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I want to come again when I feel it building in my lower belly, the renewed heat striking within the deepest part of my body. His hands slide under my hips and over my ass lifting me from the countertop. I grab onto him by wrapping my arms around his neck, losing my hands in his hair. I kiss his cheeks, his lips, his jaw, anywhere my mouth can touch. Kingston lifts me with his strong, tattooed arms in a way that has barely an inch leaving me then hitting me again.
“I wanna come again.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice, Lana, I’ll make you feel good.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I want you on the bed.” He finds the stairs and with each step he moves inside me, causing twitches to happen in all the right places of my body. Our eyes never waver off one another.
“Get me there.” He laughs and does just that. I peer at him, enjoying the beautiful, powerful man in front of me. He’s tall at 6’0 with muscles so tight and taut, that I’m surprised he can put his arms down. He has an eight-pack gracing his beautiful stomach and his brown hair is longer on top and buzzed on the side, with green eyes that could hypnotize even the nonbelievers. I love the way he looks at me, I’m blessed daily to experience his unadulterated lust.
I ride out many orgasms, thinking to myself with each one that being pregnant feels so damn good.
Kingston falls asleep after our morning romp and I remember the breakfast I still need to cook for him and I. We leave tomorrow and while I make pancakes and his favorite green shake, I pray that we can spend the rest of this trip free from fighting. Telling him I’m pregnant will have to wait until we’re home.
“Why the fuck can’t you just let me in, Lana?” I yell, banging my fist on the counter with rage. Two hours ago we made love on the beach, rip roaring, passionate love and I thought I broke through her barriers, thought that I finally got deep inside her heart and chipped away the remaining wall. But, pity me the fool, when I asked her to be my girlfriend after, she said no without a twitch or blink of her long lashes. A bold, loud, deafening no.
“Because Kingston, we can’t. I can’t trust you.” As if she slapped me, I close my eyes for a minute and grind my teeth—replaying that sentence, almost sure she didn’t say it.
“You can’t what?” My jaw ticks, my eyes rolling back open and zoning in on her face. I’m sure I look murderous, but why in the world would she say that shit? I have never once touched another woman since we’ve been fucking. Never once have I lied to her or hidden how I felt—never once did I or will I hit her.
“I can’t trust you...”
“I heard you, Lana, that shit was fucking rhetorical,” I cut her off, ripping my hands through my longer hair, turning to face the windows in the kitchen that look out upon the water line. It’s dark so I can only see the reflection of the moon and the bright sandy beach.
“You don’t have to be such a prick.”
Turning on my heels I march to her. How dare she fucking call me that. “Seriously Lana, I’m the prick? I’m the prick. Yeah okay, whatever!” I take the glass of water from the counter and extend my arm, throwing it against the wall behind her head. The glass slithers off into tiny little pieces and her body goes rigid, shivering when the sound of the glass breaks.
“That right there, that is why I’m scared and can’t trust you. You have anger problems too, Kingston, and I won’t be the victim again.” I have never hit her, I know that there’s something more she isn’t telling me. She won’t let me in fully because some kind of fear is holding her back—and it isn’t me.
“And this right here, Lana.” I move my hand between us. “You fucking comparing me to that guy is like a knife in my chest every fucking time. Do you enjoy watching me hurt? Do you enjoy letting me make love to you and fall in love with you more each time, just to rip my heart out from my chest? You like being a fucking tease and using me like you use all the other guys you’ve dated before me?” I’m inches from her, her body heat radiating off in waves as much as mine.
“Fuck you, you asshole! I hate you!” The power of those words, combined with her turning and running up the stairs from me, seers me like a burn and as much as I realize my mistakes, I’m still pissed. I’m not him and here she stood telling me she hates me. Those words hurting me deeper than any words ever said before in our other fights. How can she say that to me? How could I say what I did to her?
My dream wakes me. Last night sucked the life out of me, then this morning Lana breathed life
right back into me. We fought then made up, like we do every single day. I shouldn’t do that, we shouldn’t do that, but how can I not continue to fight for her? How can I turn her down when she stands in front of me sorry and weak, beautiful and angelic, begging me to forgive her and show her with our bodies how much I need her?
Lana needs me—she needs me more than anything and even though she pushes me away, I know that deep down in her heart, if we ended this and I walked away, I wouldn’t be the only one who would be dead inside.
All of my muscles ache but my cock. I fucked my woman good this morning after my workout, making me sore everywhere. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I did. Last night I slept on the couch, waking up every hour, on the hour, more pissed off then the time before over our fight.
I fucking hate that she can’t let go of the past, but at the same time I get it. I witnessed firsthand the things he did to her. I saw the bruises, the fear living in her eyes every day. If I had my way, I would have killed Joel that night—ended his life.
The cops showed up after I did, my call to them before I got to her place not answered fast enough. If I would have kept at it, he would have been lifeless within a few more seconds. But it wasn’t just the cops who stopped me. It was my Queen. I looked over at her unconscious body and clung to her, trying to wake her up, to do anything to get her to come back to me. My life nearly ended in that apartment when I felt her pulse slowing down under my fingers. Lana is my lifeline, if she stops breathing I will cease to exist.
Regardless, her saying she doesn’t trust me still hurt, her saying she hated me did nothing but slice me open. But I’m weak where Lana is concerned. I would do anything for her, because that is the crazy in me, that I beg she will fix.
Getting out of bed I rub my eyes and comb my hands through my hair, shaking off the rest of those nasty fucking flashbacks. The reminder of those feelings has me desperate to find Lana. Standing from the bed—naked—I head to the bathroom, ready to find my brunette beauty and give her another round of sweet fucking love making.
I stop in front of the mirror, first looking at my arms, noticing the veins bulging from my biceps and triceps. Pursing my lips in a smug smile, I flex. Turning around I glance at my huge ass, Lana’s scratch marks still present from all our fucking. She loves my fucking bubble butt. What better reason to have a big ass than to give my girl something to scratch and use to push me deeper inside her tight pussy?
I pad to the tub and start up the water. I watch it fill the bath giving me a moment to think about last night and the things that were said in our fight, the way she said she hated me. Talk about a fucking riptide of anger, hurt, and fucking pain. Hearing those nasty words come out of my woman’s mouth plunged the switchblade deeper. The thought of having Lana hate me devastates me more than the thought of never having her at all.
Lana doesn’t want me now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. When you love someone the way I love Lana, you would wait for her, fight for her, move to the ends of the earth just to have her.
Thankfully my fucking run this morning cleared my head and kept me from diving off the deep end. I replayed the way her voice sounded when she said hate and each time my feet pounded the sand harder, my legs sped up faster. Then like a beacon of hope, I came home and she erased it all with a simple I’m sorry and the best damn make-up sex.
