He Who Is a Friend (Sadik Book 1)

by Love Belvin

  “Goddamn, Bi—lan,” he chopped up my name, thrusting into me. “Yes…”

  He moved over me like a single muscle, plunging into my core with riveting hip drives, reaching deep. My hands clasped onto his sculpted back, trying to anchor the sensation I couldn’t name against the enduring pressure.

  “Don’t do that,” he droned, lunges increasing. Pressure easing. Pleasure isolating. But I didn’t know what to stop doing. “Shit, baby…”

  Sadik thrust into me hard twice more, filling me to the hilt before holding suspended while cupping me in his arms. A mewling cry emitted from his nose as he shuddered over me, the muscles in his back flexing considerably. My eyes flew open and body tensed at the feel of him coming apart over me…inside of me.

  I waited for him to still before breathing again. Slowly, Sadik began peppering kisses down my chin and throat.

  “I’m sorry about that.” His pitch was desolate.

  I licked my lips. “About what?” The fullness?

  “My bareback’ing backfired on me.” His eyes roved up to me and I swear, my heart skipped a beat at the glow he exuded. If it were possible, Sadik was even sexier after sex. His russet skin beautifully luminous. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Sadik’s brows furrowed. “When was the last time you’ve had sex?”

  My head reared back into the mattress. “When is your baby due?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that now, Bilan,” he growled, expression crestfallen.

  “Then why would you ask me that question?”

  He lay plank over me, out of breath, and gaping for a while. I had no idea how this beautiful moment took a bizarre turn. I could still feel him pulsating inside of me.

  Then his face descended and Sadik kissed me softly on my lips. “This isn’t what we do after magic like that, baby. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “And I don’t want to either.” I exhaled. “Look… Clearly, there are some things you’re not ready to open up to me about. I don’t like it, but I’ve accepted it. Give me the same boundaries. I’m so out of my element here, Sadik. And no matter how far out I go with you, I can’t seem to stop myself.”

  His chest was still heaving when he asked, “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m out ‘there.’ Okay? It means I’m more vulnerable in this thing with you than I was out there in the lows of the Pacific without any experience. Can you believe I jumped in there just to find you? How insane is that, Sadik? I don’t even know you!”

  “Yet.” He reared, pulling out of me.

  That single move caused my sex to pulse around him; I was so sensitive down there. Sadik left from between my legs.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get ready to take you out to dinner and a show. Suddenly, I’m inspired to get out ‘there’ with you and let you get to know me.”

  My eyes bulged and jaw collapsed as he climbed off the bed.

  ∞16∞

  The entire audience was up on their feet, applauding. A few whistled and some shouted. Bilan clapped with inspired enthusiasm as the curtain closed on the final act of the musical presentation. When I had enough, I motioned for her to take her seat. Not too long after, those around us did the same. I went for my drink at the table in front of us as jazz music began to pour into the air.

  “You liked that?”

  Bilan smiled, stretching her eyelids while adjusting her dress in the sofa chair. “More than I ever thought I could.” I pulled the tumbler to my mouth. “So, you like classical music?”

  “I enjoy music. Period. Always have.” I took another sip, then placed the glass on the table in front of us.

  “Is one of your parents a musician?”

  “Nah.” I stretched back in my seat, enjoying the breeze coming into the makeshift night club on the beach in the style of old world cabaret. Dozens of tables formed rows of a U-shape in front of the stage. The lights were low and red, and the ambiance sensual. It was dope. The tables were small enough to create a room of intimacy, but large enough to serve dinner before the show got started. The music was decent, too. “But they made sure all were exposed to music.”

  “Nice.” She shook her head slowly. “Do you prefer classical?”

  I took a moment to consider that. “My ear is moody. I appreciate instrumentation without the layer of vocals. They can sometimes be distracting. But I like hip-hop. R&B’s my first love. I dig gospel, too.”

  Her eyes balloon. “Gospel?”

  I chuckled. “Of course! It surprises you that I believe in God?” Averting her eyes, Bilan shook her head. “Are you a Believer?”

