Let Me Love You (McClain Brothers Book 1)

by Alexandria House

  “Ev, I don’t…I don’t think I’m ready for that. I don’t think I’m ready to leave here. This is the only home Nat has ever known. I’m comfortable here. Just…I need some time. You’re moving really fast.”

  My heart shattered at seeing the disappointed look on his face. “I know I am, I just…I love you, Jo, feels like I’ve known you my whole life. I love being here with you and Nat, but you said yourself that Bugz thinks this is still his house. It’s hard for me not to think about that. But, uh…I won’t pressure you. Just wanted you to know that’s the next move I wanna make.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  *****

  Another damn red carpet.

  At least this time I knew this would be a part of everything, but that did little to calm my nerves because things were different from when I went to that benefit with Everett. I was very publicly his woman, the subject of all kinds of conjecture, and definitely would not be ignored by the interviewers this go ‘round. As our limo inched up to the venue in New York, all was quiet as I mentally reminded myself of my dress’s designer’s name and told myself not to do that weird smile I do when I’m uncomfortable, and I guess Everett was preparing to receive his honor and perform. He was always quiet and in his own head right before a show. I’d seen it tons of times before when he was on tour, so I wasn’t surprised about that. He was holding my hand, a sure sign that we were good, plus, there was no reason for me to think his silence was anything to be concerned about with the way he sexed me before we left the hotel. I mean, shit!

  Right before we arrived, a text came through from my former Bijou Park coworker, Shirl: I know I wanted you to get you a man, but did you have to quit your job and forget about me? Call me sometimes!

  I replied: Sorry! Been busy but I promise to call.

  Shirl: You better, Mrs. South.

  That made me giggle. I was always amused when people referred to Everett as Mr. South. Would they really refer to me as Mrs. South like Shirl did if we ever got married? That thought led to another: would Everett marry me one day? Would I want him to?

  Before I could slip all the way down the obsession rabbit hole, the limo stopped, and a back door flew open. As Everett climbed out and the clamor outside grew louder, I slid my phone into my clutch and took his outstretched hand, emerging from the limo to cameras flashing and ear-piercing screams. With Tommy and Dunn nearby, Everett placed his hand on the small of my back, which was exposed in the Alexander McQueen dress that was short, sexy, and inappropriate for the cooling November New York weather, and led me down the red carpet. We paused, posed, answered questions, smiled, and halfway through the ritual, I stopped feeling like a total imposter and began sounding and looking like a pro, almost as if I belonged there on his arm. The main question I got was about my dress. A few asked things like how did we meet, was I proud of him, pretty benign stuff, but most of the questions were fielded by Everett.

  Once inside, we were guided to our front-row seats in the humongous theater. “You good? You didn’t even seem nervous out there,” he said, as he settled in his seat next to me.

  I nodded, looking around as people filed in. “I wasn’t, really.”

  “See, it was that sex I put on you, and you were talking all that shit, tryna act like you didn’t wanna do it.”

  I cocked an eyebrow up at him. “I always wanna do it. You know that. I just didn’t wanna be weak and stumbling down the damn red carpet, Everett. Hey, I wonder how far back Bridgette and Sage are gonna be?” I craned my neck to see if I could locate them behind us.

  “Not far. I got them some good seats.”

  “Thank you for that. They were so happy to get to come. And you paid for their rooms, too. I’m almost a fan again.”

  “Almost? Damn, what I gotta do to get back in?”

  Before I could answer, J Cole walked up and congratulated Everett.

  J-motherfucking-Cole!

  I had to stop myself from yelling, “Cole World!” like a fool.

  He was followed by everyone from Nas to Jay-Z to Drake. We were sitting mere inches away from Jay and Bey and right in front of Common. My eyes were about to pop out my head at the reality of it all. If I had caught a glimpse of André 3000 anywhere near us, I would’ve really lost it. I’d always been crazy about me some 3 Stacks!

