Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  “Speaking of my two favorite men, if Donavan sounds like either one of my Tom’s then I will never ask for another thing in my entire life.” She winked as he got out.

  “Oh yeah?” He stood before her, unmoving like a tree that she sorely wanted to climb. They’d made love every day since Donavan had come home from being in the hospital. He’d taken the shot in the spleen. The wound on Donavan’s left, second pectoral was now a distinguished scar that she’d kissed a million times already.

  Last out of the limo was Greg.

  “How you feel about having a red button nose?” Antonio asked.

  “Long as I’m the chief clown, we’re good,” he replied, while Donavan helped him into the wheelchair. Joshua stood behind it.

  “Will you quit that.” Carly bumped her hip into Antonio’s.

  “Hey, you’re messing up my shot,” he said, steadying his camera. “Y’all know that Bravo was begging for AC to do a reality show after her and DJ’s video.”

  “Oh, so since she declined, you’ve taken it upon yourself to do your own thing.”

  “You damn skippy.” He moved the video recorder around flawlessly, pressing a button to take a still shot of Avery and her interaction with Junior.

  Avery rubbed the back of her son’s head and kissed him. “Should I push?”

  She gestured toward Anya’s Rolls-Royce of a stroller. He shook his head. “I got this, Mom.” Avery had noticed that her son had been rather quiet this morning.

  “Okay, I bet you sound just like your dad.” She teased.

  Donavan signed, “You’ll know soon.” He wrapped her into his arms. “Ready to head inside?”

  Her gaze swept up toward the state-of-the-art Cochlear Clinic, and she nodded.

  Her family squeezed inside what had been the spacious office of the audiologist that Avery had been working with since October. The area was now packed tight. Drowning in happiness, Avery glanced at her people. Verdrena stalked around on her stilettos. Alexander played with his cufflinks, the only sign that he was nervous. Carly and Antonio seized the moment, squeezing together. Joshua and Junior took up a lot of space, pacing back and forth while they all waited for the doctor and audiologist to enter. Feeling restless, ten-month-old Anya bobbled back and forth in Avery’s arms. Donavan leaned on the counter before her, his thick arms crossed. Her eyes landed on his lips, recalling just how loudly she had screamed for him last night. A giddy grin plastered itself on her mouth. She couldn’t wait to hear her voice jumping octaves with him between her thick thighs.

  “I get to hear you soon,” Avery murmured, unable to gulp down the constriction in her throat.

  Donavan touched her shoulder. Dr. Wang stepped in, exaggerating her glance around the room. “Did you bring food? I could use a feast before Christmas dinner. This year is at the in-laws, and I don’t eat much if you get my drift.”

  Donavan tsked.

  Alexander smirked.

  Avery shook her head. Things would always be the same between Donavan and Alexander. She handed Anya to her mom and began to fidget with her engagement ring.

  A few minutes later, the audiologist arrived, explaining the entire process to everyone in the room, though Avery was already aware. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road, Avery.”

  “Are you ready?” her father signed as she stood up and went to the monitoring system. Avery nodded her head.

  Donavan stepped before her, placing his forehead against hers. “Don’t be anxious, sweetheart.”

  Avery clutched Donavan’s biceps as though they were the last thing anchoring her. She bit her lip then took the seat. The audiologist connected the contraption to the implant along Avery’s skull. Her hair had begun growing in the section over her ear now.

  “Turn it on, turn it on!” The boys began to shout. Anya, her mouth slobbery, babbled with a few front teeth showing.

  “Guys,” Carly began.

  “They’re excited,” the audiologist said, pressing a few keys while typing on the keyboard. “I’m activating each electrode to make sure that it’s firing and looking at the measurements.”

  Carly moved between both boys, hugging them to her. They stopped moving. She looked at Junior to make sure she had his attention while signing and speaking. “We can’t have these folks thinking we raised animals.”

  They piped down.

  A few minutes later, Junior took a few steps toward the audiologist while he explained. “I’m going to turn it on now. It may be so low that you don’t hear anything. I promise you, Avery, that you did not go through surgery for nothing.” He grinned. “I’ll increase the volume as we talk, okay?”