  “Muslim.” She reached for her glass distractingly.

  I was quickly reminded of her dominant culture. Bilan was Somali. The official belief in Somalia was Islam.

  “But your parents spent their childhood here in the States. They were primarily raised here.”

  She took a sip of her drink, nodding before she swallowed. “But they held to their roots.” She shrugged, eyes on a nearby waitress dressed in heels, fishnet stockings, and sleeveless and legless bodysuit. “My father’s practices faded a few years before we lost the restaurants. My mother tried to keep going, taking us to the mosque for Juma’a, and things like that. But then…” Her voice faded. She cleared her throat. “Then she had to take care of my father when he got sick. Eventually, she got sick, too. We didn’t practice much, even though I know better.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You’re technically second generation American since your mother was born here. I’m sure you and your brother were more influenced by American culture than you were Somali.”

  She scoffed. “That’s for darn sure with Abshir. That dude had not an ounce of cultural pride in him.” Her brown eyes rolled.

  I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. “What took you so long to go to school?”

  “Her.”

  “How so?”

  “My father got sick when I was in high school. Trying to keep up with him… Caring for him was a full time job for her. She did it alone, being a private woman when it came to her marriage. I applied for schools and got accepted to a few. But he was really bad at my graduation. So bad, my mother looked…old. I think I knew then I couldn’t leave her.” She shrugged with her head and a pouted bottom lip. “I pushed it back. He died about a year later. Not too long after that, she got sick. It all happened back to back. Abshir got arrested, then sentenced. She passed while he was in custody. I think she gave up.” Her head shook faintly. Then Bilan took a deep breath. “Right after her funeral, I applied to schools again and got in.”

  The topic saddened her. It was counterintuitive for her to be upset. I needed to navigate the conversation.

  “Elementary education. What made you pursue that degree?”

  “I always wanted to teach. My mother wanted to teach. It was all I ever said I wanted to be. So, I went for it.”

  “And now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you want to do?” I recalled her struggling with this on the jet, but I wanted to know.

  Bilan took her typical deep breath when wrestling with a thought, her eyes to her lap. “I don’t know. I do know I’m not ready to be in a classroom. It’s too routine for my life right now. I like the irregularity of my schedule. But I want to get my master’s. Believe it or not, in my family, my parents were underperformers. Their mediocrity in education made them black sheep—well, some of the reason. My mother wanted me to get both, and back to back since I’d been letting the time slip past.”

  “I think you should get an MBA.”

  “Really?” She twisted her mouth.

  “You have something else in mind?”

  “No. I’ve applied to a few programs. I hate that I honestly don’t know what lies ahead for me.” She laughed. “I’ll be homeless with a degree and no real job.”

  No, you won’t…

  “I’m serious. You should
go for the golden master’s.”

  “Why?”

  I took another sip of my drink. “Because it’s so versatile and gives you the basics of business. It can open up your understanding of entrepreneurship.”

  Bilan’s eyes on me narrowed, but a smirk played on those lips. “Who said I want to have my own business?”

  I lifted my palm in the air. “I’m just recommending options here. It, apparently, is in your blood. Your parents had a thriving business for a number of years. Right?”

  She didn’t answer, but her gaze remained on me. She lifted her glass to her lips for a drink. “What industries were your exes in?”

  I wanted to laugh, but managed placidity.

  “Several.”

  Her face fell and neck rolled in a “duh” manner.

  It was my turn to shrug. “The most recent was law.”

  “Oh, yeah? Practicing what?”

  “Real estate.”

  She nodded, poker face shitty as hell.

  “And the one before her?”

  I scratched my nose, slightly uneasy. “A veterinarian with a specialty in internal medicine.”

  Her lips pushed out ruminatively. “The one before that?”

  I took my time with the last of my brandy, then glanced around for a waiter. “A tenured real estate agent.”

  “You mean the lawyer?” She damn near croaked.

  “Nah.” I shook my head. “She’s how I met the lawyer.”

  Bilan’s eyes flashed wide. “So, you like boss women.” Her whole aura deflated.

