46. Theory
I sighed as I woke up, shivering despite the fact that it was summertime in Louisiana. I had lowered the thermostat for my zone yesterday after coming in from the hell outside. I regretted that move now that I was cold and too lazy to get up. Burrowing deeper into my pillows, I tried to pull my covers more tightly around me. I frowned when they didn’t budge and pulled again.
“You need me to move?”
What the hell? I shrieked and tried to fly from the bed as a deep voice rasped from behind me. The weight I hadn’t noticed around my waist held me in place as I came fully awake. My memory started to return in bits and pieces. Targen and I… watching movies… moving from the floor to sit on my bed…me, getting so sleepy and resting against him. We must have fallen asleep. I didn’t even remember getting under the covers that he currently lay on top of.
He moved his arm then tugged on me gently, directing me to turn over and face him. I did and almost got mad because who the fuck looked so perfect first thing in the morning? No crust around his eyes, no evidence of drool, nothing. Hell, his breath probably smelled minty fresh. Aggravated, I frowned. He used his two middle fingers to rub between my eyebrows, soothing the wrinkle away.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“I’m cold, and you scared me,” I grumbled back.
I wasn’t a morning person, and being uncomfortable wasn’t helping my attitude. Targen shook his head as he stretched and stood. He stretched again, and my eyes widened at the play of muscles beneath the black A-shirt. And Lord, those arms—the muscles flexing under his caramel skin—had me riveted. Even more amazing was the morning wood that rested against his thigh, the joggers doing nothing to hide or restrain it.
I bet he’d have me climbing the walls.
I bet yo’ ass ain’t gon’ find out.
That internal battle raged as I stared at him, my hand going to my lips to make sure I wasn’t slobbing, the way my mouth was watering. Surprising me, he climbed right back into bed, this time under the covers.
“Bring yo’ pretty ass here since you cold.”
My eyes flew to his as I opened my mouth to say no. But something about those beautiful irises had me nodding. I made sure my cami was in place as he pulled me against him. Instantly, his body warmed me, and I sighed my pleasure as my eyelids drooped. Face against his chest, I let my body melt into his as I drifted into sleep. I don’t know how or why what happened next happened. I must’ve been out of my mind with sleep, because I slid one leg between his and threw my other one on top as I snuggled into him. Targen bent the powerful leg that was trapped between mine, bringing his thigh into contact with my center. Suddenly, the throbbing that had begun while I watched him stretch was back, even more intense. I couldn’t help it; I rocked just a little bit, grinding my clit against his rock-hard quads. I couldn’t hide the breathless little moan that escaped me. I did it again and felt myself grow wetter. This time when I moaned, Targen’s gold-flecked eyes heated until they looked molten.
“You prefer to warm up this way?” he murmured.
His hands crept to my waist, and he guided me back and forth along his thigh as he pressed up into me. It had been so long since I had this kind of stimulation and it felt so good. I rested my face against his shoulder as I rocked, chasing a long-denied sensation.
“Pussy so hot, milaya . I can feel it through our clothes. Fuck, Theory,” his voice rumbled from somewhere deep. “You wet for me?”
“Mm… mm-hmm,” I purred.
I rocked faster, grinding against him as greedy little sounds escaped my throat. He felt so good, and this wasn’t even the impressive package he carried between his legs. Just the thought of that, of him pulling out his dick and teasing then fulfilling me had me bucking harder.
“Look how you moving. I know you close. You gon’ cum, baby?”
“Y-yes. Targen, I?—"
“Let me help you. I wanna feel you,” he rasped, voice low.
I was so into it, into him, that I didn’t register what he said until I felt the warmth of his palm resting against my stomach as his fingers eased toward my waistband. For a second, I froze. Fear shot through me, not at the thought of his touch, but at the realization of what he would find. I tried to scramble out of his arms.
“No! Don’t! Please, don’t?—"
He let me go instantly, holding up his hands so that I could see them.
