by Kenya Wright
My eyes watered, but I knew I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of the doctor. Not in front of Mrs. Ellen, and definitely not York or Zola.
“You are such a special person,” Dr. Stein said as I stirred in my seat. “Hunter, you’ve grown into a great young man. You should be proud of yourself. You should be happy and excited for the future, and most of all, you should love with no fear and seek friendships that make you smile.”
My hands shook as I thought of that memory.
I didn’t know why so much of the past had decided to rise in my head. I hadn’t thought of Dr. Stein in many years.
She’d showed up to my boot camp graduation along with Mrs. Ellen, York, and Zola. She’d retired and only volunteered at substance abuse programs when she felt up to it. We’d all celebrated at dinner that night, and I’d paid with my little military pay I’d been so proud to earn.
Dr. Stein laughed the whole time and almost every ten minutes, she told me how proud she was. She might’ve sipped a little more wine than she needed and proclaimed that I was her unofficial grandson.
The next week, I’d arrived at my training facility in Washington. Apparently, the area had perfect terrain for learning how to fight—mountains, lakes, desert, wetlands, and valleys. I’d landed, called Mrs. Ellen, and had been hit by horrible news.
Dr. Stein died in her sleep. No pain. No suffering. She’d just gone.
In that moment, I realized I loved Dr. Stein more than I’d ever admitted to myself.
And, her death had hurt. It hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. More than what my mother ever did to me. Loving someone and losing them hurt more than a slap across the face or a punch in the jaw, a cigarette burn on the chest, or even a knee to the groin over and over until I begged my mother to stop.
And Dr. Stein left everything she’d owned to me—house, money, and stock. That made the pain worse, realizing in the end how much she’d really cared for me too. I saved all that money, and years later used it to open my security business—office locations, high tech equipment, accountant, lawyer, and more guns than my old unit had in the Army.
As I sat there thinking, Nakita’s face flashed in my head.
Poor Baptiste…I can’t lose Zola that way.
For some reason, ghosts had begun haunting me—Mom’s phantom, Dr. Stein’s spirit, and Nakita’s cold, empty grave. We never found all of Nakita’s body parts, just enough to put in a box and bury her in a hidden place in Jamaica.
Get this shit out of your head.
I returned to my notes and scanned them, searching for the red flags that pointed to a possible stalker—a history of violence. Narcissistic parents. Abusive childhood. Police reports. Victim Complaints. Restraining orders.
Trigger was twenty-five. He came from a middle-class household, nice place with a fence and a yard. His father was a reverend that was kicked out of his church for impregnating three women in the choir. His mother committed suicide shortly after. The reverend founded a church in another town, married again, and now ran a mega-church with over five hundred people in the congregation. Meanwhile, Baptiste had found that the father had several complaints in the past years from parents or females claiming that Trigger’s father had improperly groped their daughters or themselves. Nothing had been done, and those women and families were later excommunicated by his church.
But how much is Trigger like his father?
Baptiste found nothing concrete on Trigger besides a few passages from an ex-video dancer’s tell-all book where she claimed the rapper slept with his thumb in his mouth and sometimes peed in the bed.
I could see Trigger as Zola’s stalker, but I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced.
I went to Alexander. Takako had been right. Alexander had a sugar daddy, for several years. There were also several complaints from male models as well as a few restraining orders against Alexander. His credit was bad, and he appeared to have a small gambling addiction.
Takako was correct about CiCi too. Baptiste described several times where she’d gotten a modeling contract or acting role after sleeping with the director or photographer. But Baptiste went further with his investigation and discovered that CiCi had gone fully into using her body to get ahead.
For the past year, she’d been a high-end escort. Apparently, her pimp was named Mr. Moon. No one knew what he looked like or his real name. Even Baptiste had no idea, and my friend was highly proficient.
Regardless, CiCi had been recruiting for Mr. Moon as well. She’d befriended several models and hung out with them. Weeks later, those same models entered the sex game. It was a well-kept secret that only the deviant and highly affluent knew.
Is CiCi trying to recruit Zola? They’ve known each other for a long time. Maybe not. But she could have someone stalking Zola…maybe…to do what? Get her to consider fucking for money? No, that sounds off-base.
Baptiste’s notes on Takako were the most elusive. Takako had been born a boy, and then began dressing like a girl at nine. The fact that the parents allowed it pointed more to them being open and accepting versus abusive. There were school reports of Takako’s mother and father fighting for their child’s right to wear whatever they wanted to school.
The parents lost. They homeschooled Takako the next year, where they were able to develop their love for makeup and face painting. By sixteen, they had a popular vlog on YouTube and had been making $20,000 a month on their how-to make-up videos.
It was Zola that had found Takako from browsing the videos. She contacted and hired Takako the next day. Since then, Takako had become famous. They were a story about acceptance, reaching dreams, and boldly being whoever one wanted to be while facing the odds. More people had begun following Takako than Zola, and even Zola commented and liked more of their stuff than she posted on her own accounts.
