Chapter Six
A Novel Idea
By the time Between the Lines hosted its summer poetry night, LaKeith and I had been dating for six weeks.
Six weeks was long enough for me to learn that he snored lightly after exhausting workdays, kept emergency snacks in his truck, and watched baking competitions with the intensity of playoff basketball.
It was also long enough for desire to become a permanent third person in our relationship.
We had kissed in my office, in his truck, outside my apartment, and once in the bookstore stockroom until Norelle yelled that customers were waiting to buy books.
We had stopped before going further every time.
Partly because I wanted to be certain.
Partly because anticipation had become its own addictive form of torture.
The poetry event ended near midnight.
LaKeith helped stack chairs while I loaded mugs into the dishwasher.
He carried the final box into the stockroom and returned to find me leaning against the café counter.
“You tired?” he asked.
“A little.”
“I can follow you home.”
I looked at him.
LaKeith’s dark T-shirt clung to his chest. His sleeves were pushed up, and a faint line of sweat shined along his throat from moving furniture.
“I’m going to your place,” I said.
He went still.
I adjusted the strap of my dress. “Unless that invitation expired.”
“It did not.”
“You look surprised.”
“I’m trying to behave.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It is.”
His loft occupied the second floor of a restored warehouse near the arts district.
Exposed brick walls, dark wood floors, and oversized windows gave the space a masculine warmth. Framed photographs of neighborhood buildings covered one wall.
A worn brown recliner sat beside a newer leather sofa.
I pointed toward it. “That chair doesn’t match anything.”
“It belonged to my grandfather.”
“It matches perfectly.”
LaKeith looked at me.
The playful energy between us shifted.
He walked closer and touched his fingers beneath my chin.
“You sure?” he asked.
I appreciated the question.
I appreciated the man asking it even more.
“Yes.”
LaKeith kissed me slowly.
I wrapped my arms around his neck as his hands settled at my waist.
Every touch felt deliberate, as though he had spent weeks learning where I carried tension and how to make it disappear.
He unfastened my dress and eased it from my shoulders.
For one nervous second, I crossed my arms over my middle.
Remell had loved my confidence publicly and criticized my body privately. He complimented my curves in photographs, then suggested diets when no one else could hear. He used affection like a reward and withdrawal like punishment.
By the time our relationship ended, I had rebuilt my self-esteem so many times the foundation felt tired.
LaKeith stepped back and looked at me.
Desire darkened his eyes.
“You’re staring,” I whispered.
“I am.”
“Say something.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You said that earlier.”
“I wasn’t finished looking.”
His sincerity loosened something inside me.
LaKeith touched my wrists and gently lowered my arms.
“Let me see you,” he murmured.
His palms traveled over my waist, moving slowly across the soft curve of my stomach.
I held my breath.
LaKeith lowered his head and kissed the place I had tried to hide.
The tenderness of it nearly broke me.
He kissed my stomach again, then let his mouth travel along my hip.
His hands held my fullness without hesitation. He did not avoid the parts Remell had treated like flaws. He touched them with reverence, as though my body had been created to fill his palms.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” LaKeith said against my skin.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked down at him.
“I’m learning.”
He stood and kissed me.
The kiss deepened as I pulled his shirt over his head.
His chest was broad and solid, marked by a few scars and a tattoo over his left shoulder.
I traced the ink with my fingers. “What does it mean?”
“My grandfather’s initials.”
I pressed my lips to the tattoo.
LaKeith exhaled sharply.
“That sensitive?” I teased.
“Keep investigating.”
I did.
We moved toward the bedroom through a trail of clothing and laughter. LaKeith bumped into a side table while removing one shoe, and I laughed so hard I had to lean against the wall.
“This is supposed to be romantic,” he complained.
“It was until you started fighting your loafer.”
“The shoe is narrow.”
“Blame the shoe.”
“I’m trying to impress you.”
“You could have worn work boots.”
“You like the boots?”
“Very much.”
“I’ll put them on.”
“Absolutely do not.”
By the time he laid me across his bed, my nerves had softened into want.
His kisses became deeper. His palms moved along my thighs, my waist, and the curve of my breasts.
He touched me with patience, watching my face and listening to every change in my breathing.
I whispered his name.
LaKeith lifted his head. “Tell me what you need.”
“You.”
Something hot flashed through his eyes.
When our bodies finally joined, the slow fullness of him made me gasp.
LaKeith stopped moving.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” I tightened my arms around him. “Please.”
He moved carefully at first, giving my body time to welcome him.
The tenderness affected me as strongly as the pleasure.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.
Each deep, measured stroke sent heat through my body. His mouth covered mine, catching the sounds I could no longer contain.
LaKeith’s hands roamed over me as though he wanted to learn every curve by touch.
He gripped my hips.
He kissed my breasts.
He pressed his mouth to the softest parts of me until years of old criticism felt distant and foolish.
There was no embarrassment in his desire.
He wanted me openly.
Fully.
The knowledge made my body relax beneath his.
When the pressure became too intense, I clutched his shoulders.
“LaKeith.”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
Pleasure broke through me, leaving me trembling beneath him.
He held me through every wave, whispering my name until his own control gave way.
Afterward, he rested beside me with one arm beneath my head.
I traced circles across his chest.
“That was…” I began.
LaKeith looked down at me. “Attentive?”
“The service was thorough.”
“Only thorough?”
“The amenities were impressive.”
He laughed and kissed my forehead.
A few minutes later, I sat up.
“Where are my underwear?”
LaKeith glanced toward the doorway.
My underwear hung from the corner of a framed photograph.
“How did those get there?” I asked.
“You threw them.”
“I did no such thing.”
“I have witnesses.”
“Who?”
“My grandfather’s chair.”
I covered my face, laughing.
LaKeith pulled my hands away and kissed me.
I stayed the night.
In the morning, he cooked French toast while wearing gray sweatpants and no shirt.
I sat at the kitchen island trying to determine whether I had entered a healthy relationship or a targeted temptation campaign.
“You’re staring,” LaKeith said as he flipped a slice of bread.
“I’m observing.”
“You like what you see?”
“I’m considering leaving a review.”
“How many stars?”
“The location was attractive.”
“Only the location?”
“The host was pleasant.”
LaKeith placed a plate in front of me. “Eat your breakfast.”
I smiled down at the French toast.
For the first time in years, happiness felt possible without requiring me to brace for impact.