Love on the Run

by Zuri Day

  Whoa.

  His Master P was massive, weighty, stretching her with its girth. She tensed, instinctively, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding on for dear life.

  “Shh, just relax, baby. We’ve got all night.”

  At this moment, Shayna felt it might take that long just to get past the head of this cobra!

  They were still for a moment, with Michael’s hips elevated and controlled, his legs baring the weight of him while Shayna’s body adjusted. Then he began kissing her again, slowly, rhythmically, capturing her tongue and sucking it into his mouth. As she focused on this tongue-play Shayna began to relax and when she did so, Michael began easing his hips down ever so slowly, moving, grinding, around and around. He pushed in a little farther, and then pulled back out to the tip, all the while whispering endearments in her ear, and planting kisses everywhere his mouth could touch. With each push in and slow pulling out, Shayna relaxed more and more, and her body got wetter and wetter, until at last, with one long, determined thrust, Michael’s hips touched hers.

  And the dance began.

  Michael’s movements were slow and methodical. Shayna’s were urgent, as if now that she’d expanded to accommodate him, she couldn’t get enough. They fit together like hand in glove, their movements like a choreographed dance with him taking the lead, and then her, back and forth, seemingly forever. He placed her arms above her head and entwined his fingers in hers. Then he looked deeply into her eyes as he moved inside her, reaching places that were being touched for the first time, enjoying the eyes darkened with desire as they stared back at him before fluttering closed. He rolled over and Shayna sat up. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling powerful and womanly as she rode him, exulting in his hisses and exclamations. Oh. Yeah. Damn! The dance continued and neither was aware of the thin layer of perspiration that broke out on their skin. So caught up were they in mutual pleasure that they had no idea that one hour went by, and then another. They lost track of the orgasms. They lost track of everything but the fact that what was happening here was something new and different and special and . . . more. After Shayna’s final melodic scream and Michael’s long moan, they settled their bodies in spoon fashion and within seconds were fast asleep. And though they weren’t aware of it at the time, they’d both realized the exact same thing.

  Tonight was a game changer. Big time.

  25

  Shayna was at once aware of the dichotomous atmosphere: soft bed, hard chest. The room so dark while her heart spilled sunshine. Had last night really happened? Had she really spent most of it making mad, passionate love? The soreness of her thighs and between her legs told her that indeed she had. But the immense pleasure had been more than worth the slight pangs of pain. Grabbing the pillow and cuddling it against her stomach, Shayna smiled as she remembered last night’s events. How had she ever imagined that she’d be the one doing the seducing? The idea to come to his place might have been hers, but the lead on the loving? That all belonged to Michael. She’d known one man, but for all of what Jarrell had shown her about love, she might as well have been a virgin. That’s how she felt in Michael’s arms.

  As though she’d never known love before.

  She remembered how his eyes bore into hers as his powerful manhood pummeled her body. How they became almost black with desire, and how his mouth formed into a determined line. It was a face of passion she’d never forget. She turned to look at it, and was surprised to find two open eyes staring at her.

  “Good morning.”

  Her smile was tremulous as she responded. “Morning.”

  Michael reached out and slid an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you, baby?”

  Jarrell had called her “baby” all the time. So why did it sound so magical when Michael said the word? “A little sore, but . . . I’m good.”

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “No, you didn’t. It’s just that . . .”

  “I know.” A companionable silence, and then, “Did you text John?”

  Shayna nodded. “I told him that I was staying to meet with a potential sponsor.”

  “Do you think that will be a problem?”

  “We usually get the day off after a meet so, no, as long as I get back home tonight, I’m good.”

  Michael placed his arm underneath Shayna and pulled her close to him. “You mean I only get to have you all to myself for a few more hours?”

  “I guess so.” Michael began drawing lazy eights across Shayna’s abdomen. The movement stirred something in Shayna beyond her ticklish inclinations. There was no doubt that she was in lust with him, but she felt if she gave in to him again, she might run the risk of falling in love as well. “Is there any food in this house? I’m starved.”

  So was Michael, but not for anything in the pantry. “I doubt it,” he answered. “But we can go grab breakfast if you’d like.” His fingers left her abdomen and grazed her navel before heading lower.

  Shayna threw back the covers and moved away from him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Once inside the confines of the shower stall, with the hot water creating a curtain of steam around her, Shayna placed her head back against the cool marble and allowed the full range of her emotions to come to the surface. On one hand she was over the moon with happiness. Michael was one incredible lover. He made her feel like the sexiest, most desirable, most beautiful woman in the world. On the other hand, however, she was fearful. Now that she’d experienced this level of loving, could she go back to a detached, professional relationship with him? Could she keep herself from developing deeper emotions? And what about Michael? Shayna knew there were other women. But could there be anyone special considering what they’d just shared?

  “Of course there’s someone special,” Shayna angrily hissed at herself as she reached for the soap and began vigorously scrubbing her body. Do you think you’re the first woman who’s felt this way after a night with him? Do you think you’re the only person he looks at with those bedroom eyes, the only one he caresses with those large, capable hands and whose body gets set on fire by his skillful tongue?

