by Peyton Banks
I lift her chin when she tries to look away. “Apology accepted.”
She sighs as she takes my hand away to hold it. “I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate everything you've done, Mah. All the encouragement, all the training sessions, the food prep… But I also realised last night that I can't use you as a crutch. I have to face my demons, find belief in myself. That's why I trained on my own today... And...” She presses a few buttons on her watch before showing me the time.
“The fuck, bae? But isn't your PB—”
“Not anymore.”
“So this is why you were so happy earlier…”
“That, and seeing you.” She rests her hands on my chest. “I was so crazy to end things with you after what happened. These last few weeks have made me realise just how much you mean to me. How happy you make me. How much I love you.”
I pull her into my arms. “I love you, too, Jam. More than fucking anything.”
She holds me back tight. “I know, and no matter what happens, I'll never hurt you like that again. I'll be good to you, Mah. I promise.”
“You are.” Shit, she's so damn good to me. “This ain’t one-sided, bae. You’ve done more for me than I could even fucking list.”
I hear her sigh as she pulls out of my arms. “After we earn this year’s credits, I think we should see about transferring to Bath.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it was our dream. I came here to avoid anyone I knew, and you came here because of me. I don’t want us to get older and you regret—”
“Hey, I’d never regret it. Besides, I like it here. The coaches are cool, and I kinda like not having to see anyone from school hanging around. It’s kinda been a fresh start.”
“Just think about it, okay?”
“Alright.”
She smiles. “Good. You hungry? I made steamed fish.”
“Yeah.”
She pulls me towards the kitchen. “Let me plate up.”
11
Jamayla
My anxiety is at an all-time high as I finish clearing away the dishes. I'm hoping my dress has given him enough of a hint of what I'm hoping to happen, but as well as I know Mah, I can never be certain of what he’s gonna do.
His unpredictability is something I really love about him.
Our relationship was never based on the physical before, but I can't lie and say I haven't wanted to feel him inside me again, to feel his body against mine while he takes my mind to places only he ever has.
I've always been shy, though, so I won't ask, and if he knows me as well as I think he does, he should know that.
“All done,” I say as I join him in my bedroom. He’s sitting on the edge of my single bed with the remote in his hand. “What film did you choose?”
His gaze drifts down my body. “Mission Impossible.”
I fucking hate Tom Cruise, and he knows it. “Oh, right…”
He drops the remote on my bedside table before returning his attention to me. “Come here.”
I go to him immediately and stand between his legs, and then my pulse races as I watch him look down my body before gently pulling up my dress.
“Why did you wear this?”
I take the dress from him at my hips to pull it over my head. “You know why.”
“Fuck,” he says on an exhale. “These panties are sexy.” He looks up. “Tell me why.”
“Because I was hoping it would lead to a replay of the first time I wore it.”
“You hoped right.” His hand trails my inner thighs, and I shiver. “Damn, I hate to take these off, but I ain't get no dessert with dinner, so…”
My thong hits the floor, and once he's lifted my left leg onto the bed beside him, he holds my hips and disappears between my thighs. I close my eyes and hold the back of his head to steady myself, but my legs are already shaking.
God, his mouth is dangerous.
“You’re fucking soaked, bae…” He pumps his finger inside me, and I tremble as he strokes my front wall. “You’re lucky I’m giving you a day off tomorrow, ‘cause you’re gonna need it to recover from me.”
I moan at the ceiling, knowing it’s true. I’m more than ready to feel muscles I forgot existed ache tomorrow. “As long as I can still walk, I don’t care.”
“Shit, you might not even be able to do that.”
I open my mouth to reply, but only a series of whimpers come out as I grind myself against his face and explode. “Fuck, Mah…”
He lets me ride out my climax before stripping out of his own clothes and pulling me down onto his lap to kiss the hell out of me. I make sure to lick my cum from his lips between kisses, giving him more tongue than usual because I know how much it turns him on.
How hard it makes him.
His moans tell me how much he likes it, too, and he soon shifts us back on the bed so he’s sitting up against the wall. I run my hands over his silky dark skin, losing my mind more as the seconds pass. There’s nothing I don’t love about him.
He lifts me by my hips, and I slowly work him inside me when he lets me go to caress my breasts. “Fuck, Jam, I missed you, missed your body…”
I tremble in reply, but my walls especially as I accept him. “I missed yours, too. So much.” I kiss him before I cry. Being with him again like this after so long is screwing with my emotions, and I think it’s because I never thought we’d do this again.
He pulls me back by my arms when a tear falls from my cheek onto his. “Don’t hide that shit from me, bae,” he says, wiping the tears from my cheeks, but then his hands find my waist again to grind me down onto him. “This is fucking me up, too.”
I close my eyes as I ride him, and I swear I fall in love with him all over again. I’m never letting him go again, ever, and the thought of us only ever knowing each other like this has me shuddering again with a climax that leaves me breathless.
