Heartless (Heartache)

by Danielle Allen

  “That’s it, Jamila,” I breathed roughly. “Come on my dick.”

  And she did.

  Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me further into her. Gasping, she bucked violently and let out a mostly silent scream as she started to freefall into her orgasm. Her body surrendered to me.

  “Bradley,” she moaned as she clamped down around my dick when she climaxed.

  Leaning forward, I caged her head with my arms and remained inside her. When she opened her eyes, I stared at her and slowly moved my dick in and out of her wetness. Having our eyes locked heightened the moment and my dick could hardly stand it.

  Our mouths moved over each other’s sloppily as she dug her nails into my back. I navigated her tightness, making sure she felt each and every stroke. As our kisses became needier, she thrust her hips up to meet mine. I was going slow to try to stretch out the moment, but the way she was throwing it at me was causing me to cave. Letting out a strangled moan, I pulled out of the kiss.

  She whimpered in response, grabbing my hair. “Bradley… please.”

  “Please what?” I panted.

  “Kiss me.”

  Our lips were only an inch apart and it took willpower to not kiss her, but I wanted to see her face. I needed to see it.

  “But I want to see your face when I come in you.”

  “Yessssssssss,” she hissed. “Please come in me.” Her head dipped into the mattress and her eyes closed. “Please.”

  I gritted my teeth, increasing my speed. Hearing her beg for it was it for me.

  “Oh fuck,” I swore as she started to convulse around me again, milking me. Watching her face contort in pleasure, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

  With my breathing short and ragged, I buried myself in her. I barely recognized my own voice as I grunted her name, exploding inside of her. With my eyes shut tight, I didn’t pull out until I was completely drained.

  “Oh my God,” she panted. “Oh wow.”

  I kissed her and then collapsed beside her. “You are fucking incredible.”

  She rolled on top of me. Staring into my eyes, she brushed her lips against mine. I wrapped my arms around her and caressed her smooth skin as her kiss weakened me. She pulled away fractionally.

  “I’ve never done that before.” Brushing my hair back from my forehead, she searched my eyes. “With anyone.”

  “Unprotected sex?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “That was the first time.”

  “It was the first time for me, too.”

  She withdrew a bit, eyebrows furrowed. “Really?”

  “Really,” I confirmed. “Never even been tempted to. But with you… tonight…” I licked my lips as I cupped her soft ass. “I wanted to feel all of you.” My dick started getting hard all over again. “So fucking bad.”

  Her lips met mine again and she rolled her hips. “Well, it’s not like you can get me pregnant twice,” she pointed out.

  “That’s true.”

  “So, we might as well take advantage,” she murmured.

  I kept one hand on her ass and used my other to fondle her breasts, alternating from one to the other. “You’re absolutely right…”

  “This is why”—she lifted herself up— “we can’t be friends,” she concluded as she sank her wet pussy on my dick.

  We moaned in unison.

  *****

  Chapter 6

  “This is one hundred percent your fault,” Jamila complained as we stood in line at the store. “Yeah, we stopped to get brunch, but our whole day started late because of you.”

  My jaw dropped. “How is it my fault that hundreds of people are here?”

  “Because you joined me in the shower, got my hair wet and derailed the whole morning. If we would’ve gotten here when I planned to, we would’ve beaten the Saturday crowd.”

  “Wowwwwww.” I backed away from her, dramatically looking around. “I derailed you? I derailed you?”

  “Yes,” she laughed. “Why are you being so extra?”

  “Because you started it. You derailed the morning, not me.” I pushed our basket forward and then lowered my voice. “You stripped in front of me. You gave me the look. You left the bathroom door open. You look like that. You sound like that.” My eyes traveled down her body and I licked my lips. “What were we talking about?”

  “See, you’re starting already.”

  I put my arm around her and pulled her into me. I inhaled her perfume and kissed her temple. “I can’t help it.”

  She elbowed me gently. “You need to try. We’re in public. And I live here.”

  “You just don’t want anyone to think you have a man,” I teased.

  “I don’t.”

  Damn.

  I was joking and I knew she was going to come back with something funny. But I didn’t expect her answer to feel like a punch in the gut.

  She looked up at me, studying my face. “And besides, who am I going to date while I’m pregnant?” Something in her face shifted as she realized something. “I guess, I’m off the market for at least six months. Wow.”

  “Is that what you want?” I asked.

  “I don’t really have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice.”

  “You don’t get it. You have it easy. You’ll have a child in the world in six months. But the moment I tell a man that I’m pregnant, I already have a child. So, I doubt I’d meet someone who would be interested in dating me once they find out I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re right. That’s not fair. So, what if I don’t see anyone for six months either.”

  She feigned surprise. “What? You not dating for six months? At the rate of a new woman a week, that’s at least twenty-four women you’d be missing out on.”

  I chuckled. “Don’t use your math to take shots at me. It’s beneath you.”

