“Trust me, Stella’s finally found a job…” He paused at the memory of the phone call earlier that evening. The hug they’d fallen into shortly after. How that hug had lingered, transforming into something that’d left him short of breath—his heart in his throat. Materializing just slowly enough for him overlook the fact that it had even been happening at all.
Until her hands were already on his skin. The curve of her soft body already against his. Her lips parted. Nails digging in…
He sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly. “Like I said… she found a job. At a legitimate spa. And she will be paying her fair share the second that first check hits her account.”
“I’m assuming she ain’t making more than minimum wage starting out, right? Which means you’re picking up the rest of the tab on this expensive-ass house, all her folk’s expenses in Philly, and all of Blue’s expenses too? All I’m saying is it’s a slippery slope. That’s an investment. Don’t let yourself wake up one day expecting a return.”
“How can I go looking for a return from someone who has nothing to offer me? I don’t want a wife. I don’t want kids. You know this about me. Yet, somehow, in the span of an hour, you’ve convinced yourself I not only want all those things but with Stella Armstrong of all people. Like damn, bro, have we met?” Rocco motioned to him with his beer bottle. “If you’re so concerned why don’t you drop out of grad school then? Drop all your ambitions. Your hopes. Dreams—and come take my place instead? How about you start digging into your savings and retirement to help keep her head above water while she’s still out here learning how to swim? How about you come and deal with a kid who throws up in your mouth, shit’s round the clock, and is strong enough to rip an earring straight outta your goddamn ear like it’s nothing, then laugh in your face a minute later. How ‘bout that?”
“Alright.” Justin held his hands up. “Listen. I’m not trying to fight you, or accuse you, but this is what I’m talking about. Look how angry you are. You’re invested.”
“No, I’m insulted.”
“Just making myself real clear. I’m making Troy real clear, ‘cause I know he’s up there, somewhere, feeling the same way too. Just… don’t go there….”
Rocco licked his lips but didn’t respond.
Justin’s gaze shifted to Rocco’s ear. “She really ripped your earring out?”
Rocco tilted his head to the right, showing Justin the earlobe that had once housed a small diamond solitaire that was now sliced clean, right down the middle. Like a stick of butter pierced by a hot knife. Only two flaps of skin remained.
“About time.” Justin chuckled. “What kinda grown ass man still wears an earring? She did you a favor.”
Rocco leaned across the couch and bopped the back of his head, veering to the side to avoid Justin’s big hand when he tried to whop him one back. They shared a smile as they settled back into the arms on either side of the couch. Justin’s grin, however, was gone just as soon as it came.
“For real, though,” he said. “Not Stella. Not ever. Or I’ll fuck you up myself.”
“You serious?” Rocco shot a poisonous look at him.
Justin shrugged, unapologetic.
“Listen, what you’re not gonna do is—” Rocco’s phone buzzed to life from the coffee table and with a shake of his head he snatched it up, still cutting a look at Justin as he answered. “DJ, didn’t even know you still had this number…” As he listened, his face fell, and then his eyes slammed closed. “Alright. Ten minutes.” He slammed the phone closed and stood, beginning out of the room. “Stella’s wasted, she can’t drive.”
“Once a kappa, always a kappa.”
Rocco didn’t laugh. “You can let yourself out, man.”
“Or I can stay here with my niece until you get back.”
Rocco paused, stunned that he’d almost forgotten about Blue. Still, he didn’t look back at Justin as he continued to make his way out of the living room, disappearing into the foyer and throwing open the front door.
Justin called after him. “Remember what I said—”
The door slammed closed before he could finish, hard enough to make the floor tremble.
