Fiona Love

by Sherrod Story

  They stood there in the circle of each others’ arms for a long minute, neither wanting to move away from the peace that had followed their brief tempest. Fiona smiled to let him know she’d forgiven him, and they chuckled together. He squeezed her too hard, and Fiona grunted, but as the last giggle died away, comfort faded, and something else took its place.

  He kissed the way he looked. Sensuously, luxuriously, he didn’t waste time trying to finesse her. His tongue just slowly invaded her mouth, yet he moaned as though trapped when her hands clenched on his back.

  He ate at her mouth for several long minutes. When he finally broke away they were both breathing raggedly. They had to untangle themselves, pull hands from hair and tug fingers from beneath clothing.

  “Come to my place,” he rasped, already pulling her toward the tucked away stairway that led to his apartment above the studio.

  Fiona didn’t have time to look around. He led her quickly through the kitchen and living room, past an office and into his bed. The sheets were tumbled, but she noticed there was only one fat pillow at the head. He pushed her down to sit on the edge.

  “Lift up,” he said, and Fiona obediently raised her arms so he could pull off the baggy silk tee. He paused to admire her. “We’ll leave that on for a minute,” he said, falling to his knees to unzip her ankle boots and toss them aside. He peeled off her cotton footies and skimmed large, hot hands up the outside of her thighs. The elastic band of her cotton skirt offered little resistance as he tossed the garment to lie over the boots.

  He stared at her hungrily as she leaned back on her elbows in a lacey black bra and panties. “Lord, what they can do with fabric these days,” he whispered, yanking his shirt buttons free.

  Fiona laughed as he abandoned his upper half to yank off his jeans and throw himself down beside her. She expected him to lay her onto her back, but he surprised her and rolled her on top of him. He adjusted her legs on either side of his body so that his swelling dick could snuggle against her softness.

  Fiona watched through slitted eyes as he explored her body. She relaxed into the pleasuring as he kissed and licked her neck, nibbled and sucked the plump curves of her breasts through her bra until the fabric was damp and scratched lovingly at her skin. She reveled in the way she could make him react with the slightest movement, a restless swivel of her hips, a hard squeeze from her small hand or the wet warmth of her lips. Her heart rate sped up slowly as breathy moans escaped his reddened lips.

  This wasn’t like the meteoric reaction she experienced in Daney’s arms, but right now the gentle purpose in her new lover’s hands was exactly what she wanted. Natty was a little rougher than Daney, a little more out of control as he struggled so enticingly against his feelings. She laughed softly when he pushed his face into her shoulder, shuddering as she stroked him. She enjoyed the way he sighed in disappointment when her busy little hands left his shaft and balls to travel up his tall body.

  He was arresting this close up, and Fiona indulged herself by tracing the lines of his face thoroughly with her fingertips. She could easily imagine him as the subject of some enamored 19th-century portrait artist.

  He would have been clothed in rich Genoa velvet to house his exotic features, the lush mouth and large, wide-tilted eyes. The artist might have agonized over how best to convey the thick length of his eyelashes, and thoroughly enjoyed every tortured moment.

  Fiona had never been one of those people who thought mixed folks were more attractive than regular Black folks. Light did not make right in her book, and before Daney she’d always quietly preferred medium to dark skin on men, but Natty was an exception to any camp. He was truly beautiful.

  “You so pretty,” she whispered, as she kissed him.

  She moved sinuously over him, rubbing, catching him right where he wanted her to linger, then moving on leaving him panting in frustrated longing.

  “Your body’s perfect,” he told her, squeezing as he nuzzled the curve where her armpit began. He inhaled deeply of her powdered scent and rotated his hips in a helpless circle against her heat. “I liked you better right after you had Flora, though. Lani got you too skinny. You were lush then. I wanted you so badly.”

  She grunted at his confession and continued to nibble her way around his body. He was tall and lanky and elegant, his muscles well defined but not over developed. She enjoyed the soft fur of hair on his chest as she thrust her hands beneath his t-shirt.

