by Love Belvin
“Those things make you want to be friends with people?”
I turned to grab her to me. “Those things, plus the fact that you’re sexy as shit.” Tori froze, still unaccustomed to us having this intimate contact. I didn’t react to it, though. “And you’re a good kisser.”
“No, I’m not,” she whined, melting into my charm.
I kissed the side of her mouth. “You are.” I kissed her again. “My favorite new kisser.”
She sucked in a breath. “How many girls have you kissed for the first time?”
“Other than my first, Patty?” I whispered, trying not to laugh.
“Your first kiss was with Patty from third grade?”
“Sorry I couldn’t be like you and have it with the star Panther of the best HBCU on the planet,” I tried sounding sad.
She slapped my chest, pushing me away. I was grateful for her touch any way I could have it, especially naked in my Jacuzzi.
“Why don’t you like talking about your father?”
That killed my humor. “Because I’d rather be giving you another orgasm then feeding you.”
“You don’t want to answer?”
My eyes closed and face fell. “It’s at least two in the morning, Nabby-girl.”
“But we’re supposed to be friends.”
My chin stayed low, but my eyes roved up to her deadpan face. “And you’re being manipulative.”
“Maybe…”
I exhaled, hoping my dick didn’t go down by the time she dropped this topic. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. What kind of dad was he? Why don’t you like talking about him? How did he die—pass away.” Her eyes blinked successively, I guessed feeling she was being insensitive.
“He’s dead. You had it right the first time. Cancer.” I exhaled again. “Robert Spencer was a square. A fraud. He was smart enough to generate wealth, but too foolish to live his own life and be a man.”
“What does that mean?”
“He grew up with Christian conservative parents. They raised him with a tight fist and the Bible in the other hand. They pressed him on how to live his life, which had him make lots of stupid decisions. So, he was a coward, but—I guess—an intelligent guy.”
“Sounds like we know where you get the brains,” she murmured, less confident with her compliment.
That shit ate at me. I wanted all of Tori’s praises.
“Don’t let Wanda Lee hear you say that. You’ll pull the street fighter out of her.”
Tori’s face crunched. “Please don’t tell her I said that. It’s just I don’t know anything about her other than she loves you and takes no shit when it comes to you.”
I chuckled. “Then you know enough.”
“What made him a coward?”
“He couldn’t be who he truly was.”
“What was that?”
I shrugged. “That man is dead. I have no fucking clue. The only thing the world knew for sure was he was a hell of a businessman. No one knew shit else: was he a democrat or republican? Was he for equality for people of color or was he an Uncle Tom? Was he gay or was he straight? Did he like the Kings or was he a wack ass Cowboy fan?”
“People thought your dad was gay?”
I snorted. “The nigga was for sure gay. I’m reminded each time I go home—his house, not my mom’s.”
Her eyes grew wild. “Was that a problem for you?”
Sexuality was a sensitive subject for her. I grabbed her close to me again, disturbing the water. “What would have bothered me is if you had said you only wanted girls and not men. Then I couldn’t watch you orgasm on my dick earlier.”
Her lids shrank and eyes damn near rolled when my fingers reached between her hairy lips and rubbed. I kissed her open mouth softly before stopping.
I whispered, “Let’s get rinsed off.”
After cutting the jets and unlocking the stop, I stood, leaving the tub. I could feel my stiff cock bounce in the air with each step I took. With unbelievable patience, I waited for the shower water to heat, then called Tori over. She tried covering her globular breasts with her arm when traversing the bathroom. She hid her eyes, too. Instead of me panicking, I reminded myself of her newness to sensualism. It would take Tori time, possibly another sexual partner or two, to feel comfortable in her femininity.
I caged her once inside and behind the glass door. Tasting her, I drove myself crazy with holding back. I didn’t want to scare Tori. She was still new to this.
“Sit down.” I gestured to the bench on the side.
BSU rolled out the red carpet with architecture for staff and franchise athletes. I was confident Tori could request an apartment sooner in her college career than I was able to. She was that skilled.