However, Baptiste did note that Takako walked around with two razor blades strapped to their thighs. This could’ve been due to Takako being attacked several times since moving to New York City a year ago.
I’ll have to chat with Takako again. See what else they know.
So far, Takako’s information had been right on with Baptiste. I also liked their story. I had a special kinship with underdogs. The attacks that they’d dealt with in this past year pissed me off. Takako was slim and tall, but not aggressive looking in any way. They had a spunky and gossiping spirit, but not one that should’ve have invited people hitting and beating them in the street and in the middle of the night.
Yeah. Takako and I will have a talk. They may know more about this stalker thing, and it wouldn’t hurt to deal with their attacks, probably later. Maybe get them a gun or something.
I shifted out of Mr. Protector mode and went back to the notes.
I had a feeling that one of the other people—Trigger, Alexander, or CiCi & her pimp, Mr. Moon—were either Zola’s stalker or had something to do with the stalking. My gut hadn’t put me on the wrong path yet. And even though Zola was fogging my head and taunting my cock, I still had the audacity to trust my gut.
15
Moonlit Kisses
Hunter
I returned to the bedroom to check on Zola. Moonlight slipped in from the tall windows, and I couldn’t help it. I stood over the bed and gazed down at her.
I must’ve stood there for several minutes like an idiot, breathing her lush fragrance in. She smelled of exotic flowers. A rich fragrance that soothed me. Erotic female scents that heated my blood and triggered my cock to jerk in my pants.
Soon she stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. She slowly sat up and looked around. “I fell asleep in the car?”
“You did.”
She yawned. “Sorry.”
“You were tired. I’m glad you slept. You should go back to sleep.” I checked my watch. “You have to get up early again.”
“Well…”
I could already tell what was coming next.
“We should talk about your confession,” she said.
I ran my fingers t
hrough my hair, needing to do something with my hands. Part of me wanted to grab and kiss her. The other part wanted to get out of the room. My hard cock wanted to rub against her at least one more time as we’d done on the dance floor.
She rose from the bed and stood in front of me. “You want me. I want you. What are we going to do about it?”
Straight to the point. Usually, I was the one that hit the person with the hard reality.
I sighed but couldn’t look away from her. In my heart, a song sang. It ached. I inhaled her sweet scent and lost myself in her. “What do you want to do, Zola?”
She studied me. It was almost as though she was trying to figure me out. I felt like a bug under a persistent scientist’s microscope. And then she parted her lips. “I want whatever you have to offer.”
She put the ball in my court, and damn if I didn’t want to take it.
I bit my lip hard, trying to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. The sting of pain told me this was my new reality—Zola craving me.
She stepped closer as if unsure of what to do or say next. She tenderly grabbed my hand. Although so tall, her hands were small. Those soft fingers touched mine, delivering a lusty burn to my skin and raising the heat in the room.
“We need to take our time with this,” I whispered, even though deep inside I couldn’t hold myself back once I started with her. There would be no control, no matter how much I would try to tell myself that.
“Do we?” Zola’s gaze said that she was ready to flirt with fire. And when she licked her lips, she struck a match.
A soft and sweet midnight breeze passed us from the opened window. Her nipples had already been hard, but now they stiffened and pushed more through the fabric. In that moment, I knew she had no idea what to do either. Just like me, she seemed scared, but hungry to try it.
I wanted, more than anything, to touch her, to bury my hands in her soft hair, to slip off that lovely dress and bend her over. I could feel the certainty blazing through my veins.
And, because I was so good at my job—reading people and situations—I was too aware of the energy of tonight, the intensity, the sensual silence cocooning us. Words dangled in the air between us. Hot ones, dripping in need. Heightened sexual awareness. I could smell it rising between us.
“I want to kiss you,” I whispered.
She blinked.
I continued, “And the right thing to do would be to give you time to think this over. A lot happened tonight. The apartment. The release party. This stalker has you stressed. And you’re exhausted—”
Her words came out breathless. “Just kiss me, Hunter.”
The intensity of her voice made me insane. I couldn't help myself. Heart pounding, I lifted my hand to her hair and sank my fingers into those silky strands.
“I can’t lose you, Zola, if this doesn’t work.”
She raised her head and met my gaze. “You won’t. I promise. You could never lose me.”
And there, in the moonlit suite, I took her into my arms and devoured her.
I plunged my mouth down onto hers, tenderly forcing her teeth apart with my tongue and relishing in her own tongue, working at first with hesitation and then letting the passion take over.
She tasted of sex. Of hunger. I knew she would be my salvation, if I took it there with her. If I just opened myself to it all.
I had to go hard. I couldn’t give her a regular kiss. We’d waited too long. She’d have to be tasted in a different way. It had to be different from the kisses she’d gotten in high school, college, and even with her dating in New York.
I dipped my tongue in and out of her mouth, slipping and sliding on her sweetness. Taking possession of her mouth. Giving her a preview of how I intended to take her body and soul.
Groaning, she leaned in closer.
