7. Alex
Alex
She looks upset. Having thought we had made it through all the low points of the evening, something still pulls at her, causing her lips to frown.
When I got to the restaurant just in time to see her leaving, I thought if I turned this around, we would be okay.
I did, and yet we hit another roadblock when April showed up, insisting I pay attention to her instead.
With all of that behind us, I can’t see the reason for her facial expression now.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, needing her to tell me.
She starts to back away from the truck window, leaving room for others to walk up and order.
I follow her, the whole time watching to see if her face will reveal anything more about the problem.
Her lashes sweep across her skin as she closes her eyes.
With a heavy sigh, she looks back at me and tries to smile.
“Nothing, I just got sidetracked by a thought. I’m good.”
My vanity wonders if the thought is about me before I remember that she probably has bigger issues in her life than some man who asked her out. All I can do is hope to distract her from whatever plagues her mind.
Once in the car with our order, I turn to her and give the best smile in my arsenal. Determined to charm her into agreeing to see me again.
“Okay, Chanice, try this.” I lift the taco to her mouth, and she hesitantly takes a bite. As soon as the taste hits her tongue, she closes her eyes and moans a little. The image is enough to have me readjusting in my seat.
“Oh my god.”
My thoughts exactly, but for different reasons.
“Amazing, right?” I say, taking a bite of my own. I hand her the taco so she can feed the rest to herself, and we indulge in silence, our mouths too busy to talk. When we get to the end of the first dish, we lock eyes, and a smile passes between us.
“Okay, so maybe you do like to eat,” she says, wiping a napkin across the corners of her mouth.
“I told you.” I lean back and pass her the samosas so she can have a taste.
Watching her experience things for the first time is intoxicating.
She is no good at hiding how she feels, so that joy and excitement are written all over her face every time she takes a bite.
Her shoulders slump as she throws her head back in pure submission to the experience.
Her obvious love for the food is clear in the crinkle around her eyes when she looks back at me.
“I didn’t take you for the food truck type.” She hands me the box.
“You don’t know me,” I say, not at all offended.
“You’re right about that. I don’t.” She looks me up and down, like she is assessing me. Trying to make a judgment.
It is clear she has an idea of who I am in her mind, based on the little she knows. She probably thinks I am just a posh playboy.
“Do you want to?” I ask, holding back the nerves from my voice.
For some reason, I want her to know that I am more than that.
I want to show her the sides of me that only two people see.
That’s why I told her I painted. I wanted to find out if she would accept a part of me that wasn’t on brand with how I appear to society.
Maybe this is all some backlash response to having to play the role of a dutiful son, but I want this woman to see that I am more than that.
She reacted like she did, and she had given me a piece of herself in return. She is so unfiltered, free, and open. Different from most people I experience.
She is the fresh air that I need after a lifetime of breathing in filtered oxygen. There is only so much fakeness you can take before you crave something real. Someone real. Carter and Olivia have been like windows, but maybe I need a door.
“You want honesty?” she asks, posing the same question I asked her that first night.
“Always.” I respond the same way that she did.
“I’m kind of just looking for sex.”
My mouth falls open. I look to the ceiling like it holds the answers to the questions running through my mind.
Then laughter bursts free from my lips at the blatant confession.
She wants to use me for sex? Me? The guy who has, on more than one occasion, slid into someone’s DM’s for this type of treatment?
Now, when I am actually trying to find someone worth dating, she doesn’t want the same.
I turn back to her, and she looks at me like she is concerned. Her full mouth squishes into an O shape as her eyes roam over me, likely searching for sanity. I hold up a finger to let her know I do intend on speaking, but just need a minute. Sitting back, I think about the possibilities.
I could cut my losses, sleep with her, and go on to date Elizabeth as expected.
Act like this woman of depth and openness never came into my life.
Was never almost-mine. But I don’t want to do that.
Part of me sees this as a challenge, while the rest of me is disappointed enough that I feel like I can’t give up without a fight.
I come to a conclusion as I lean into her.
“One time?” I ask, lips quirked up into a smirk.
“What?”
“Are you looking to have sex with me one time, or do you plan on giving me the time to really explore you?” I speak the last two words right against her ear.
She smells delicious. Nutty, but sweet with a hint of vanilla. I try to stay focused, as my mind imagines seeing if she tastes as good. I sit back out of her space, giving her the room to contemplate the question.
Her fingers roam over her dress while she tilts her head to the side. Really thinking it through, she lets the silence play out for a full minute.
“Would you do that? I feel like you have way better options.”
I don’t, really. Not when so many of them are with people who just want me for what I can give them.
My name means more to most women than the man who is called by it.
I mean, I could probably go out into the world and find another woman like Chanice, but I have this weird feeling in my gut that not many exist.
“Yes,” I say, because what do I have to lose? I get sex out of it, and possibly more conversations with this person who constantly surprises me. In the end, if it’s just that, I will know that I tried.
“Okay then. Fuck buddies it is.”
I tell the driver to head back to my place, and we eat the rest of the food on the way there. When we pull onto my street, she turns and looks out the window.
“Where are we?” she asks, taking in the buildings.
“Kensington. If you are uncomfortable here, we can go to your place instead.”
Her hands fly up as she waves them back and forth in urgency.
“No, no, it’s okay.” I can’t help but wonder what she is hiding back at her home as we pull to a stop outside my building.
I use my access card to get in and guide her to the elevator.
Her eyes widen a little when she sees me push the top floor, realizing I have the penthouse.
I need to slide my access key in again to gain access to the floor.
She is about to find out how rich I actually am when she sees the place.
The square footage alone will hint at how expensive it is to rent, let alone own this place.
“Sorry for the mess,” I pre-warn her as the elevator doors open into the entryway.