“Okay! Okay, milaya . I’m not touching you. I won’t touch you,” he promised softly.
The thought of that loss made me sad. I threw my arms around his neck and burrowed into him.
“Please don’t say that,” I begged, feeling miserable as I realized his arms hadn’t gone back around me.
This poor man didn’t know what to do. Slowly, he wrapped one arm around me, and I sighed in relief. I tried to think of what to say. I owed him an explanation that I wasn’t ready to give.
“I like when you touch me,” I said finally. “Just not ready for… there .”
“Okay,” he said softly.
Okay? That was all? Damn! Was he mad? Of course, he was mad. Who wouldn’t be mad? One minute, I was using him to get off. The next, I was acting like a scared virgin. I couldn’t blame him if?—
He squeezed me gently. Maybe he wasn’t mad. Maybe he?—
I sighed as my phone vibrated from the nightstand behind him. Wordlessly, he reached for it and handed it to me. My brow wrinkled when I saw the number.
“It’s my granny,” I said as I answered. “Granny Nette?”
“Good morning, baby. Forgive Granny. I know mornings ain’t ya cup of tea. I don’t know why you still thinking about teaching unless you gon?—"
“Good morning, Granny. How are you?” I interrupted.
“Girl, don’t cut me off. Old as I am and spoiled as y’all are, least y’all can do is let me ramble. Anyway, I’m blessed to see yet another day that the Lord has made. Glad He kept me. I’m on top of the ground instead of under it. Ain’t He good? Hallelujah!”
I rubbed my eyes as she had a whole praise break. Targen’s big body shook, and I looked up to see him laughing. Shaking my head, I waited semi-patiently.
“Anyway, I can’t get my Love up. Know she and Hy are my early risers, but I’m giving Hy one more week to recover from the school year. My baby had a classroom full of hellions this last year. Have I annoyed you enough? Let Granny get to the point.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Think I’ma make a peach cobbler and some blackberry and dewberry hand pies with dinner. Might make y’all some homemade ice cream. Tryna see if you wanna take a walk and bring Granny some peaches and berries.”
I answered without a second thought. I liked where l was, but Granny was entirely too good to me for me to hesitate to do anything for her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“‘Kay. Remember ya sunscreen. And Theory?”
“Ma’am?”
“Take that big ol’, fine giant with you. He bout as tall as the peach trees!”
“Granny!” I exclaimed, mortified.
“I’m definitely not letting her out of my sight,” Targen spoke up suddenly.
Making a strangled sound, I hit his shoulder. I pressed my index finger to my lips as my grandmother let out a shocked gasp.
“Ooh, y’all just as naughty as you wanna be,” she said. “You get it from your granny,” she added in a whisper.
My jaw dropped as she disconnected the call and Targen laughed out loud.
“Man, your grandparents are dope.”
I scoffed. “My grandparents need Jesus.”
* * *
“You coulda told me those things had them little thorns. I need gloves for my tender hands,” Targen grumbled as he set the buckets of berries in the wagon Granny had provided.
I side-eyed him. “Targen, whatever.”
“I’m serious,” he insisted.
He sounded like it, too. I shot him an uncertain look. Just because I had grown up here and had long since learned to shake off the pain of the thorns of berry vines didn’t mean everyone had. Turning, I started to head back toward the farmhouse. Granny would have something for his hands.
“I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve?—"
I stopped as a deep chuckle resonated through the air.
“I’m playing, baby. All cap,” he said, grabbing my arms to stop me.
He immediately let go and looked at me warily. I hated that so much.
“You sure?” I asked.
Nodding, he peered down at me. “You think I’m that soft, mamas?”
“You think I’m that fragile?” I parried. “You scared to touch me now.”
His expression immediately went guarded. “Theory?—"
“It’s fine. There’s a grove of peach trees right up there.”
