by Coco Miller
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I place a kiss on her forehead.
“It’s okay.” Zola presses her lips against the middle of my chest. “I’m okay,” she starts a trail her lips from one pec to the other.
She isn’t okay, but Zola also isn’t alone anymore. She has me. And no matter how much she fights me or pushes me away, I’ll be here. I have to trust my instincts and my instincts are telling me this woman is meant to be mine.
And I protect what is mine.
Her lips trail lower. Her sleek pink tongue flicks out over my nipple and I intake a swift breath. My hands dig through her curls and hold on tight as she continues to descend, kissing every ridge of my abs. Plush wet kisses decorate my body and her glowing honey eyes steal a peek at me, lashes fluttering and lust singeing the black ring of her irises. Zola’s nails scrape against the soft skin of my ass causing superficial red lines down my thighs. She nestles her nose against my trimmed bush and her sigh, the light breath, makes my cock jerk, threatening to blow.
“Zola,” I moan when her tongue circles along the base of my shaft. “You don’t…” I take a deep breath and swallow, trying to make word form to tell her that she doesn’t have to do this, but she takes my cock into her mouth and it shuts me the fuck up. Her heart-shaped lips suck my head, swirling her tongue expertly around the crown.
“Fuck,” I tug on her head harder than I intended and shove my cock down her throat until she gags.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. You feel so good. Your mouth is so hot. I can’t—” I swallow again, trying to control myself. “I can’t—” I give up and grab her arms and throw her on the floor.
I want nothing more than to slide inside her, but I know she isn’t ready for that. Instead, I flip over and bury my face in her pussy. I lick the sweet nectar, burying my tongue in her honey pot. I growl into her sheath, spread her folds open with my fingers so I can get deeper. I fuck her tight little hole faster with my tongue and the more groans she makes, the colder my cock becomes.
“Suck me, Zola.” I manage to pull my lips away from her pussy to let her know. The more I taste her the harder I get.
She whimpers and her hands wrap around my shaft, pumping me once, then twice, and then the heat of her lips and the wetness of her mouth take me inch by inch. My eyes roll to the back of my head from how good she feels. One hand cups my balls while the other works my shaft up and down. A hot sweat breaks out over my body and my hips thrust slowly into her mouth.
Never in my life have I felt something like this. It’s powerful, magnetic, I want more. More, more, more. More of her!
I fucking need it.
I spread her thighs wider and suck her clit into my mouth and Zola pulls off my cock, crying out as her juice flows onto my tongue and down my throat. It’s enough to send me over the edge as she grips my cock and drinks me down just in time as I shout my release into her body, hoping her core remembers how she makes me feel.
Our bodies tremble.
Her hot breath heats my inner thigh and my forehead lays on her knee as I try and catch my breath over the best sexual experience I’ve ever had and there wasn’t even penetration. I place a kiss on her inner thigh and smile, feeling like a confident teenage boy who made their girlfriend orgasm for the first time. I haven’t had that feeling since I was seventeen.
God, what has this woman done to me?
9
Zola
I wake up in bed. Alone. I sit up and rub my eyes. I look out the window and notice it’s dark. I try and think about what I’ve done for the entire day, but the last thing I remember is having a massive, life−changing, world−altering orgasm. Everything after that tends to get a bit blurry.
The dark purple comforter rubs against my naked body, and my cheeks heat when I remember why I am naked. I should have never done that with Easton. I must be one of those girls now. The kind that melts into a puddle because he shows up with his handsome face and charming smile and body—god, that body—and loses their ever-loving mind.
Speaking of losing my mind, is it just me, or is my room…emptier?
“What the hell? Somebody robbed me!”
I whip my head back and forth and notice that everything is gone. My dresser, the clothes in my closet, and my leg lamp are all gone. It took me forever to find that leg lamp. I sold freakin’ blood plasma to afford it. It’s a conversation piece. It has on black stockings wearing a black high heel. It’s hideous, but I absolutely adore the thing.
Getting up, I wrap the blanket around my waist and stand, doing my best not to make any noise. I may be getting robbed, and I have no weapon because everything in my room is gone, minus my bed. Leaning against the wall, I crack open the door to see a figure in the kitchen clearing out my cabinets. All those dishes are second hand from goodwill, but I spent my hard-earned money on them.
Everything else in the room is gone.
My tv. My couch. My pictures of me and my parents on the wall. This couldn’t be happening. Tears prickle my eyes when I think about having to start all over again. Grabbing my phone off the floor−why the thief didn’t take that, I have no idea—and decide it’s now or never.
I chuck it at the stranger in the kitchen, smacking him right against the back. He barely moves and his shoulders start to shake.
“I’m calling the cops! You better get out of my apartment, you fucker!”
Fear of being nearly naked in front of a man that can clearly kill me starts to take over, but I push it back. I’ve survived worse. I’ll survive this too.
“What are you going to use? Your phone? The one you just tossed and broke?”
My shoulders sag in relief. It’s him.
