Potion Perfect

by Billie Dale

  Submerging myself in the fantasy playing out on the pages, I don’t notice when someone sits next to me.

  “What’s a pretty lady like you doing sitting here all alone?” a deep voice rumbles next to me.

  Turning to the sound, my eyes widen at the rugged alluring man sitting next to me. Tall, very tall. His legs stretched out in front of him go on forever. Dark skin, close-cropped hair, plump full lips turned up in smile and dark penetrating eyes that seem to be staring straight into my soul. Wearing warm up pants and a Pacers jersey, displaying the intricate pattern of ink that adorns his defined arms.

  “I, uh, I, my boyfriend is out there warming up,” I stammer nodding to Kohl on the court.

  “You’re not fascinated with the great Steph Curry?” he asks, mirth lighting his eyes.

  “Is that who’s out there with Kohl?” I inquire glancing the men on the court. Kohl is matching this Steph guy shot for shot.

  “You have the best seat in the house, a hall of fame shoe-in playing right in front of you and you’re sitting here reading a book,” he says shaking his head with a chuckle.

  “Meh, basketball is not my thing. I know the ball goes into the net thingy if you want to score points but much more than that and I’m clueless,” I mutter timidly. Kicking myself mentally because I really should know more about the sport that Kohl loves so much. Even though I don’t like sports, as an intellectual woman I should at least take some time to learn the game.

  “You have the main part down, I guess,” he chortles extending his hand, “I’m Paul George.”

  Shaking his hand, “Hello, Paul, I’m Tensanne and that’s my boyfriend, Kohl, out there shooting.”

  His eye brows shoot up and his smile grows while I shake his hand, “You really have no idea, huh?”

  “No idea about what?”

  “Wait, you’ll see,” he smirks, winking one dark eye at me.

  Kohl keeps glancing my way in between shots, smiling. I give him a little wave and he shakes his head.

  What the hell am I missing?

  “Hey George, who’s that kid out there shooting?” a man calls from behind me.

  Turning I see an older, tall, handsome blonde-haired man in an impeccable suit.

  What’s with the tall men. I’m no slouch in height, for a woman, but these men are trees. That Paul guy stands and holy crap he’s gotta be pushing seven feet, the exact same size as the blonde in the suit.

  “Hey, Mr. Bird. His names Kohl, uh Kohl . . . ,” Paul hesitates, turning to me for help.

  “Black. His name’s Kohl Black. Power forward for the Jalapa State University Fighting Berries,” I finish, holding my chin high.

  “What are his stats?” the blonde tower asks.

  “Uh, I don’t know, but Kohl could tell you,” I answer lower my head, hating that I can’t rattle off the greatness of the man I love.

  “He’s matching Curry shot for shot. Has he missed?” he asks Paul.

  “Since I’ve been sitting here with this pretty lady, I haven’t seen him miss one,” Paul replies.

  “Impressive,” the blonde man says nodding with appreciation, “Shouldn’t you be out there?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Paul says. Grabbing the side of his pants, tearing away the material. The buttons on the sides popping revealing basketball shorts underneath.

  Tossing his pants in my lap, he smiles, “It was a pleasure to meet you, young lady. Enjoy the game,” he says jogging to the court shaking Kohl’s hand.

  Was I sitting next to a player this whole time?

  Forgetting the man behind me, grabbing my phone, I google Paul George. My screen lights up with statistics and photos of one of the star players of the Indiana Pacers. The same man who was sitting with me for the last thirty minutes. I really need to get better acquainted with this sport, I think, feeling like a complete idiot.

  The stadium starts to fill with spectators while the men rush off the court. Excitement buzzing in the air, the anticipation of the upcoming game runs like a current all around me. The smells of popcorn and cotton candy drift through the air making my mouth water. I wait, expecting Kohl to change quickly and join me in our seats.

  The National Anthem plays, players are introduced and the game begins.

  Still, I wait for Kohl.

  The first period ends and cheerleaders are dancing on the floor. Surveying the stadium, my eyes searching, my heart wondering.