  “I like smart, ambitious women.” I abhorred “boss women” in the way the kids used the phrase today. “I adore supportive women.”

  “Supportive as in what?”

  “The women drawn to me tend to aspire to the life of a kingpin’s wife—a former kingpin’s daughter-in-law.” This was true. It was the biggest stigma in my personal world. “I adore women who prefer to build with their man instead of taking titles from him.” Even though Bilan stared at me, perplexed, that was some real shit. “My mother built alongside my father. He plucked her young, when she couldn’t give a shit about what he had. My brother chose his wife, who owns and operates liquor stores throughout the state. These women were selected and bore crosses, they don’t just flaunt crowns.”

  Although I’d come across women established in their careers, all they ever vocalized to me was early retirement and raising my children. That hadn’t been enough for me. I needed more in a woman’s ambition as far as I was concerned.

  “Women tend to use you,” she murmured, turning her head. “I never considered that.” Then she turned back to me. “That’s awful.”

  I waved it off. “No pity parties here. I’m sure it’s a tear in the bucket for women every day, who constantly have niggas approach them for ass.”

  Bilan shrugged with her lips and I laughed. That propelled her giggles.

  “Am I right? Is that what your plight is like?”

  Grinning hard, she peered over to me. “What? Like guys trying to sleep with me?”

  “Yeah.” I pouted before smiling.

  “Stop it.” She shook her head, hand on her forehead.

  “What?”

  “You’re trying to pry again.” She couldn’t hide her smile. “You want me to talk about my sexual history!”

  I damn sure was, and couldn’t give a single fuck about my curiosity.

  “You have the prettiest pussy I’ve seen, and I can’t help but be obsessed about knowing who’s seen it before me.”

  Bilan turned away again, self-conscious. She shrugged—again. I watched, tortured as she played with her lips contemplatively. That foot and leg crossed over the other, bouncing in the air.

  She hummed I don’t know before turning to me. “I think you should be more concerned about having it in your possession now than who had it before.”

  My head pushed back on my neck, brows rose. “Did you enjoy the best thirty seconds of my life, Ms. Asad-Yasin?”

  She winked, fucking blowing my mind with unusual sensual aggression. “It was more like fifty-eight seconds, but I’m into second chances.” How could I not find that funny? “How about we order flan to take back to the villa, you feed me, then we’ll give you a second run?”

  When I could do nothing but gaze at her, Bilan broke character and chuckled.

  “Mmmmmm…” I moaned, head falling back over my shoulders between my elevated arms.

  The bristle ends on the manila rope scraped my areola again. My groin stirred, open thighs squeezed and pelvis went rigid at the sensation.

  Amazing...

  “Look at me, Bilan,” he commanded.

  My eyes bolted open, and I was able to roll my head upright to face those darkened honeyed irises. They gleamed with sexual wickedness. Intense. His gaze on me was blazing, weakening me.

  “Your nipples are beautiful, too.” The tip of his tongue circled my left nipple before he kissed it. With the right, he continued slapping the stubbles of the rope against my sensitive breast. I still couldn’t believe he’d snatched down four of the ropes stretched over the canopy. One, he used to tie my wrists together. Two, he tied together to create a rope to raise my wrists over my head. The last was used to sensually torture my skin. “Your breasts are fuckin’ perfect, baby. The perfect shape of rain drops.” His tongue stroked my nipple again.

  I was teeming, body vibrating. Desire firing on all cylinders. Perspiration sprouted all over, and my core throbbed with incredible need. I was tied up. I let a man tie me up as I straddled the bed, my sex exposed.

  Sadik’s wicked mouth trailed down my belly, and my spine couldn’t keep still. His teeth clamped onto the bed of my hair and yanked. The pain was unexpected, then my brain was jostled when his lips caressed the crease between my thigh and pelvis.

  “Uhhhhh…” My body quaked, pelvis pain fizzled now.

  “You don’t like to express your pleasure, Bilan.” Sadik’s wrinkled forehead hinted his mood. “I like to hear how you feel, baby. Okay?”