He groans as he pulls my nipple between his teeth, and the waves of bliss continue. “You make me crazy, Jama. Fucking crazy.”
He lays me on the bed, but he doesn’t leave me, the movement is as fluid as his strides on the track, and so are the rolls of his hips as he holds my thighs wide and strokes his dick deep inside me.
I arch my back and pull him deeper, gasping from the pain but craving it. “So good… Don’t stop…”
He slams into me. “I ain't stopping until you beg me to.”
12
Emaris
A week later…
“You ready?”
Jama nods. “More than.”
That's the Jamayla I know.
I kiss her, but I make it quick. I ain't trying to get hard in these tight ass tights. I might’ve already run my one and two hundreds, but I still don’t wanna be caught out here looking like a damn pervert. I swear it’s almost impossible to get soft after she gets it hard, unless I fuck it down inside of her.
I still slap her ass when she turns, though. “Now, go beat that track.”
She spins to kiss my cheek. “I’m wet,” she whispers before she pulls back. “And I love you.”
This fucking woman…
I snatch the towel from around her neck to hold it in front of me. “I love you, and I’ll show you how much later. Now get your ass over there.”
She smiles as she walks backwards, but then she finally turns to run over to the starting line. If my dick doesn’t go down by the time she’s finished this race, I’m fucking her in the changing rooms.
Again.
She settles into the blocks in lane three, one of her favourite lanes to run in. I know she’s still a little nervous about having people beside her, but Mister Stanson has made her run beside both men and women this week to prepare her.
I just hope it’s been enough.
The crowd quietens as they set, and then the gun fires. Jama rises first and does her usual delayed blink, but then she does what she does best.
She storms the track like she owns it.
Her technique is perfect:
there’s no drop of her shoulder, no glances to the runners beside her, no concern in her eyes, just pure focus and determination.
And she’s coming in fast.
She pulls away from the others with more than twenty metres to go, and when she crosses the finish line, she’s gained a new PB and set a new fastest time for this competition.
I fucking knew she'd been holding back on me when we were training together.
Her eyes find mine from across the track, and from the way she smiles, I know she has.
I shake my head and she laughs, and I swear my heart pounds as hard as the first time I saw her, when I really saw her. I love her so damn much, and as hard as it’s been, I’d do this year all over again if it meant we ended up here.
Our work ain’t over, and we have a lot more obstacles to overcome, but I’m hers and she’s mine, and I know no matter what happens, we’ll get through it.
I’ll make sure of it.
* * *
- The End -
About LeeSha McCoy
LeeSha McCoy is an African American Romance writer. She released her first book in 2012 and currently writes Urban Romance, Paranormal, & Contemporary. She always writes about strong women, and her mission is to write books for everybody, frequently blending the lines between genres.
She began writing in the late 90's, although, it was mostly song lyrics she wrote to escape her loneliness. As one of only a handful of bi-racial children living in her small hometown of Banbury, she struggled to make friends and to be accepted, so she spent most of her childhood alone.
She currently lives in Milton Keynes, England, but the American half of her family is spread across the United States, including the states of Baltimore, Colorado, and Texas.
As a mother to four beautiful children, LeeSha spends her spare time caring for her family, running a paranormal Facebook group dedicated to books featuring characters of colour, or binge reading steamy romance novels.
* * *
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Peaches and Rahim
MARIE LONG
Blurb
Picking a fight with her neighbor over peaches may have been a touch unnecessary, but—in Renee Foster’s defense—she was stressing over the demands of being an entrepreneur and the tree is on her property.
Still, to make nice, she takes Rahim Hunter a “peach offering.” They may even have been on their way to a possible friendship had a series of misunderstandings and blunders not resulted in an ambulance ride and one of them in traction.
Both agree a truce is necessary, but can they put their differences aside to find their way to a cobbler sweet ending?
Rom-com fans are sure to enjoy the enemies-to-lovers recipe found in Peaches & Rahim!
1
Renee wiped a layer of sweat from her brow and assessed her garden. The sharp pain in her back from tilling the dark soil was a constant reminder of her great rewards in the days to come. It wouldn't be long before she would finally be able to enjoy her healthy summer harvest. String beans, summer squash, peppers, and other vegetables of all the colors of the rainbow grew proudly under the demanding South Carolina sun. She snapped a few pictures of her crops with her phone’s camera and shared them on her FotoGram account. As an at-home fitness trainer, health coach, and self-made businesswoman, Renee used every opportunity to keep herself and her business relevant. The online fitness-training world was a competitive market, especially when Renee found herself competing against celebrity supertrainers.
The photos were uploaded to her gallery page, which was full of her daily images of healthy dishes, her sweat-drenched face and body after a hard workout, and her lounging around the house in some of her favorite “athleisure” brands. Her page wasn’t anything fancy, unlike some of the trainers she followed, who only showcased their gimmicky, overpriced protein supplements and shakes. Renee preferred being plain and simple and not spending hours dolling herself up for a fitness glamour shot, hoping to get admirers. Perhaps that was why she’d been single for so long. There was nothing glamorous about working hard to stay in shape. She wanted to stand out over the noise, being as genuine as she could as she showed snippets of her everyday life in hopes of motivating just one person who might want to pursue a healthy path.