  And then as if conjured up they were now in the shower: those eyes, hands, and that skillful tongue. Her intake of breath was sharp as he came up behind her unnoticed in this large doorless enclosure. Yet she didn’t mind the intrusion. She rested back against him, soaping his body with her own.

  “Here, allow me,” he murmured against her ear as he took the soap from her hand. With long sweeping strokes he lathered her body, all the while nibbling on her ear, nuzzling her neck, and kissing her cheek even as his free hand tweaked her nipples into hardened pebbles. He soaped her thoroughly and then, after the rinsing, took his tongue on the trail where the soap had been: along her collarbone down to her shoulders, across her breasts—licking, sucking, nipping his appreciation—across the muscled outline of her abs, into her navel and farther, until he swiped his tongue across her cootchie curtain, parting the V like a Happy Meal to discover the toy inside. He steadied Shayna’s shaking legs by wrapping his arms around her thighs and at the same time sucked her nub into a swollen bite of ambrosia until she exploded.

  “Let me do you,” she managed to whisper, while trying to remember how to breathe.

  “Next time.” He reached for the foil packet on the shower floor, quickly sheathed himself, and then hoisted Shayna up against the wall on the other side of the ten-foot by ten-foot shower. Away from the water, the marble was cool against her back, but no matter. Within seconds Michael had pierced her insides with a log of molten lava and continued to do so, over and again, until his fire had lit her core and the familiar flames of seventh-heaven style bliss began to ignite her body, mind, and soul. Michael felt her muscles clench around him. He reached around for the luscious cheeks that he loved so much, captured one in each hand, and pulled her even closer to him. His rhythm was ongoing and relentless. Shayna wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. She heard music and a
t first thought it was all in her mind. But no, music was all around them. Had it been there since Michael entered the shower? Shayna wasn’t sure, but now the beat of Trey Songz’ “Sex Ain’t Better Than Love” was unmistakable. Hmph. Right about now, she was willing to take that lyric to a vote. Because she wouldn’t fool herself into believing that after twenty-four hours she was in love with Michael. But she was sure as hell in sex with him, and right now . . . as she screamed her pleasure in sync with Michael’s growling release . . . she could think of nothing better.

  26

  An hour and a half later, Michael and Shayna sat at a casually chic restaurant, fresh off a quick shopping spree to buy Shayna some duds. She looked right at home in the autumn environment, her burnt orange sweater, multicolored striped turtleneck, black jeans, and low-slung boots presenting an acceptable nod to the East Coast chill. Michael wore a black turtleneck, jeans, and a satisfied smile. Since the shower, they’d engaged in small talk mostly. But now, as Michael watched Shayna’s bright eyes take in the decor while sipping her orange juice, he realized that there was still a lot about this vixen that he didn’t know. And he wanted to know everything.

  “So, Shayna,” he began, after a satisfying sip of java, “when we first met back in LA, our conversation centered mostly around your athletic achievements. Tell me a little bit about you, the person inside those fast running shoes.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever else you’d like to tell me, I guess. I remember your telling Dina that you grew up in Inglewood. Do you have siblings?”

  “No, it’s just me.”

  “You and your mother against the world, huh?”

  “My grandmother is the woman who raised me. I lived mostly with her because Mom was always gone, either working or partying.”

  “It’s an interesting relationship you have with your mom, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’m trying to envision my mother being married to the sibling of someone I dated. That’s a trip.”

  “If you ever get a chance to meet her, you’ll understand. Mom is young at heart, still a party girl, where I’ve always been more of an old soul. Perhaps that comes from the time I spent with my grandmother, or it could just be my personality.”

  “Or you could get it from your father.”

  Shayna shrugged.

  “My dad played such a pivotal role in my life,” Michael admitted. “I can’t imagine growing up without him. He died when I was twenty and that was still way too soon.”

  “I imagine growing up with him was special. But you can’t miss what you’ve never had.”

  “Your mother never married? That is, before the man she’s with now?”

  “No. She always had boyfriends, though. Men were always coming and going.”

  “That had to be hard on you.”

  “It is what it is.” There was a companionable silence as the two thought about fathers, and the lack thereof. “There were good times, though. I remember once, when I was about thirteen years old. We had an impromptu party in Big Mama’s front yard, some of my mom’s friends and some kids from the block. We were all dancing to Nelly’s “Country Grammar” and Sisqó’s “Thong Song.” It was so much fun until . . .”

  “Until what?”

  Until my mother thought she saw her boyfriend looking at me and abruptly cut the music. And the fun time was over, just like that. “My mom was just never the overly maternal type. I think when they were passing out that gene, she must have left the room.” They sipped their drinks in silence for a moment, Michael wondering what Shayna hadn’t shared with him and Shayna wondering if she’d said too much. “What happened to your dad, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Michael sat back in his chair, looked out the window, and fiddled with the coffee mug as he spoke. “On-the-job accident. My dad was a foreman down at the Long Beach shipyards. He worked there for thirty years without incident, never even took a sick day off. Then in a fluke accident, a large cable snapped, hit my dad in the head, in the only spot that could kill him instantly, the doctor would later tell us.” After more than a decade, the memory still brought pain to Michael’s face.

