Patrick’s breath hitched while he fought rolling his eyes to the back of his head. Damn if her mouth wasn’t as hot as the rest of her. He instinctively moved his hips in perfect time with her rocking head.
“Mr. Holloway?”
“I—I dropped m-my keys,” Patrick lied feebly and then swallowed a moan.
At any moment his neighbor was going to ask why he didn’t have a shirt on. He just knew it.
Glenn’s expression pinched, but he said nothing.
Blood roared in Patrick’s ears while Coco brought him closer and closer to the brink.
“Well, all righty,” Glenn said finally. “If you’re sure everything is fine?”
“E-everything is w-wonderful,” Patrick assured him, briefly closing his eyes. “Wonderful.” He placed a hand behind Coco’s soft Afro to hold her steady.
“Good night, then.” Glenn stepped back. “Merry Christmas!”
“M-Merry—merry Christmas.” He smiled and tried to wave.
Glenn turned and headed back to his house. When he reached the door, he glanced one last time across the street, waved and then went in.
Patrick finally closed his eyes and growled through yet another earth-shattering orgasm.
Coco collapsed in a fit of laughter.
“Oh, I’m going to get you back for that one,” Patrick promised as he finally zipped his pants.
“Hey, you said I could have it anytime I wanted,” she said in perfect wide-eyed innocence.
“Uh-huh.” Patrick stood and easily swept her up from the ground. “Now it’s time to do a few things I want to do.”
Birdie’s heart hammered in her chest as Joel stepped forward with a wide, magnanimous smile. While the crowd erupted into cheers, Kimora turned toward Birdie and mouthed, “Not bad.”
Birdie’s gaze performed a slow drag over her sinfully sexy “date,” and her knees became Jell-O. No way was she going through with this. No way was she going to have sex with him.
“Hello, angel.” Joel winked and accepted his keys from Kimora.
“Uh-uh.” Kimora magically produced a spring of mistletoe and held it high.
A few chuckles and giggles peppered the crowd, while the blood drained from Birdie’s face. Where had her earlier bravado gone? Had the alcohol and the smoke clouds finally stopped working their magic?
Kimora dangled the mistletoe directly above Birdie’s head, and Joel eagerly leaned in for a kiss.
Stop him. Don’t kiss him. You’re not some hormonally charged teenager at the prom. You’re thirty-five. Act like it.
Joel’s thick, pillow-soft lips brushed against Birdie’s, and her million-miles-an-hour thoughts came to an abrupt halt. His mouth quickly became more persistent, and she opened hers in time to feel the flicker of his tongue.
She leaned into him then, her knees seemingly gone on strike. A few whoops and a round of applause jerked her back to reality, and she pushed away from him, blushing.
“Ooh,” Kimora said into the microphone. “Looks like we know what these two will be doing later on.” She turned toward Joel, placed the mic behind her back and then warned, “Look, buddy. This is my best friend. No means no. If you step a toe out of line or try something she doesn’t want, I’ll come after you and skin you alive. Are we clear?”
Joel blinked.
“Are…we…clear?” she asked again, her tone hard.
“C-crystal,” Joel replied, his gaze shifting questioningly toward Birdie.
The smile returned to Kimora’s face as she brought the mic back to her lips. “All right, let’s have a round of applause for our first Christmas hookup!”
Joel linked hands with Birdie and escorted her from the center of the room and toward the front door.
She should ask where they were going, but for some reason, she’d forgotten how to talk. Could she really go through with this? No, she didn’t love her husband anymore. And, yes, it had been a long time since she’d had sex—Victor the vibrator excluded.
But an affair?
They had exited the club and were halfway across the parking lot before Joel finally spoke.
“My car is right up here.”
Was that a tremor in his voice? Was he nervous, too?
“It’s not a Mercedes or nothing, but you know a brotha is still trying to make things happen.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” she replied in a small, unrecognizable voice.
He stopped then and turned toward her. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just drank her in—if that was the right term for it—taking in every detail of her face, breasts and curves. She didn’t think he missed a single detail.
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” he said finally and thrust out a hand. “Joel Hawkins.”
“Roberta Washington,” she said, surprised she’d used her maiden name.
He nodded. “Nice to meet you. Though, I hope you don’t mind me still calling you ‘angel.’”
She blinked.
“It suits you.”
She felt another blush coming on from the compliment.
“So,” he said with a dramatic shrug. “What do you want to do? You want to go chill out at IHOP or something? Have a cup of coffee? Talk?”
She drew a deep breath and fluttered a smile. “I think I’d like that.”
He winked and turned toward a powder-blue midseventies Chevy Caprice. He unlocked the door and held it open for her. “After you.”
Demurely Birdie slid into the passenger seat and held on to her smile long after he closed the door, took his place behind the wheel and started the car.
The International House of Pancakes, open twenty-four hours a day, was a busy place even on Christmas Eve. For a few minutes she fretted over what she and Joel could possibly talk about. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they were from different worlds, let alone different eras.
Surprisingly, Joel turned out to be easy to talk to. He was funny and animated. He even surprised her with his talent when he stood up in the center of IHOP and free-flowed for her and the early-morning patrons.