  “You do know I’m famous, too, right? Sitting your ass up here geeked about these other niggas.” His spoiled behind actually looked and sounded irritated.

  “Aww, come here,” I said, leaning in to kiss him. “You know I love you, but these are my favorite rappers, baby.”

  “Got-damn, Jo. Really? I ain’t nowhere on the list?”

  I gave him a smile and a wink. “Of course! You’re like in my top one hundred!”

  He shook his head. “Ain’t that some shit…”

  I gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning just in time to see Bridgette and Sage take their seats a few rows behind us. I grinned and waved at them and turned back around to see Sid and his wife, Sonya, who’d recently had their little boy, take their seats on the front row, directly across the aisle from us. I snatched around to look at Everett in complete and utter horror.

  He took my hand and squeezed it, leaning in and whispering, “The messy-ass producers did this. Just ignore him. Wanna trade seats so I’m on the outside?”

  I inspected Everett in his dress shirt and slacks and almost forgot what the issue at hand was. Dang, he was fine! When I finally pulled my mind out of the gutter, I said, “No. If I move now, it’ll look like he’s bothering me.”

  “Is he?”

  “No,” I lied. The truth was, the fact that Sid even existed bothered the living shit out of me.

  “Good. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I felt my phone vibrate, pulled it out of my purse, and saw that Sid had texted me: U look good enough 2 eat, baby.

  I sighed, deleted the text, and turned my whole body to face Everett, who was now talking to either Offset, Quavo, or Takeoff. Those dudes all looked the same to me.

  *****

  The show was fun, and with Kevin Hart as the host, the laughs were abundant. He made fun of everything and everyone, including himself. Couple that with the performances, especially one from my fav, Cardi B, and I barely noticed Sid. I was too busy jamming to the music, hopping up from my seat and dancing while Everett stood next to me cool as hell with his hands in his pockets, bobbing his head to the beats to think about him.

  It was such a good night with only one cringe-worthy moment when Kevin said, “All the women in the world and y’all rappers passing around the same ones. Look at Bugz and South. The hell y’all doing?”

  Everett yelled, “That shit ain’t funny, lil’ nigga.”

  The audience laughed, and Kevin said, “Let me shut the hell up before South’s big ass come up here. Or shit, Bugz’s homicidal ass.”

  I didn’t bother looking at Sid. I was glad when Kevin moved on to DJ Khaled.

  Everett received the Grinder of the Year award but lost album of the year to Kendrick Lamar. When he accepted the Grinder award, he thanked tons of people but not me. I kind of felt slighted, but told myself we’d only been together a short while. It wasn’t like I had really contributed anything to his career, and I was still happy for him. So I got over my little hurt feelings.

  He had explained to me that when they honored him toward the end of the show, a video chronicling his career that would include interviews with various people in his life would play. He’d be escorted backstage before that in order to prepare to perform a few of his biggest hits, and afterwards, accept his award. He kissed me before following his handler backstage. I was watching another award be presented when the same handler came for me. Confused, I followed her backstage to a tiny room. Everett was inside sitting in a chair, his head lowered. Once the handler left, closing the door behind her and leaving Tommy outside to guard it, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

  He looked up at me with k
nitted brows. “I’m nervouser than a motherfucker, Jo.”

  “What? You never get nervous before going onstage. What’s going on?”

  He shook his head. “A concert is one thing. This shit is a live TV show. Millions of people are watching. I always get nervous about doing stuff like this.”

  “Well, just pretend it’s a concert, baby.”

  “That won’t work.”

  “Then, what?”

  “I’ma need some pussy right quick to calm my nerves.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “I’ma need some pussy,” he said, like it made perfect sense for us to screw in this broom closet for a dressing room with a zillion people running around outside the door.

  “That’s what you had me brought back here for?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where we supposed to do it? In here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hell no!”

  Alarm covered his face. “You not gonna give me none?”

  “No!”

  “Come on, Jo. Please?” he whined.