I took off walking in the direction I pointed, avoiding whatever he’d been about to say. Behind me, Targen pulled the wagon and sighed. Hell, I wanted to sigh, too. No, I wanted to scream because I had no idea what was going on. It made no sense, was irrational, illogical. But here I was, wanting a man I’d known less than a week more than I’d ever wanted anything. I was honestly disappointed by his hesitance to touch me. My brain resisted the madness, but my body and my heart were here for it. I gasped as I found myself lifted and backed against one of the trees. Targen’s gaze pierced mine.
“You ain’t gotta throw a tantrum, shorty. If you want me to touch you, just say that,” he asserted.
Sunlight filtered through the tree’s fruit-heavy branches, dappling his face and obscuring parts of it. Still, I could see the sincerity of his expression.
“I don’t like it when you stop yourself from touching me,” I admitted. “I’m not fragile.”
“But you are, baby. I know you’re strong, too. I see all of that. I don’t want to do too much but trust me; I wanna touch you everywhere every minute of every day,” he growled.
His words almost made me moan.
“Then, touch me,” I challenged. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”
“Theory,” he uttered, moving until his lips grazed my neck. “I don’t want there to be a ‘too much.’”
I swallowed hard. I had limits. I always would. He’d get tired of me and move on to a woman who could?—
I blinked and pasted on a smile.
“Let me show you how to pick peaches. I hope the fuzz doesn’t bother yo’ tender hands,” I teased.
He let me down slowly, his eyes still stuck on mine. I thought he was going to press the issue, but he backed up and gestured toward one of the trees.
“Show me.”
A few minutes later, we were busy picking, grabbing some for a local food ministry and the farmers’ market, too. Targen was quiet, and I was a nervous wreck, trying to figure out what the silence meant.
“Theory?”
I almost jumped out of my skin when he spoke. “Huh?”
“What’s your favorite memory?”
I stared at him, momentarily caught off guard by the random question. I felt my nose wrinkle.
“What, you mean like childhood?”
He shrugged as he grabbed a couple of almost ripe peaches.
“Sure, if that’s what you think of, milaya .”
I tilted my head to the side, but I didn’t have to think long. My best memories happened right here on this land my grandparents had sweated and bled over. I had spent so many weekends and summers here running around with my cousins, who were more like my siblings, laughing and lamenting and learning and loving.
“It’s hard to pick one in particular, but I can tell you it probably happened here. My parents didn’t live on the homestead at first, but we always lived close by. So, I got into everything with my cousins. You haven’t even seen all of them.”
Remembering made me smile as I brushed a piece of hair off my forehead with the back of my hand. Then, another thought occurred to me.
“Wait! I know I was just talking about my cousins, but I do have a special memory here. My grandparents have a million grandkids, but they always took time to bond with us individually. So, I loved when PawPaw would take me, just me, to the big pond. We’d sit on the little pier, take off our shoes, and put our feet in the water. Then, he would just tell me stories, and I loved it. I think that’s part of the reason I am a writer; I want to be as good of a storyteller as he is.”
Targen nodded as I finished explaining, a small smile curving his mouth and his gray eyes warm.
“Yeah? That’s dope, milaya . You’re blessed,” he said, adding a final peach to one of the buckets.
I basked in the warmth of his words before I looked up at him expectantly.
“Now, you have to tell me one,” I murmured.
“Do I?” he taunted softly,
Pursing my lips, I scowled at him. “Don’t play with me.”
He threw up his free hand as he laughed. “A’ight, killer. Why you so aggressive, lady? I don’t want it with you,” he said.
“Mm-hmm.” My fingertips smoothed across the fuzzy skin of a sun-warmed piece of fruit before I picked it from the tree, “Talk.”
“Damn! Okay.”
Despite his words, he took a minute, his head dropping as he thought.
“I have good memories with some of my cousins, too. Especially Monica and Sasha . I got so much love and respect for those two; they’re my babies. But my favorite memory. Hmm…”
“Yes,” I prompted.