It was cruising toward two in the morning when the sandman sprinkled a little stardust in her eyes and she tried to stifle a yawn.
“Am I boring you?” he asked, concern clearly edging his voice.
“No.” She waved him off. “I’m just not used to being up this time of morning.”
“Should we go?” he asked, already signaling for the waitress.
A few wayward butterflies escaped her control to bat their wings madly in the pit in her stomach. Now what?
Did she ask him to take her home? End the night with a kiss on her doorstep or take him up to her bedroom—what was once her and Kenneth’s bedroom—and have her way with him?
Joel took the ticket from the waitress, pulled a few bills from his billfold and tossed them down onto the table. “So what would you like to do next, angel?”
Birdie took a deep breath and said what was in her heart. “I want to go to your place.”
Elijah
Christmas is officially my favorite holiday.
Just as I predicted, my baby’s key party was off the hook. And now that the last couple from the lonely-hearts club has left to do only God knows what, Kimora is finally all mine.
We’re already tearing at each other’s clothes through the hotel lobby, the elevators and even as we tumble into my suite. I’m addicted to the smell, taste and feel of her. I just can’t get enough.
Why haven’t I asked her to marry me?
As her hand dives into my pants, the question loops in my mind. Why haven’t I dropped to one knee?
I know earlier I bragged about how I like sowing my wild oats and how a brotha needs his space. But the truth is, I always boomerang to Kimora. There simply isn’t another woman like her.
Suspicion flashes in Kimora’s eyes as she pushes me onto the bed. “What are you grinning about?”
“Us.” I land on my back. My pants and—hell, where did I leave my
briefs?—anyway, the pants are pulled off me in record time.
Kimora giggles and turns toward the camera and tripod that’s already set and aimed at the bed. She quickly hits a button, and the red record light appears above the lens. “Merry Christmas, baby.” Kimora slides the dress from her shoulders. As it glides off her incredible body, all the blood in mine rushes to one area. It’s enough to make a brotha pass out.
She winks and does a headfirst tumble onto the bed to land in the backward-cowgirl position. I love it when she does that.
“What about us?” she asks, rolling a new condom on me with her silky fingers.
Sighing, I caress her gorgeous back and squeeze her ample booty. When I don’t immediately answer, she glances over her shoulder with a soft smile.
“You’re not getting all mushy on me, are you?”
“I might be.” I squeeze again.
“Don’t,” she says with a strange edge to her voice.
My hands still as our eyes lock. She means it, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel like my heart was ripped from my chest.
“We have a good thing going, don’t we?”
I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral.
Finally a smile returns to her face. “Then let’s not ruin it by suddenly expecting more from each other than we’re prepared to give.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But…damn.
“Hey, the only thing I’m prepared to give you is the best damn ride of your life.”
“Yee haw!” She lifts her body and we finally get back to what we do best. But…damn.
Patrick
I can’t stop watching her.
A part of me can’t believe that she’s really here—in my bed. It’s probably why I can’t sleep—I’m afraid when I open my eyes, she’ll be gone. As moonlight spills through the bedroom windows and splashed across her earth-rich back, I’m struck dumb. I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t know how to keep her.
I laugh at the predicament and, in the next breath, curse myself for agreeing to a one-night-only deal. How can we ever go back to the way we were?
In my mind I imagine awkward scenarios at the office, both of us pretending this amazing night didn’t happen. Can we keep this secret from our coworkers? Do I want to?
Coco sighs and stretches like a lazy cat beneath the sheets. I wait for her to open her eyes. I want her to open them. I also want to make love to her again.
That realization amazes me. The woman has turned me into a sex machine. Never would I have guessed that I could make love for so long and repeat the act so many times. Then again, fear had played a part in my mindset.
The fear of losing her.
Ms. Brown—or rather, Coco—never struck me as a woman who was interested in white men. And the last thing I want is to be some novelty act or, worse, some alcohol-induced party f—
“Can’t sleep?” Her husky voice startles me.
“How can I when I have something this beautiful lying beside me?”
The pillow muffles her laugh, and I lie down next to her, still trying to memorize every detail of her luscious body. I smile and harden when she snuggles closer.
“You’re kidding me, right?” she asks.
“Like I said, you’re beautiful.” I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or pleased with my body’s response to her slightest touch. I can feel her gaze more than I can see her, and I wish I could hear what she’s thinking. Has she already chalked this night up as a mistake?
I hope not.
She doesn’t say anything. When she finally moves closer, she tilts her face toward mine. My mouth descends like a magnet toward her full lips. We moan at the same time, but my erection throbs at the feel of her hard nipples poking against my chest.
As I reach for another condom, a thought occurs to me. If I love her so thoroughly, maybe I’ll make it impossible for her to leave, make it impossible for her to ever want the touch of another man. It’s a desperate thought, I know, but one I’m willing to cling to when I enter and her body sheaths me.
She feels like a dream. She feels like heaven. She feels like home.
Joel
Damn, I should have cleaned this place up.