The motion sensor lights come on as the house recognizes that I am home. When we step inside, she looks all around, taking it in. I watch her, and the way her eyes light up with each feature she looks at. It makes me want to show her the world and soak in her admiration.
She drops her purse on my island and looks at the stairs that go both up and down.
“I have a third-floor terrace,” I say, answering the question on her mind. “Do you want to see it?” We should probably go straight to the bedroom, but part of me wants to give her a tour.
She shakes her head, saying no.
“This way, then.” I lead her past my closed studio, bringing her to the stairs.
She is quietly taking in the artwork on the walls as we head down into the second living space. I deliberately move at a slower speed, curious to see if she has thoughts. As I hoped, she lingers at the piece visible when you hit the landing.
“This is…” She stops, at a loss for words.
I look at the painting of the Black woman, with flowers blossoming from the upper half of her face.
Gold paint drips from the top of the canvas, distorting the image with lines of various sizes.
In the background is pure destruction, as red and black buildings are in states of disrepair.
The woman’s lips are smiling, creating an overwhelming sensation of hope.
“This is powerful,” she says, finishing the thought.
I agree. When I saw it at a show in Lagos, I had to have it.
She finally tears her eyes away from it and looks to me with a softer smile on her face.
Seeing this painting put her into a bit of ease.
I return the gesture before I take her hand and lead her the rest of the way.
We pass my office, two guestrooms, and the third washroom to get to my door.
When I open it, I flick on the lights that outline a pretty empty space.
“Your whole house is covered in art, and in here the walls are empty?” She isn’t saying it in a judgmental way, but more like a question she is looking to have answered.
“I can’t decide.” So all I have is a king-sized bed and two end tables. What I wake up to every day has to be the most intuitive piece I can find. It has to speak to me every time I look at it. I have yet to find that. I shrug my shoulder, trying to make the choice seem nonchalant.
“It’s a part of you, isn’t it? It’s not just something you do.”
I turn to walk into the room, a little taken aback by her observation. I don’t know how to answer that. Instead, I just beckon her toward me with an outstretched hand.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m nervous.” She bites her lower lip. Her eyes are filled with uncertainty as she takes hold.
“We only have to do what you want,” I promise, making the boundaries clear.
“It’s been some years, and I might be rusty.” She laughs as she talks, like that is the craziest thing ever.
Granted, it’s shocking. To think that someone hasn’t touched her, tasted her, or made her come in that long seems like an injustice. I feel honored that she is allowing me the opportunity to be her first in a long time.
“How about we start slow?” I offer, pulling her in closer to me.
She nods her head, but her face is still pinched.
That won’t do. If I’m going to give her the best sex of her life, sex good enough to make her reconsider this dating thing, then she needs to be in the mood.
I tilt her chin up and push her hair behind her ear, clearing up her face.
Her eyes are wide as she looks at me with a slightly parted mouth.
I rub my thumb over her plump bottom lip, eliciting an inhale.
Leaning forward, I trail my lips across the corner of her jaw, grazing it with my tongue.
Her skin is soft and sweet, perfumed by the lotion she put on. I want to taste all of her, from her pussy to her mouth. I kiss up until I reach her ear, and then suck on it, rolling it around.
Under my touch, I can feel her melt a little, her shoulders lowering as her arms wrap around my waist. I pull back and look at her to see if she is a little more relaxed. Her eyes are closed, mouth a little wider, mid-moan. Happy, I resume, ready to make her toes curl.
With my hand on the back of her neck, I move her head back until her throat is exposed to me.
Peppering kisses down the line of it, I let my lips linger at the base.
This time, she lets the moan out as she throws her head to the side.
I suck on that spot long enough that I know it will leave a mark.
The possessive man in me is satisfied by this.
The noises she makes urge me to leave even more.
Pulling me closer, she presses her heavy chest into my body as one of her hands comes up to cup my face. I look to see that her eyes are open and she is looking at me.
“Kiss me,” she says, her voice soft. Even still, the command is obvious in her words and body when she leans into me.
Since we met, in one way or another, I have been thinking about this moment. Wondering what it would feel like to touch a mouth so full and different from anything that I have ever known. Here is my chance, and excitement has my dick pressing against the seam of my pants.
I lower my mouth to hers and press firmly in.
The plushness of her lips surrounds me, overtaking mine.
We move in an easy rhythm against each other as we familiarize ourselves.
The heat builds with every passing second, as the chemistry between us becomes obvious.
I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, nibbling it a little.
I feel her shudder against me as I let it go and press back in.
I want to rip her clothes off and push into her with the ferocity of my desire.
Tonight isn’t about me, though, and my wants come last.
I pull back and trail one last kiss against each side of her mouth, then I lead her to the bed.
Once she is seated, I take my time unbuttoning my shirt.
She doesn’t ask any questions, just watches, her eyes hungrily taking me in.
I drop it to the floor and then step up closer to her until I am standing with my clothed boner right near her mouth.
She looks down and licks her lips before meeting my gaze.
The look in her eyes makes me want to do every dirty thing to her.
Starting with fucking her mouth from this position.
Instead, I take her hand and guide it down my chest and abs, letting her feel.
I bet no one has really explored her. I don’t know if she has had the time to really learn a person’s body.
Before this is said and done, she will know mine, and I will know hers in every intimate way. Starting now.
She trails her fingers gingerly up and down, even after I let go.
Using both hands, she feels from my collarbone to the waist of my pants.
The hard plains of my muscled skin are so opposite to her soft fluffiness; she seems to relish it.
When she has had her fill, I step to the side and lie down next to her on the bed.
“Sit on my face,” I order.
“What?” she stutters.
The pressure released from the bed lets me know she stood up.
“You are going to ride my face.” This time, I do look to see her worry and excitement battling with each other.