Sparks Fly

by Nicole Falls

  “You better not fucking stop!”

  And who was I to say no to that sort of directive? So I dove back in with zeal, face completely buried in her as I cupped her ass in my hands and moved my tongue all over her slickened flesh in torturously slow licks everywhere. As I worked my tongue over her flesh, that telltale quiver returned and her thighs clenched around my head like a vise as she came on an airy, lilting moan. She sounded so sexy, I almost bust in my pants. I placed a lingering kiss to her left thigh and worked my way back up her body. Her expression was the epitome of relaxed as she lay there, legs splayed—a lazy smile slowly spreading across her face.

  “You still with me?” I asked, with a cocky chuckle.

  “Barely,” she replied on an exhale.

  The sound of a key in the lock of the bathroom door interrupted my next sentence and I quickly moved from between her legs to the door before whoever was able to get it open all the way and see her in all her glory. I opened the door to the angry glare of a dude who was a smooth five feet tall.

  I peered down at him and asked, “Do we have a problem here?”

  “Yeah, man. While you were in there getting your swerve on, we got a line of folks out here waiting to pay their water bill. Can y’all wrap it up?”

  “Ahhh….my bad man, give us…uh…a few minutes and we’ll be outta here.”

  “Just hurry up, homeboy.”

  Behind me I could hear her shuffling and I assumed she was moving to put her clothes back on. I turned back to see her on her hands and knees, ass in the air searching for her underwear, I assumed.

  “Looking for these?” I asked, pulling the scrap of lace from my pocket, “You won’t even need these. Come on…let’s get outta here and finish this somewhere more comfortable.”

  That night was the beginning of what I had assumed until very recently was a beautiful arrangement. Late nights and early mornings spent in every sexual position known to mankind and some I’m certain we invented. She was the homie, with the added benefit of being the possessor of the most bomb pussy I’ve ever been in in my adult life. Whatever hang up she had or midlife crisis she was going through was sure to pass and she’d be back. But until then…I was giving her the space to figure out what she needed and wanted from me. I was not in the habit of sweating any woman, present company included.

  ***

  I was startled from my sleep by the incessant ringing of my doorbell. I picked up my phone and glanced at the time. It was well after two in the morning, so whoever was at the door better have had a good ass excuse for showing up at my place in the middle of the night. I walked over to the door and looked through the peephole to see who it was. Rolling my eyes, I opened the door.

  “Oh, so you’re alive. Ok cool,” she said, quickly turning on her heel as if she was going to walk away.

  Before she could even take a step, I grabbed her arm, pulling her inside, “Man, bring your silly ass on in here.”

  “I mean, I just came by because I texted you earlier and it looked like you were responding, but then the dots disappeared. So then I tried calling you a couple times, but there was no answer. So I gave it a few hours because maybe you were…busy or something, but then you never responded to any of my follow up texts. So I assumed that you must’ve been kidnapped and they were holding you hostage and your phone as ransom.”

  “So you came to rescue me from the kidnappers…in that?”

  She was dressed in a tiny ass romper that hugged her titties and gave the perfect view of my favorite part of her.

  “I was gonna use what I had to get what I want,” she replied simply.

  “Something is seriously wrong with you,” I said, laughing, “So what’s up?”

  “Nothin’. You was sleep?”

  “Yeah I must’ve dozed after the game.”

  “Oh.”

  We sat there in silence for a few minutes before she grabbed my hand leading me to the bedroom. She must’ve gotten over her space issue, I guess. That took less time than anticipated. We entered my room and she still hadn’t said a word. She undressed, sliding between my covers naked as the day she was born and looking at me in anticipation. I turned out the light, stripped down to my boxers, and climbed into bed next to her. I didn’t touch her though. If she came over here to restart our arrangement, it had to be on her terms. I wasn’t making any assumptions.

  We laid in silence for a few moments until she burrowed her head beneath my arm, wiggling through until we were basically spooning. I tightened my arms around her and she relaxed into my embrace on a sigh. I placed a gentle kiss to her forehead as I heard her breathing even out as she fell into slumber. I lay awake holding her for hours, content at the way in which she perfectly fit into my embrace, our bodies connected like puzzle pieces that had finally found a fit. After pushing me away, she hadn’t been able to stay away. She came to me…that had to mean something, right?

  I woke up empty armed, with the faint trace of her signature scent in the air. Should have known it was too good to be true. I probably should have just thrown caution to the wind, said fuck it and told her I wanted more. I knew she was skittish about being in a relationship, however, so I’d decided to let my actions speak for my feelings. And it was dope for a while. We were in a relationship without having exactly defined those parameters, but it was understood. Or so I thought. Then she brought up this whole needing space to figure out what she was doing, so I gave it to her. Shit hurt like hell because I’d grown accustomed to seeing her damn near everyday, getting a boost just from her presence in my space. Hell, she even had a section of my dresser reserved for pajamas she never wore and spare outfits when our hookups turned into weekends laid up with each other with no worries about the outside world.