I went to detach the one handheld showerhead from its hook and changed the setting to the strongest. With my legs, I spread her knees. “Look at me,” I tried controlling the groan in my demand.
I’d finally realized, even with tightly curled shoulders, slightly cut arms and thighs, KaToria McNabb was likely the sexiest woman I’d ever had.
And I haven’t exactly had her yet…
The moment the pulsating water hit her pussy, Tori tensed up. I had to open her thighs again. “Did that hurt?” She shook her head, tits heaving. “Just let it assault you,” I advised.
Slowly, she let up and allowed me to spread her thighs again, with ease this time. Her shoulders jolted, but not because she was ready to orgasm. It was because Tori didn’t know how to embrace pleasure. Not with me having this view of her. I leaned over her. A small part of me wondered if this juxtaposition reminded her of her torment as a kid. There was no fucking way I wanted to mirror shit that coward did to Tori. This was her birthday celebration. I wanted Tori to feel good and not used.
Her fist balled over the edge of the bench. Her teeth bit into her top lip and face tightened. With my free hand, I pinched then massaged her right nipple. Small grunts of pleasure escaped her throat. I could tell she tightened it to keep all sounds of pleasure—or from my perspective, affirmation—to herself. But I kept at it, occasionally kissing her, using my tongue.
Tori broke away from my mouth, still out of breath. “I don’t know what to do!” she whispered hard.
“You don’t have to do anything but tell me how you feel, especially if it doesn’t feel good.” I kissed her sweet lips again, curled over her sitting frame.
She shook her head adamantly, thighs shaking. “No. I need to do something to you, too.”
“No, you don’t, Nabby-girl.” I ran my tongue across her bottom lip. “This is all for you.”
“I want to touch you, too.” Her heavy eyes opened. “For me. I want to, Ashton.” Her eyes pointedly reached my standing dick, curled near her head.
I shook my head. As much as I lost my mind whenever Tori put her conversant mouth on my cock, I still wasn’t cool with it. I received pleasure seeing her pleasured.
“I won’t suck it,” she whispered, voice brittle. Desperate.
Before I could decide, her hands were on me. Softly, she stroked my shaft. My mind worked quickly and I reached back for my shampoo. I squirted a glob on her hand. Then I tossed my chin toward her. Tori’s big eyes were on me, questioning me mutedly. Wisely, she rubbed it in her hands all without taking her eyes off of me. When I shifted myself toward her again, she caught on and took me in her hands. At first the gel was cold, but I carried patience until she developed a steady rhythm as hot water pelted on my shoulders and back.
This dual act of pleasure was different with her. No matter how mastery her hands were on my dick, the innocence Tori held was addictive. My knees buckled at her half-mast eyes but flexing arms.
“Do you trust me?” I croaked, feeling my explosion nearing. Tori’s eyes widened just slightly, but she didn’t answer. “Tori.” I pinched her nipple harder than necessary. She flinched, but didn’t stop with her fisting game. “Answer me.”
“I want to,” she whispered, weakened
from gratification. “I swear, I want to, Spence.”
Though not what I wanted to hear, it was her honesty. I’d respect it and work damn hard to destroy the walls keeping me from her trust.
Her knees vibrated harder, thighs widening, and her grip on me intensified. Tori was ready to come.
“We’re gonna come together,” I could barely speak. “Okay?”
Tori, as usual, didn’t respond, but she jerked me harder, pushing her tits into her lower arms as they worked. I expected her to let go of me when her orgasm hit, but she didn’t. Tori kept working me over as I rocked into her hands. Her pelvis gyrated into the stream of water, pussy exposed. And my knees buckled as my seeds jetted across her face. If I could control my damn body quick enough, I’d move. My fucking faculties were delayed for seconds long. But Tori quickly managed to catch the rest in her hands.
When I knew her orgasm was cresting, I moved the showerhead, shakily placed it back on its hook then returned to her. My arms rested on the glass wall above her stretched out body, and I leaned over her to catch my breath.
