An Uphill Battle

by LK Farlow

  Myla Rose places the last curl and then rakes her fingers through my hair, tousling the curls before slicking them with serum. The final product: loose, sexy waves that cascade down my back like a waterfall.

  With my hair looking like a million bucks, I make the quick drive home and head straight up the stairs to my bathroom to finish getting ready. Thirty minutes later, I step back and admire my work.

  I look dewy and fresh, my gold eyeshadow making my emerald eyes pop. Overall, my look is understated. I want two things to shine tonight—my lips, bold and striking, and my dress. The dress. The one I bought with Drake in mind.

  Checking the time on my phone, I realize Drake will be here in about ten minutes. I hurriedly apply one last coat of my F-Bomb lipstick before stepping into my dress, sliding the side zipper up. I give myself one more once-over, double-checking that everything is just right before slipping my feet into my patent black pumps.

  I’m descending the stairs when I hear a knock at my door. My jaw drops when I see Drake standing on the other side dressed in a pair of fitted black slacks and a black button-down, paired with a red tie the same shade as my dress. “How did you—”

  “Shh,” Drake tells me, his eyes flaring with hunger. “I’m not done looking.” He swivels his index finger in the air, indicating for me to turn around. Which I do—slowly. I can feel his eyes on me as he drinks in the shockingly deep vee of the dress. His stare burns, heating me from the inside out, and when my back faces him and he groans, I can’t help but smirk. My ass looks killer in this dress.

  “Good God, Little Bit.” He bites down on his fist. “You look . . . wow.”

  I blush at his blatant ogling, but I also give as good as I get, and I gesture for him to spin a three-sixty too. His button-down stretches tight against his broad shoulders and his pants hug his ass in the most glorious way. Facing me again, I give him a small wolf-whistle. “You ain’t too bad yourself, D.”

  “Glad you approve.” He offers me his arm, and together, we walk to his truck, where he makes a big show of running his hands down my body, gripping my ass and hefting me into the passenger seat. “Hope you brought your appetite.”

  Biting my lip, I nod. Drake growls deep in his chest, the sound causing me to rub my thighs together. Catching on, he places a hand on my knee. “Calm down, Bit. It’s not time for that.”

  “Yet,” I counter.

  “Yet,” he agrees.

  Dinner, while enjoyable and delicious, is an exercise in patience. Every look, every innocent touch, feels charged with so much more, and I’m chomping at the bit to get Drake back to my place. So, when the waiter comes by and asks if we’d like dessert, I all but scream, “No! Just the check, please!”

  Drake shoots me a look that screams wtf, leaving me to wonder if I’m the only one feeling this stifling tension. “In a hurry?” Drake asks as he slides his card to our server.

  “Just excited to get you home,” I tell him, batting my lashes at him.

  He pauses to sign the credit card slip before standing from his chair and offering me his hand. “Actually, I was thinking we could head back to mine?”

  Outwardly, I’m a mask of composure. “Absolutely. Sounds great.” Inside, though, I’m dying. His house is at least fifteen minutes further away than mine.

  The drive passes quickly-ish, and by the time we’re creeping down his long driveway, I’m squirming in my seat. Drake pulls his truck to a stop almost directly in front of his house and leans over and drops his lips to my cheek. “Wait here real quick,” he tells me, not waiting for my reply.

  I watch, dumbfounded, as he hops out of his truck and hauls ass into his house. I also take note that he barely cracks the door open, as if he doesn’t want me to see inside. What in the heck?

  The minutes creep by, each one feeling like a small eternity as I wait for Drake to return. Finally, after the longest, most excruciating five minutes of my life, he returns and helps me down from the truck.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Got a surprise for you,” he tells me, leading me into his house.

  I’m not even fully out of the entryway when a little ball of tan and black fur darts toward me, tripping over his paws in his excitement and running all around between my feet. I drop to my knees, not paying a lick of attention to my long dress, and immediately scoop up the little wiggly pup. Snuggling him right under my chin, I laugh as he peppers my face with sweet doggy kisses.

  “Oh my God, Drake! You got a dog!”