  When Junior loomed awkwardly next to him, the audiologist pepped up and addressed him. “You wanna say something, buddy?”

  “My grandson isn’t this shy.” Alexander placed a hand on Junior’s shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

  Junior glanced at his dad, who gestured for him to speak. Eyes cast down to the ground, Avery watched as he said, “Can I be the first person to speak to my mom when you turn it on?”

  Her heart warmed. She noticed a slight gloss to Donavan’s eyes while her Mom, teary, dug into her purse for tissue.

  The audiologist gathered Junior’s attention, signing the words, “Roger that, buddy. I’ll do a series of sounds first, but you’ll be the first voice your mom ever hears. How does that sound?”

  Junior nodded.

  The audiologist pressed a button on the computer while staring at Avery. Her hands went over her mouth, hiding the astonishment. She murmured, “It’s beeping . . .”

  The audiologist cued Junior with his pointer finger.

  “I love you, Mommy,” he said in a hushed tone. His voice sounded muffled and a million miles away. Tears spilled onto Avery’s chest as he spoke with more conviction. “I love you, Mommy.”

  She gasped, shocked. She was completing a task that much of the world took for granted—hearing him. Hearing her son. Shoulder’s shaking, Avery broke into a sob. “Oh my god, Oh my god!”

  “This is so exciting.” The audiologist smiled.

  Junior grabbed his little sister. “Say something to Mommy, okay?”

  Avery reached out and took her daughter, holding her closely while she screeched and babbled.

  “Wow, with those lungs on her,” the audiologist said, “we may need to turn the volume down.”

  Everyone laughed as Avery smiled and kissed her baby.

  “I told you we’d talk soon, honey bun.” Avery blew raspberries across Anya’s neck. Then Avery’s eyes landed on Donavan, he had been stoic this entire time, except for the brightness of his eyes. He was holding back his tears.

  Avery gestured toward her mom, and Verdrena took Anya, who whipped her head around and continued to chatter.

  Donavan dropped to his knees before Avery, planting himself between her thighs. He was huge and powerful even while kneeling in front of her. He clasped her cheeks and kissed the tears on her face.

  “Say something to me, Donnie.” Avery’s voice quivered in excitement.

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes, mumbling something under his breath before looking up at her. The steel plate of his chest heavy with pride.

  “I love you, Avery. God knows how much I’m in love with you.” He pawed at her face. His callused thumbs wiping at the rivers.

  Seconds seeped away. The drumming in her heart ceased, and Avery’s trembling fingers caressed Donavan’s rock-hard forearms. Her silky hands traveled up his wrists to the back of his hands where he embraced her face.

  She committed his words to memory—the beautiful sound of him, deep, lustrous, filled with love. Of all the cherished moments hidden in her heart, them as kids, innocently learning to love together, the agony of giving her virginity to him as it blossomed into a never-ending craving for more, even that all-consuming pain that ripped through her while giving Donavan his first child—this one single moment reigned.

  An image flashed before her mind of a fourteen-y
ear-old Donavan, beanie on his head, ripped jeans. She’d never seen him nervous until that day. Now, she knew how perfect that moment of trepidation had been when he had said he’d loved her.

  “I love you, Donnie,” she gasped, kissing him passionately.

  His forehead pressed against hers. They’d never had a conversation while embracing each other without one of them tilting their head. But his breath tickled her cheek when he said, “I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry for what?” Alexander growled, always the voice of negativity.

  “Zip it, Dad,” she gritted, her hand twining in the back of Donavan’s hair. Avery closed her eyes delighting in his touch.

  “We’ve had a helluva year, AC.” The tone of his voice spoke volumes. He was apologizing for being an ass and thanking her for sticking around and attending therapy sessions with him during the past couple of months. She savored the sound of his deep baritone. A composition came to her mind. A melody just for him.

