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Then came the depressing realization: with the number of men that actually came to church, her attempt to find a mate within those walls would be slim to none, with even slimmer chances for that six-figured mate. Niyah accepted the fact that she would be alone for a while. Not a pleasant thought, but she had made a choice and planned to stick with it.
Until tonight.
Out of pure anger and frustration, Mario had yelled out, “Well, if you won’t talk to me or let me make love to you…then just stick your honey pot out the front door so I can taste you. At least feed me something, damn it!”
Then Shari’s words kicked in on her phone line: “If it’ll soothe your damn conscience, don’t look at it as oral sex, just consider it baptism—by tongue.”
Niyah started to protest, but Shari didn’t give her a chance. “Quit playing, girl, and give that man some lovin’! From what you’ve told me, he’s been good to you. He’s also been out there trying to win your ass back and you’ve been playing hard to get—and looking like damn-it-to-hell the entire time. Now get on with it. Give him some pussy and give us all a break! ’Cause if you don’t, I’m gonna toss him some of mine so he doesn’t go to waste.”
Niyah didn’t need any more encouragement. Hell, she’d been thinking some of the very same things! She didn’t bother to clear the mess off the floor. Instead she hurried to freshen up and slipped into one of the nightgowns Mario loved. The black lace always made his eyes light up.
She scrambled down the stairs two at a time like a kid at Christmas, hoping she wasn’t too late. He never stayed a minute longer than ten. She believed he timed his nightly visits to be there just before her normal bedtime. Anticipation welled up inside her unlike anything she could remember as she took a long, slow breath before opening the door.
Mario stood in his usual place next to the front porch looking up at her bedroom window. All six feet of his rugged, golden self looked so damn good. His sexy lips, keen features, small goatee, and dark curly hair made him look even more handsome. She felt the moisture pool between her thighs. I’ll be damned, I’m actually gonna do the damn thing! Her heart did a flip as she found she could actually breathe again.
His dark brown eyes, always his most dangerous feature, looked tired and sad. He’d apparently experienced a few restless nights, too. Mario’s jaw went slack, then snapped shut. His moist lips parted slightly, and his eyes widened as he turned and gazed at her standing in the entrance.
Scanning her face first, those intense dark brown eyes traveled over her body as though committing every inch to memory. He slowly licked his lips, then sprang into action, embracing her warmly before lifting her up, then placing her gently on the cool floor.
Smoothing the silky folds of her nightgown out of his way, his tongue trailed the soft length of her thighs to the dark nestle of curls that signaled the center of her universe. Every curve, every stretch of skin, every fold of flesh, tingled at the touch of his hands, first with a loss of sensation, then an awakening that filtered through her body like a slow trickling stream.
A sudden movement, and seconds later he buried his head into the quivering flesh—providing the much-anticipated return to normal pleasures, a return to sanity. Cupping her buttocks in his warm, massive hands, he snaked his tongue out, flicking across her pearl in quick, short bursts, then a slower steady rhythm.
An almost feral growl escaped her lips. Three months without sex of any kind—borrowed, bought, or stolen—was hell for any woman who was used to getting a side order of good nookie on a nightly basis.
Gripping his head, she thrust upward, moving herself across his tongue as he encircled the lips, shaking his head from side to side and leaving a trail of fire with every movement. She arched, lifting the rest of her body from the ground. His hand reached out, steadying her, holding her. Th
e orgasm hit hard, building from the base of her womb, shooting down to her legs and numbing them, preparing them for the next burst of pleasure. The moisture trickled at first, then rushed out to greet his tongue with a hearty, Where the hell have you been?
Mario stayed down there so long she had to beg him to stop. Her pearl was singing and the kitty cat was hoarse!
After making her reach orgasm a couple of times, he lifted his head. “I want you.” Warm hands stroked her buttocks, then a single finger branched out to touch her pearl. “I want this.”
She opened to him, allowing his body to fill the space that rightfully belonged to him. A sudden shadow that appeared on her driveway reminded her that they were on the front porch. Thank God it was enclosed or the world would have received an education that night! Niyah was certain the neighbors would take bets on that.
“Let’s take this inside.”
Picking her up, he carried her toward the door. They didn’t make it past the spot just inside the doorway, barely allowing the door to close.
The sound of material ripping echoed through the foyer. Seconds later, the hard length of him pressed at the center of her thighs, demanding entrance.
She opened to him, trembling with anticipation, as he thrust into her moist heat, her flesh gripping him like a long-lost friend. His hands splayed across her hips, guiding every move as he kept them joined, working in a slow, steady rhythm. The hands trailed along her flesh, holding her as though he had found pure gold, thrusting into her heat with long, measured strokes. Their lips joined in a frantic rush of pleasure as his tongue, laced with her nectar, explored the soft confines of her moist mouth. His lips were softer than she remembered. He tore them away, teased them down her neck to her chest, and lingered lovingly on her breasts, tasting them, teasing them as though her moans were his only source of life and nourishment.
His fingers gripped and held on to her for dear life as he took her to the edge of reason, then tipped her into a pleasure-filled oblivion.
Niyah thanked God, Yahweh, Jesus, Yashua, Allah, Buddha, Confucius—covering all the bases—for any and every number of reasons, and maybe even ventured as far as speaking in tongues for a few minutes. She damn near blacked out, but her body and mind held on—unwilling to miss a second of his touch, a second of his feel, a second of release only this particular dance could provide.
Her fingers laced in his dark, curly hair, then trailed down his back, resting on the base of his spine. A slow descent down the smooth curve of his tight ass only incited her more.
She moaned as her thighs lifted, wrapping around him tightly, shaking with every thrust, following as his rhythm increased. The tempo became driving, almost animalistic—branding—pure ownership. “This is mine, this is mine, mine—all mine,” he whispered into her ear.
She couldn’t agree more.
Several hours later as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, her back began protesting against the hardwood floor. As she stood to take the party to a softer place, every part of her body ached and felt good at the same time.
He stood and watched her walk up the stairs. She turned just in time to see him pick up his work clothes, holding them steadily in his hands, as he held her gaze for what seemed like forever. Neither spoke. She thought of what happened and for a split second she believed she’d used him, and felt a twinge of regret—but only for a second.
Finally, Mario realized she would remain silent, and he slowly lowered his jeans, with his briefs still tucked inside, and stuck one leg in.