  She lifted an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You wish I was beneath you.”

  I leaned back so I could make a show of looking at her ass in that green dress. “You’re not wrong.”

  We talked the entire time in line and an hour later, we were back at her place. She had to go to the bathroom, so I brought all the groceries in. I was starting to put stuff away when she entered the kitchen.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she told me.

  “Sit down, please. Let me do this. You’re letting me stay here this weekend. Let me at least put the groceries away.”

  “I could get used to this,” she remarked, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

  I smiled to myself as I put away all the refrigerated goods.

  “Where does this go?” I asked, holding up the boxes.

  “That cabinet right there.” She pointed.

  I put everything away and then folded the paper bags. “What?” I asked as I caught her staring at me.

  “This is a turn-on.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “You like the way I fold these bags, baby,” I flirted, winking at her.

  She sucked her teeth. “See, you ruined it.”

  Throwing my hands in the air, my eyes widened. “What? Why?”

  She stood up and shook her head. “Go run your game on someone else.”

  “I don’t want to.” The words came out of my mouth before I had a chance to vet them. Swallowing hard, I braced myself for whatever she was going to say in return.

  Ripping her eyes from me, she walked to the refrigerator. “I need to start prepping the chicken.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, I got it. Thanks.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I told her, rushing out of the kitchen like someone was chasing me.

  What the fuck is going on?

  I made a habit of being honest with women and it always made me more confident because I didn’t have to worry about lies coming back on me. Women were attracted to the confidence and the truth. But since I arrived at Jamila’s door, I was honest with her and it made me more unsure. As I admitted stuff to her, I was admitting
it to myself for the first time. I kept catching myself off guard. But it wasn’t a lie. I just wasn’t prepared for the truth.

  I need to calm the fuck down.

  When I reached the guest bedroom, I went through my bag until I found the baby pictures I’d brought. I jogged down the steps and returned to the kitchen—just in time to see her bending over to get pots and pans.

  “Mmm,” I remarked, my eyes glued to her ass. I walked up behind her and put my hands on her hips. I gently started rocking against her.

  “You play too much,” she said, even though she was moving her ass against me.

  “See…” I imagined her letting me lift her dress and fucking her in her kitchen. “You can’t keep doing stuff like that and then accusing me of derailing the day.” I pulled up the fabric slowly. “This is you starting it and I have no problem finishing it.”

  “You can either have me or you can have the braised chicken. You can’t have both.”

  I stopped grinding on her. “What? That’s not fair!”

  She laughed and pushed me away. “Sit over there and let me work. A bet is a bet.”

  After washing her hands and the chicken, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t be a creeper. I can feel your eyes on me.”

  I chuckled under my breath. “I didn’t know if you needed it to be quiet while you cooked.”

  “No, not at all. Usually I have music going.”

  “I got you. I can put on some music,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I went to a mix I frequented when I was trying to set a mood.

  The first song hadn’t even played for ten seconds before she commented, “No, don’t play your sex mix. Find something else.”

  My eyes flew up from my phone. What? How?

  “Mmm hmm.” She grabbed a bunch of spices. “You wanted me to get to know you, so don’t play your go-to womanizer weekend playlist. Let me get to know the you that comes out when you’re not trying.”

  I rested my elbows on the marble surface and stared at her in awe. I didn’t know how she knew, but that got my attention. “How about I create a playlist just for you?”

  “How about you tell me why they call you Easy?”

  I started creating a playlist called Jamila and chose the first song that came to mind when I thought of her.

  “It started in middle school,” I answered. “I used to say ‘be easy’ a lot. I think I heard Pop say it once and I ran with it. He was the first to call me Easy and it just stuck. When I started DJing in college, I would go by DJ B-Easy. I added the B for Bradley, but no one called me by my first name. I just became known as Easy. I introduced myself as Easy and it’s been like that for half my life now. If someone calls me Brad or Bradley, I just tell them to call me Easy.”

  “So, no one calls you by your first name?”

  “Not really. Just you and my mom.”

  “Why?”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s a long story.”

  “This chicken will take two hours and the whole meal total takes three… we have time.”

  I smiled at her back. “You are tough. I uh… I was named after my father who left when I was one. Pop married my mom when I was five. Officially adopted me when I was eight. And when I was eleven or twelve, he started calling me Easy because I kept saying it. When my stepdad gave me that nickname, it felt more like me.”

  Turning to look at me, she nodded. “I get that. Would you prefer if I didn’t call you by your first name?”

  “I actually like when you call me by my first name.”

  A smile played on her lips before she turned away. “Good,” she murmured.

  “Are your parents still together?” I asked, hoping to shift the conversation.

  “Yeah, they are. They’ve been happily married for thirty-five years. They got together at twenty, got married at twenty-two, and had me at twenty-five.”

  “Is that why you haven’t told them yet?” I guessed.

