Chapter 17 #3
“But then I saw you come down those stairs. And instead of doing some dumb shit that night, I just... stopped. The chaos in my head went quiet. That’s never happened before. Not with liquor, not with women, not with nothing. You.”
His voice dropped. “I got a son coming. I can’t be that angry nigga no more. Can’t be out here looking for trouble when I’ve got a family to protect. You and Little LA, y’all my future now.”
She went still. All this time she’d been running, convinced he was just another man wanting to consume her, and he’d been holding on because she gave him peace he’d never had anywhere else.
“So that night...” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “If I hadn’t been there—”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done. But it wouldn’t have been good.”
She understood now why he’d pursued her so relentlessly, why he wouldn’t let her run. He wasn’t chasing a woman he wanted. He was holding onto the only person who could calm his chaos. “I didn’t know you were hurting like that.”
“Some days I got that shit under control. Others I’m sitting in the dark thinking about how she went peacefully, natural causes, that’s what they said.
But I can name five niggas walking around right now who don’t deserve the air they breathing, and my grandmother is in the ground. That shit still makes me sick, Ken.”
The timer sounded on the cookies, and Kennedi took off for the kitchen. She appreciated him opening up to her, but it was giving her heart palpitations. She had never felt a connection so intense, and before she ran, she needed to breathe through it.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
She stood in the kitchen, hands gripping the counter, trying to catch her breath. The timer was still beeping. She barely heard it.
Behind her, she heard him stand. Heard his footsteps. She could feel him getting closer. She turned the timer off, pulled the cookies from the oven, and set them on the counter.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
“Ken?”
She didn’t look at him yet. She focused on the second batch.
“I scared you?” His tone was careful. He was already bracing for her to shut down.
She turned around. He was standing in the doorway, not crowding her. She didn't want him to stop there.
“Yes and no.” She held his gaze. “Yes, because I've never had a man let me see them like you do. And no, because I'm still here, Rolani. You are a complex man, but you're my man, and I'm settling in, that's all.”
He went quiet and massaged his beard.
“You sick, Ken?”
He smiled, attempting to break up the seriousness swirling among them. His mind wasn’t even on that, to be honest, he was looking at her with thoughts of devouring her. The softer she got, the harder he got. He shook his head. It had been way too long.
“No, but I want you to take your time with whatever you’re carrying, and you let me be here for it.”
He stepped closer, breathing her in—that perfume that drove him crazy, the warmth of her body against his, the way she fit perfectly like she was made for this exact spot.
“I prayed every night you’d come back. Prayed I’d get my hands on you again, get to remind you what this feels like,” he said against her hair. His grip tightened slightly. “A nigga glad God was listening.”
She tilted her head back to look at him, and the want in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees.
“So why you still talking?” The challenge in her voice, that little smirk on her lips, said she knew exactly what she was doing to him. “I want you, Rolani. You said you’d handle it.”
He lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist automatically.
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
She nodded.
“I don’t know, love. We got twenty minutes until our cookies are done.”
“Shh.” He sat her down on the kitchen table, his hands steadying her hips.
He took her in—beautiful, glowing, carrying his baby.
The sight of her made his tough ass combust every time.
He leaned in and kissed her deep, his tongue sliding against hers, tasting the chocolate chips she’d been sneaking while they cooked.
A moan escaped her lips. He’d been waiting for this for a minute, and the precum at the tip of his dick told the story. He pulled her shirt over her head and stopped to look at her. Her breasts spilled over the cheetah print bra. He needed them in his mouth.
He unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor behind him.
She tensed. Her breasts had been so sensitive lately that even the shower had her knees buckling. But when he touched her, when his fingers found her nipple and twisted it—not soft, firm—the nervousness turned into pure want.
“Ohh,” she moaned, goosebumps rising on her arms.
“Sensitive?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Did it again, harder this time, and her back arched off.
“Ouu Rolani.”
He leaned down, kissing until he reached her breast. His tongue circled her nipple before he sucked hard, and she damn near screamed.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her hands finding his locs, gripping them. He switched to the other breast, rougher this time, and her legs locked around his waist, trying to pull him closer.
