Chapter 23 Montana
montana
. . .
I’d carried her miles through the Paris rain. The second I picked her up? I knew I didn’t have the strength to let her go.
Rain soaked us to the bone. Didn’t need towels. Now, we’d somehow ended up on the floor. Me on my knees. Pride never humbled itself for love. Never drops to its knees to bring itself equal, but she deserved every moment of this praise I offered.
Her thighs, sturdy and thick, wrapped around my waist. As I stripped away the fabric from her skin, it felt less like undressing her and more like unveiling her.
The streetlight glow leaked past the curtains, painting her skin in shades of gold and shadow. If I weren’t on my knees already, seeing her this way would’ve undone me.
“You tryna hide yourself from me, chère?” My voice cracked in my own ears, too raw to hide.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t seem capable yet, and we hadn’t even gotten started.
But she offered a laugh, shaky and nervous.
I kissed her. Kissed her as though my entire life was contained within that kiss.
Her mouth was the beginning and end of my entire existence.
Sliding home during the World Series didn’t compare.
I treasured each taste of her mouth. Kissing her slower.
Slow enough to learn her rhythm, her breath, the way she tilted her chin, leaned in, breasts crushing against my chest for more.
By the time we broke apart, her eyes were hazy and unsure, and I was one heartbeat away from kissing her all over again.
Her fingers trailed my chest. Hesitant and bold. That mix—nerves and desire—undid me.
As she explored me with her hands, I kissed her harder, leaving nothing between us. No secret past. No silly ass fake date contract. Lips, teeth, tongue. I was going to explore her tonight.
Starting with that hair she hid. Thick, golden-brown Sisterlocks framed her face.
The crown she almost lost in hiding. My fingers dragged through them, felt the strength and texture, the way each coil resisted and yielded under my touch.
I pressed my lips to the top of her head, murmuring something for the two of us. Me. And this hair.
There’s something about a woman with this type of hair—woven, intricate, untouched. The sweet after-rain scent. I’d memorize every strand. She just couldn’t escape me.
Damn if I weren’t ready to imagine how much I’d hold her. Then I placed her in the center of the bed. “Ain’t no walls tonight, bébé. Just us.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.
“Before Big Country makes this real for you, you gotta promise me something.”
“Anything,” she murmured, her breath warm against my chest.
With each kiss on her eyelashes, I said, “That you’ll never leave again, coz it would be the worst pain you’ve ever caused me.”
Her legs wrapped around me, drawing me in as her voice, strained with emotion, spoke of her promise to stay. “I won’t go. But I want the man, not the legend.”
My God. She was mine.
I needed this woman. Forever.
Sunlight pressed through the curtains, bright and merciless.
I blinked awake to find Zuri tangled in the sheets, and me tangled around her curves.
Her head rested on my chest, locs damp from drying in the night, fanned across my arm.
An easy smile rode my lips. “Thought I’d had you wrapped around my knuckles last night, you had me wrapped around you,” I told her hair.
Zuri’s eyes fluttered open. She gave a groggy, half-lidded squint. “You still talking to my locs?”
“You still jealous?”
“Nope. I might teach you to re-twist me. All that tugging and pulling. You can tighten them too,” she teased.
“Why stop there, chère?” My voice dropped low, smooth as jazz. “We can have us a whole business—Haircare Temptation LLC.”
Her eyes closed, and she rested her head on my chest. “Oh, you sound so good, Montana. My own audiobook.”
“You want a narration?” I shifted, sliding my fingers through her locs while I spoke. “Chapter One—ahem, Chapter One.”
“Yessss, just like that,” she moaned.
“Check this, I’d have you between my knees, coconut grease in one hand, bad intentions in the other. You’d roll your eyes while I said, This is for your ends, bébé—”
Zuri swatted me, giggling. “Boy, stop playing!”
Feening for her laughter, I continued. “Chapter Two. My fingers would sink in slowly. The roots whisper your story to me. An intimacy most guys didn’t get. Hell, the type of intimacy I hadn’t offered another woman because they’d come too easy. You, though?”