“Easton, what is going on? Why is all my stuff gone?” I stroll up to him and smack him in the chest. “Why!” Smack. “Did you just scare the hell out of me!” Smack, smack. “I thought I was being robbed.”
“Sweetheart,” he cups my face, and I do that thing that I imagine all girls do and melt from his touch. “No one would steal anything in here.”
“That’s not nice.”
“I’m not going to lie to you.”
“Hmph! Did you drug me? How did I sleep through all of this?”
“I don’t drug women and you tell me. You sleep like a log and snore like a lumberjack.”
“Easton!” I protest.
“I let you sleep in and I packed your bags,” he chuckles. “You aren’t staying here. Plus, I’m demolishing the place and rebuilding. You’re moving in with me, and tomorrow we are getting married.”
“Hmm?” I ask. I must not have heard him right. “I’m sorry, it sounds like you first insulted me, then said you packed my stuff, said we were getting married, and that I was moving in with you.”
“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ with a little to my chirpy happiness.
I drop the blanket in shock, and he stares hungrily at my naked form.
“Oh, you are impossible,” I say a little patronizingly as I pick up the comforter again, hiding my body from his inferno of a gaze.
“You can’t be naked and expect me not to look.” He hums in appreciation as he takes a step forward and tightens the blanket more around me, tying it at the top of my breasts so it doesn’t fall. “People are coming to take the boxes.”
“You can’t just come in here and take everything. I didn’t have much, but you can’t toss it away like garbage. This wasn’t a part of the deal!” I panic and start to get dizzy. “This was my first apartment. This is my home. Everything important was here.”
Mostly everything I own is my parents. It all means something to me.
“What did you do with it?” I scream at him, pushing him in the chest. “I want it all back. I’m not going anywhere with you. We had a deal. I didn’t agree to you coming in here and tearing my life apart,” I sob. “This place is mine. It’s mine, Easton. You can’t swoop in and think you’re some savior. Where is it? Where is my parent’s stuff? The pictures? The tv? My mom’s sweater? I want it all
back.”
I push him again and he catches me by the arms pulling me close.
“No, get away from me,” I fight him. I try and rip from his hold, but he is stronger than me. “This is my home,” I whisper in defeat.
“Zola,” he says softly, wiping a few tears on my cheek. “I am so sorry I didn’t talk to you about this last night. I should have and that’s my fault, but I told you before you’re not living here anymore. Everything is only getting moved to my house. I would never throw anything away. Nothing. Ever. I want you with me so I can take care of you. I want you to not live in a place where the ceiling sags. I want you safe. Your parents would want you safe, and I apologize for taking you by surprise, but I won’t apologize for doing it.”
“Everything is okay?” I ask again. “All of my things?”
“Safe and sound. I promise.”
I glance away and wipe a tear that fell, trying to make sure he didn’t see it. “I’m sorry I acted like a nut job,” I mumble. “I’m not good with surprises.”
“That’s good to know. Are you okay?”
I am, but I’m so embarrassed about how I reacted.
“Their stuff is important to me.”
“Of course it is. If I would have known it would have bothered you this badly, I wouldn’t have done all this without talking to you. I tend to take control of situations and get everything done. I thought we were on the same page after last night, and I can see now that I may have jumped the gun.”
“You think?” I snort.
He wraps his arms around me and kisses the tip of my nose and his hand lands on the back of my head, pulling me forward until my cheek hits his chest. Inhaling his clean scent, I sigh, relaxing against the expanse of his strong body. I’m entirely lost. I've never been in a situation like this before. It’s new and scary, and at the end of it all when the day comes where we aren’t together, and my heart is going to take forever to put itself back together, I know I’ll miss him. He’s a good man.
“Get dressed. We are going to my house tonight.” He unwraps himself from me and I miss his comfort immediately.
“I can’t. A strange man packed up all my clothes and the only thing I have to wear is this bed sheet.”
He bites his lip and that devilish smirk plays at his lips. “Damn, I need to meet this man. He sounds smart.”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes is all a man needs to make a difference,” he says with a more serious expression. I want to ask what he means by that but he takes my hand and leads me to the door. “I’m leaving the bed.”
“I need a bed, Easton,” I try and argue, but he shoves me out the door and locks it behind him, stuffing the key into his pocket.
“No, you don’t. Not this one.”
My mouth is open as I follow behind him, his hand pulling me behind him as we make our way down the steps. The night is cool and the air wraps around my skin, my pain coming to life in my lower back. I don’t say a word. It isn’t his problem, but when I notice another set of steps, I tug on his hand.
“Stop, I need a breather.” I lean against the rail and look out. The stars are out by the millions, twinkling around the half−crescent moon. Some parts of the sky are so dark and they look blue with a hue of purple.
I hang my head, hating that I’m weak, hating that my body is fragile, hating that I can’t take the stairs without sweating because the pain is so bad.
Suddenly, I’m lifted into the air and I yelp from the surprise. My arms wrap around his neck and another piece of me is lost to Easton Steele in this moment. The box is to the left, on the first step stained with old gum.
