What the Heart Wants

by Tiana Laveen

  She kisses like Brooke.

  But she’s not Brooke.

  Accept her for who she is.

  I can. I will.

  He moved his lips back toward her mouth, needing a bit more of her flavor.

  “I want you,” he groaned before snatching himself away and tearing his shirt off his body, casting it aside.

  “I want you, too.” He didn’t miss how her gaze roamed over his arms, his chest, his stomach. “I didn’t know you had this many tattoos.” She ran her fingertips against them. “When did you have the arm sleeve done? Are those hieroglyphics?”

  “’Bout eight years ago. Yeah. All of this is Egyptian—the pyramids, pharaohs. Got Osiris right here.” He pointed to his shoulder. “Horus. This is Isis. On my chest is the ankh in the center. Bast right here, the sphinx. Over my abs I have written, ‘Fight Until Your Last Breath’ in hieroglyphics. On my back, I have Adinkra symbols.” He twisted his body so she could see. Emily’s eyes widened with wonder as she reached and touched him once again. “I traced some of my ancestry to Ghana, in West Africa.”

  He got to his feet. Looking down at her, he reached for his belt and undid the buckle. Before he could finish disrobing, the doorbell rang, bringing them both back into the folds of reality.

  “Dinnertime.” She cleared her throat, her cheeks a deep red.

  “Coming,” he hollered out to the delivery guy. As he made his way to the door, he tossed her a narrowed-eye glance. “Usually they have to be buzzed in. Someone must’ve been coming or going. Anyway, I was hopin’ for a different kinda dinner.” His eyes dropped down to her groin, then he licked his lips real slow. “A bit of a kiss to your vertical smile, a taste of that hot pocket.” He rubbed his hands together as if famished, and Emily blushed deeper. “But I guess we can eat the carry-out food first,” he joked, making her laugh and suck her teeth, averting his gaze shyly. He made his way to his front door.

  She looks so cute when she does that. She’s a little nervous. I can relax her. I can take care of that.

  “Besides, you’ll need your energy, Emily. But of course, a part of you may already know about me.” He unlocked the door and opened it. “What’s up, man? Thanks.”

  The delivery guy handed him the food. Cameron grabbed some cash from the table by the entrance and tipped him. After locking the door, he returned to her holding two large plastic bags of piping hot food.

  “And what do you think I know about your sexual prowess?” she urged, a naughty grin on her face.

  “That I’m a heavy hitter, all ten rounds, baby, then a TKO. I haven’t had sex in like forever. So, uh, looks like we both have some pent-up energy to expel.”

  He placed the bags on the dining room table and motioned her over with a curl of his finger. Emily got to her feet and approached, moving like a cat, in stealth mode.

  Damn, she is sexy.

  His dick was happy at the sight of her. After pulling out her chair, she sat down, and he scooted her in. She picked up the rose and sniffed it, eyes closed.

  “Thank you for the rose. Cameron, I’m not going to even try to pretend.” She smiled. “You are going to be a handful, I can see that. I love your bravado. It’s funny, but somehow I know you mean it. Raunchy wordsmith foreplay, how sweet of you, Mr. Poet.” She winked at him and he smiled at her as he checked the bags, making sure everything they’d ordered was in there. “I can’t believe the crazy chemistry we have. It’s amazing.” She picked up her glass of iced tea and took a sip. “Can you believe it?”

  “I’m trying to not overthink this anymore, Emily.” He took his seat. “We keep getting signs, the green light. I’m doing this. It is what it is.” He shrugged. “We like each other, we want to spend time together, we want to see what potential this has, end of story. We don’t have to tell everyone our business, at least not right now. As time goes on, I’ll let people know what’s up when the time is right. Right now, my focus is on you and getting to know you better, in all areas. Mentally, emotionally, sexually, spiritually.”