  Where in the hell is he?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘A dream is a wish your heart makes’ is a bunch of Disney crap.

  —Kohl’s inner thoughts

  Kohl

  I’M IN ANOTHER world. This whole experience is surreal. I’m out on the court shooting hoops with Steph Curry and Paul George. Sweat is dripping heavily down my back, my heart is beating in my ears, my blood pounding in my brain. I’m sinking some of the best shots of my life.

  My eyes find Ten when she takes a break from the book in her lap, I see her eyes sparkle with pride, she gives me a little wave and lowers her head back down to read. I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my lips, only my woman would sit at an NBA game, in the best seat available, with an all-star player sitting next to her and read a book.

  The guys tell me it’s almost game time, they shake my hand, tell me how great my shots are and they hope to see me soon on the court with them. My head is ensconced in the clouds while we jog to the locker room.

  Throwing my clothes back on, grabbing my bag I rush to make my way to my seat floating on pure adrenaline. I can’t wait to show Ten how much I appreciate this gift with my tongue all over her body. Almost to the door, I hear my name called. Stopping, I turn and standing before me is the owner of the Pacers, Larry Bird.

  “Mr. Black, that was some pretty impressive shooting you were doing out there. It’s not easy to go toe to toe with Steph,” he says extending his hand.

  “Y-yes, Sir,” I stutter, “Thank you and thank you for the opportunity.”

  “What do you say we sit and discuss your future, Mr. Black. Come with me,” he instructs leading me into an office at the end of the hall.

  Flutters fill my stomach, my blood rushes in excitement my minds races while I follow him into the office.

  Forty-five minutes later I exit the office feeling like I’m in a dream. I hear the roar of the crowd, the thumping music. I know I need to get to Tensanne, she’s probably worried about what is taking me so long but I need a minute. A minute to comprehend everything that’s happened.

  Leaning against the wall with my hands on my knees my mind races recalling Mr. Bird’s words. “I want you to come play ball for me, Mr. Black,” resounds in my brain. The Pacers want me. A signed, undrafted free agent contract is what he offered. Five years, four million dollars a year if I sign within the next four months. That’s more money than I could ever make working with a college degree but the college degree will still be there if I get injured.

  It’s a dream I’ve never imagined, a pipe dream. Every kid playing ball dreams of making it big, dreams of hearing their name called to a crowd of thousands but playing for a small school it’s not a dream I would ever believe would come true but it has. Only this dream takes me away from Ten, away from school and into a life of the unknown.

  I just found Ten and what we have is new, wonderful and everything to me, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that may not be there in two years.

  How do you tell the woman that you’re in love with, the woman who opened her heart to you that you’re going to leave her to become a basketball star? Wait, what? Did I just admit to loving her? Yes, I’m head over ass so deep in love but knowing it just complicates things more.

  I see her sitting there, worry marring her delicate face. Her eyes searching, seeking, nibbling on her fingernails. I know when she spots me moving toward her. I see the tension leave her body, breathing a sigh of relief, her warm smile lights up her eyes.

  Her smile slowly fades the closer I get. She knows somethin
g is off. We’ve spent so much time together the past few weeks that she knows my face better than I do.

  When I sit in the seat next to her, she leans to me taking my face in her small hands, “What’s wrong, Baby?” she asks rubbing her thumbs along my cheeks, her eyes soft and worried, “Where have you been? You’ve missed most of the game.”

  “I was talking to some of the crew, got lost in conversation,” I lie. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” I say kissing her pink lips. Wiping the stress from my face, I give her a reassuring wink.

  Her face brightens, “You were amazing out there, Kohl. Holy crap, I had no idea how talented you are. I mean I knew you were good, you’re good at everything you do, but you were spectacular. Then there was this guy, this guy in a suit behind me that was saying great things about you. I think his name was Mr. Bird? He was asking Paul about you.”