  He crouches down beside me, reaching out to scratch the little pug behind the ears. “No, Little Bit, you got a dog.”

  I let his words sink in, and I’m sure I look comical, my eyes wide and my mouth a perfect “O.” “Drake, he’s perfect! But, you know I can’t have pets at my apartment!”

  “Well . . .” Drake drawls, rotating the puppy’s red collar around so that I can see the key dangling from it. “This little guy and I were hoping you’d . . . move in here with us?”

  My eyes dart from the key, to Drake, and back, my eyes glistening with tears and emotion welling in my throat. “R–really? You mean that?”

  Drake nods, clasping my face in his hands. “Really, I mean that. It would mean the absolute world to me to wake up next to you every morning, and hell, I already have all your shit in my shower.”

  I nod, letting my tears fall. “Yes! And this is perfect timing—my lease is up next month!”

  Drake smiles at me. “I know. I love you, Azalea, so damn much.”

  “I love you too, Drake. More than you’ll ever freaking know.”

  He rocks back from his crouched position to sitting flat on his ass before pulling me onto his lap. “Only one thing left to do,” he whispers against my hair.

  “What?”

  “Name that little guy.”

  “Boudreaux,” I tell him, hoping he’ll like it.

  He thinks on it for a minute. “Boudreaux it is.”

  DRAKE

  Azalea and I have been living together for about a month now, and I fucking love it. There’s nothing better than falling asleep next to her each night and waking to her wrapped around me every morning. It’s a dream come true—one I almost lost.

  One I’m more than thankful for. One I won’t ever take for granted.

  Don’t get me wrong, though. We still fight like cats and dogs, only now I know our fights will end in epic make-up sex instead of heartbreak. And lemme tell you what, make-up sex with Azalea Barnes is damn-near Nirvana.

  The guys are constantly asking me when I’m gonna “put a ring on it,” but I just shrug them off because we’re in no rush. We’re taking it day by day and loving every minute of it. Plus, we both know that’s where we’ll end up one day. Even got the ring tucked away in the top of the closet, well out of Little Bit’s reach, and shortly after I ask and she says “Yes,” we’ll get to work starting a little family of our own.

  But until then, we’ll enjoy the good thing we’ve got going. Getting here was an uphill battle, but having Azalea’s love is damn sure worth the fight.

  THE END

  BONUS CONTENT

  DRAKE

  “You gettin’ ready to do all that sissy-shit?” Simon laughs into the phone.

  “By sissy-shit you mean planning Myla Rose’s baby shower? Then, yeah, I’m ready. I’d do anything for that girl. You would too, so quit playin’.”

  “Truth. For real though, you gonna be okay with that little spitfire all by yourself?”

  “I know just how to handle Azalea, don’t you worry,” I tell him.

  “That’s exactly why I’m worried, D.” His words say one thing, but his tone says another. He sounds wholly amused.

  My next thoughts are interrupted by the sound of my doorbell chiming. “Shit, she’s here. Talk later.”

  “If I don’t hear from you in twenty-four hours, I’m calling the cops.”

  Quickly I inspect my living room and kitchen—both are spotless. Guess having a clean freak for a stepmom h
elps. The bell rings again, and I dash over to open the door.

  “Good Lord! Took you long enough!” Azalea says, all snark and no charm. Then again, who gives a fuck about charm when your walking wet dream is standing in front of you in a tight button-down shirt and a jean skirt that leaves very little to the imagination.

  “Hello to you too, Little Bit.” I bite down on my cheek to keep from smiling. No sense in poking the bear.

  “You gonna stand around, or you gonna help? There’s a few bags in my car.”

  “Okay…” I know she’s not so subtly hinting for me to grab them… Guess I like poking the bear after all.

  “Ugh!” She stomps her foot. “Never mind, I’ll get them myself.” She turns to make her way back to her small-ass convertible, but I stop her with a hand to her shoulder.

  “Chill drama queen, I’m just messin’ with you. I’ll get ‘em. Have a seat.”

