shape apparently named Cartman was speaking about some equally funny looking character named Kyle stealing his girlfriend. Savage took her plate from her grasp, set it on the table, and started to massage her feet. He watched the television, laughing so hard, his complexion deepened and the vein in his neck protruded. She leaned back on the couch and slid a hand behind her head, staring at him.
“What are you smilin’ at?” he asked, sensing her gaze.
How’d he know I was smiling? He is who he is, that’s why…