AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jillian pushed aside her thoughts and snatched up her phone. Her heart pounded, and she felt nervous butterflies as she scrolled through his feed. He hadn’t posted in weeks.
She paused at a photo of him leaning against his high-end food truck. Serious face. Electric eyes in his brown complexion. All-black attire. Sexy as sexy could be.
I miss him.
The nights were the worst. They used to tease it was their “sexing hours.” Jillian had lost count of those after-midnight hours where one would text the other. Within the hour, he would arrive and, not long after he was hard, she was wet, and their grunts of pleasure echoed in her loft apartment. On the door. The floor. The shower. The sofa—open and closed. Against the window.
She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes with a deep moan at the visual of his hard buttocks clenching and unclenching as he stroked inside her, her back and buttocks pressed against the windows. Her knees had clutched his sides and her fingers had dug into his shoulders as he’d delivered one deep thrust after another.
I could use Cole’s special delivery.
But those days—and nights—were over, and her body was going through withdrawal.
Over the last couple of months, had she second-guessed ending her dalliance with Cole? Yes. But in those moments, she reminded herself forever had never been a part of their plans. Still, she had never intended for him to feel offended or put off.
Jillian had tried a few times in the weeks following her rushed moved to San Francisco to call him, but he’d never answered. She’d wanted to get it through to him that the hefty salary would allow her to assist her parents with the expensive medical care her grandmother required, to say nothing of help clear the hefty debt from her first restaurant closing. Her duty to her family and her success was interwoven—it had to be.
Wealth was not a part of her legacy.
Unlike Cole.
And now her life was moving on.
Without Cole.
Within the year, her feelings for the sexy rebel had deepened beyond just a fling. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty because that realization hadn’t hit home until he’d been out of her life for good. She had thought she’d only wanted sex from him, but she ached with sadness for more than that, wanting to hear his deep voice, to make him laugh with her dry wit, or to have him surprise her with one of his notes.
Jillian rose from the sofa and made her way to her bedroom. On her bedside table was the carved wood box from her loft in New York. She opened it. Gone were the condoms. Instead it held every monogrammed note Cole had ever given her over the last year. It wasn’t until she’d packed up her things that she’d found them all randomly placed around her apartment. In a cookbook. Mixed with mail. In the back pocket of jeans.
Anywhere and everywhere. She’d never thrown them away.
She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the box, holding it up to her nose. The scent of his crisp cologne still clung to some of the notes. She smiled a little as she opened each folded card.
Some were funny.
“‘What’s black and white and hard all over?’” she read, chuckling at his play on his mixed-race heritage and his desire for her.
Most were steamy.
“‘There is nothing better than the taste of you,’” she read, letting her finger stroke his slashing handwritten words.
She had taken the notes for granted.
As she sat with Cole’s notes scattered on her lap, she fast realized she had taken the time they’d shared for granted, as well.
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.
Cole ignored his cell phone vibrating in the inner pocket of his black tuxedo jacket as he placed his small stack of hundred-dollar chips on the roulette table of the luxurious, historic casino in Monte Carlo, Monaco. He kept his eyes on the ball after the dealer waved his hand across the table, signaling no more bets. He took a sip from his snifter of whiskey and, with a calm aloofness, watched the ball fall onto the winning number.
He smiled as the dealer pushed a sizable stack of chips next to his on the number four. “Luck bemylady tonight,” he said, playing on the lyrics of the 1950’s Frank Sinatra song.
“Then call me Luck.”
Cole was waiting for the dealer to pay out all winners on the board. He looked to his right at the sultry feminine voice and found a beautiful, svelte woman offering him an alluring smile. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate. The crimson she wore on her lips and her body was electrifying. From her accent and the high cut of her cheekbones, he assumed she was of African descent—a regal beauty with the type of style that spoke of elegance and wealth.
He felt annoyance that he instantly compared her to Jillian. Two months later and thoughts of her still replayed on a loop in his mind.
“You’ve been here for a month, and you’re always alone. It’s time for you to make a new friend,” the sultry beauty said, drawing his attention once again. She extended her hand. “Lesedi Osei.”