  She licked his nipples, and smiled against his skin when they pebbled obediently. He sighed as her hands skimmed long arms and ticklish sides before she moved industriously along to his belt buckle. She opened it quickly and made short work of his button and zip. She didn’t bother to undress him further, just pulled jeans and boxers down to his knees and sucked him in like a hot wet whirlwind.

  He moaned needfully, spine arching off the bed as he stiffened and lengthened in her mouth and struggled not to come. “Please, slow down,” he begged.

  “It’s okay,” she hummed against his hard flesh, making him shudder like a wet dog. She kneaded his groin, cupping and rolling his balls and smoothing their soft, hairless sac.

  “No,” he moaned, head thrashing as his hands fisted in her hair and he tried to pull her away.

  Fiona resisted, using her teeth to nip him until his hands fell away to grip bunches of the sheet. She watched him writhing beneath her and took pity. She let his dick slide from her lips with a muted pop and turned her attention to licking his balls. He sighed gratefully, shivering when he registered the slow-down and realized she really wanted him to enjoy it.

  He relaxed and his legs fell all the way open as Fiona massaged the hot skin on his inner thighs. His moans became deep, luxurious sighs that he tried to control by chewing adorably at his bottom lip. She grinned against his balls, then her mouth resumed contentedly sucking his dick.

  “I, I can feel you, smiling, against my cock,” he panted. “You’re, fuckin’ killin’ me, Feef,” he said, the words dragging out of him.

  “Not yet,” she promised, abruptly changing the pace and feel of her sucking.

  He moaned as she again began to hollow her cheeks and pull him deep into her throat. “No,” he rasped again, shaking his head as his orgasm rose. “No, Fiona. No! I’m ‘bout to –” and he came on a long deep moan.

  The sound feathered her aching pussy and settled meaningfully around her clit. Fiona gave his cock a last lick before she got to her feet and went to the bathroom to take a long drink from the faucet. She grinned at her reflection in the vanity mirror. If she knew, Cleo would bitch at her about the extra calories.

  When she came back in Natty was where she’d left him, his boxers dangling from one ankle like a drunk man in a brothel. She finished undressing him, and he watched sleepily.

  “Lie with me,” he whispered, opening his hand to her palm up where it lay on the bed.

  Fiona stretched out on next to him and stroked his body gently. He turned and twined their legs, snuggling them together as he too began a gentle petting. “I have a newfound respect for black cotton underwear.”

  She grinned. “Yeah?”

  “Shit,” he suddenly cursed, turning slightly away to grab the phone on his nightstand. “Mike. Send everybody home, all right? We’ll pick it up tomorrow. Yeah. Peace.” He hung up. “We forgot them,” he told her.

  “That we did,” she said, yawning and closing her eyes as he pulled her back into his arms.

  “Tired?” he asked, nibbling at her lips.

  “Mmmm,” she said, rubbing their noses. “Wanna grind with me? You know, like when you were a kid? That would wake me up.”

  He laughed and nodded. “I’d love to. Some of my fondest memories are of dry humping on my childhood bed. I always thought I was weird for enjoying that kind of titillation so much, but not completely touching what I was touching really turned me on, you know?”

  “I do,” she said, bringing their hips together with a forceful bump.

  They pressed together
for long minutes, writhing and rubbing until they were damp and breathing hard.

  “I’m close,” Fiona whispered. “You tired, little boy? I was thinkin’ we could get some Ginuwine bumpin’ in this muh’fucka.”

  He laughed. “Sounds good, but this big boy wants this to end a little differently.” He finally took off her bra and panties and tossed the scraps of fabric off the side of the bed. “Lord,” he breathed, eyes and hands full of her plump curves. “You are so incredibly soft.”

  “Sugar.”

  He frowned in confusion. “Sugar?” he said it like the sweetener, and she didn’t bother to explain she was referring to a person.

  “Never mind,” she breathed when his mouth latched on to her nipple.