  He was sexy. Golden skin glistening against the candles that were magically lit when we arrived back at the bungalow. The glow revealed each stroke of ink on his casing. His orange stubble on its way to a full beard any day now, and I loved it. Sadik presented as a sophisticated, articulate corporate man. But underneath the scholar was a slick and cunning goon. The correlation became clearer the more time I spent with him. Sadik had layers to his soul.

  He dipped his head and yanked my bottom lip with his mouth. “Bilan, answer me.”

  My eyes squeezed as I nodded, though it was false assurance. I didn’t know how to express pleasure.

  Then I felt strands slapping against my sensitive nub. A sleek grin grew on his face, and I knew he was teasing me down there.

  “Whew…” I grunted, head collapsing backward again.

  “Look at me, Bilan.”

  I struggled to force my head up again, and when I did, I caught Sadik’s cut frame, bearing only black Calvin Klein boxers, rounding my body. I could hear him behind me, but didn’t see him again until his head appeared between my flexing thighs. I sighed, tortured by the sight.

  “Your pussy really is pretty, baby,” he groaned before his palms gripped my hips, pulling me to his face.

  “Ah!” My pelvis lifted when his tongue swiped over my cleft.

  He pulled them back down and rolled his tongue between my labia. His smooth head twisted, licking all around, reaching nerve-endings I tried not to react to. Sadik’s hand caressed my butt as his mouth busied on my sex. My body flapped and tightened against the pleasure, brain delirious from the sensations. When I could feel him draw in my clit, suckling with sensual effort, I began to roll over his face, riding the waves to my orgasm. I knew it would be the next destination. My fists tightened, shoulders flexed as my groin stirred, building for my climax.

  “Sadik…” I cried, ready to release in the crudest way to date: on his face.

  Then he pushed my hips up, causi
ng me to widen them in panic. I was completely disturbed by the abrupt ending of my ascent, my body vibrating with the need to release. Sadik snaked his body down the mattress, until we were pelvis to pelvis. I felt the hot flesh of his dick at first against my cheeks, springing like a rod. The sight of him reaching between us for his erection made me lightheaded. Those biceps curling, chest bubbled and strained, and abs flexing as though he was in pain.

  He rubbed the bulbous head against my slickened lips back and forth, coating himself with me. His navigation slipped, bumping it against my clit and my spine arched.

  “Ahhhh!” I cried, pebbled nipples rising toward the canopy.

  “Shit…” he swore, movements beneath me sped until I could feel him breach me below. Initially, I wanted to panic, remembering the fullness earlier. “Ride me, Bilan,” he whispered, chords hoarse.

  “I don’t know—” My eyes rolled closed at the first spike of pleasure from him drilling into me.

  My hips began to move, exploring. Chasing traces of pleasure. They were down there. He was so thick, rubbing against sensitive spots I couldn’t quite locate, but certainly felt.

  “Yes,” he susurrated. “Use me for your pleasure. Every inch of me. Any part of me. I’m here to satisfy you.”

  I was full. Oh, so full, gyrating in awkward increments onto him. But, already, echoes of pleasure rang out on my groin. Promising prickles of sensation shooting up my groin.

  “Help me,” I demanded with squeezed eyes.

  “Come here, baby,” he groaned, lifting midway in the air.

  His hands clasped onto my hips, lifting them and driving me into him. Biting my bottom lip feverishly, I went into my head to adapt to the rhythm—the pleasure. It was there. The more I grinded, the more my walls relaxed for him. The more he sucked on my nipples, the creamier my walls grew. The more he coached, the more fluid my independent strokes became.

  “You feel me deep, baby?” His helpless groans melted me each time.

  Sadik’s eyes were closed, his face completely relaxed.

  I did feel him deep, deeper than I knew this thing could go. Pleasure sparked and expounded in my groin. I rocked against it, feeling it grow. Even the motion of my hips intensified it. I couldn’t believe emotions could be mixed with physical gratification like this. Had no idea pleasure could be mutual during intercourse. I let the fire inside me ignite and rocked, and rocked, and rocked, and roc—