  Donavan sat back on his haunches, his warm honey gaze sliding over her. “I reckon, I don’t sound like a cartoon?” He arched an eyebrow.

  “Just keep talking to me.” Clinging to his strong, hard body again, Avery closed her eyes and concentrated on his steady voice. It was therapy for her soul.

  He chuckled softly, setting butterflies dancing across her skin.

  “Oh, you must like what you hear. Because even if I did sound like a cartoon, AC, no matter how out-of-this-world gorgeous you are, how strong you are, how courageous you are, all of you has been claimed, and I ain’t letting you go.”

  She exhaled deeply, ready to fill an entire sheet of music. There were so many things that they could do now, like sit outside under the stars and talk, her snug in his arms. Or her listening to just where he wanted her lips on him when they made love. Avery opened her eyes, blinking back more tears as Donavan kissed her recklessly. He had the perfect, deep voice that she’d love listening to for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.

  Psalm 62:8

  About the Author

  Thank you for reading Make Me Stay II. I wrote the first book after watching a child hear for the first time. Then with the reviewers asking for book two, I knew this was my chance to bring those happy emotions that I felt to fruition. Hopefully, my scene with Avery first hearing rose to the occasion because there are so many videos on YouTube that make the entire process humbling and perfect. Now, I do want to state that I did some serious research for cochlear implants. Almost felt like I was back in grad school—nix the LexisNexis subscription. The people who endure this procedure aren’t just going through surgery and done. No, they’ve got more work to do. But this is a book, so I glamorized the good parts.

  I’m also in awe of the deaf community for embracing who they are—and I mean that literally. There is some serious discrimination and blatant disregard for them, and I’m not just speaking of the past when ASL was banned—Almost winning during the silent movie era, then boom more hardship.

  Alright, Make Me Stay II ended on a Happily Ever After. I know some people want all the strings tied up, but I like my stories to be more reality than fiction. In many marriages there are tensions, and let’s face it, Alexander is a wild card. Now, if you want another MMS, let me know. I’ll stop being so selfish (because I’ve just ended the book the way I wanted) and give everyone the standard wedding. This story would have been a tomb otherwise. Don’t forget to add a review of your thoughts of this book and book one if you haven’t.

  Keep scrolling for a sneak peak of Black Queen, Dark Knight Two. I also received so many reviews requesting more Jagger and Mikayla that I had to give you all more!

  Black Queen, Dark Knight II

  I haven’t had a cover reveal yet, so if you see this awesome, sexy cover on social media, just act surprised ;) Shares and comments are always appreciated as well.

  Prologue

  Makayla

  “Do you know how much control you have over me right now?” Jagger’s deep voice is hard, trembling with lust. It sends thrills down my spine. His callused fingers dance across the chocolate brown silk of my jawline.

  Control? Me? I’ve been captured by a barbarian. Black lace ties my wrists, confining them behind my back. Though Jagger is tall, muscular, and broad shouldered, I suppose my power, while kneeling on the floor, resides in how my ass spills across the back of my calves. Or the eroticism of how my aching nipples pierce the cold air as I look up through hooded lashes. I see the world infinitely different than the Adonis king before me. Not an ounce of control is to be had when a beast of a man like Jagger Johansson owns you.

  Or should I call him a killer?

  His hands are masters at taking lives and killing me slowly.

  Here I am, on my knees. And I’m supposed to be a queen.

  My breath, so deliciously close to the head of his magnificent cock, tickles it as I respond. “I doubt that.”

  He chuckles devilishly. His fingers graze past my jaw, around to the nape of my neck, and clasp a fist of my silky pressed hair. “Place those lips on my cock, and you’ll see just how much rule you have, baby.”

  My mouth pools with liquid desire. Instead of yielding to the craving I have—licking my sweets off his strong erection from our earlier sexcapade—I let my tongue dip out. I glance up at him.

  Jagger hisses. The muscles in his chiseled face are strained, though his eyes are warmer than a summer breeze. He loves this tease.