  “Everett! I’m not gonna sit through the rest of the show with you leaking out of me.”

  Reaching into his pant pocket, he unearthed a condom. “I’ll use this.”

  I moved closer to him. “What the hell are you doing with a condom when we don’t use them anymore?”

  “Aw, shit. I got it from Tommy, baby. I am not messing with anyone else.”

  “Tommy knows we supposed to be in here fucking?!”

  “You know how many times Tommy and Dunn have heard us fucking in dressing rooms, Jo?”

  I sighed. “We just did it before we left the hotel! You can’t seriously want to do it again!”

  “I need to do it again, baby.”

  “Everett…”

  “Come on. We gotta make this quick. Just pull your dress up and bend over and grab this chair.”

  He vacated the chair, and I shook my head before snatching my panties off and shoving them in his mouth. “Fine,” I finally agreed. “I think your ass just likes screwing in dressing rooms.”

  He was inside me so fast, my knees threatened to give out as I gasped and clutched the bottom of the chair. “Oooo, shit!” I whimpered softly.

  “Biss pussfy fo’ mubafuffing bood!” he garbled into the panty gag as he gripped my hips and plowed into me like he was running a race.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” was my response, as I quickly hit my climax. I was trying not to scream since the gag wasn’t doing much to mute Everett. He was making enough noise for both of us. Had it not been for Migos’ performance, we would’ve definitely been found out. But then again, this was a hip hop awards show, so there was no telling how much freaky stuff was happening behind closed doors.

  Through the orgasmic static in my head, I heard him clearly say, “You milking the shit out of me, Jo!”

  “G-gag, Ev-Everett,” I stuttered.

  “But I’m—shit! Whew! I’m finished, baby.” He spun me around and buried his face in my neck, sucking on it.

  “Time for my walk of shame back out there, huh?” I asked, after I caught my breath.

  “You ashamed of having sex with me?” he murmured into my neck.

  “No, but I don’t wanna fuel the nasty rap-ho’ rumors.”

  “Fuck rumors. We love each other and I’m your damn man. Us having sex is natural.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. You good now, Big South?”

  “Yep, ‘bout to go out there and murder this performance.”

  Since I had this extra lubrication issue, I still felt sticky and wet down there so I had the handler show me to a restroom where I tried to clean myself up. But I was panty-less because my thong underwear was ruined from being in Everett’s mouth. So yeah, I was hella uncomfortable when I returned to my seat to find Sonya sitting alone. Sid was to close out the show with Stop Playing, the song that was originally supposed to be a collabo with Everett, but became a big hit for him and rapper, Talent the Prodigal One, instead. So I suppose he was backstage somewhere getting ready for his performance.

  I smiled as the tribute began with everyone from Everett’s high school music teacher to his daughter lauding his talent and the breadth of his success. The announcer ran down the records he’d broken by performing to sell-out crowds around the world, selling a total of over one hundred million albums, and scoring tons of number one hits. I flinched a little but maintained my smile when Esther popped up on the screen, and said, “South is one of the greats. I knew that when I met him all those years ago. I fell for his talent first. Married him for the gentle soul he was. Everett is truly a good man. I’d marry him again in a heartbeat, you know?” She ended her statement with a coquettish giggle.

  Bitch.

  She wasn’t marrying shit again if I could help it.

  I wasn’t famous for anything but screwing two rappers, so of course they didn’t interview me. I was his girlfriend, not his wife, but did they have to interview her? They’d been divorced forever.

  I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard, “All right, y’all! It’s the man of the hour himself, the national champ! Biiiiiiiig Soooouuuuth!”

  Yes! He came out to Stop and Frisk like I’d told him to, and the crowd exploded. My sticky coochie ass even jumped up on my feet and danced, yelling the lyrics out in time with him. Without looking back, I knew Bridgette and Sage were doing the same thing.