  “Yes, I saw you sitting here all gorgeous and wonderful being hit-on by Paul George,” I joke, loving the blush the covers her cheeks. Adoring how she is clueless to what she just experienced. The guys on my team would offer up a testicle to spend time with Paul George but my woman acts like she just met a stranger on a bus. My love for her explodes through my body, knowing all her quirks are mine.

  “I didn’t know who he was, to tell you the truth. He was just a huge man talking to me. Then he went out there with you on the court and I Googled who he was. I felt so foolish for not recognizing him.”

  “He loved it, Tennie Girl,” I assure her wrapping her hand in mine, kissing her knuckles. “He thought you being clueless was refreshing and hilarious.”

  “Are you serious?” she asks, her eyes holding mine.

  “Yeah, it’s not often that he gets to talk to someone and not feel like he’s in a fishbowl. You said someone was asking about me?”

  “Yes,” she exclaims, “I think he was important. He was wearing an expensive suit and when he mentioned that Paul should be out on the court, Paul referred to him as ‘Sir’ and jumped at his suggestion.”

  “Oh my,” I sigh, “You honestly don’t know anything about this sport, do you?” I ask laughing at her innocence.

  Shaking her head, I continue, “That was Larry Bird. Huge star of the Boston Celtics back in the 1980’s and 90’s, a member of the Dream Team during the Olympics. You’ve never heard of him?”

  “Nope,” she says smiling, popping the ‘p’.

  This girl lives in her own world. She sat here within touching distance of two major icons in the sports world and she was just herself. Another one of the many qualities I love about her is that she isn’t superficial. She doesn’t pretend to love something because I do and she doesn’t expect me to love school and books the way she does.

  Releasing her hand, I run the back of my fingers along her thigh. All the excitement of the night building in my body. Her cleavage showing at the top of her dress, her eyes darkening when my fingers move along her skin, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips watching my fingers slowly move her dress.

  Beautiful is not a strong enough word. She’s breathtaking.

  I know she won’t let my hand get too far but I my need for her is too great. I need to reassure myself that if I take the offer to play ball that we will try. I need to know she loves me. I need to feel her come apart on my skin, smell her in the air, taste her on my tongue.

  She stops my hand half way up her thigh, “What are doing, Kohl?” she asks, her voice husky and low with want is my tipping point.

  “I need you now, Ten. I can’t wait,” I growl grabbing her hand, leading her out of the stadium.

  “But the game, Kohl. The game’s almost over.”

  “I don’t care about the game. Unless you want me to bury my head under your dress in front of thousands of people, we need to go now,” I insist, dragging her out the main doors into the parking garage. A gasp leaves her lips, making me push my legs faster.

  Hitting the remote on the keys the doors on the back of the Tesla rise into the air making it look like a bird in flight.

  “Get in,” I command.

  Scrambling, she climbs in the backseat, a gust of wind lifting her dress in the back giving me a wondrous view of her luscious ass. A loud crack rings through the air when my hand connects with the bare flesh drawing a yelp from her lips.

  Climbing in behind her, I press the button bringing down the doors shrouding us in the dark cover of night and the tint on the windows. Enough light shining through the windows to see the flush of her skin and the rapid movement of her breath moving her tits.

  “Lean back against the door, Ten. Pull down your panties lower the top of your dress and spread your legs. I need to taste your sweet, sweet cunt on my lips.”

  Her eyelids flutter, a lustful gloss coating the brown orbs. I love how my words turn her on. My dick swells when she follows my commands. She’s putty in my hands.

  Leaning against the door she shimmies her panties over her hips revealing her smooth skin to me. Spreading her legs, a little, I see a glimmer of her glistening wetness.

  “Wider, spread them wider,” I command leaning against the other door, watching.

  Following my order, she drops one foot on the floor and props one up on the back of the seat, spreading her legs as wide as she’s able in the confined space.

  Unzipping my pants, I take my dick into my hand, squeezing to relieve some of the pressure. Her pupils dilate, her gaze focused on the movement of my hand.