  I run out to her little death-trap of a car and scoop up the four bags from her passenger seat. For anyone else, this much shit to plan a shower would be overkill, but for Little Bit, this is pretty dialed down.

  Doesn’t mean I’ll tell her though. “Jesus, Bit, you bring everything but the kitchen sink?” She doesn’t reply with words, instead she treats me to one of her signature scowls and an eyeroll. Joining her on the couch, I tell her, “You keep lookin’ at me like that and your face might get stuck that way.”

  She rolls her eyes again. “Oh, my God, you’re so immature!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Keep acting like you don’t like it.”

  “I don’t,” she scoffs as she flips her hair off her shoulder.

  Smiling, I drag my heated gaze down the length of her seated form, appreciating the way her skirt is hiked up, giving me just enough of a peek of her creamy thighs.

  My silence infuriates her, and I love it—because God knows, our banter is the best foreplay. Even if we’re not having sex. “I really don’t, you know?”

  “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Little Bit. But let’s cut the bullshit and be real for a minute, yeah? We both know you like it when we argue. Wanna know what you’d like even better? My hands on you—”

  Azalea slaps her hand over my mouth. “Drake Ulysses Collins, so help you God if you finish that sentence!”

  I softly run the tip of my tongue over the palm of her hand, but she holds tight, trying to act like it’s not getting to her. But I know better. Her shallow breaths and clenched thighs tell me all I need to know.

  Softly, I place a kiss to her hand and as she pulls it away from my mouth, I capture her wrist and tug her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. “Wha–what’re you doing?”

  “Something that’s been a long time comin’,” I tell her before sealing my lips to hers. Our kiss is a constant power play, both of us desperate for control. Our tongues dance and duel and before I know it, Azalea’s grinding down onto me and I’m meeting her thrust for thrust.

  As much as it fucking kills me, I bring my hands to her hips and slow her movements. “Slow down Bit. There ain’t no rush.”

  Her cheeks blossom a pretty pink and for a second I worry she’s gonna let her embarrassment win and get mouthy again. So, I’m more than shocked when instead she drops one more small kiss to my lips before moving off me. “You’re right D. Let’s … work on the shower stuff.”

  My mind immediately darts to Azalea’s naked body standing in my shower with water dripping and clinging to her every delicious curve that I don’t even notice she’s no longer seated next to me. The fantasy ends as quickly as it started when she drops a binder that has to be three inches wide onto the table in front of us. It’s then I notice the largest of the bags she brought with her is now sitting on the floor between our feet.

  From it, she begins pulling out even more shit—another notebook, a planner, a highlighter, and God knows what else. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

  “First,” she says flipping open her planner, “We need to pick a date. I’m thinking this weekend in June.” I drag my eyes down her slim arm, to the date her perfectly polished pink nail is pointing at. You wouldn’t think pink nails would be a turn on, but damn. She’s so feminine, and I can’t help but picture those pretty pink nails clawing their way down my back.

  “Sounds good,” I tell her as I pull my phone from my pocket to mark the date.

  “Awesome. Now, I have the theme, so no worries there.” She jots a few lines in her notebook.

  “What else you need from me, Bit?”

  “Well, I need to know what kinda games you guys’ll be willing to play.”

  “Games?” I scratch my head. “What games?”

  She laughs like I’ve just delivered the punchline of a lifetime, and the sound fucking warms me from the inside out. “Games, Drake. Like guessing how big her belly is by wrapping toilet paper around it, or blind baby food tastings. Things like that.”

  I scrunch my nose. “People actually enjoy that shit?”

  She laughs, again. “No, not really. It’s more outta necessity, or tradition, or something.”

  “Gotcha. Well, if it’s something you and Myla Rose both want, us menfolk can endure.”

  “Really?” She bats her Amazon eyes at me, and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth.

  “Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”

  “Aren’t you a smooth talker, Mr. Collins.” She’s only joking, but I like that she thinks I’m smooth. Maybe one day, I’ll be smooth enough to land her.

  “So, which games you want?”

  “My favorite is the belly measure. It’s fun to see how crazy some people’s guesses are.”

