Chapter 9 #4
“Fuck this,” she whispered as she climbed out of bed and abandoned the room, bare feet carrying her to the kitchen.
She poured herself a glass of Cabernet. The silence in this beautiful home was ugly.
To be this successful, yet this unaccomplished all at the same time was nasty fucking work.
Where were her children? Where was her man?
Where were the wedding pictures that were supposed to be sitting on the mantle?
The home was sterile, barren— like her womb.
She picked up her phone, and her thumb lingered over his name.
She swallowed down the whole damn glass of wine.
Liquid courage. She surrendered her burden to the ceiling as she let her head fall back on the couch pillow in despair.
“Don’t call this man,” she whispered. She reached for the bottle on her living room table and poured another glass.
How she could clear an entire bottle of wine, by having only two glasses should be studied.
A bitch was sulking, and wine was the remedy.
She wondered if they had wine drinking contests, like those stupid-ass hot dog eating contests.
She scoffed at the ridiculousness of her own mind.
She was that fucking bored. That lonely.
She had nothing better to do but think about stupid-ass shit because she had done some stupid-ass shit and let some phenomenal-ass dick slip through her fingers tonight.
She was a smart girl, but clearly, she lacked common sense.
“Know damn well prison niggas got good dick,” she scolded herself.
She swallowed her pride and centered herself Indian-style on the couch.
She had rejected Cassidy earlier. She was nervous that he would push her away.
She pressed his name anyway. She braced herself as the phone rang.
She was so damn anxious, and her worst fears were realized when the voicemail picked up.
Fear crippled her as she wondered if he was with another woman.
Maybe the woman who had borrowed her face the other night.
He didn’t have to do that tonight. No need to fantasize.
He could have the real thing. All he had to do was answer the phone.
Sloan didn’t know if she was chasing something that was bad for her or avoiding something that was good for her.
Her discernment was off; she just knew she needed something from him.
There would either be a consequence or a blessing at the end of this decision.
She was prepared for either. Or maybe the Sauvignon was convincing her that she could handle this.
“Answer the fucking phone, boy!” she shouted into his voicemail.
Her doorbell rang, and panic struck her.
Hurried feet and white-painted toenails ran across the hardwood floors, and she pulled the curtain aside to peer outside.
It was two o’clock in the morning, and it looked like a blizzard outside, and he was standing on her doorstep.
She unlocked the door, and her chest heaved, and her brow wrinkled.
Her entire body was revolting. A stampede of soldiers marching on behalf of love charged forward inside her chest. She didn’t even know how he knew where she lived.
She really didn’t care. He could have stalked her ass, and she would have given him a gold star for ingenuity at this point.
He stepped inside, and she shut the door.
He was in different clothes, so she knew he had gone home first before coming there.
He smelled like he knew he was about to make love to a woman.
The Tom Ford cologne infected her air as soon as he crossed the threshold of her home.
She never wanted to forget that smell. She wanted him to move in and spray that shit all over the place, to make her home, his home, to turn her scent to his scent.
How long had he been outside her house? Was the conflict between them weighing on him the way it was with her?
Was the distance between them torture for him, too?
“Why does this feel like this?” she panted.
“Because life made us wait,” he answered.
Her eyes misted, and she held her breath as he closed the space between them.
“It’s two decades of anticipation between us,” he said, as he stared at her.
She nodded and lowered her head. She was so emotional and a little drunk.
He lifted her chin. “I know why you’re mad.
I know where the resentment comes from. I know why you’re holding back.
I hate that you’ve been lonely, Sloan, but I’m so fucking grateful it ain’t a nigga in the way.
Almost like you saved it for me,” Cassidy said.
She had so many things to say before he arrived, but now, she couldn’t find words.
Only tears. Only fears. He was gentle in the way he kissed her collarbone.
She pinched her eyes closed, and she felt her chin fall victim to the trap between his fingers as he kissed her and then scooped her off her feet.
She dropped the wine glass, not caring that it shattered on her floor.
Frantic hands pushed his jacket off his shoulders as he carried her into the living room.
He placed her on the oversized, plush, ivory couch, and she unwrapped her package, removing his hoodie, then his t-shirt, as they kissed slowly.
The Nike Tech joggers came next. She knew what to expect at the end.
She had felt it when they had kissed earlier in the day, but seeing all of him was mind-blowing.
She hadn’t had dick like this before, especially dick that was making up for lost time.
She was afraid she may not be able to take it, but damn it, she was going to try.
He pulled her thighs to the edge of the couch and lowered to his knees.
Her powder blue silk teddy and short kimono robe allowed easy access, and he hoisted her hips up in the palms of his hands like he was prepared to eat watermelon on a hot summer day.
“Damn,” he whispered as he dove in. Her clit was paying attention.
She was so ready and wanting that it was swollen and glistening in a pond of desire.
It was so fat and pretty that Cassidy licked his lips and took a preliminary taste just to sample it first.
“Mmm,” he appreciated. He immediately went back in.
Her stomach caved in as he sucked on her whole pussy.
Clit, labia, perineum, ass, he ate it all.
She thought she might have to coach him, that she would have to tell him what she liked.
Sloan didn’t have to say shit. He was a man deprived, and she was a woman in supply of everything he needed.
“Cassidy!” she shouted. “Oh my god!”
It had been so long since she had been touched by a man.
Nobody had ever eaten her pussy like this.
She folded. Literally, he folded her in half, pushing her legs back and ravishing her.
Some men were too rough with a woman. They sucked too hard or used too much spit, or not enough, or they licked the cat wrong like they were scared to get their faces wet.
Cassidy did every motherfucking thing right, EVERYTHING.
She Didn’t know if it was because he had been constrained from a woman for so long or if the nigga was just a beast, but he slurped on her pussy like it was his job; like she was his parole officer, and he was trying to seduce his way out of a drug test; like it was his last meal before execution.
He had, indeed, fantasized about her; she could tell just from the way he handled her.
There was so much appreciation in his touch, so much gratefulness in every suckle of her clit.
He was in distress, and her clit was pacifying him.
He didn’t rush. He went through seven courses, and Sloan was losing her mind.
“Is it good, baby?” she whispered as she stared between her legs, mouth slightly ajar as she witnessed his exquisite work. She was amazed.
“Mmm,” he groaned.
“Cass,” she panted. “Cass, please don’t make me cum yet. I won’t be able to cum again if you don’t slow down.”
He paused, and she sat up on her elbows, winded as he worked around her clit, placing teasing kisses on her inner thigh.
“Please. I want to last with you. I can’t orgasm more than once,” she admitted. “I don’t know why. It just doesn’t happen that way.”
“Yeah, you can, baby,” he whispered confidently.
“Let me show you.” He inserted three fingers inside her and pumped them slowly as he massaged her clit with his free thumb.
Her eyes rolled in the back of her head.
A guttural sound escaped her as he covered her clit with full lips and applied pressure, then circled it with his tongue. “I’m about to nut. Cassssss.”
“I can taste it,” he assured her. “Good fucking girl.”
He stood, and his dick was completely hard.
His skin stretched so beautifully over those eight, thick inches that she didn’t dare ask him to cover it.
She knew fucking better too. She taught sex education classes, and still, logic was snatched from her brain at the sight of that good dick.
He could see her weighing the consequences of some deadly disease in her mind.
The doctor in her was overthinking. Not really because she was a grown-ass woman and she was thinking on point, but she was in her head and about to ruin the moment.
“Trust me,” he whispered. He knew he used condoms with other women; she didn’t, but the fact that she let him proceed spoke volumes for him.