The morning glow lit her face as she listened, but I watched her, my heart pounding, lost in her beauty.
“You sacred. Your mind, your body, that hair. That soft, low hum you make all deep and low in your throat when I’m touching your hair? I’d bottle the sound, bébé. Bottle it with my mouth and taste the rest of you …”
Zuri had this shaky little laugh, like she wasn’t sure if she should fan herself or rebuke me. “Boy, you need therapy. You can’t be out here talking about bottling people’s hums.” Her smile wobbled between this man is crazy and please don’t stop. Then she laughed again.
I was about to show her the truth when she climbed on top of me.
“Oh, Montana! I have an idea!” While straddling me, she attacked me with tickles.
Too mesmerized by the way her hair framed her face and fell over her breasts, I didn’t laugh.
This wasn’t comedy no more. This was the kinda plot twist my body ached for.
“Tsk.” Zuri slapped my chest. “You’re suddenly above laughter?”
“In the bed? Hell yeah. I was just tryna fulfill your” my “haircare fantasy.”
“Hmm. Just for that, Montana. I’ll have you moisturize every strand with some jojoba oil.”
Anytime. I got you. “You ain’t even said it right. Jojoba earl.” I reached up and tugged one of her locs, teasing.
She swatted my chest half-heartedly. “Let’s not discuss whose dialect is normal—I mean—easier to understand.”
“Normal? Oh, so you clowning again?” My fingers caressed beneath her ribcage. She laughed, soft and warm, the room full of us. Nothing else.
“I need a moment,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop from laughing.
My brow rose as she pulled the blankets from our naked bodies. “Take all the time you need,” I replied while she lowered herself, but she went too far.
Stopped at my feet.
“Oh, not bad,” she murmured.
“The hell?”
“Your feet. You don’t have athlete’s foot. You love kissing toes—”
“Your toes. The first toes I’ve ever kissed,” I replied, snatching her back into my arms as she climbed up.
Once she quieted from laughing at my side, my fingertips traced the curve of her breast. Last night’s events electrified me, but I held on to this moment.
Her laughter ended on a sigh. “Well, now that we’ve clarified that you have a head and toe fetish. Breakfast?”
“I got a what?”
“Boy, please.” She smirked. “All those 3X head jokes helped you cope with an unresolved hair fetish.”
I wasn’t admitting to that.
“Breakfast?” she said again, as if to imply she’d one that round. “Room service or …”
I chuckled, trying to hide my strange obsession, and said, “I don’t have no room service money.”
Zuri glanced around dramatically. “Shhh … not too loud. Say something like that to Big Country, his ego will deflate to the size of Texas.”
In an instant, I had her beneath me. “Saying my brother’s name while we lay in bed?” I couldn’t hide my smile. I knew she was joking. Still …
Zuri laughed. Each time she did, I fell harder.
“Sorry, Montana. I’ll remove Texas from my vocab.
Although when pretending to be Southern on my first pass through the Lone Star State, I Googled Texas sayings to blend in.
If a man started flirting, I’d say, ‘All my exes came from Texas, and I’ve learned my lesson.
’ ” Her smile vanished, but the moment still felt as intimate as before.
Was she giving me another piece of herself? Almost as precious as tasting every inch of her? “How many places you been, Zuri?”
She snuggled into my side. “Twelve. Obviously, Texas … if you don’t mind me saying it once more?”
I slowly dragged my hand over her soft hip, the unspoken gesture meant to allow her to speak freely with me. “I’m listening.”
“It was the first place I went after leaving Curtis and Deidre. They have family in Galveston. Probably could’ve stayed there if I hadn’t gotten paranoid. But it’s true the hearts are bigger in Texas and New Orleans.”
Last month, I’d tried to forget that ESPN still had my name crawling across the bottom ticker with words like suspended and meltdown.
Now, I had bigger worries. Zuri had become a multifaceted reason not to think about it.
I had thirty days of fake dates. Most of these days would remain a secret between us.
Forget social media. I had this chance to win her. Because something big was coming.
If she ran, man, my heart couldn’t take that.