I have clothes, old pizza boxes and empty beer bottles discarded everywhere, and judging by the look on my angel’s face, she’s ready to bolt. “Please excuse the mess,” I say, kicking a mysterious box out of the way so she can enter the apartment. “I’ve been meaning to, uh, hire someone.”
Her eyebrows leap to the center of her head at that obvious lie. I shrug, undoubtedly making myself look goofier than necessary.
“Well, it’s, uh, an interesting place you have here.”
She smiles and I note she’s a better liar than I am, but that’s cool. At least she hasn’t turned away screaming from the place.
“Uh, can I take your coat?” She hesitates, and for a frightening moment I think she’s going to change her mind about all of this. Which, again, is cool. I ain’t the kind of brotha that’s going to make a woman do something she doesn’t want to do. But, God, I hope she doesn’t change her mind.
“Sure,” she finally says with a sigh.
She turns and I take my time sliding the jacket from her shoulders. I lean over and place a kiss against one of her bare arms.
She freezes and closes her eyes, and suddenly I would give a million bucks to know what she’s thinking. “Would you like something to drink?”
She turns and faces me. There’s a question in her eyes, and without thinking I kiss her—and drop her jacket on the floor.
The kiss is soft—tender even—but then I get a little greedy. I can’t help it. She tastes that damn good. I slide my arms around her thick waist and pull her close. I’m instantly turned on by the weight of her breasts against my chest. Oh, all the things I want to do with her race through my mind.
When she moans and presses even closer, I take it as a green light to sprint toward first base and I slide a hand up beneath her shirt.
Another moan tells me I’ve made it safely. Feeling a little cocky, I move under the bra and steal a quick pinch of her nipple. She gasps and lolls her head back, exposing her long neck to my greedy lips.
How we made it from the living room to the bedroom, I don’t know, and in which order the clothes have come off is also another great mystery. All I know is, on my bed—which is a great deal cleaner than my living room—is a gorgeous, thick sistah with breasts and thighs that literally bring my eyes to tears and my pride to attention.
“Do you have a condom?” she asks.
I swear to goodness, I think the girl has said something in Greek. When she repeats the question, I finally come out my sex-induced thoughts to make sense of what she’s saying.
“Oh, condom. Yeah, right. Hold on a minute.” I can’t remember where my pants went, but I am able to remember a new box I’d shoved in the nightstand next to the bed.
I rip open one packet and—no joke—the damn condom pings off my erection and smacks her in the eye. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
She sits up, laughing and holding her eye.
I rush over to her, laughing myself, to see if she’s okay.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be all right.”
When her laughter dies a bit, there’s a look in her eyes, and I get nervous.
“You know, I think I would like that drink now.”
I nod, not sure what that means, but I turn and walk back out to the kitchen. Four beers later, she finally admits, “I can’t do this.”
I knew this all along, I think, but a brotha should always cling to hope, right?
“It’s okay,” I say, stroking her hair from her face and smiling.
She nods at this, relaxes even. “Just because…he cheated doesn’t mean that I…”
I draw in a deep breath and weigh my words. “Are you going to take him back?”
My angel hesitates. “No. My divorce is final…but two wrongs don’t make a right.”
I like thi
s woman. She’s a real class act. I try to convey this in my next kiss, but I think all I manage to do is transmit how much I still want her. We’re both breathless by the time she breaks the kiss and, especially on my part, a little sad.
“Does he know how lucky he was?” I ask, stroking her face, still reluctant to let her go. To my surprise her beautiful eyes gloss with tears. “I may be young, but I know a good thing when I see it.”
My angel smiles and tries to look away, but I cup her chin and force our eyes to meet again. “You’re smart, beautiful and, judging by what I saw at the store earlier today, you’re a good mom.”
Hot tears leap from her eyes, and I smile as I brush them away. “You deserve to be loved. You shouldn’t have to beg for it.”
Hearing her soft sigh and watching her eyes lower to my lips, I recognize the permission her body language gives me to kiss her again. I lean forward and breathe in her sweet fragrance before tasting her lips. I find myself praying that it won’t be the last time.
She moans and drapes her arms around my neck. The next thing I know, I’m leaning her back onto the bed. Once again her luscious curves have my erection throbbing well past the threshold of pain. But I can handle it. I just want to taste her for a little while longer. I’m not satisfied with just her lips, so I move to her neck, her collarbone and, of course, her spectacular breasts.
She tastes like honey and chocolate at the same time. For real, I feel like Charlie in the chocolate factory and I’m still praying my golden ticket isn’t snatched at any second.
“We should stop,” she breathes raggedly.
“We can stop anytime you want,” I say, sliding farther down her body. She gasps and her hands slide through my hair. “Do you want me to stop?” I ask, arriving at the V of curls between her legs.
“Open up for me, angel.”
She hesitates, and I kiss her thighs and wait patiently for her decision. Finally she parts her peanut-butter thighs to my watering mouth. I dip my head low to drink the very thing I thirst for. I run my tongue teasingly over her clit and I’m immediately pleased it tastes as good as the rest of her. My tongue dives deeper the next go-round, and deeper still after that.
Holiday Fantasy Page 8
