by Jordan Marie
"White? What are you doing here?"
"Well, good morning to you too, Buttercup."
"It's early."
"It is."
"On a Sunday."
"That too," White agrees.
"I'm sorry. I'm not feeling great. Did we have plans today or something?"
"We were supposed to go shop for a TV, remember? What's wrong with you?" White asks, pushing his way through the door and walking past me. He sets two bags on the bar and turns around to look at me. I feel heat hit my body. After our kiss at the bar, White and I left. I thought he might come inside my apartment and maybe continue what we started. Sadly, he didn't. He followed me home, because we were in separate vehicles, then walked me to my door and kissed me goodbye. And by kiss I mean he kissed me on the forehead. Like you would a child… or a friend. I was so confused after he left. I still am. The last thing I expected was to see him today. I pretty much wrote off our plans to TV shop. Part of me is thrilled that he's here, but sadly I'm really in too much pain to worry about it. I wasn't kidding when I told him I wasn't feeling great. If anything, that was a gross understatement of fact.
"I've got a migraine."
"Did you take the meds your doctor prescribed?" he asks. He knows how horrible they can be.
"Yeah, it's not really helping it, though. My plan was to die slowly in bed."
"Aw, honey. Okay, first things first," he says, reaching around me to turn the light off. The room goes back to dark. It doesn't make a difference in the amount of sledgehammers crushing my skull, but it does ease the double vision, mildly. Next he bends down and sweeps me up in his arms.
"White," I groan, because as much as I love being in his arms, the pain that moves up my spine when he jostles me negates the pleasure.
"It's okay, honey. I have you," he whispers, holding me close. He carries me into the bedroom and lays me gently on the bed. "I'll be right back," he says as I curl in a ball, closing my eyes.
"You don't have to do this," I tell him, pulling a pillow over my head. He leaves the room without answering me. I figure he left me to die in peace. Instead I'm surprised when he comes back in. I moan when he pulls the pillow off my head. Then I feel something warm press against the back of my neck. A heating pad. I let him move me so I'm lying with my head on his lap. Once he gets me settled, he puts a warm cloth over my eyes. I lie there and slowly the heat begins to enter my system. The headache doesn't magically disappear, but it does lighten to just a dull roar echoing in my head. Eventually I feel his fingers combing through my hair. Even sick as a dog and in pain, I have to say it feels nice.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"I've got you, Buttercup."
"You always seem to," I tell him, trying not to worry about the future—and failing.
"That's not going to change."
"What if we ruin our friendship, White?" I whisper the one thing that's been bothering me since the amazing make-out session we shared at the bar.
"That will never happen, Kayla. We won't let it," he insists, and I know that's how he feels and maybe he even believes it. Still, I can't help but remember the one thing that makes all the difference.
"You don't want kids, White."
"I'm not going to lie, Buttercup. I've never wanted kids. I've seen what a mess having a child made in Green's life. Still, that was him and his taste in women generally sucks. You and I care about each other and the trust is there. I think it would be different. I'm hoping it will be."
Think… Hoping…
Those words do nothing to allay my fears. What if I go through with this and it destroys the relationship that White and I have? Can I survive not having him in my life? Is it unfair to force a child on him by letting him agree to this when he's doing it mainly because he's trying to save me from myself or a messy relationship with someone else? Doubts churn in my stomach.
"White, I'm having second thoughts about all of this. I don't think this is something that you truly want and I don't want to be the reason that you grow to resent me or our friendship."
"Kayla, stop worrying. I think our first step should be going to the doctor and making sure everything checks out okay. I want you to be able to know that I'm healthy and more than able to give you what you want most."
I'm glad he has a towel over my eyes. His words cause every feminine part in me to clench with need. He has no idea, but the thing I want the most is him. I want a child, don't get me wrong, but if I could have White for the rest of my life and he couldn't ever have a child, I would not give a damn. Not even a little. He would be more than enough, which means that making him tie himself to me could be the most selfish thing in the world. Sure, we could say the friendship would remain and we'd be fine. But for me, watching him with another woman, maybe even falling in love and having kids with her, while I am on the sidelines in his life with a child created in friendship, sounds like Hell on Earth. Could I live like that?
"I'm not worried about your soldiers being able to swim, White. With as many brothers and sisters as you have, genetics has to win out. I'm pretty sure you could knock up a sand flea buried in the Sahara.”
“I could… what?”
“Then again, you have slept with a million women and none of those have produced little crayons.”
“I wouldn’t say a million, and of course they haven’t. I’ve made sure—”
“I just… White, I'm not sure about all of this. If we get tested and they ask you how many partners you’ve been with? There’s no way you can remember them all.”
“I haven’t slept with a million women," he says, and he hasn't. I'm obviously exaggerating, but it hasn't exactly been a small number either.
"Still, maybe it'd be best to call this off, White. No harm, no foul." I try to figure out how I can just get out of this. No matter how much I want a child, it is not worth losing White over.
"We'll go get tested. End of discussion."
"White."
"Rest now, Buttercup. I need you to get feeling better. It's all going to work out just fine," he says, leaning down to kiss the side of my neck.
