Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“I’m ready, Andre. I want you to be my first.”
Everything in me went quiet.
Imani stood in the middle of my little off-campus bedroom with her sweater still on and her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She was trying to look certain enough that I wouldn’t notice the nerves.
I noticed them anyway.
We had been together long enough for me to know she wanted me. We’d kissed until both of us were frustrated, touched enough for me to know some of the sounds she made when she got turned on, and talked more than once about the fact that she was still a virgin. I knew what she meant.
I just needed to know she did too.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t doing this because you think I’m tired of waiting?”
“No.”
“Because you think I’m going somewhere if you don’t?”
Her expression changed immediately. “No.”
“Aight.” I moved closer and touched her cheek. “Then why?”
She looked down for a second before bringing those big brown eyes back to mine.
“Because I love you, and I want my first time to be with you.”
That shut up every slick thing I might have said.
Football had given me attention before I was old enough to understand what attention could take from a man if he started confusing it with affection.
Girls liked athletes. Some liked the idea of being with one even more.
I wasn’t innocent, and I wasn’t about to stand there and pretend I had been waiting for Imani because I didn’t know what to do with a woman’s body.
I knew.
But Imani wasn’t some girl I wanted to add to a list I didn’t even care enough to keep.
She was Imani.
Mine in the way a twenty-one-year-old man thought he understood forever.
She argued with me, prayed for me, studied beside me, fussed when I didn’t ice a sore muscle fast enough, and looked at me like she saw more than shoulder pads and a forty time.
She had given me parts of herself slowly, carefully, because trust mattered to her.
Now she was standing in my room, asking me to be the man she trusted.
Even at twenty-one, I understood enough to know what she was placing in my hands.
“I love you too.”
“I know.”
I smiled. “Cocky.”
“You like it.”
“I do.”
Some of the nerves left her face when she smiled, so I kissed her again.
We had been dancing in the living room before that, some playlist I’d spent entirely too much time putting together playing low through the apartment.
I had cleaned before she came over too. Actually cleaned.
Shoes put away, empty bottles gone, bathroom wiped down twice because Malcolm used it and I did not trust that nigga’s standards.
Imani had a way of making me want my shit together even when she wasn’t asking me to do anything.
We made it halfway down the hall before my hip caught the little table outside my room.
She laughed into my mouth. “Smooth.”
“Be quiet.”
“You should know where your own furniture is.”
“You distracting me.”
“That sounds personal.”
“It is.”
I caught her around the waist and lifted her, making her laugh turn into a gasp as her legs wrapped around me.
“Dre!”
“What?”
“You’re going to drop me.”
“Never.”
The word came out before I thought about it.
Something moved through her expression. Small, but I caught it before I carried her the rest of the way into my room.
Once I put her down, the joking eased. She touched the hem of her sweater, then stopped, and I could almost see her thinking too far ahead.
I took both of her hands. “You still want this?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t gotta do it because we made it back here.”
“I know.” Her gaze stayed on mine. “I want you, Dre. I’m nervous, but I want you.”
I kissed her knuckles. “Then I got you.”
That was all she needed from me, so I slowed everything down.
I didn’t take her clothes off like I was rushing toward the part that made me feel good.
I took my time because I wanted the night to belong to her too.
Her sweater first, lifted carefully over her head before I kissed her mouth again.
Then the side of her neck. Then the soft place behind her ear that made her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“You smell good,” she whispered.
“So do you.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
She smiled against my mouth, and I felt a little more of her nerves loosen.
I unbuttoned her jeans slowly, watching her face the whole time.
Her body was telling me things her mouth might not know how to say yet.
The way her breath caught when my fingers brushed her stomach.
The way her lashes dipped when I slid the denim down her hips.
The way she shifted her weight, then stopped herself like she didn’t know whether she was supposed to help me or let me take care of it.
“You can breathe, baby.”
“I am breathing.”
“Barely.”
She rolled her eyes, but she took a deeper breath.
I smiled and kissed the center of her stomach. “That’s better.”
“Bossy.”
“Tonight? Yeah.”
She studied me for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”
I liked that more than I expected.
Imani had never needed anybody to think for her. Half our conversations involved her explaining why she knew better than whoever had irritated her that day. But every now and then, with me, she liked putting something down and letting me lead for a minute.