  “Yeah.” She was focused on frying the chicken so she couldn’t see the way I looked at her. “But I’m telling them tomorrow.” She glanced back at me. “After you leave.”

  She started whipping up a concoction in a pot and I sat with her response for a moment.

  “Are you nervous about that?” I asked her, staring at the back of her.

  “I am. A little.”

  “I’ve never seen you nervous before.”

  “Outside of flirting with me and making me come, I don’t think you’ve seen a lot of anything with me,” she pointed out.

  I smirked. “True.”

  “Are you going to tell your parents?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you before I told them anything.”

  She nodded. “I get that.” She turned and rubbed her hands together. “This has to cook for an hour with me stirring it regularly.”

  “It already smells good,” I told her.

  “What is this?” she gasped, eyeing the photos in front of me.

  “This is me at three months,” I told her. “This one is me at age three. And this is me with Mom and Pop at six.”

  “You were really cute,” she cooed.

  I made a face and recoiled. “Were?”

  She laughed. “Yes, were.”

  We went back and forth joking comfortably. As she sat down beside me, the joking gave way to conversation. We exchanged childhood stories as she walked back and forth to check on the food.

  “…and that’s one of the reasons why my parents are my role models,” she concluded with a laugh.

  I chuckled lightly.

  Waiting until she sat down next to me, I looked at her stomach. “You’re thirty-four and you are a financial director somewhere up here. You have a lot to be proud of. I’m sorry if this makes you feel like you let your parents down.”

  She cocked her head to the side, assessing me. Her brows crumpled. “What?”

  “You said earlier you were nervous about telling your parents. I thought it was because you thought they’d be disappointed or something,” I explained.

  “I’m nervous about telling them because once I tell them, it’s real. It’s out there. It isn’t just between me and the doctor… it’s real.”

  “I get that. Once I tell my mom, she’s going to start trying to turn my old room into a nursery for the baby.” I shook my head in amusement. “She’s going to be excited.”

  “My parents will be, too. They’ve been ready to be grandparents for a while now.” Jamila bit her lip. “I’ve always imagined how it would be and this was not the plan.”

  I put my hand on top of hers. “You know you’re not in this alone, right?”

  Nodding slowly, she gave me a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  It gutted me that she didn’t believe me.

  “I’ll prove it to you,” I promised her. “You don’t have anything to worry about.” I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed it. “We’re in this together.”

  My phone vibrated, interrupting the song I’d selected, and Hannah Webb’s picture flashed across the screen. Jamila and I seemed to look at the phone and then at each other at the exact same time.

  Removing her hand from mine, she got up. “You should answer it. It might be important.”

  Fuck.

  If I didn’t answer it, I’d look like I had something to hide. If I did answer it, I’d have to deal with Hannah’s shit.

  As Jamila washed her hands, and went back to the stove, I knew what I had to do.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey!” Hannah chirped. “I was thinking I could come by tonight and you can make things up to me.”

  I stared at the back of Jamila’s head. I knew she was listening. “Like I told you before, we’re done, Hannah. We don’t need to see each other anymore.”

  There was silence on the other end. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I’m serious. This should’ve been over a long time ago.”

  “Are you fucking serious, Easy? Yo
u are ending things with me?”

  “Well technically, I already ended things, but since you called out of the blue, I am reiterating.”

  “No, you’re an asshole and if you think you are ever going to get a chance to come back, you’re wrong,” she shouted.

  “Understood. Take care of yourself Hann—” She hung up before I could finish my sentence. “Okay, then.”

  I placed my phone down and it started playing music again.

  “Girl trouble?” Jamila inquired with just a tiny bit of snark.

  “No, not at all. That was just someone who didn’t accept no for an answer and I’ve had to keep repeating myself.”

  “Hmm.”

  I searched for a new song as I changed the subject. “When was your last relationship? Anyone going to pop up at your door and try to fight me?” I joked.

  But I was serious.

  “The last date I went on was a couple of months ago. Nice guy, really sweet. But he couldn’t handle me, and I didn’t want to waste his time or mine. The last relationship ended…” She looked to the side as she was thinking about it. “It ended about a month before Bianca’s wedding.”

  “Why did it end?”

  She smirked. “He wanted to get married and start a family and I told him I wasn’t ready.”

  My eyebrows flew up. “Hmm.”

  “Yeah…” She dragged the word out comically. “What about you? Do you see marriage and kids in your future?”

  “I do. I always felt like it would happen way down the line though.” I smirked, staring at her stomach. “So, the kid part came a little quicker than anticipated.”

  “If you aren’t ready—”

  “You don’t have to keep giving me an out,” I interrupted. “I’m in.”

  She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She appeared deep in thought as she chewed her bottom lip. Just when I was about to break the silence, she put down the spoon used to stir the pot. “I have a picture to show you,” she announced softly.

  Jamila left the kitchen and when she came back, she had a couple of photos in her hand. When I got a good look at the first one, all the air left my lungs.