  He plopped down in his seat and placed his napkin over his lap. “I told you this was a night for chilling, and whatever happens, happens. I have to stop crawling on fear, ya know? Afraid I’m upsetting my girlfriend. My love for her caused that, but her love for me is telling me to follow my heart. She was my heart, and now that heart is inside of you.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Gotta start running on faith in myself and the unseen, like I used to.” He removed his food from the bag and opened it. “Time for the old me to return. He’s been gone way too long.”

  “And I’m glad about that.”

  “You should be. You were instrumental in this, Emily, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You’ve changed my life forever. In so many ways, you reminded me of who I am, of my purpose. You’re helping me heal. That means you’re good for me.”

  “As are you for me. I guess my mother was right. There really are no coincidences, and everything does happen for a reason.” She paused before adding, “I’m still surprised, though. This could’ve turned out a million different ways, and yet, I’m here.”

  “You’re here because you’re supposed to be, and now, you’re mine. Eat your food.” He waved his fork at the bag he set beside her plate, the delicious aromas of the spices filling the place. “I don’t want it to get cold, but regardless, I plan to keep you warm all night long. You can take that to the bank and invest it. It’s a done deal.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sex, Drugs, and Rockin’ Poetry

  “By the Pool” by independent artist Lakey Inspired played through Cameron’s speakers in his bedroom.

  “This guy’s a good musician. You should check him out,” he told her.

  Cameron had eclectic tastes in music, though neo-soul, hip-hop, and jazz appeared to be his favorites. As of late, she cosigned his musical leanings. With deep breaths, she watched the beautiful man as he pulled the stormy-gray bedroom curtains closed. The streetlights were immediately shut off like someone had flipped a switch, and they were shrouded in darkness. Then he lit the candles, turned on two modern silver metal sconce lights hanging on either side of the bed, and tossed some bits of paper in the trash, sprucing up a bit.

  The muscles in his back contorted, stiffened, and relaxed as he casually went about his business. She sat on a clear scoop chair in that gorgeous bedroom decorated with pops of retro-1960s spring-green artwork and décor, a black and white fuzzy pillow against her back. In front of his bed was a long, clear table, and the bed’s platform sported black shelving all around, room for books and the like to be stored.

  “Play it again?” she asked once the song came to a stop. Without hesitation, he walked over to his laptop and did as she asked before continuing with his chores. He picked up a joint from an ashtray and lit it. After taking a hit, he offered her some. She shook her head.

  “I don’t smoke. Anymore.” She chuckled. She’d indulged on occasion with one of her girlfriends from California who’d introduced her to some weed that had blown her mind. It had been her dirty little secret, until now. “I miss it, though.”

  “Brooke and I only smoked on occasion.” He took another hit and snuffed it out, then lit a fresh incense stick. He picked up a cloth that lay on top of his headboard.

  “All the other rooms in your home are so well kept and cleaned. I’m actually surprised you had receipts and gum wrappers on the floor here.” She grinned.

  He paused. “This is my thinking area. I create my poetry in here often. It’s like my studio. See, I listen to music, zone out, and I almost become detached from my physical self when I’m writing, tweaking my words, and memorizing them. By the time it’s over, I look around and see empty cups, scribbled-on notebooks, pens missing their caps, empty bags of kettle chips, shit everywhere, stuff I don’t even recall tossing. So, at the end of the day, I pick it up. I don’t question what and how the shit happened. I just accept that it did. Yeah, I keep my craziness in here. This way, too, I can keep myself contained
to one room.”

  She burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “You make it seem like you’re Opium, like you’re some dog that needs to be caged.”

  “Definitely not a dog, at least not anymore.” He winked. “Maybe, in some ways, I do need to be contained.” She sat straighter, then crossed and uncrossed her legs. “When I’m writing, I feel split in half, like I’m two people vying for center stage. One part of me, the one I show the world on a daily basis, is organized and lowkey. The other part of me is creative, messy, violent, passionate, loud, but only when I’m working on a new piece or performing. I’m an artist of words. I think it just comes with the territory.”

  She swallowed hard when he reached into a dresser drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube and several gold-wrapped condoms, casually tossing them onto a black nightstand.