12
By the time Rocco had made it to Charlie’s to collect his goddaughter’s mother, it had already been well past midnight. The next fifteen minutes had been spent accepting DJ’s praises—apparently too drunk to remember that she’d been freezing him out for months—about how much she’d loved the birthday gift he’d mailed to her home days earlier. Another five minutes were spent suffering through awkward exchanges with half of DJ’s friends, most of whom he’d shard a bed with at least once over the last ten years. Then another fifteen minutes were spent watching the stage of the karaoke bar in awe as Stella slurred her way through what had apparently been her fourth song of the evening. She swayed and bobbed with a half-empty cocktail in one hand and the microphone in the other—which she held so close to her face that it backfired every other word—inspiring the bar’s patrons to clap their hands over their ears with frowns of dismay. Rocco hadn’t been able to decide whether they’d been covering their ears because of the backfiring, or Stella’s singing.
It wasn’t until Stella’s encore of the night, a painful rendition of Atlantic Starr’s classic side-chick anthem “Secret Lovers” that he’d reached his breaking point. Stomping up to the stage, he’d grabbed her around the waist in the middle of the song and attempted to drag her off the stage. She’d resisted, of course, until he’d finally had enough and thrown her over her shoulder. The cheers from the bar patrons as he carried her off the stage had been enough to make his ears hum.
She’d been furious with him, spitting fire as he threw her limp body into the passenger’s seat of his truck. Hauling what he assumed were the sharpest expletives she could think of—he couldn’t be sure since her garbled words had been nearly impossible to understand—as he guided the car out of the bar’s parking lot. Her anger had quickly vanished once he’d clicked on the radio, however, and her terrible singing commenced, reciting the words to every hip-hop song that came through the speakers. Nearly shattering the truck’s glass during the long drive home
Rocco hadn’t even realized that, through carrying her out of the bar, throwing her in the passenger’s seat, and hightailing it back to Cascade Hills, she still had her drink in hand, fully intact, with about a quarter of the vodka cranberry inside left to drink.
“You took the damn glass outta the bar?” he spat after parking his truck in the driveway, circling around and opening the passenger’s door. “That’s called theft, Armstrong.”
“What’re you gonna do?” she slurred, lurching back and forth in her seat. “Huh? What? Arrest me?”
He rolled her eyes. “Get outta the car.”
“I can’t believe you did this to me. Throwing me over your shoulder like that. Like some teenager being punished by her daddy. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Paul—” She managed to lift one of her legs over the edge of the car, but the heel of her patent leather stiletto missed the footstep and clobbered down to the driveway, causing a yelp that stole the rest of her sentence. Her heel hit the ground like there was a boulder attached to the bottom of her foot and nearly caused her to fall out of the car completely. Her other leg swung out in much the same fashion, landing on the ground with a thud. When she stood, she immediately swayed, knees buckling and snapping like they were seconds from collapsing from under her.
Miraculously, the drink in her hand remained un-spilled.
Rocco took it from her, fighting the smile that had been threatening his lips all night. The last thing he needed to do was encourage her.
“Let’s get inside, Kappa Kappa,” he whispered, suddenly hit with vivid memories of her days as a sorority sister at Rutgers, and the many social media posts it had spawned, showcasing her and DJ painting the town red every night while he, Troy, and Justin had been fighting for their lives in Iraq. They’d always hissed and complained about what sp
oiled brats her and DJ were whenever they were lucky enough to enjoy internet service long enough to check their social media, but secretly, Rocco knew it helped them all sleep at night. Knowing their family was still happy back at home.
Knowing there was still smiling faces to go home to.
“No. I don’t wanna get inside…” Her eyes widened when the sprinklers popped, sending spurts of water fluttering over the grass that lined the circular driveway and stretched all the way out to the street.
She screamed and began stumbling excitedly toward the sprinklers.