  He sucked gently at first, then harder as her hands tugged his hair and pushed his face closer to her breast. He felt her shiver at his mouth’s strong movement, and she shuddered when he switched breasts. Suddenly he left her. She blinked in confusion as he leapt from the bed and began to rummage in a top drawer. He emerged with a box of condoms, and she watched him open a condom wrapper with his teeth and quickly strap up.

  Once he had things handled his eyes returned to her lush figure. He watched, one hand stroking his erection, as she moved to the center of the bed and lay on her back. She stretched under his heavy gaze and licked her lips as her hands drifted down her body. When one began to idly stroke her clit he growled and came back to the bed.

  A heartbeat later he was inside her, and she moaned thankfully. “That’s right,” she whispered, undulating her hips as her body stretched around his.

  “God yes,” he groaned, eyes closing as he fought his body for control. It wanted to ride her hard until he exploded. But he wanted to savor the sensation of being inside her too much to allow his currently in heaven dick to call all the shots and rush to the end of this journey.

  A journey.

  The words stuck in his mind. They would write a song about it later, he decided, and that was his last coherent thought because eventually, despite his best efforts, the journey ended. They were both too hungry and primed to withstand it for long.

  Fiona did some extremely nice things with her hips, and Natty did some flexing of his own while kissing her breathless and rubbing her entire body with slightly rough hands.

  There he was different from Daney. Once Daney was caught up in their passion, he sometimes forgot to touch her. His concentration centered on her mouth and her pussy, and when he wasn’t watching her heated reactions to his bed play, he liked to invade both simultaneously.

  When he was all but lost in that last realm of pleasure before climax Daney’s body had a very specific rhythm. It was like the click of a light in a dim room. Not startling exactly, but bright enough to make Fiona catch her breath in surprise. Then she came, her heart trying to beat its way from her chest.

  Natty was different. His entire body moved on hers. He crowded her. Engulfed her. Pressed so close she became frantic, bucking against him, trying to push some space between them even as the pleasure coiled in the pit of her stomach, preparing to pop with every well-intentioned thrust of his narrow hips.

  He went first, the sudden unmistakable catch in his voice triggering some hidden release valve at her core, and she tumbled after him, her shudders and inner clenching milking him so good he jerked spasmodically. He lay over her panting for a long moment.

  “Heavy?” he rasped.

  Fiona shook her head, preferring to conserve her breath for breathing. After a while Natty kissed her and rolled off onto his back. He took off the condom, tied it, and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  “I can’t believe it was that easy,” he whispered, turning his head to look at her.

  She didn’t take offense. He was just being honest after all. They’d been friends for years, and had managed to remain friendly and professional for work in the past. Now they’d come together again and tumbled headlong into bed.

  It was Daney’s fault. He’d made her lonely.

  For a long moment she said nothing. Then she turned to his nightstand and picked up the joint she’d spied sitting in an ashtray there. There was a bright red lighter with a long flame sitting next to it. She lit the joint efficiently and carefully inhaled. Fire. Nice. Trust Natty to have the best chillin’ in this spartan place.

  “Sometimes,” Fiona said, smoke curling around her head into the silence, “The only choice is to choose all the options.” She smiled. “You need to decorate.”

  Natty stared at Fiona. He reached out slowly, curled his arm around her waist and pulled. She slid to a stop against his body and blew a few wobbly grey rings above his head. He took the joint from her, and they looked at each other through the smoke.

  “You gon’ be trouble.”

  Fiona laughed as he pulled her on top of his body and again nudged her legs on either side of his body. He pulled her down to lie flat, her breasts delightfully smushed with hot hard pressure. He reached for a condom.

  She licked the pulse beating in his throat. “Me?”

  Natty used their new intimacy to bully Fiona unmercifully in the studio. He worked her so long and hard, he wrung her nearly dry some nights. She fell into bed and slept without so much as a dream. Other nights after they left the studio she was so tired emotionally, she burst out crying. Natty barely wanted her to leave to eat. When she let him he had food brought in rather than let her go out.

