by Kenya Wright
As if she sensed my unease, she rocked her pussy on top of my cock. “Do you want to be inside me instead?”
And just like that, she'd shifted my mind from darkness to the lust swirling inside.
“Or should I leave?” she asked. “It might be too weird having me here after an appropriate time.”
I smiled. “I like how you think you have the freedom to leave.”
“I’m breaking your little ‘no spending the night’ rule.”
“You’re worth breaking rules over.”
“Hmmm. Since I’m here, what do you want me to do?” She dove her hands into my boxer briefs and clasped her fingers over my hard cock.
“I want you to ride me.”
“I bet you do.” She wrenched my erection out faster than I was used to with any woman. It put me on edge, yet pre-cum spilled out of the tip as if she’d been rubbing for several seconds. She stroked me, her hand moving up and down. I grunted in pleasure and ached for more than a touch. She tugged at the head of my cock…hard. The pressure tightened around the rim, stimulating all the sensitive nerves.
I groaned. “As far as I’m concerned, you can move in.”
Desire blinded me. All I could think of was shoving myself into her.
She pulled my cock forward and pressed it against her stomach. “I’m going to put you back to sleep.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“All this time I’ve been dealing with insomnia and all I needed was your sex.”
“Exactly.”
Everything about Yaz invaded my space—her taste, her smell, her soft body against me. Fire blazed in my core. I arched into her, lost in the magic of her mouth as it moved over my chest, her tongue dipping into my navel, then sliding lower to the top of my boxer briefs.
My cock went hard. I opened my eyes and pulled her up to me, taking those demanding lips and sucking on her my lower lip. “You’re spoiling me, Cherry Bomb.”
I rolled her onto her back and devoured those lush breasts. She shivered against me. Breathless moans fled her lips as she looked at me.
Not able to help it, I formed my lips into a frown. Sadly, the anger wasn’t for her. It was meant for the lust spreading heat all over my skin.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“I hate the effect you have on me.”
“It can’t be helped. We’re good together. Stop fighting it.”
“We’re good together?”
“What else could it be? I’ve never felt this way before, not this fast. Have you?”
“No.” Still pissed, I devoured her mouth, unable to hold myself back. My heart feared her, but my body didn’t. Around her, my cock was always a volcano ready to erupt. And if Yaz was going to be my demise, I’d gladly die in her arms with no regrets.
There was a hunger that had woken me. My body throbbed with life. My vision seemed to transform to clearer eyesight. The effect was like placing a pair of glasses on a near-sighted person. Putting an oxygen mask on someone gasping for life. Giving a rope ladder to a starving and broken man down in a hole.
I made love to her until the sun came up.
We passed out and slept the whole day.
By night, Vera had slipped a note under my door, telling us that she’d prepared dinner for us and that it was in the oven. I went downstairs, grabbed the food, brought it up, lit some candles, and we had a picnic in the center of my studio.
It was hard to not smile in that moment. It felt so good. Being with her felt so good. I kept waiting for something fucked up to happen. It was too perfect. So great. The whole sensation put me on edge, had me looking over my shoulder and waiting for death to come.
After we ate, Yaz helped me clean up. “Okay. I should go.”
“No.”
I’d given her my shirt. The huge fabric looked hilarious on her.
“Stay.” I tugged on the shirt and pulled her toward me. “One more night.”
I kissed her before she could respond.
And that one night became another and another. It was frightening how the time had passed. We lay in bed for hours, talking and fucking, drinking and eating, and then fucking some more.
One morning, she told Vera to sit down and showed us both in the kitchen how to make a good fire engine. It was corned beef ’n grits, but with a Bahamian flare. The meat was cooked with chopped onion, oil, thyme, tomato paste, and hot red peppers. No matter how many times I’d tried to make it, I’d never made any as good as Cindy’s.
That morning, Yaz surprised us all, making a fire engine to knock Cindy’s dish out of first place.
And I couldn’t lie, watching her in the kitchen made me feel like it was the best way to start off a day. Having her in my bed did the same job. Yaz made every moment special, and more and more I yearned to spend every second with her.
Although Cindy had texted her the first night, no one else bothered us. Vera left a few notes. Brett never came up. Everything was perfect. Frighteningly perfect.
And what scared me more was that I felt a change between us. That we were slowly becoming one. Already, I didn’t want her to leave, and this wasn’t a teenage crush or lust-filled need.
Is it infatuation? It feels too strong.
But I knew we wouldn’t remain perfect forever. At some point, we would have to go outside. She would need to leave. I would need to let her go. But still, I wrapped my fingers around her dreadlocks, thrust my cock into her, and held her to me, triggering the sweetest moans.
In the walls of my bedroom, we were alone in the world. We were a law unto ourselves. We could enjoy, squander, and waste like conscienceless gods, passionate lovers.
Inside our room was everything; the true meaning of life. I never thought I would feel this comfortable, this energized again. Granted, far outside, life went on and the ocean waves crashed and people worked and our families worried and Lisa sat in her cage, plotting.
But in my room, there was flawless stillness beyond time.