  I got up from bed, needing to take a leak. After finishing up in the bathroom I walked out into the common area on my way to the kitchen to see her on the couch. She was laid out on her back, eyes closed—with one hand over her heart and the other resting on her lower abdomen. Her breathing was even and slow as if she was trying to be conscious of each inhalation and exhalation. I went to tap her on the shoulder and noticed she had ear buds in. Deciding not to interrupt whatever she had going on, I went into the kitchen to fix us some breakfast. Whenever she finished, she’d smell the food and come on over.

  In the kitchen I assembled all the ingredients for my breakfast specialty—the Mexican omelet.

  I was browning the chorizo when I felt her arms snake around my waist, settling over my abdomen with her head pressed into my back. I waited for the slow creep of her hands to continue lower, as this was her typical way of starting morning playtime, but they stayed put as she heaved a sigh. I used the hand without the spatula, to readjust her so that she was to the left of me, but arms still connected around my waist.

  Dropping a kiss on her forehead, I said, “Good morning.”

  “Hey.”

  She stepped away and began grabbing items to set the table. She loved mimosas so I wasn’t surprised to hear the popping of a cork signaling the opening of a champagne bottle. She’d found the stash of prosecco I kept in the bottom of the fridge for her visits. I finished with the omelets, plated everything, and sat down across from her at the table. We ate in an uncomfortable silence, with her casting furtive glances my way every few seconds.

  “Thank you,” she said, softly.

  I grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm, “No problem.”

  “Hey…are we good?” she asked, gnawing on her lower lip.

  Considering she had been the source of this…disruption of our situation, I wasn’t quite sure why she was asking me. As far as I knew, we were good before her little freak out about us being too intense.

  “If you’re good, I’m good,” I replied.

  She paused for a moment before nodding her head, “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  ***

  “Man, I don’t know what the fuck your girl is on,” I said to Pierre as he prepped for a presentatio
n.

  We had barely been in the office an hour before I descended upon his office, whining like a little girl. After breakfast yesterday, she took off quickly claiming that she had some errands to run. I was intimately familiar with her stance of Sunday being a do nothing day, but I didn’t object. I let her go ahead and run again.

  “What you mean? I thought y’alls little Justin Timberlake-Mila Kunis thing was perfect.”

  “It was…until she started trippin’.”

  “She wouldn’t have room to trip if your ass just told her you were over this Ashton Kutcher-Natalie Portman shit y’all had brewing. Damn, nigga. Just tell the girl you love her already.”

  “I don’t know what to be more concerned about—your knowledge of all these chick flicks or the fact that you think I’m in love with her. It’s not that deep, bruh.”

  “My wife loves a good romantic comedy, what can I say. And as far as your second point? Bullshit. You’ve been talking about her nonstop since she decided y’all were on break. You passed on coming over MikeMike house to watch a series defining game on Saturday. You walked in this muhfucka today looking like somebody had stole your bike. Nigga you too sick about whatever is going on for it not to be love.”

  I opened my mouth to refute his claims, but I had nothing. As much as I kept trying to deny it, I was in love with her—deeply and irrevocably. P just looked at me and shook his head.

  “I told you what you needed to do. Me and Mia tried that “no labels, let’s just kick it shit” and you see where I am currently.”

  “Yeah, holding her purse every Saturday afternoon while she shoe shops.”

  “Happily, nigga. Unlike you, I wasn’t too scared to let my woman know how I felt about her as soon as I was feeling it. But…you got it.”

  “Man, whatever.”

  ***

  We need to talk. – Queen Bee

  I picked up my phone to see those dreaded four words and immediately responded.

  Your place or mine?

  Mine. Tonight, after work? – Queen Bee

  I’ll swing thru after the gym.

  Until then. – Queen Bee

  I skipped the gym. I was too on edge to concentrate and the last thing I needed was to drop a damn dumbbell on my toe because I was too busy trying to come up with scenarios of what she wanted to talk about. Instead I stopped by the store to pick up a few items to cook for dinner then headed straight to her place. When she opened the door after I got there she seemed shocked—almost as if she hadn’t invited me there. I held up the grocery bags.

  “I brought the fixings for penne alla vodka…”

  She smiled and shook her head before stepping aside to let me pass the threshold into her place. I immediately headed for the kitchen, organizing my ingredients and assembling all the pots, pans and utensils I would need to complete this meal.

  “You need some help?” she asked.

  I was surprised; she usually never volunteered to help, saying that cooking was an unnecessary chore. The less she had to do it, the better.

  “Ahhhh…actually, yeah I do. You know how to make garlic bread?”