“You’re gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.”
Thirty minutes later, we were back in my room, sitting on my bed while eating. I was finally feeding her. Tori managed to wrap my sheet around her breasts, her back exposed as she sat with her legs crossed and covered by the comforter. I lay horizontally across the bed, in front of her, wearing basketball shorts and socks.
Chewing, she wiped her mouth then tossed the napkin onto her plate.
“That’s it?” I asked. “You only had like two forkfuls.”
Tori shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“But it’s your birthday dinner,” I argued. “It’s spaghetti.”
Tori scooted back until she hit the pillows. Holding her breasts in the sheet, she lay back. “I know.”
“But I thought you loved spaghetti. Shit. I felt bad taking you from it on Thanksgiving.” Here I thought I was being…romantic.
Thoughtful, at best. I’d carefully selected the restaurant.
“Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “That spaghetti?” I nodded, confused. “That ain’t this. This Italian spaghetti. They ain’t the same.”
Oh…
I hadn’t considered that.
“What’s the difference?”
She shrugged. “Can’t tell you. I’ll have to show you.”
Stumped, I agreed, lifting from the bed. “Okay.” I collected our plates and took them to the kitchen.
After tossing the food in the trash and the utensils in the dishwasher, I noticed a package addressed to me on the ledge of the peninsula. Stephan must have brought it up earlier. The sender was Jimmy. Less annoyed than curious, I sat down in the living room and opened the rectangular, flat box. Inside were event tickets of sorts, but my immediate attention went to the small note on top.
Sir Ashton,
It’s always hard to find gifts for you. You’re a man of particular taste, and I have to be sure you don’t throw away my hard-earned money. This year I got lucky. I thought to get two of these. I’m sure you’d like for Miss Aivery to be your plus one.
Happy birthday.
James
Inside were two printed tickets to see none other than Mr. Tyler Thomas, my idol. Thomas was a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and a legend in publishing. He was a Black man with the most profound, prolific pen and brilliant mind. And he had a stop on his latest book tour less than two hours from campus—on my birthday.
“Holy shit…” spilled from my lips. Momentarily dazed, I murmured, “Bravo, Jimmy. At least your ass hanging around is meant for some good purpose.”
I slapped the thick stationery in my palm as I stood. This was working out to be the best birthday yet. I’d seen Thomas speak twice before, always leaving me feeling inspired. To do what? I never knew, but there was energy in his words whether written or spoken. What a college jock had in common with a world-renowned, tenured journalist? I had no fucking clue. I just knew I liked what I liked. Like…tomboy boxers with long, thick, chestnut legs and big ass tits.
By the time I made it back to the bedroom, Tori was laying on her side. There was this weird expression on her face as she rested her head on her hand.
“Tired?” I asked, killing the light.
She shook her head predictably. Here was one time I was grateful Tori didn’t use many words to communicate her feelings. I knew what she wanted, but tonight wasn’t the night. Her eyes were on me as I stood in front of the nightstand, turning off the lamp. Ignoring her, I stripped out of my shorts. Then I pulled back the sheet and blanket and crawled into bed. I didn’t touch her on purpose. It was a determined patience.
“Happy birthday, KaToria,” I murmured, turning onto my stomach to find comfort.
Surely, she didn’t reply.
I was well into dozing off when I heard a voice so small, so insecure. “Ashton…”
“Hmmm?”
“If you…wanted my virginity, I would’ve…will give it to you.”
I lifted my heavy body, turning onto my side and shifting to her warm, curled figure. She was closing up. It was all in her protective fetal position. With little force, I tried breaking her thighs from her stomach to mold her into my frame. Hesitantly, she let me.
When we were aligned, I whispered into her neck. “I know.”
That’s how we met the sandman.
Chapter Twelve
-THEN-
“You think it’ll be weird for me to go out with a freshman?” Neemah asked the table in general.