For two beautiful days, I found myself naked, comfortable, loved, and warm in her arms. We lay close together, complete and beyond the touch of time or change.
And then, on the third day, she went back home, and the world outside came rushing back to us.
Chapter 15
Yasmine
Three days of bliss had passed. Although Hawk begged me to stay some more, I had to get home and breathe it all in. Everything had happened so fast. One day, I thought we would never try anything more. The next day, he beat up my ex, made love to me, and then kept me hostage in his bedroom.
Fuck. I miss him already.
I checked my watch. It was five in the morning. Right as I touched the knob, Cindy held the door open.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“Thanks.” I walked through. “Do you ever sleep?”
“It’s a bed and breakfast,” she said. “I always have to get up early to oversee breakfast. Besides, it’s Brooke’s day off.”
“That sucks. Do you need help?”
“Always.”
I headed toward the kitchen. “Then, Yaz to the rescue.”
“Thanks, as usual. I’ll be there in a minute. I have to check on that fighting couple from earlier.”
“The blonde chick and the dark-haired guy?”
“Yep. They were fighting again last night.” She traced a holy cross in the air. “I was scrubbing plantains off the walls until midnight.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?”
“No, and Lord help me, I was real close to scrubbing her behind.” She waved her hand in the air like she was signaling for God.
“What a waste of good plantains.” I frowned, thinking about all that delicious food ruined.
Fried plantains was a universal Caribbean favourite, but while other islanders made them as spicy, crisp chips, Bahamians loved them soft and sweet. Chef Brooke executed plantains that made me want to fall on my knees and marry her.
“What is the deal with tho
se two?” I asked.
“They married before arriving, but he’s not a fan of keeping his snake in his pants. They’re supposed to be on their honeymoon and the whole time he’s been courting other female guests.” She headed up the stairs. “I’m just going to make sure she didn’t kill him last night.”
“Stay safe.”
“I will.” She disappeared.
I headed for the kitchen. Mouthwatering aroma drifted from there, a perfumed buffet of sweet and savory scents twisting around each other. Silverware rattled. Classic hip hop boomed. An erratic drum beat came next, sounding like someone was hitting wooden spoons to a pot. Victor must’ve been in the kitchen.
Everyone else prepared food at a reasonable volume level. However, Victor made the most noise. He was always drumming pots on countertops with wooden spoons to whatever beat blasted over his old radio. If not that, then he was free-styling phrases that didn’t rhyme or singing with the chorus out of tune. And then there was his dancing—hip circles to anything with a Latin beat, jumping to hard-hitting street ballads, and if a slow groove played, he grabbed anybody near him and spun them around the space. It was a wonder that while he cooked, he didn’t harm himself, the dishes, or anyone else.
Cindy and I usually avoided the kitchen when he cooked. With all his loudness and craziness, it was just a bit much.
However, we never deterred him from laying down his dishes. While he didn’t cook as good as Cindy or Chef Brooke, his claim to fame rested in morning meals. I would bet all of my money his breakfast dishes were what made Cindy fall in love. Victor made a mean shrimp and grits with just enough savory and spice with a squeeze of key lime on the top. Like us, he had Bahamian roots so he always did bowl of boil’ fish to start the day, usually using freshly caught grouper, creamy grits on the side, and a sweet wedge of Johnnycake.
As I entered the kitchen, Victor sang out with the rapper crooning from the radio. “Better have my money with no delay. Better have my money or you’ll see this AK. Don’t want to make your mother drown in tears. Don’t want to make your brothers die in fear.”
Grinning, I waved at him. “I see we’re playing gospel music today.”
“It’s gospel in a sense.” He winked and turned the radio down.
“Gospel in a sense? The guy is talking about killing people.”
“True, but everyone needs to have one favorite gangster rap song in their life.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes. These are facts. There’s always a time in your life where someone is messing with you, and you let them because you forgot who you are.” He went to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. “So, you go to your room or car and you put on that favorite gangster song to amp you up. You turn it on and it just rushes through your blood.”
He yanked out a tub of butter. “And then, it’s on. Whether you go back to that person who bothered you or not, it doesn’t matter. That song reminded you that nobody can mess with you.”
“Hmmm.” I strolled over to the stove to get a better view of those delicious smells.
“Get away from the stove.”
“Okay. Okay.”
The other problem with Victor and his cooking was that he was possessive of everything in the kitchen while he worked. No one could touch anything or get too close to the food while he was preparing. Granted, it was probably because once we smelled it, we liked to sneak a taste when he wasn’t looking.
“Hungry?” Victor asked as he pulled out a tray of Johnnycakes.
“Yes.” I sat down at the island counter. “However, I came in to help.”
“Don’t worry about that for now. Go ahead and sit down.” Victor finished what he was doing, shut off the radio completely, and then handed me a Johnnycake covered in butter and jam. “I recieved a coconut telegraph yesterday.”
Of course you did.
Everyone around here called gossip a coconut telegraph. I wondered where Victor was going with this.
“What did you hear?” I asked.
He washed a fork, dried it, and handed it to me. “I’ve heard you’ve been with Hawk for these past days.”