“I’ll never let you walk in pain. If I have to, I’ll carry you everywhere.”
“That’s no way to live, Easton,” I say beneath my breath. One day, when I’m older, I may not be able to walk and I don’t want to put that burden on anyone.
“I’ve only just now lived since meeting you, Zola. I’ll carry you and I won’t hear another word about it. You’re going to get the best care from here on out and you’re going to like it.”
“Is that a part of the deal?”
We finally get to the bottom of the staircase and he has yet to answer me. I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes and decide to just enjoy this, whatever this is. It won’t last, but maybe I’ll have an experience I can look back on. Maybe I’ll always have the memory of the kind, sexy man who cleared my debt and treated me kindly.
The warmth of Easton’s body acts as a second blanket, while the song of the crickets lull me into a peaceful state of mind.
“Mr. Steele,” a voice greets, making me open my eyes. I see an older man in a blue uniform with Steele Industries embroidered on the left breast.
“Ms. Washington,” he keeps his eyes averted since I am literally wrapped in a comforter.
“Thomas, thank you,” Easton acknowledges.
And I feel like I have to too. “Yes, thank you.” I say it a smaller voice because I know I’m not the boss…or dressed appropriately.
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Oh, do not ma’am me. I am too young for that. Call me Zola, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thomas says as Easton places me in the car.
The leather is soft like butter and warm like the sun. My skin is cold from the crisp air, but not for long.
“He isn’t going to call me Zola is he?” I groan from how good the seat feels.
“Not a chance,” Easton chuckles. “Are you ready?”
Am I? I glance out the black tinted windows and stare at the apartment where I tried to start over at. This is a big step. I’m getting married for all the wrong reasons, but I know later on in life it will be worth it. Right?
If that’s the truth, then why is every fiber of my being telling me that if I marry Easton and he leaves, I’ll never marry again? That it will destroy me.
It’s going to be a long road from here on out, for my mind and my heart, but I’m willing to travel it, even knowing it will hurt.
What’s a little more pain when I’m used to living with it every single day?
10
Easton
We are almost to the private island that I specially bought for this occasion. It’s just another hour. Once we land, we will take a small boat for about thirty minutes until we get to Zola’s island home. Yes, I bought it for her.
Call it a wedding gift.
Even if she decides I’m not what she wants, it will be hers.
“Oh, god. I hate flying.”
I glance over to the right and see her gripping the arms of the seat for dear life. Her eyes squeeze shut, and her long thick lashes cast a shadow over her cheek. Even scared, she is beautiful. I take hold of her hand and she holds on with such force, I think she might break the bones.
“It’s going to be okay. We are almost there.” No sooner do the words leave my mouth, then the small jet starts to shake from turbulence.
The leather starts to creak as our bodies rub against the seat jostling us back and forth. The plane dips, and she screams, ending her cry of fear on a loud sob.
“Baby, look at me,” I swivel my legs in her direction and turn my body. Zola doesn’t open her eyes. The plane is still trying to find its comfort zone, and sweat dots her forehead, right above her brows. “Look at me,” I say with more authority.
She opens her eyes and those amber orbs are swimming with water. Her breaths are coming in quick and shallow. Zola is hyperventilating. I lift my hand and place it on the back of her neck, her tight coils tickling my inner palm.
“You are okay. We are okay. Nothing is going to happen. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand?”
“You don’t know that.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You don’t know. Anything can happen. We are over water—”
“And if we land in water, I will make sure to swim us to shore. I’ve flown a hundred times. Maybe even thousands of times at this point. Nothing is going to happ
en.”
“Sorry about that folks. Just some brief turbulence. Prepare for landing and please keep your seatbelts fastened until the fasten seatbeat light is off.”
“See?” I say. “Even the Captain knows.”
“Who in their right mind would not keep their seatbelt on?” She sags against the seat, exhausted from the self−inflicted stress.
I glance down and try and buckle my seatbelt quickly and quietly.
“No idea,” I mutter. “You okay?” I ask Duncan who is on the other side of the plane.
It’s a private jet, so the seating is spaced out and large for comfort.
His mom has her head on his shoulder and my heart aches for him. She seems like she shouldn’t even be on this trip. Her skin is pale and those dark circles around her eyes are so sunken in, I can nearly see her orbital bone.
“We are good. She slept right through it,” he whispers.
“Lucky,” Zola says. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that in a negative way.” Her hand slaps her forehead when she remembers his mom is sick.
Duncan chuckles. “It’s fine. I understand what you meant. Next time, try drinking a bit before takeoff. It always calms my nerves.”
We start descending and Zola intakes a large gulp of air and holds it. My hand is numb from her holding it, but whatever she needs. Which is exactly what I told myself last night when she slept in the room next to mine in my own damn house.
When we got to my house last night, she had been silent in an eerie way. I understood why. My house is more of a mini mansion. Very different from her apartment. It’s ten−thousand square feet of an old Victorian style home and a private gate. I have my own personal chef and housekeeper, but I do my own laundry. I do not want to feel like one of those rich guys that can’t do anything on his own.