That question stumped me. What did I know about the rules of dating? So, I did what I did best, made myself invisible in a group of people.
“I don’t know,” Lyricah, whose name I finally knew, began. She was the girl behind the wheel when I went to Verti with Samantha and her science major friends in October. “I think it depends on who it is. Some of these damn freshmen are so immature. They think dating an upperclassman is going to get them status.”
I twirled my forkful of leaves around the small container my salad dressing came in.
“This one’s cute. He’s from Alabama,” Lyricah explained. “Some town called Eight Mile.”
“The hell?” Teefah scoffed.
“Right.” Lyricah’s giggle annoyed me. “That’s what I said. I thought Eight Mile was only real in Detroit, or something.” She shrugged with her pink lips and thick brows over her browline glass frames. “He’s cute, though.”
“Then let him take you out,” Samantha advised, simplifying such a dumb dilemma.
I knew it was wrong for me to judge these girls, but this was why I found it hard to make friends here. They talked about nothing. I wouldn’t complain, though. All I had to do was keep quiet, but give eye contact and occasional nods. We were in the main cafeteria today. Samantha BBM’d me asking to meet her here for lunch between my classes. I didn’t know the invitation included her friends. They were cool, but I just didn’t fit in with them.
“Oh, my god, I got into it with my cousins on the phone last night about Brielle,” Teefah shared.
“What about her?” Lyricah asked, dipping her carrot in humus.
Teefah rolled her eyes. “The typical argument of who is better: Brielle or Beyoncé.”
“I’m so sick of that argument,” Neemah hissed after sucking her teeth. “People really need to stop pitting Black women against each other and just love their contribution to our community. They only do that because both girls started in platinum-selling girl groups and have that good girl, but sexy image.”
“Yeah, but there’s something so ‘I’m sucking your man off under the table while you’re having dinner across from him’ about Brielle, to me.” Teefah’s head bobbed, putting emphasis on that scandal.
Everyone’s face fell at the table, including mine.
“Why would you say something like that about Queen Bre?” Samantha asked.
“I really feel that way. You saw that video she put out to ‘Mine.’ We thought i
t was about her defending her relationship with her man. But in the video, she was stalking him everywhere he went…to work, the doctor’s, a restaurant.”
“Oh, yeah,” Teefah sighed, recalling. “Then she was the erotica dancer behind the screen at the club he went to.”
“Yup.” Neemah nodded. “All for us to see him go home at the end of the night to his wife. She’s a thot!”
“A damn freaky one at that!” Samantha made clear.
The girls busted out laughing. I didn’t, still holding to that life-changing experience I had at her concert last week. That one night changed something in me.
“How was her show?” Samantha asked me.
Thankfully, the girls finally began packing up their things to go. I did, too.
“You went?” Teefah asked. “Didn’t Ashton, Aivery, and them go?”
“Yeah,” Neemah added as she dumped her tray in the trash. “Their whole crew went. I heard they had a suite there.”
“Sounds so like their crew.” Teefah rolled her eyes. “Did you go with them?”
Lyricah’s eyes damn near stabbed me in the face, her head whipped so hard to find me.
I shook my head. “No. But it was a good show. Brielle did her thing.”
“Of course, she did!” Teefah and Neemah hi-fived. “That’s that bitch!”
“Who did you go with?” Lyricah asked.
“Her boyfriend,” Samantha answered for me.
“Does he go here?” Lyricah kept with her questions.
I shook my head again, ready to break from them. We traveled across the large cafeteria to exit the opposite way of the area where we were eating. I had class in ten minutes on this side of campus. At this rate, I’d need a moment alone to come down from this type of girlie energy.
“Speaking of Brielle’s concert and boyfriends, I heard there are muddy waters in paradise,” Teefah whispered. “A birdie told me Ashton and the future Mrs. Spencer aren’t even together anymore—like that.”
Lyricah rushed closer to her and whispered hard, “I’ve been getting those vibes, too! What does that mean?”
My heart slammed in my chest. What did that mean?