“My mom is a professor of languages and linguistics with a specialty in Russian languages. I remember her teaching me Russian. One of the ways she’d do it was by singing to me. She’d pick me up and dance me around the room while she sang. That shit sticks out to me,” he said, the glimmer of a smile playing around his lips.
“That’s so sweet! Is she Russian?”
He laughed softly. “Joia Jones can trace her ancestry right to Black people from the Westside of Kansas City. It’s crazy, but one of her babysitters was Russian and talked to her a lot in the language. Then, she spoke it with that babysitter’s daughter. My grandparents bought her books and audio stuff, and she just really took to it, I guess.”
I thought about how he said it was his dad who called his mom “ milaya ,” so my nosy ass pushed a little.
“She met your dad as part of her studies?”
All traces of a smile left his face. “Something like that. She went to New York when she was in undergrad for an internship. He heard her speaking Russian in a coffeehouse and was fascinated. He’s from Saint Petersburg. My mom’s beautiful and my sperm donor ate that shit up. “
Surprised by his description, I chose my next words carefully. “Sperm donor? You don’t like your father?”
Targen scoffed. “I barely know the nigga. My mom left New York pregnant. She didn’t tell him because of what she suspected about his lifestyle. Plus, it was just supposed to be a fling.”
“Was she right?” I asked.
“About his lifestyle? Hell, yeah.”
I was quiet for a moment as I surveyed the tree, looking for more prime picks. Then, my gaze returned to him.
“Somehow, he found out about you.”
“Yeah.”
“And he sends people to protect you… because of his lifestyle,” I said, recalling the man at the McKinley’s house.
He angled his face and pointed at his scars. “He’s a little too late for that.”
His tone was blank as if he didn’t care about the damage to his beautiful face, but his eyes blazed.
“Targen—"
“Question number two: are you doing what you imagined you’d be doing when you were younger?” he interrupted.
Okay. So, he doesn’t want to talk about his father.
“So, this is 21 Questions?” I prodded.
“This is as many questions as I want, shorty.”
I rolled my eyes but opened my mouth to answer. “When I was younger, I definitely had different plans. I wanted a career, but I wanted to be more flexible than a lot of the women I know and love. I respect their decisions and admire their dedication to work. I wanted something a little different after marriage, though,” I began, shifting my eyes toward him to gauge his reaction.
As usual, his face was expressionless. “Something different?” he pressed.
“I wanted to teach literature and creative writing, but once I married and had kids, I wanted to transfer to writing on my own schedule. I wanted to focus on taking care of my babies and my husband, and I wanted my husband to focus on taking care of us. I wanted an old-school protector and provider, I guess. I didn’t want to have to be always strong or super independent or make all the decisions. I definitely wanted a soft life. A soft love. I didn’t want the struggle, you know? I wanted my husband to pamper and spoil me, to care for me out loud. That kind of man would have every bit of my love and loyalty.”
All right . I had said enough. I peered up at him, waiting. He was quiet for so long that I felt my face heating. I turned away so he didn’t see my embarrassment.
“I know. It sounds old-fashioned or something, right? I swear I don’t want it one-sided, where he’s doing all the work, putting in all the effort. I wanted to be my husband’s peace, his home. I wanted?—"
I stopped as his arms slid around me. His lips grazed the shell of my ear as he spoke.
“You will be all that, milaya . It doesn’t sound old-fashioned. It sounds just right… for us. I’m gon’ take care of you, Theory. You ain’t never worrying about anything for too long again.”
I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy his embrace. Targen had missed my use of the past tense or disregarded it altogether. He didn’t know that a soft life for me was impossible now. He didn’t know I might not be able to have the babies I wanted so badly. He didn’t know that I might never trust someone enough to be that open, that vulnerable again. He didn’t know a lot of things about me.
But right now, right here in the warmth of this sun-drenched land with his arms cradling me, none of that seemed to matter.