That night was the first time I understood how much trust lived inside that.
I got her jeans off and helped her step out of them. She stood in front of me wearing a bra I was almost positive she had bought for this exact moment and panties that were already wet enough for the lace to cling to her.
My mouth went dry.
“Damn, Mani.”
Her thighs moved together. “What?”
I touched her through the lace, light at first, just enough to feel what my eyes had already seen.
“You wet already?”
“Dre.”
I smiled because she wanted to be grown enough to have sex with me and was still shy enough to get embarrassed when I noticed how turned on she was.
“That’s a good thing.”
“It is?”
“Hell yeah.”
She laughed softly, but the laugh broke when I pressed my fingers a little firmer against her.
Her knees softened.
“Baby.”
Her eyes closed.
I kissed her and kept my hand there, rubbing her through the thin lace until she stopped trying to hide what felt good. She rocked into my hand once, then caught herself.
“Don’t stop doing that,” I said against her mouth.
Her eyes opened. “Doing what?”
“Letting me know.”
Pleasure moved across her face.
I wanted her body awake before I even thought about getting inside her. Wanted her wet and open. Wanted the first thing she remembered to be pleasure, not pain. Wanted her to understand right there, before anything else happened, that she didn’t have to lie still or quiet herself down for me.
I moved her back until her legs touched the bed.
“Sit.”
She did.
I knelt in front of her and slid my hands up her calves, over her knees, to the inside of her thighs. She watched me like she trusted me and still needed to see what I was going to do with all that trust.
I kissed one knee.
Then the other.
Her fingers twisted in the comforter.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
I moved higher, kissing her thigh until her breathing changed. The lace between her legs was soaked now, and when I pressed my mouth over it, her whole body jerked.
“Oh.”
I looked up. “Too much?”
“No.”
“Then open for me.”
Her thighs parted slowly.
I kissed her through the panties again, and this time she moaned.
Soft. Surprised. Pretty enough to make my dick harden so fast I had to remind myself this wasn’t about rushing.
I dragged the lace to one side and touched her with my fingers first, parting her carefully, learning how swollen she was, how slick, how much she needed and still didn’t know how to ask for.
Her clit was plump beneath my thumb, sensitive enough that the first slow circle made her grab my shoulder.
“Dre.”
I kissed her inner thigh. “I got you.”
Her body trembled under my hands, so I kept my touch patient.
Slow circles. Light pressure, then more when her hips asked for it.
I watched her stomach pull in, watched her nipples tighten beneath her bra, watched her mouth part like she wanted to say something but didn’t have enough breath to find the words.
I reached behind her and unclasped the bra.
She looked down as it loosened. “You’ve done that before.”
“Don’t start asking questions you know the answer to.”
Her laugh shook as I slid the straps down her arms.
Then I saw all of her.
Soft brown skin. Full, pretty breasts. Nipples tight from nerves and wanting. The rise and fall of her chest. The little line between her brows because even turned on, Imani was still thinking.
I leaned up and kissed her mouth. “You beautiful.”
Her eyes softened.
Then my mouth went to her breast.
The sound she made almost ended me.
I took my time there too, sucking one nipple until it was hard and wet from my mouth, then giving the other the same attention while my fingers kept moving between her legs.
Her hips lifted against my hand. Her breath broke into little pieces.
She said my name like she was asking a question and answering it at the same time.
When I slid one finger inside her, her thighs tightened around my wrist.
I stopped immediately.
“Too much?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t shake your head at me. Tell me.”
Her eyes opened, glassy and dark. “It feels good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
I pushed in slowly, not deep enough to hurt, just enough to let her body learn the stretch. She was tight and wet, her pussy gripping my finger like she didn’t want to let it go.
I groaned against her breast.
“You feel that?”
Her voice came small. “Yes.”
“That’s your body getting ready for me.”
Her eyes fluttered.
I felt the reaction in her pussy. That taught me something too.
Words worked on Imani when they were true. Truth spoken low enough for her body to understand it before pride could argue.
I added my mouth between her thighs after that.
She grabbed the back of my head and said my name loud enough to make me smile against her.
“Want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Aight, then.”
I took my time.