  “Take it from the package and put it in the over?”

  I laughed, “Now you know damn well I don’t use that premade shit.”

  “My bad, Iron Chef, I forgot how serious you were about your ingredients.”

  “Ok, how about chopping an onion? Can you handle that?”

  “Sure what’s a few more tears?” she muttered lowly beneath her breath.

  I didn’t know if she meant for me to hear or acknowledge that, so I moved around it. She grabbed the cutting board and the onion I’d left on the counter and commenced to chop. Immediately I heard sniffles and turned to see tears streaming down her face. I grabbed a piece of bread, sliced off the crusts and walked over to her. I placed a gentle hand over her wrist to stop the chopping motion of her hand.

  She turned to me with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks that looked as if they were caused by a bit more than chopping onion. I had only interrupted her to teach her a trick about keeping from crying while chopping an onion, but the look on her face told me that we needed to have whatever talk she invited me over here to have now.

  “Wash your hands and meet me in the living room,” I said.

  “After dinner is fine. We can talk then,” she protested.

  I shook my head, “I don’t like seeing you like this. I think we need to hash this out now. Then we can enjoy the meal. I don’t want this to be a repeat of the awkward breakfast from a few days ago. Come on, please.”

  She acquiesced, moving to the small half bath to wash her hands and, presumably, face. She walked into the living room looking like John Coffey headed toward execution. Instead of sitting next to me on the loveseat, she sat in the chair across from me. A few minutes passed as silence blanketed us.

  “So…” she started.

  I stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt.

  “What are we doing? What is this? What are we? I know those are all things that a girl who let herself be put in a position like this shouldn’t be asking, but goddamnit I am. Because I…this…this wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this and I don’t even know what like this is…I can’t even really put it into words, but it is more than I expected, anticipated, or even thought I wanted or needed. We’re beyond using each other as a means of sating physical needs, but not quite in the realm of being in a real relationship. Not that I’m trying to force your hand because it is what it is, but I just…” she trailed off on a sigh, lowering her head into her hands.

  Immediately I moved to her, on my knees in front of the chair in which she was sitting, tugging at her fingers so that I could see her face and be looking in her eyes when I said what I had to say.

  “You know why I call you Queen Bee?” I asked when she finally made eye contact with me.

  She chuckled, “Yeah, because I took your ass down with a Beyoncé song.”

  “Ha! True, but more than that…your presence is one of strength. You always keep your head held high, regal as fuck. So for me to see you showing this kind of vulnerability? That lets me know that I fucked up. I should have been clearer with my intentions and my feelings. So I’m going to state it plain,” I said, making sure to maintain eye contact as I began speaking again, “Lil mama you got me sprung like a muhfucka. You tryna be my girl for real or nah?”

  She immediately busted out laughing.

  “You know I can’t stand your ass right? This is a serious moment.”

  “And I’m serious as hell right now. Doesn’t even matter if you ‘can’t stand my ass’ because I love your ass.”

  Her eyes widened, jaw dropped.

  With a cocky smile I asked, “So what you got to say about that?”

  She grabbed my head, pulling me forward to kiss me. I expected aggression considering the force with which she grabbed me, but her kiss was light and gentle and fleeting.

  “I love your ass, too, fool.”

  “So we’re doing this. For real. You and me, no running, no hiding…playing spades with the cards up, all trust?”

  “I can’t promise I won’t run,” she said on a slight giggle.

  “Just as long as you know I’m right on your heels, chasing you down. I wasn’t looking for it, but the love bug bit me, girl.”

  She blushed and placed her hands over her face.

  I grabbed her hands and used a finger to lift her chin so we were staring eye to eye, “You gon have me out here looking corny by myself? Making grand declarations and shit? Don’t let me find out you was just really missin’ my mans and not me too.”

  She giggled and rolled her eyes, “I certainly didn’t mean to get caught slippin’, but I’m glad I fell for you…if you break my heart tho, I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

  “Damn, ma, it’s like that. Maybe we movin’ too fast,” I said, trying to back away.

  “Too late, you fuck with me, you stuck with me,” she said, grab
bing me around the neck and drawing me into another one of those slow gentle kisses.

  Being stuck wasn’t so bad after all.

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  Other Titles by Nicole Falls

  Adore You

  Smitten

  About the Author

  Nicole Falls is a contemporary Black romance writer who is trying to become the Russell Westbrook of Black romance. She’s also a ceramic mug and lapel pin enthusiast who cannot function without her wireless Beats constantly blaring music. When Nicole isn’t writing, she spends her time trolling her friends and family while drinking coffee and/or cocktails or checking off yet another of these great United States visited in her quest to see some land! She currently resides in the suburbs of Chicago.

  Keep up with my random, rambling thoughts at: www.nicolefalls.com

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