I don't respond. He may sound convinced about all of this, but I'm far from it.
CHAPTER 18
WHITE
She’s trying to back out.
I’m finding myself in a strange position here. I’m fighting to hold Kayla to the deal and she’s fighting to get out of it. We’ve got an appointment in two days to go to her doctor and get tested. She’s been trying ever since I forced her to make the appointment to get out of it. I’ve been spending my time ignoring her. It hasn’t helped a lot. She’s getting more insistent about it. Tonight I have plans to stop that completely. It’s not playing fair, but I don’t necessarily feel like playing fair. I’m not about to let Kayla go to a different name on her list. Especially any of my brothers. She’s wants a baby, then by God she’ll have mine and no one else’s.
I think the problem here is she’s worried about the chemistry between us. Which is what tonight is about. I look up at the clock. Almost seven. Kayla had a parent-teacher conference after school. She doesn’t expect to see me tonight. I had other plans. I check the steaks and pull them out of the oven to let them rest. I did most of the cooking on top, and just stuck them in there to finish. They should be perfect now. I’m throwing the last of the salad together when Kayla walks through the door. She stops and does a double take before grinning sheepishly.
“You really are giving your key to my apartment a work out lately, aren’t you?”
“Are you hungry?”
“It depends. Is that steak I smell?”
“Medium-well with roasted garlic potatoes and a salad.”
“Then I’m starved,” she sighs, putting her coat down on the chair by the door and walking towards me with a huge smile. She’s wearing a turquoise dress with a V neckline that hangs on her loosely. Except for the color, it doesn’t do a thing for her, but to me right now she looks beautiful.
“Did you have a
good day?”
“It wasn’t horrible, and considering I had twenty kindergarten children finger-painting it could have been.”
“Sounds like a colorful day.”
“Cute. Do I have time to shower before this meal?”
“Can you shower in twenty minutes?”
“Ten if there’s dessert involved.”
“Go shower, Buttercup. I think I got you covered.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she says before heading down the hall to her bedroom.
I get the plates together and dish everything up and then stop. The house is quiet. I never noticed it before Kayla got home, but now it’s weighing down on me. I hear every tick of the clock on the wall and the hum of the refrigerator. Even the air pump to her fish tank sounds twice as loud as normal. What is the loudest of all, however, is the sound of the shower turning on. I don’t know how it’s possible to hear it all the way in here, yet I do. I should ignore it. Tonight was about moving slowly and not scaring her away.
I go over every reason I shouldn’t do this in my head. It doesn’t help. I find myself walking down the hall to her room.
Anticipation runs through my body the closer I get. My fists clench and unclench as I make it to her bathroom. Through the clouded glass of her shower, I can see her body’s silhouette. It is misshaped and peach in hue, moving fluidly. Nothing is recognizable and still it turns me on like nothing else has in my life. I’m transfixed, glued to her muddled image, but nothing could have prepared me for the view when her body turns toward me. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I can see her clearer. Clear enough that I can see her hands move over her breasts. I grieve that I can’t see them better. I need to—more than my next breath. That’s the only reason I can fathom for doing what I shouldn’t.
I walk to the shower and open the door. Kayla gasps, her brown eyes large, her hair darker and pinned by the water. Her hands move to her breasts to shield her as the suds from the soap follow a beautiful slippery slope down her body, moving breathtakingly slow. I take her in. All of her—from the delicate curve of her neck and shoulder, to her large breasts being held by her hands, to the way her hips flare out, to the slight curve in her stomach, and then… lower.
Everything about Kayla is feminine. I’ve always known that. For obvious reasons, I’ve never imagined what Kayla looked like under her clothes. I. Was. A. Fool. She’s not bare like so many women, like the ones I’m used to. There’s a thin line of pale hair at her entrance. It’s been neatly trimmed and it looks so uniquely Kayla and makes me ache. I knew being with her would be different than any other woman I’ve ever been with. It had to be because I care about Kayla. She’s special. Suddenly it hits me that it’s going to be different because for the first time in my life, it matters.
“White? What are you doing?” Kayla whispers.
What am I doing?
CHAPTER 19
KAYLA
White standing there is like every fantasy I've ever had come true. Then I remember I'm naked and it's rolled into one big nightmare. I try to cover myself, my hands automatically going to my boobs in defense. Then, I realize my freaking va-jay-jay is hanging out with a big sign that says: "Taco Tuesday! All you can eat!"
Okay, that part might be wishful thinking.
I turn to the side to try and hide as best as I can. This is White. I may have had this fantasy since I was old enough to crave—really crave—sex. But, it wasn't supposed to happen until I started going to the gym, maybe dropped about fifty pounds, and definitely not until I got an all over spray tan.
"Will you close the door? What's going on with you??"
"Fuck, honey," he mumbles, but he doesn't move. He doesn't do anything but stare.
"White?"
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice hoarse.
"I… are you okay?" I ask, because I have no idea what's going on here. I'm starting to think he banged his head on something. It's the only explanation I can come up with.
"I will be," he says, but he's still not looking at me. Well, my eyes, at least. I reach up to grab the towel I had thrown over the shower doorframe. "No fucking way," he growls, pulling the towel away from me.