  Shayna reached across the table. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know, me, too. But like you said, it is what it is.” He looked over at Shayna, realizing that she was the first woman since his last serious relationship more than three years ago where he’d opened up about his family. “Your mother told you that the streets claimed your father. What was it? Drugs? Gangs?”

  “I don’t know. Mom refuses to talk about it. But whenever I asked about him, that’s what she always told me . . . streets got him.”

  And there it was again, Michael noticed, that flash of raw vulnerability in Shayna’s eyes and with it, an overwhelming urge on his part to keep her safe, the way Sam Morgan had for his family. There was no doubt in Michael’s mind that he was the man that he was because of his father; every valuable lesson he’d learned was at his knee. Part of the reason Michael hadn’t yet married was because of his father’s words: Stay single until you’re done playing the field. Because once you get married, you’re playing for keeps.

  The waitress brought their hefty brunch order: eggs Benedict and hash browns for Shayna, a three-egg vegetable omelet, waffles, bacon, sausage, and hash browns for Michael. They agreed to split a fruit platter.

  Ravenous when they’d ordered, the two now eyed the massive spread before them. “Are we really going to eat all this?” Shayna asked incredulously.

  Reaching for his fork, Michael dug into his omelet. “We’re going to try.”

  “Ha!”

  For several moments, the click-clacking of silverware was the only thing heard at the table. After Michael had consumed a good portion of the omelet, a couple sausage patties and strips of bacon, and a third of his potatoes, he sat back, wiping his mouth in the process. “How’s your eggs Benedict?”

  Shayna nodded, chewing until she swallowed her bite. “Delicious. And if the way you’re eating is any indication, yours is, too.”

  “I like my food, baby, no doubt. And for a little sistah, you’re putting a good amount away yourself.”

  “Fast metabolism,” she offered.

  “For sure.” Michael waited until the waitress had refreshed his coffee and then continued. “Do your mom and her husband live in Los Angeles?”

  “No, Mom bought a home in Henderson, Nevada, two years ago, partly because of the attractive real estate prices and partly because that’s where Larsen wanted to incorporate.” It was also where Jarrell planned to begin his political career, gunning for the city council to start. But Shayna saw no need to share this tidbit. She wondered why it was that she even remembered.

  “Sounds like the age difference isn’t mattering much where their relationship is concerned.”

  “Not as much as their relationship matters to me.”

  “Jay’s brother being your de facto stepfather a problem?”

  Shayna saw the twinkle in his eye, knew he was trying to lighten the mood. “You think?” And then, “They are very close, Jarrell and Larsen. I believe in Mom’s mind, Jay and I staying together helps secure her and Larsen’s bond. Actually, some of the best times I’ve had with my mom were with the four of us, at least lately. Now that he and I have broken up, the mother-daughter dynamic is an understandably sticky situation.”

  “It’s got to be hard for her trying to support you while not totally dissing her husband’s brother.”

  “It would be if she were trying to support me. And maybe she is, in her own way. Maybe she truly believes what she says, that Jarrell and I should get back together. I didn’t see it firsthand, but I know my mother endured her share of abusive relationships.” She looked at Michael to know whether he understood what she meant. “Physical abuse,” she added, just to be clear. “Big Mama made me promise to never allow a man to do that to me. I intend to keep that promise. Even with everything Jay did to me, my mother is still tryin
g to help us get back together. When it comes to moving forward with my life, without him in it, I don’t have her support.”

  Now, it was Michael’s turn to reach across the table. “Don’t worry about it, Shayna,” he said sincerely. He paused before adding, “You have mine.”

  27

  Shayna reached the door to her condo, bobbing her head to the sound flowing through her ear buds. “Family Affair” was one of Shayna’s all time favorite songs by one of her all time favorite songstresses, Mary J. She hummed the funky hook as she unlocked the door, maneuvering her bulky canvas bag through the doorway with one arm while balancing the purse, take-out food, and drink with the other. It had been another long yet productive day and after spending an equally long and productive night with Michael last night, Shayna was more than ready to eat a delicious meal, take a hot bath, climb into a soft bed, and get a good night’s sleep. Setting her food and drink on the counter, she tossed the canvas bag near the hallway that led to the bedrooms before ridding herself of jacket and shoes in quick order.

  “‘Don’t need no hate. . .’” Shayna sang, as she removed the Chinese dishes she’d ordered from their container, placed a helping of each along with the egg rolls onto a plate and into the microwave, and danced down the hall to change out of her sweats. She put on the same extra-large Lakers T-shirt that Michael had given her to wear last night, shook her hair out of its ponytail, and returned to the kitchen. She’d just set her food on the living room coffee table and reached for the remote when her cell phone rang.