  He nearly drove her crazy while they recorded ‘Journey’. He wrote the song after they slept together that first time. She woke to find him hunched over his guitar, muttering and humming as he scratched out a rough composition of the music.

  Fiona loved the richness of the song, the subtlety of its layers. Natty was good for creating the most evocative images with the barest words. His lyrical palette only had primary colors, yet in four minutes he managed to show you chartreuse, azure and damp, moss green.

  The song was simple. It was a story about a woman doing anything to get to her man, but it was shaped for Fiona’s voice and no other. Natty knew what it would sound like before she ever gave it life. He knew how her voice would dip and slip around the notes, that she would scat at a certain break and climb the scale on another. It was destined to be one of those rare songwriting triumphs, a hit that took 20 minutes to make.

  But Natty was workin’ her, and he was on her constantly about smoking. He was too clever to harangue her verbally, or lecture her with information she already knew. Natty was physical. He followed her into the back seat of the car, plucked pinners from her lips and tossed them out the window, oblivious to her shrieks. He came to her house unannounced and bust in, grabbing her hands and chasing her if that’s what it took to unwrap her fingers from something. And sometimes, that’s what it took.

  “What the fuck you want from me?” she’d yelled after one such episode. They were lying on the bed breathing hard from the tussle. Fiona had won that one, temporarily, by flashing him. While he was distracted by her bare breasts she managed to snatch a hit before he took it.

  “I’m a single Black mother with a lot of fuckin’ responsibilities and no other vices. Can’t you leave me alone about this?”

  “No,” he replied promptly. “Whatever your angst is over that stereotype bull shit, that’s your problem, though for the record, I say who gives a shit! However you got Flora, you got her. I ain’t gon’ let you fuck up your voice. And I know you care, so stop actin’ like you don’t.

  “You don’t know shit,” she said irritably.

  He just laughed as she watched him hit the joint he’d just taken from her.

  “Cleo don’t know shit either.”

  “Whatever,” he told her, and left the room to farm the joint out to someone else.

  “Whatchu’ want from me?” she asked him again, when he returned.

  “Everything,” he answered instantly.

  He could have told her that he drove her so hard for so long because he liked having her around him all day. They had
often worked this way in the past, in lengthy gorilla sessions that elicited the kind of songs fans remembered years after they faded from the everyday radio rotation.

  It was why Andrea had barely had to make a peep before the world started standing in line for her next CD. The songs she’d done so far had whet the public’s appetite just enough that strategically snapped pictures of her and Natty together created a buzz so loud it was near deafening.

  Or so Natty said. Fiona just rolled her eyes when he talked like that, though she wasn’t stupid and knew full well he was telling the truth. But her mind was something else. His new sneak attack sex strategy had her totally distracted. He’d grab her whenever they were alone and grind himself right between her legs. We’re talking a hand full of ass in one hand, full on mash against a hard dick press. It literally stole her breath, and then he’d be on the other side of the room talking as though nothing had happened.

  He teased her constantly. The engineers and musicians grew accustomed to unexplained absences where the two would either return freshly showered or charmingly disheveled.

  If she went anywhere alone, as soon as she returned he said, “We missed you,” or begin to recount an old story about a studio session from her last album.

  Fiona was surprised to learn that he remembered all the laughs they’d shared, that he’d experienced joy hugging her or tickling her in the booth to get what he wanted. They shared that again now, with the added pleasure he knew awaited him in her sweet, soft body.

  He had to restrain himself from making jealous public displays when someone called her attention away from him. He hid it well, using in-studio intensity to cover impatience until he had her alone. It worked because he was notoriously ruthless with all of the musicians.

  But ever since they started sleeping together, he seemed to have a special hard on for her. One night she told him, “If we weren’t getting so much done, I’d tell you to kiss my ass.”

  Natty, the king of optimism as well as a slave driver, wanted to have the album done by the time pre-production for her movie was over. She’d have to cut back on studio time drastically once actual shooting began, and they both knew now that the first single had blown up the charts, if they didn’t want to screw up the album’s momentum before it began they had to churn it out quick.