  Magnums. He’s a big boy. Thank God.

  He cast her a sexy smile from over his shoulder, his thick black brows arched ever so slightly.

  “You good? Everything okay, Em?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Take your shoes off. Stay a while.” Her entire body flushed with nervous heat. Wiggling out of her shoes, she pushed them to the side with a swipe of her foot.

  “That’s better.”

  “Hey, tell me something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why did you or Brooke name your dog Opium?” she asked.

  “One of my favorite poets was an opium addict.”

  She smiled. “A classic poet?”

  “It was Samuel Taylor Coleridge. A white cat out of Great Britain. He was innovative. Brooke let me name the dog. I didn’t want him at first. Too much mess and clean up, but I ended up going crazy over his ass. That’s my boy.” He chuckled.

  He turned off the music then walked over to a closet, or so she thought. He opened the double doors and exposed a huge stereo system.

  “What in the world? Looks like something off Star Trek.”

  With a light laugh, he pushed a few buttons and pulsing lights of various colors came on. “Cranes in the Sky” by Solange started to play, and Emily bobbed her head to the music. Crossing her ankles, she closed her eyes and began to sing the lyrics, falling in love with the song all over again. This new voice that came out of her, the one that sounded like her but didn’t, poured out without hesitation. Before she knew it, he was standing before her, dripping with sensuality and pure power. She opened her eyes.

  He mouthed the lines of the tune, then his deep voice burst free as he reached for her wrists and brought her to her feet.

  “That’s right, baby. Come on, let’s sing and dance.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and they moved around, singing together like a rehearsed duet. His singing voice wasn’t half bad. Their feet and bodies moved in sync and she fell into the groove, having a great time. She laughed, feeling light and airy, free and without a care, secure in his strong arms.

  “This is too good to be true.” She looked up into his eyes as they swayed back and forth.

  “Why do you think that?” He landed a quick peck on her lips then waited for her answer.

  “I’m too busy thinking about how I never want this night to end, and we haven’t even started yet. I feel like I need a remote control so I can hit rewind and a pause button, too.” She stood on her tippy-toes, ready to receive another kiss. He delivered, a lingering one from which he pulled away nice and slow.

  “There’s no rush tonight. Enjoy the race; the finish line never moves. We’ll get there exactly when we’re supposed to.”

  When he pressed his warm, full, soft lips against hers again, she instantly melted from his impassioned touch. Her stomach fluttered as she felt the erection in his pants against her stomach. She squelched a scream when he suddenly grabbed the back of her thighs and hoisted her legs around his waist, forcing her to hold on tight as he scooped her off the ground. With ankles locked around the small of his back, she secured herself, never wishing to let go. She wrapped her arms around his neck while he pulled her impossibly closer and slid his soft tongue within her mouth to tangle lazily with hers.

  They slowly grinded and moved against one another, right in tempo with the music. Their kiss was hot, wet, juicy. She could taste traces of the marijuana, Thai food, and minty gum. He slowed and somehow, she could feel him looking at her, even with her eyes pressed shut. She opened her lids and shuddered at the intensity of his stare. Heavily hooded dark eyes framed with thick, black lashes amidst bright, stark whiteness zoned in on her.

  “You’re killing me, Cameron. Come on, baby. I want to feel you.” Her voice cracked as she pressed her forehead against his and ran her fingertips along his short, soft black hair. The rippling waves and textured tresses were like nothing she’d felt before. She liked the curliness, so different from her own, the experience brand new.

  “Slow and easy wins the race.”

  Every fiber of her being was on fire for him, alive and electric. Her heart throbbed.

  Carrying her protectively in his arms to the bed, he placed her down on cool white and gray sheets that smelled like the incense smoke that floated about in the air. He stood over her, looking down at her as if she were prey, then unhooked his belt and slid it through the loops.

  “Let me see those pretty titties. Take your shirt off.”