“These been driving me crazy,” he said against her skin. “Every time I see you at work, all I think about is getting my mouth on these beautiful ass titties. Bending you over my desk. Making you remember where the fuck home resides.”
His hand slid down her side and into her shorts. Two slim fingers entered her wet pussy, and she hissed. It’d been too long.
“But I think you know exactly where home is, huh?”
“I do. I do,” she answered, panting as his fingers made music sliding in and out.
“I ain’t even started yet. You missed me that bad, Ken?”
He removed his hand and moved lower, kissing down her stomach, and she couldn’t think straight. She felt everything — his lips, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wider.
“These need to come off,” he said, not waiting for permission as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and panties, pulling them down in one smooth motion.
She lifted her hips to help, and a shiver came over her exposed body.
He stepped back and looked at her — sprawled on the table, legs open, pussy glistening.
“Damn, you soaked through them muthafuckas.”
“We missed you.”
He stepped between her thighs, ran his hands up the inside of her legs, and stopped right before he touched her where she needed him. “Tell me what you want, Ken.”
“You know what I want.”
“Say it.”
“Fuck me.” Her voice shook as his finger moved up and down the rim of her pussy lips. She was creaming already. She was for sure losing her mind, or maybe she was finally handing it over to him. “Stop playing and fuck me, Rolani.”
“All this for me, Ken?”
“Yes.” The word came out broken. “All for you. Now, please.”
He circled her clit with his thumb—slow, deliberate, watching her face. When her hips started chasing his hand, he slid two fingers inside her and found the spot he was looking for. Her eyes closed tightly.
“You done running, Ken?”
“Oh my god,” she murmured, bucking against his hand.
“Answer me, Ken. You gon run from me again?”
“No, I’m done, no more running.”
Her body was on fire as pleasure crawled from her toes up the legs she was no longer in control of.
“That’s it. Fuck my fingers, baby. Show me what you need.”
She couldn’t stop the sound that came out of her.
“Rolani—I’m gonna—”
“Not yet.” He pulled his fingers out, and she whimpered. “When you cum, I want to taste it.”
He dropped to his knees, pulled her to the edge of the table, threw her legs over his shoulders, and buried his face between her thighs like a man on a mission. His tongue was everywhere—licking, sucking, fucking into her while his thumb worked her clit.
“Rolani—oh fuck—I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He sucked her clit into his mouth and sucked gently.
She came so hard that her moans sounded like the melody of “My Favorite” by Heather Victoria.
Her thighs clamped around his head, her back arched off the table, and she screamed.
He didn’t stop. Kept licking, kept sucking, wringing every last bit out of her until she was pulling at his locs, shaking, too sensitive to take anymore.
When he stood up, his face was wet, and he looked hungry for more.
“Bedroom,” he said, dick pitching a tent.
“The cookies—”
“Fuck those cookies.” He lifted her off the table, and she wrapped her legs and arms around him. He carried her down the hall, her mouth on his neck, his shoulder, biting hard enough to leave marks. By the time they got to the bedroom, she had his sweats hanging off his body.
He laid her on the bed, stood back to pull his shirt over his head. She watched—chest, stomach, the V disappearing into his briefs. He wasted no time removing his clothing.
“You just gonna watch?” he asked, stroking the thickest, most beautiful, slightly curved dick. It should be framed.
“For now.” She bit her lip, eyes on his hands moving up and down. She was getting wetter by the second. “I like the show, baby.”
She came close and wrapped her hand around his dick and took over stroking it for him, precum at the tip. She licked it, and his knees buckled as he groaned. “Fuck, I missed your hands on me.”
She stroked him slower, tighter, watching his face. “Just my hands?”
His eyes opened, dark. He grabbed her wrist, leaned her back, and pushed in.
Time stopped. Not slow, not gentle. The stretch after four and a half months made her grab the sheets and bite down on her lip so hard she tasted copper. He filled her completely, and her body remembered him before her brain caught up.
Every nerve ending fired at once. Her back arched off the bed, her mouth fell open, and the sound that came out of her wasn't a moan. It was relief.