  Slithering my tongue around the taut, rock hardness of his member, I play with his crown. When the dark, impatient rage in him is almost at its brink, waiting for the ocean of my mouth, a rainbow of cuss words grit out of him. He clutches my short hair in anger, and my mouth glides over his cock swiftly. I swirl my tongue around, making more wetness. Throat slack, with a deep moan, I bring him further into my mouth.

  A conceited sigh glides through me when my lips kiss the base of him. This was something I never in a million years thought I could accomplish. Suck in the heavenly long, girth of Jagger’s manhood, but I’m proud to have conquered it. Conquered the beast.

  “Do not neglect my balls,” he growls.

  Instinctively, I attempt to move my hands toward his two fat members, but with my wrists tied, it’s no use. Groaning at my limitation, I let my tongue slitter and dance its way up to his cockhead. I give it a bit of suction before removing my mouth from his member. Next, I move down to taste those two plump sacks, placing them in my mouth, sucking lightly.

  “Fuck.” His fingers weave into my hair, pulling me back up.

  Again, I work at his cock until his essence splashes down my throat.

  He takes my arms, lifting me to my feet. His eyes slither up and down my frame. He loves me from head to toe, and my heart wants to prolong this moment.

  Stay here with him.

  Forget about the inevitable.

  The dissolution of us.

  “A few hours of sleep would do us well, Jag,” I murmur. There’s something in his gaze that I can’t quiet figure out. My eyes lower so that he’s unable to perceive my impending betrayal.

  “This entire weekend was for you, Makayla.” Jagger’s smile reaches his turquoise eyes, causing a vivacious dazzle in his gaze. He licks his lips. He’s thinking about his first taste from between my thighs in ages, and I perceive that this hunger of not having me for so long is about to intensify again.

  “Mmmm, my voice is like a frog now, after all the rest you guaranteed me this weekend.” I grin sheepishly, feigning tiredness. I should be tired. Three weeks ago was the last time we were intimate. Jagger has made up for all our lost time, but I . . . I have to leave him again. This time for good.

  I turn away from his thick frame, glancing at the warm yellow glow of the sun rising over the South African sea through the windows of Jagger’s home on top of the cliff.

  “Should we watch the sunrise first?” He comes up behind
me to undo my straps.

  Tears begin to burn my eyes, but feigning a yawn, I rub at them. “No. It’s my first night here with you in so long. Can you just hold me close, instead?”

  “Your wish is my command.” His baritone voice strokes my skin. It’s as different as night and day to the steely sound of him threatening my life during our first encounter.

  He scoops me into his arms, not allowing me to walk the ten yards across his gigantic bedroom to lay down. Our limbs are perfectly different from each other’s. Mine are darker, tinier, curvier, and twine with his. I pray to God that he falls asleep fast before I lose the strength.

  The strength to leave him.

  Ages pass before I hear the tapering of Jagger’s breath. His immense chest rises slowly. Biting my lip in trepidation, I work my way out from under his heavy arms and legs. It feels like picking up titanium beams. With a tiny grunt, I land on the glass floor. Stingrays swim in the aquarium beneath the floor. Fear that I haven’t felt since getting used to this posh, dangerous home claims my throat. I pad on the glass floor as soft as possible and open the front of my satchel, pulling out the “Dear John” letter I’d previously prepared.

  Closing my eyes, I concentrate on my departed parents, King Bannan and Queen Makuachukwa who were murdered. My mother’s brother stole their throne, becoming king regent. He snatched away my birthright up until a few months ago. I place the letter onto the nightstand. Quickly, I dress in jeans, a shirt that spills over my shoulder, and laceless tennis shoes.

  I feel like a whore. Great. I went from being a studious black girl in Long Beach California to almost getting into a prestigious med school—technically I got in—Jagger yanked me away from that life. My life has been a tornado since he came, and I love it. Now, he’s a raging ocean, and I need to be a calming seashore for Nivean, my nation.

  No matter how much book smarts I’ve obtained or how I excelled in my honor society during my undergrad, I’m dumb enough to fail. Fail this test. Fail at walking away without one last look.