“Oh. Well, that wasn’t a big secret.” I pointed at Hawk’s house. “I was right next door.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Clearly, I did since I’d been fucking him from morning, noon, and night for the past three days. However, Victor didn’t deserve my smart mouth and he was only looking out for me like he always did.
“Yes, I was with Hawk.” I grabbed the fork. “And yes, I think it’s a good idea.”
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“You’re over here in the same dress from three days ago, grinning from ear-to-ear like you’d just been on a Disney ride.”
I have been on a Disney ride and now I’m wondering why I jumped off.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shoved a piece of Johnnycake into my mouth with the fork. “Most of the time, Hawk and I read his bible and sang psalms about our dear Lord.”
Victor snorted. “Here’s my brotherly advice.”
I shoveled food into my mouth, dreading whatever he was going to say. At least, the Johnnycake was perfect, warm and melting on my tongue. I decided to get two more.
“Men are good at sexual relationships because we approach most women with our heads instead of our hearts.” Victor made a show of placing his hand on his head and the other on his heart. “Only a few women will have us thinking with our hearts. Those are the ones we end up marrying.”
“So, you’re saying women don’t use their brains when it comes to men?”
“Don’t tell your sister I said that.”
I pointed my fork at him. “I totally am and you’re going to be in so much trouble.”
He waved my threat away and continued, “I’m not saying it’s a biological thing. Society made it that way. A little boy cries about something, he gets yelled at by his parents. They tell him to man up. Unlucky sons with stupid parents are demeaned and called ugly names like faggot and punk. From the very beginning, boys are trained to not deal with their emotions. Girls on the other hand are free to be emotional.”
“Well, at least that’s one freedom females are given.”
Victor shook his head. “This is not an invitation to argue about feminism. I’m just trying to get you to understand Hawkins. I just don’t want you to see salt and think it’s sugar.”
I stuffed my mouth and mumbled between chewing, “Fine.”
Sadly, Victor wasn’t done.
“Emotions rule the heart. Logic rules the head. Women tend to be more emotional. And emotions have no logical basis. There’s no reasoning. And when they come strong, they’re not open for discussion.”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“Basically, if you’re going to spend time with Hawkins, make sure you’re both using your hearts or heads. Not you giving away your heart while the whole time he’s using his head.”
“And how would I tell if he’s using his heart?”
“Because he’ll start acting irrational.”
“Al-righty.”
“Don’t be a motel room. Be a home.”
“Jesus, Victor. I got it.” I finished my Johnnycake, grabbed two more, and decided to make a con leche, pouring steamed milk and sugar into a cup of coffee.
Like a possessive cat, Victor monitored my movements near the stove the whole time. “Don’t sneak any more food.”
When I took my cup and food back to the island counter, he returned to what he was doing.
I giggled. “You’re so territorial of the kitchen, it’s starting to worry me.”
“You are always nibbling on everything and Cindy is always tasting stuff and adding her little bossy opinions.”
“They’re not bossy opinions, they’re suggestions.” Cindy strolled into the kitchen. “Well, the guy is alive. Granted, he’s sleeping outside of the room with a black eye, but he’s definetly breathing.
”
Victor wiped down his side of the counter. “I can’t wait until they check out.”
“Me either.” Cindy checked the pots steaming on the stove.
Victor scowled. “Get away from my pots, please.”
Cindy rolled her eyes. “Did you tell her about Greg?”
“No,” Victor said. “I was just finishing up on my advice about Hawkins.”
“Oh, God.” Cindy stirred one of the pots and then placed the top back on it. “I told you not to give her that misogynistic speech. Men are just as emotional as women. And by the way, you need more salt for the fish.”
“The fish is fine. I don’t want to give the guests hypertension.”
Not caring to rehash the gender debate, I asked, “What about did you have to tell me about Greg?”
“He never left.” Cindy went to the fridge and pulled out a large jug of milk. “That boy checked in here yesterday and said that he is staying on the second floor.”
I set my fork down on my plate. “I can’t believe he’s still here. What the hell does he want?”
“You,” Cindy said. “That’s what he wants. And he’s been asking Victor and me who you were with this whole time.”
“It’s none of his business.”
“That’s why I didn’t give him any anwers.”
“Sorry about that. He shouldn’t be bothering you.” I took a sip of my coffee to swallow down the bad news. “I know you’re busy with the guests. The last thing you need is to be my answering service.”
“It’s no problem.” Cindy smiled. “I hated the way he treated you. I’ve enjoyed watching him squirm.”
Victor set another tray of Johnnycakes on the table. “Meanwhile, Greg said he wasn’t leaving until he talked to you.”
I checked my watch. “I should wake his dumb behind up and finish the talk so he can check himself out of here today.”
“That easy?” Victor asked.
“He cheated more than once. There’s nothing to talk about.”
Victor nodded. “Good. Deal with him with no emotion. Now, you’re using your head.”
“Oh, please.” Cindy checked Victor’s other pots as if she was a kitchen supervisor. “I don’t care how you deal with Greg as long as he gets his butt out of here today. He’s been pushing his sci-fi dvds on all the guests. Every time some of them see him, they rush off in the other direction.”