  Stroking slowly up my shaft, hearing her gasp while she watches, “Play with your clit, baby. Finger your pussy. Show me how you like it.”

  Her shaking hand glides down her body, hesitant when it reaches the apex of her heat. Uncertainty clouding her eyes as she gazes into mine. I’ve never asked her anything like this before. Her innocence makes me harder, her goodness has me jerking my hand faster on my cock.

  “Go on, Tennie Girl. Show me,” I encourage.

  Her finger grazes her clit, her eyes roll back in her head, her breath leaving in pants. Her finger rubs down through her slit spreading her wetness, her insecurity leaving as pleasure fills her face. Becoming bolder, she adds another finger, slipping one inside while the other thumb’s her clit.

  Growling in frustration, I release my cock and stop her hand. I want her to come on me. Positioning her fingers on her clit. “Keep rubbing,” I order, lowering my head I plunge my tongue inside her pussy. Her sweet nectar explodes in my mouth. Her inside clamp, grasping, trying to hold me inside. Her fingers furiously move over her swollen nub, my tongue lashes and licks until she explodes with my name on her lips. Covering my lips and chin with her juices. Her body slumps becoming boneless, her hand dropping to her side.

  Sitting straight in the seat I grasp her hand, pulling her up. I grip her hips, slinging her over my lap. Holding my dick in my hand, “We’re not done yet. Kiss me. Taste yourself on my lips while you slide down on my cock.”

  “Oh God, Kohl,” she moans. Bringing her lips to mine, she slams down on my dick. Her channel closing around me, she’s so tight. I won’t last long with wetness coating me and body moving above me. Her thighs slapping against my jeans, her knees gripping my hips, she rocks hard up and down. She can’t seem to move fast enough, hard enough. It’s the most erotic thing I have ever seen, her chasing her orgasm. Her hair splayed across her shoulders, her eyes full of lust, her skin glistening with sweat, her teeth sunk into her lip and her tits bouncing in my face, she’s my every fantasy.

  Sucking one dusky peek into my mouth, I reach between us pinching her clit between my fingers using my other hand to slap her ass. She cries out, her pussy sucks me in, holding me hostage inside her heat, covering me in her pleasure.

  The tight grip has me matching her orgasm with my own. I explode inside her, with her name leaving my lips like a prayer.

  “I love you, Tensanne Craig,” I groan, spilling everything inside her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dear future husband, when you propose to me please don’t put the ring in
my food because I will eat it.

  —Tensanne to her future husband

  Tensanne

  “W-WHAT DID you say?” I ask feeling him softening inside me.

  “I-I said I love you,” he stammers.

  Shuffling off his lap, searching for my discarded panties, I feel him running down my leg. I don’t know what to say to his declaration. I’m warm and gooey in post-coital bliss but my mind is racing over his words.

  Putting my underwear back in place, fixing my dress easing the fear of leaving tracks on Ronnie’s leather seats is gone. “Was it like a heat of the moment love thing?” I whisper quietly, afraid of the answer.

  “No. I mean, yes, it was the heat of the moment but the words are true. Look at me,” he orders.

  Raising my eyes, I meet his. In the light shining in the window, I see his love reflecting at back at me.

  “I love you. That probably wasn’t the best time to say it. I was overwhelmed with the feel of you all around me, the excitement from tonight, but it doesn’t change that I am hopelessly lost to you.”

  “Really,” I exclaim, throwing my arms around his neck. Squeezing tight, “I love you too, Kohl. So much.”

  Pulling back from me he kisses the end of my nose, “We should get going before Ronnie sends a search party out for her car.”

  Climbing to the front seat, we begin the two-hour drive back to campus.

  His words continue to repeat in my head. “I love you, Tensanne Craig.” I can’t believe he loves me, nor can I remove the smile from my face.

  Under all the happiness is a niggling, a small echo of feeling. The feeling of dread. A looming shadow that I can’t figure out. It’s small but I feel it and I fear it even though I don’t know what it is.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chocolate in both hands is my idea of a balanced diet.

  —Tensanne to Kohl