  Stop and Frisk seamlessly flowed into She be Babysitting, an older song of his about oral sex with lines about a woman “swallowing his babies.” It was lewd but was a clever metaphor and the beat was banging. I had suggested that one, too. Then he went into newer, less suggestive songs like The Truth, Hoodies Up, and My Girl, a song he wrote for Ella. I’d suggested those as well. Everett was performing the entire set list I’d run down for him. That made me so proud!

  Then a familiar interpolation began to play, one I easily recognized because I heard it a million times as a kid. It was the instrumental intro to DeBarge’s All this Love repeating over a crazy drum beat. The song had been sampled before by other artists, but not quite in this manner. I stood still with a little frown on my face. I’d never heard whatever this was until that moment, but I already liked it.

  “Y’all all right with me spitting something new right quick?!” Everett yelled into the microphone.

  The crowd roared.

  “All right, listen:

  I ain’t the type to slow it down no more, although I did this shit a time or two before

  I’m going eighties with an LL vibe, cause I’m feeling this, Ma, deep down in my core

  You got me thinking ‘bout some crazy shit, when I thought I’d been done closed that door

  And the harder I try to walk away, I just end up wanting you more and more

  You young and been through so much shit, some shit that made you cry

  But you too beautiful for that, special and real, so now I’m more than willing to try

  To be a better man for you and to give you what you truly deserve

  A love that’s from the heart, and to make you my life, the center of my world

  Unh, you’re the answer to my prayers, the x to my equation, the solution to what I need

  I love you, girl; you’re my soul, my heart, my mean-as-hell black queen…”

  Trey Songz appeared on stage singing the hook, an altered version of the original song’s chorus.

  People were raising their hands and swaying to the relaxed beat, which was out of character for Big South but fit Everett to a tee. I held myself as I continued listening to the song, wondering if it was about me. It was, wasn’t it? It had to be…right?

  My questions were answered when he descended the steps to the side of the stage and made his way over to me. He grabbed my hand while still holding the mic and delivered the final lines of the song with finesse:

  “I love the way you love, how you put my ass in check, how you ain’t afraid to speak your mind but always got my back

  I love to s
ee your smile and them love faces you make, how you look when you sleep at night when I’m wide awake

  Special don’t describe you, you a treasure, you a jewel

  Guess that’s why I found you where I found you at Bijou

  What I’m trying to say is baby, I’ll never let you go

  You took my heart, fixed what was ripped, and for that I love you from my soul.”

  He hugged me amid wild cheers and applause. I was crying at this point, so I barely heard him say directly in my ear, “I know I move fast, but I’ve been ready for this for a long time, just needed to find you to make it happen. I love you, and I wanna love you forever. We don’t have to do it right now, but I hope you’re willing to do it sooner than later.”

  Then the man dropped to one knee, pulling a ring out of his pocket, and I think he asked me to marry him. I can’t be sure, because I was crying so hard and the crowd was so loud, and then I felt someone shaking me, looking up to see Bridgette and Sage had left their seats and were yelling something at me. Other rappers rushed Everett, hitting him on his shoulders and yelling stuff at him with big grins on their faces, but he never took his eyes off me.

  Through the haze of utter shock came a warmth that only radiated from Everett, from the way he treated me, from the way he touched me, from the way he loved me.

  And I loved him, too.

  Immensely.

  So I held my hand out to him, and whimpered, “Yes!”

  He slid the heavy ring on my finger and grabbed me, hugging me tightly and whispering, “Thank you,” in my ear and kissing me on the cheek. A moment later, he was heading back to the stage to accept his Lifetime Achievement trophy.

  I clutched my chest and watched him as Bridgette and Sage flanked me.

  “All right, now that I done locked my Jo down, I wanna thank her for being here with me and for not making me look stupid by refusing to marry me. I never know with her disagreeable ass.”

  The crowd roared in laughter.

  “I also wanna thank my daughter, Ella, who is pissed at me for not letting her come hear all the cursing we been doing on this stage tonight. I wanna thank my fans, my management, my family…”