  She rose onto her knees and removed her shirt, sliding it over her head, then tossed it on the dark-stained wood floor. Her lacey lilac bra was practically see-through. Eyes fixated on her breasts, he licked then sucked his lower lip.

  “They’re real.” She caressed them proudly. It was true; she loved her breasts, one of her finest assets. Now they were marred with a scar meandering down between them, and the realization of that took away her smile.

  “I know, I can tell,” he stated breathlessly as she cupped her right breast, lifted it to her mouth, and slid her tongue along her hardened nipple through the flimsy material of her bra. Letting go of her breast, she traced her scar with her hand. He grasped her fingers and shoved them away, his gaze never leaving hers.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Em. That scar don’t mean shit to me, ’cept it’s a battle wound. Be proud of it.” Her lips curled and her cheeks warmed. “Oh yeah, we’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight.” He lowered his head and kissed her scar, making her shiver with emotions she wouldn’t dare examine just yet.

  She’d opened up a box that could never be closed.

  He pulled his jeans down his bronzed, muscular thighs, got them off and discarded them. She followed suit, reaching for the button of her high-waisted jeans and releasing herself from their confines in no time flat. She was dying to see what lay beneath his boxer briefs. The bulge was impressive; in fact, it gave her pause. Her breathing accelerated in anticipation and her matching lilac lace panties became soaked with her creamy essence. She glared at the silky black path of hair that trailed down his taut stomach, disappearing behind the elastic band of his briefs.

  He’s absolutely beautiful.

  Cameron reminded her of some Egyptian prince. He wore a thin gold chain around his neck, and his torso and arms were covered in black ink. Her pulse raced and she got dizzy for a spell. In the past, sex to her had been a means to an end—an at times enjoyable event during which she spent the majority of her time working toward an orgasm in anticipation of going to sleep soon afterward. With Cameron, it was different. Yes, she was eager, but her excitement felt more like she was getting something she’d missed, something perhaps even that she’d never experienced. She could sense in advance that this would be special. Though this was their first time, Cameron was familiar, as if he’d already been inside of her before.

  She took a deep breath. Her heart was playing an out-of-tune song.

  He suddenly swooped over her like an eagle, pressing her down onto the bed with the greatest of ease. The heat and warmth of his eager mouth titillated her senses and drew a sigh as he christened her
neck with a kiss. Wrapping one arm around his shoulder, she writhed as he eased her thighs apart with a nudge of his knee. He worked his mouth all along her collarbone, then back up to her face, delivering slow pecks to her chin and cheeks.

  “No rest for you tonight, baby. You wanted my dick? You’re about to get it,” he said with a wicked smile.

  Reaching up to her hand, he intertwined their fingers and squeezed. Her mouth parted as she stared at the ceiling for a spell, trying to slow her breathing. She glanced at their hands, studying the contrasting colors—her light, peach flesh against his deep, roasted-caramel tone.

  He wore a small gold ring on his index finger, the metal glimmering in the dull lights.

  “Your kiss is everything,” she whispered, then moaned when he drifted down to her bra, working his hands along the globes, gently squeezing them. He ran the tip of his tongue all along the reddened scar, moving his hips back and forth like the ocean between her thighs, grinding slow, then fast.

  “You haven’t felt anything yet.”

  Her breath hitched as he released her breasts from their lacey restraints then tossed her bra haphazardly across the room, exposing her scar completely. He looked hungrily from one breast to the other, then engulfed one into his hot, wet mouth, his face practically disappearing from sight. Palming the back of his head, she squealed when he sucked hard on her tender nipple, taking it slow then fast, switching his pace, alternating like an expert in the art of lovemaking. He toyed and played with the other, massaging it with his lithe fingertips, then administered the same treatment to it.

  Her back arched uncontrollably from his touch and her pussy wept in anticipation as he bumped his hard cock against her zone. With one hand, he jerked his underwear down until he had them all the way off, refusing to release her nipple in the process. Soon, he rose onto his knees, and her eyes immediately landed on his slightly curved nature.