Rocco tried to grab her, but her drunken state had left her limbs too stealthy and lithe for him to take hold of and she raced toward the grass before he could catch her, tripping over her feet the whole way. He hissed out a laugh and slammed the door of his truck closed, setting the cocktail on the roof just as she made it to the grass and began doing her best attempt at cartwheels, which were more like a haphazard flailing of her limbs. Every flip failed halfway through, making her fall on her ass countless times, promising a broken neck was on the horizon. Her laughter proved her neck was of no concern to her, however. The spray of the sprinklers making her smiling face glow as it dotted it with moisture. Her jeans and Run DMC t-shirt quickly grew soaked, clinging to her gleaming chest and thighs.
He swallowed thickly at the sight, giving her a few minutes to do her subpar acrobatics before stomping into the grass—his black sweats and t-shirt instantly dampened too—and grabbing her arm.
“No, cartwheel with me!” she cried, trying to reclaim her arm when he grabbed it. “Can you cartwheel?”
“No.”
“That’s okay. Don’t be sad. I’ll teach you.”
“Don’t wanna learn.”
“But we’re always learning. We never stop learning. That’s the beauty of—whoa!”
Rocco bent down and threw her body over his shoulder, unable to hear another second of her trying to philosophize when she couldn’t even pass a breathalyzer. She squealed as he lifted her off her feet, taking all her weight on his shoulder, and began toward the house. He clenched his teeth at the softness of her belly against his shoulder. The back of her thighs under his fingers. Her breasts against his back. She wasn’t heavy, but somehow she felt like she was as his racing heart began to leave him short of breath.
She continued mumbling incoherently as he carried her toward the front door of the house, her arms swinging behind him and slapping his ass with every step he took. He imagined her big head was bobbing in much the same way.
The front door opened before Rocco could clear the front steps, and Justin appeared, stone-faced.
The two men shared a look.
Justin took them in, shook his head, and began to move past Rocco. “Blue’s still asleep.”
Rocco let Justin go, watching him from the corner of his eyes, his stomach sinking. He waited for Justin to start his own truck, parked in front of the garage, before he made his way back into the house, his racing heart now in his throat for a completely different reason than Stella’s plump body being sealed to his for the second time that day.
Her voice echoed through the foyer once they entered, and he nearly dropped her when she suddenly craned her body to point up at a photo of her and Troy on their wedding day, making his hold on her go off-balance. The wedding picture dominated the wall and was the first thing one saw the moment they stepped inside. Blown up so large that every feature on each of their smiling faces was sharp enough to make them seem life-sized. Rocco always got a chill whenever he looked at it. It made him feel like, even if only for a moment, Troy was still alive.
“Have you seen that picture?” she garbled.
“Yes, Armstrong, it only spans the length of the entire wall.”
“Do you ‘member how Troy swept me off my feet and carried me out of the church?”
The sway of her flaccid arms grew even more erratic as he began up the stairs. “I remember.”
“I miss being that skinny. Where a guy could carry me like a feather. You think I didn’t noticed the way you groaned when you picked me up in the sprinklers, but I noticed.”
Knowing that no response would be the right response when the topic was her weight, he remained tight-lipped.
“Troy would’ve still loved me no matter how jiggly I got.” A long pause, then her softened voice rose again. “I miss him.”
He drew in a deep breath, tightening his hold on her thighs. “I miss him too.”
He was only halfway down the long, white-carpeted upstairs hallway that led to her bedroom when she started wiggling.
He flexed to hold her in place. “Stop.”
“Put me down. I’m hot. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe! I’m gonna suffocate!”
With a roll of his eyes, he set her down, sighing when she immediately stumbled on her heels and barreled into the black railing that looked down into the foyer below. She hit the rails so hard he worried for a moment she might shatter the wood and go flying right through them. She didn’t, even as her knees buckled as she slumped on it, giving it all her weight as she continued veering back and forth, eyes heavy and blinking slowly.
“You’re absolutely trashed.” Rocco smiled. “Jesus.”
“I can’t breathe!” She slung her arms across her waist and took hold of the hem of her shirt, ripping it over her head.