Renee checked the clock on her phone. Two thirty in the afternoon, only thirty minutes until her scheduled video chat and training session with Lori Wellington, a client who had been with her for three months. Renee was helping her stay on track with low-impact workouts and an easy-to-follow diet regimen that Lori seemed to enjoy. It was always a joy to work with her. Renee loved seeing her clients’ transformation and the motivation that it sparked. The success of her clients was one of the few things that could distract her from the constant worry about her month’s finances. She quickly learned the harsh realities of working independently, especially in a business where clients came and went like the wind, either due to finances or losing their drive to commit. Renee did all she could to keep her clients happy and satisfied with their progress, but unfortunately, many of them did not see the quick results they’d wanted. There was nothing Renee could say to convince them to stay patient. They were paying customers, after all.
Renee had lost two longtime clients already the previous month, which was a huge financial blow to her business. If she lost Lori, too, she’d be in the red, unable to afford the mortgage. Renee couldn’t believe that her entire livelihood was resting on the hope that Lori had at least shed a pound or lost a few inches since last they last met two weeks before. Lori was the type who needed constant accountability and motivation. Otherwise, she was liable to fall off the wagon. Lori hadn’t checked in at all the previous week to give Renee her daily progress report, and Renee had a sinking feeling in her gut.
Renee regarded her colorful garden again, and all of her worries seemed to wash away. All those years of practicing yoga and going on spiritual and mental health retreats had paid off, as she’d managed to focus less on the stressful uncertainty and setbacks and more on the fruits of her hard work—such as gardening.
A warm summer breeze touched her face. She tilted her head and gazed up at the towering apple and plum trees that provided comfortable shade. Bunches of blossoms covered the branches of both trees, promising an ample fall harvest. Renee could already taste the delicious plum jam and apple pies she intended to make for this year’s Thanksgiving.
For the moment, however, her newest addition to her summer harvest would be the abundant giant peaches from the towering tree that grew next to the old rickety fence that divided her property from the adjacent one, on which sat an abandoned two-story ranch-style home. The last time she remembered seeing anyone in that house was six months ago, when a family with two young children had lived there. Renee always knew when the family was home from the kids’ endless games of tag in their backyard, which involved a lot of screaming. But these days, all was quiet in this small Santee community, which Renee found refreshing sometimes.
She was no stranger to loneliness. As an entrepreneur, she knew the value of sacrifice, which meant lots of failed relationships. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out with friends and genuinely enjoyed herself without thinking about her business. And of course, love was practically nonexistent on her radar. Her dating days seemed like so long ago, before she decided to go all-in with her business.
Standing in front of the peach tree, Renee put her hands on her hips and leaned her head back as she stared up at the branches, which yielded to the weight of the clusters of softball-sized ready-to-pick peaches. She retrieved a ladder and a couple of jumbo wicker baskets from her toolshed and positioned them at the base of the tree. She scaled the ladder and carefully maneuvered onto the nearest sturdy branch that looked thick enough to support her weight. Perched on it, she swung her legs back and forth, reliving her days as a tree-climbing tomboy.
Being high up, she was
able to see over the fence to the abandoned house next door. She was surprised that the yard was still being kept up despite there being no lawn furniture or decoration. The grass was neatly trimmed and greener than a golf course, and all of the flowers were in perfect, neat landscaped rows, proudly displaying their bright, full blooms. With the amount of care that the property seemed to be getting, Renee figured the realtor was about to sell the house. Or maybe they’d done it already. What kind of neighbors will I have this time? Quiet ones, I hope…
After satisfying her curiosity, Renee returned her attention to her ready-to-pick peaches. She reached out for the peach cluster and tore off one of the delectable fruits. Smiling, she held the fuzzy peach in her hands as she examined its texture. Her fingers suddenly grazed something rough, and her smile fell. Turning the peach over, she discovered a large gaping hole in the beautiful fruit. Something had eaten through to the pit. Slimy, spoiled peach innards coated her fingers, making them sticky. She cringed and dropped the bad fruit to the ground. She plucked another peach from the branch. It, too, had distinguishable chew marks in its beautiful flesh. No, no, no, no! She swore as she discovered that more and more of the fruits were mysteriously half-eaten.
Her phone suddenly blared from below, signaling the fifteen-minute reminder to meet her client. Unfortunately, the peaches would have to wait. She slid off the branch, back to the ladder, and climbed down. She picked up her phone from the grass and shut off the alarm. Her pleasant mood had been sapped. What could have destroyed my perfect peaches? Squirrels? Birds? She took one last glance at one of the chewed fruits and scowled. Probably squirrels. It’s always squirrels.