"What is wrong with—??" I break off when he pushes into the shower, making what was once a large shower feel incredibly small. My eyes go huge, my breath lodges in my throat, and he pulls me, so I face him. His eyes are a deeper blue than I remember, or maybe it's the water that's running in them. His face is tight with tension radiating from him. Before I can question him further, he finally speaks—sort of.
"Jesus-fucking-Christ."
I jump at the harsh growl, confused and afraid to guess what's going on, even though I think I know. I hope I know.
His lips crush mine. There's not a chance for anything other than a moan as his tongue forces its way into my mouth and takes it over. I've been dreaming about our last kiss, wondering if he had the same reaction as I had to it—and being afraid he didn't. I was worried it would never happen again… and worried it might. In short, I've been a basket case. White's kiss doesn't give me time to second-guess, however. His tongue tangles with mine and immediately takes control. My hands go to this t-shirt, which is now wet and clinging to his broad body. As I lose myself in his kiss, my fingers tighten into him, clenching and holding on for dear life.
White has a hand wrapped in my hair, holding me to him. The hold is tight and a little painful, sending tiny sparks of need through my body. His lips are bruising in force as he attacks my mouth like a drowning man fighting for life. I fucking love it. For the first time in my life, I feel feminine, beautiful, and everything a man could want. That's how powerful and mind-altering White's kiss is. I feel beautiful down to my toes. The kiss goes on and on. It only stops when we're forced to break apart to drag oxygen back into our lungs.
"White?" I ask maybe for the hundredth time, the only difference being this time I don't recognize my own voice. It's too shaky, too needy.
"I think it's time I started giving you what you wanted," he says muffled because his lips have started kissing down my neck, not stopping until he sucks my aching breast into his mouth.
"What I want?" I gasp, just as his teeth pull on the tender nipple. My body literally shivers in response as wave upon wave of hunger crashes into me.
"A baby," he answers as his hand massages my other breast.
Heat swamps me at his words. If ovaries can spontaneously combust—mine just did. Here is the man who has starred in every sex dream I've ever had, well except for the ones containing The Rock, because well, I am a woman. But, here is the man of my dreams, my best friend who I have loved since I was fifteen, offering to give me a baby. I panic.
"White, we can't."
"Oh yeah, honey. We definitely can. I'll show you."
"I mean, we should wait," I continue on with my panic, trying to pull away from him slightly, but not with a lot of effort because it feels too damn good.
"What for?"
"We need to make sure both of us are healthy, nothing… you know."
"Nothing?" he repeats, as if he's confused as hell. He probably is. I am, I just can't concentrate on that emotion right now because my body is missing him torturing it.
"Yeah," I sigh defeated, wondering if it would be bad form to pull his head back to my breast. I'm the one here telling him, after all.
"Are you saying you're afraid I have an STD?"
"Well, I mean not really, but it's possible. I just think if I'm going to have a baby we should make sure that we're both completely healthy," I tell him, staring up at the ceiling wishing I had kept my big mouth shut.
"Fine, then we'll use protection."
"Isn't that like wasting the baby batter?"
"Wasting the… baby batter?" he parrots, as if he might worry about my sanity. He needn't worry; I'm worrying enough for both of us.
"I mean, the appointment is just—"
"Fine," he growls, but he drops to his knees.
"What are you doing?"
I question and then I gasp and moan at the same time. "Oh, God."
White's face dives between my legs. His tongue pushing in, licking through the warm water of the shower, and then parting the lips of my pussy. At the first brush of his tongue against the tender skin there, my knees buckle. I grasp the walls of the shower, holding on for dear life.
"You don't want my baby batter right now? I can deal, until we get that damn appointment out of the way, Kayla."
"Good. Okay. Oh God, that's so good," I mumble and then moan as he sucks my clit into his mouth, the force pinning it to the roof of his mouth and he runs his tongue along it too. Sweet Jesus, I didn't even know you could do that.
"But you better believe I'm going to prime your baby cannon and get it ready for loading."
Baby cannon? Did he just say that? While eating me out? Baby cannon. Then the strangest thing happens. I envision a picture of me with my legs open and a baby shooting out from me as if I was in fact a baby cannon. The baby is all covered up in a blanket like it was special ordered, and I laugh. I laugh loudly.
This can sound strange to you. It's okay. It does to me. But I've barely had sex in my nearly thirty years. I've never let myself go in all this time. I've always worried about if the person was turned off by my hips being too wide or my legs being covered in cellulite, or my broad ass, or my breasts which were too big and sagged. The list goes on, and that's not even mentioning the stretch marks, or the odd moles I have that seem too large for my liking. Sex has been a chore, a trial, something I did to make the other person happy and then later I could always find my vibrator.
But I’m here, naked in the shower with my best friend—the man I love with everything inside of me, the man I just stopped by telling him he might have an STD, that man—and I'm laughing. I'm laughing and aroused.
How is that possible? Before I can think about it any further, I feel him sliding his fingers inside of me while his tongue continues to lick against my clit. I stop thinking altogether. Thinking is definitely overrated.