The smile vanished from Rocco’s face as her hot pink lace bra appeared, its large cups barely containing her breasts, which continued jiggling long after she’d tossed the shirt it to the floor. Her long black hair fanned down around her bosom a moment later, rising and falling along with the amble globes as she gasped in each breath. Her stomach was softer than it had been before Blue but still curvy and womanly. The abs she’d once had still lingered underneath because even as she kicked off her heels, still stumbling, her belly didn’t shake. He could still see hints of the muscle under the tender flesh.
His breath grew short. Ragged. Every muscle in his body froze, rendering him motionless. He clenched his fists for control, but his dick still swelled in his sweats. He’d worry how pronounced it was against the thin fabric if she wasn’t too blazed to notice.
When she reached down to the button of her jeans and popped that open as well, something blasted through him that sent him charging forward.
“Stop taking your clothes off, what is wrong with you?”
“I can’t breathe Rocco. I’m gonna drop dead!” She let her knees collapse under her when he tried to grab her arm, falling to the white-carpeted floors all while wiggling her damp, unbuttoned jeans down over her thighs.
Rocco collapsed to his knees, unsure if it was a conscious choice or simply his body failing him as her chocolaty thighs came into view. The tiny hot pink thong that matched her bra perfectly. Her shapely calves. Her adorable, tiny toes with nails painted stark white. He clenched his fists when his heart began racing so quickly he feared it might rip through his chest.
“Help me!” Stella shoved her bare feet into his chest.
“Humph!” He seized her ankles as the blow stole the air from his lungs, shaking his head as he took hold of the skinny jeans around her ankles and stood, leaning back so he could finish the job of pulling the wet denim off her legs.
She wiggled and shimmied to help him, and he forced his eyes away from the sight of her writhing on the floor in a bra and panties just as he managed to unglue the jeans from her legs. Once he’d gotten them off her—a task that would’ve been much better suited for the jaws of life—he kept his eyes narrowed away.
“Get up, I’m not carrying you,” he spoke through clenched teeth, the blood gushing through his veins so hard he could feel them rising against his skin like mountain peaks.
“No, I don’t wanna get up. This carpet’s so soft. Did you know that? You should lie down too and feel it. I think I like it here.”
He cut a look at her as she turned onto her side and curled up on the carpet like a baby in the womb, looking one second from putting
her thumb in her mouth to lull herself to sleep.
He cursed under his breath and leaned down, seizing her arm once more. She squealed when he yanked her up and threw her body over his shoulder again.
And there it was. The smooth skin of her thighs under his hand, just soft enough to let his fingers sink into their warmth and get a good grip. Her breasts against his back. Her shapely ass brushing his cheek, making it impossible to ignore the scent of her perfume mixed with the smell of her. The sweetest, most carnal aroma that only the men she’d thoroughly vetted and approved could ever dream of getting a whiff of. His fingers curled into her thighs once more, and he charged toward her bedroom at twice the speed he’d been moving before.
Once he made it to her master bedroom, he leaned forward and deposited her onto the white bedding as quickly as he could.
She plopped down like a rag-doll, her floppy arms flying over her head as she bounced, head bobbing back and forth.
Laying her down caused her stomach to stretch to the hilt, accentuating the deep curve of her waist even more than it already was by nature. She purred and whined softly as she rolled around, leaving not a single inch of her voluptuous body to the imagination, her heavy eyes never leaving his as she did.
“Go to sleep,” Rocco grumbled, turning toward the door.
“No, don’t leave me!”
He paused a few feet away from the door and shook his head. Just a few more feet and he’d have been out of that room. Away from her lacy pink bra and matching panties. Her tender thighs. That aroma. The kind he wished he could bottle up and sell as an air freshener or something, knowing there wasn’t a single lonely man on the planet who wouldn’t spend his last dollar just to have the pleasure to smelling it on his sheets every night. He pressed his palm against the hardness still raging between his legs, and he cut a look over his shoulder at her.
Forbidden (War Book 1) Page 13