  Her enthusiasm is so refreshing. Azalea just has this thirst for life, and a take no prisoners approach to quenching that thirst. Fucking love it… fucking love her.

  “So, how’s this game played?” I ask, even though it’s fairly obvious. For real, I just want her arms around me, and if that makes me a dog… then, woof.

  “Hang on and I’ll show you,” Azalea says, before darting to the hall bathroom. She returns with a roll of toilet paper and after eyeing me for a few minutes, she tears off a length. “So, you have to guess how much toilet paper it’ll take to wrap around the mama-to-be’s baby bump.”

  Azalea steps into me, wrapping the tissue around my midsection. “Like this.” Her voice comes out all hoarse and throaty, and fuck.

  I draw her closer to me, until we’re flush, toe-to-toe. She blinks up at me from under her long lashes. “What’re we doin’? Drake?”

  I know what she’s asking. We’ve been tiptoeing around this our attraction to each other for years now, and aside from a kiss in our teens, we’ve never acted on it. But, God, it’s more than just the physical with Azalea. It’s always been more. “Anything.” I press my lips to hers in a chaste kiss. “Everything,” I murmur before diving back in, pulling her bottom lip into my mouth. She sighs, long and low, and I greedily swallow the sound.

  “This doesn’t mean anything,” Azalea moans, as she pulls my shirt up and over my head.

  “No, this means everything,” I counter before sliding my fingers into the space between the buttons of her shirt and tugging, sending the buttons flying, revealing the pale pink lace bra she’s wearing beneath. “Goddamn, girl.”

  My lips drop to her collar bone—so delicate and dainty. Making my way from one shoulder to the other, I pepper the tops of her breasts with hot, open mouthed kisses. Every drag of my lips across her skin sends me flying… so soft and supple.

  I work my way up to that space where her neck and shoulder meets and nip at the skin there, savoring the peaches and cream taste of her. I skim my fingers up and down her waist, my touch feather light. Leaning farther into my touch, Azalea hisses out a soft, low moan. If I could bottle that sound…

  Before I even have a chance to free her breasts from the pink lace concealing them, she’s flicking open the button to my jeans. “Slow down, Bit. There’s no rush.” My voice sounds like gravel, hard and rough with w
ant and need.

  “No, Drake.” Her voice is soft, but just as full of want as mine. “I need you. Now,” she tells me before pushing me back. My range of motion’s restricted by the denim pooling at my ankles, and I go down hard, landing with my ass on the floor and my back pushed up against the couch.

  Azalea doesn’t give me any time to complain. No, my girl climbs right into my lap, primed and ready, and fuck if it isn’t the best feeling in the entire world.

  With my jeans around my ankles and her skirt bunched around her waist, Azalea lowers herself down onto me, her hips rocking and rolling. Her every movement blowing my mind.

  Being inside Azalea Barnes is as close to Heaven as I’ll be, and she feels so, so good. With every sound, every movement, she’s erasing the memory of every woman that was here before her. Which is just fucking fine, because in my mind, they were all placeholders for her, and certainly not a single one could a hold a candle to this wild, blonde beauty.

  Jolts of awareness run through me when she tips her head back, causing her long locks to tickle the skin of my thighs, and I know I’m close. Fisting that pretty hair, I give her all that I got, because, damnit, if I’m going over the edge, she’s going with me.

  Sated and spent, Azalea collapses against my chest. “That was…”

  “A mistake. Oh, my Jesus. A huge mistake.” She tries to scramble off my lap, but I hold her closer, gently rubbing her back.

  “Not a damn thing about tonight was a mistake. This was a long time coming, Bit, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “No, we shouldn’t have done that. No, no, no.” She’s mumbling and muttering to herself, and I’m just not having it.

  “Azalea, listen—”

  “NO! You listen! You just fucked me, without a condom and you wanna act like there’s nothing wrong?”

  “That what happened? I fucked you? Last I checked, you all but climbed my dick like a tree. Not saying I wasn’t into it, or that I didn’t love it, just stating facts. Just like I also know for a fact we’re both clean and you’re on birth control.”

  “H–how do you know that?” she asks, her green eyes wide with wonder.