Lust shot through me like a bullet. The wrongness of this kiss prowled in the shadows of my mind like a burglar. But I sliced it down. I killed any thought that would make me stop kissing her.
“Zola.” I slipped my hands down, cupping her lush ass, gripping it fiercely.
Our bodies pressed together at the center.
We both wanted each other, bad. I felt the heat surrounding us, calling to the wild desires inside our hearts.
Zola moved those hips, taunting me, inviting me into a slow, sensual dance with her. And there I stood, barely able to maintain control. It didn’t help that she seemed as starved as I was.
I needed her beneath me. Moaning from my cock. Taking it deep.
Damn. She’s mine.
I consumed her.
I needed to get her naked as soon as possible. With her bare to me, I could finally taste her. She deserved to have me spread those lovely pussy lips apart and have me bury my face in it. Never stopping. Never coming up for air.
Licking and sucking on her for days.
I needed her scent all over me. I yearned for my cock to be wet from her.
It wouldn’t be long before she would be coming all over my face.
16
Not Tonight
Zola
His lips were delicious. I loved the taste of him.
I reached for his belt, needing more.
Hunter’s hand shot up in pure speed. I was stunned by the speed. The feel of his hand capturing my wrist made me tremble with anticipation. Still, he kept his mouth on mine and sucked on my bottom lips, before letting me go. “Not tonight.”
I did my best to keep the whine out of my tone. “Not tonight?”
“No.”
I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or disappointed.
We’d just crossed a line, and I loved it. I wanted to taste him some more. And his body burned hot under my touch, as if he was the very fire that could destroy my soul.
“We have to take our time,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because…one, I don’t want to rush this, not when I’ve wanted you for so long. And two…my head is fogged with you right now. I can’t think. At the moment, I’m not focused on finding this guy. I’m just focused on sticking my cock inside you.”
All words left my parted mouth.
He lowered his head and nipped lightly at my bottom lip.
Instant heat. Electric arousal. Maddening beyond just erotic. Ravenous dominance.
With each slip of his tongue, each brush of tender mouth, each exquisite ripple rushing through me, he drew out the fiery anticipation, drove the urgency of needing him to a new height.
I pulled back. “I want you now.”
Growling, he kissed me harder as if the other kisses were when he’d had control. This showed the wild, dark, and fractured parts of him. This kiss clouded my vision, my ability to think.
His mouth deliciously bruised mine, violent and full of pleasure. My lips tingled and were sure to be swollen.
He explored his hands along my body as if to let me know we would be slow, but in the steamiest way. His fingers gave me silky caresses. Skillful gives-and-takes. Raw tenderness.
I came close to begging for more, needing more than his gentle mouth.
And then he stepped back, letting go of me and taking those lips away. “Get some sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep right now,” I whispered.
A smile curved on his face. “Is that right? What do you want to do, Zuzu?”
“See your cock.”
He hissed and looked like he was close to tearing my clothes off. “I had no idea how nasty your mouth could be.”
“You should see how much Zuzu has grown up.”
“You’ve won.” He grunted. “I’m no longer calling you Zuzu. You’ve ruined the nickname with that dirty mouth.”
“Good.”
A knock came from the door.
“Give me a minute,” Hunter called out to whoever was on the other side.
I jumped. “Who the hell is that? I thought we were the only ones here.”
“Baptiste. He’s one of my men. He’s staying with us.” Hunter’s gaze slipp
ed across my body and then he ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m going to talk to him. Get some sleep.”
“Well…I believe that we’re not done talking either…or kissing.”
“No?” He licked his lips and to my surprise, he rubbed his hand along the front of his pants, exposing the long print of his length against the fabric. “Zola…I fucking want you. There should be no doubt about that.”
I inched closer to him.
“Give me a minute.” He let go of his cock. “Get some sleep. Let me focus tomorrow. Twenty-four hours isn’t up yet.”
“Twenty-four hours?”
“I wanted to catch this guy by that time.”
“Do you think you could?”
“I’ll damn sure try. I want this threat gone.” His gaze fell to my lips. “And then…maybe we can explore—”
“Maybe?”
“We will.”
“We have to.” I closed the distance and pressed my body against him. “This…this could be worth it.”
“I know it would be.” He wrapped his arms around me. “But first…let me protect you, and then…”
He took my lips and sipped all doubt away.
“Hunter,” I moaned.
“You promise?”
“What?” I asked.
Fear blazed in his eyes. “I won’t lose you, if we try…if we do this?”
“Never.”
Another knock came. A dark, gruff voice followed and held an accent. “Hunter, you need to see this.”
Hunter’s body tensed against mine, and then he let me go. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked off.
Because the guy’s voice held an urgency to it, I decided to follow Hunter too. Whatever it dealt with possibly concerned me, and I definitely needed to know.
We both walked out into the living room. Hunter glanced my way but didn’t say anything as he turned to his man. “What’s up, Baptiste?”
A tall black man stood in the center of the room. He had a bald head and lots of muscles. I hadn’t expected anything less from one of Hunter’s men.
