It was the wail of a fire truck screaming past, the harsh siren reverberating off of brick and asphalt, that jostled Ledi from sleep. It was a sound that she should have been used to after a life in NYC, but it still made her heart beat fast sometimes when it caught her unawares. Her brain searched for a foothold in time and space.
Where was she?
Mommy? Daddy?
There was no response, just as there had been none all those years ago.
Mommy? Daddy?
No, she hadn’t called them that, it had been something else, foreign words on the tip of her tongue and a scent that smelled like home surrounding her . . .
She awoke fully and moved to get up, to escape the panic that a sudden scrap of memory had elicited, when the sound of squelching plastic alerted her to the fact that she wasn’t in her bed. That and the weight of a large, muscular man slumped against her.
Her dream faded away, details forgotten, as she realized she was still in Mrs. Garcia’s apartment. The room was lit by the muted flatscreen television, where a woman was excitedly chopping vegetables with some weird contraption that was available for three easy payments of nine ninety-nine. Ledi risked a glance to her left. The flickering blue light revealed Jamal to be fast asleep, his head resting on her shoulder.
He’s gorgeous.
His skin was smooth and unblemished, his brows thick and well-shaped, his lashes dark shadows jumping against his cheeks in the light from the TV. His beard was immaculate as always, despite the gooey grilled cheese he’d prepared for them, all on his own. The pride in his eyes when he’d presented the only slightly burned mozzarella, tomato, and basil sandwiches had been cute, but it had nothing on sleeping Jamal.
She hadn’t ever been one for watching a man sleep. It was creepy, and sleep was a necessary function to ensure optimal bodily health, like using the bathroom. But looking down at him she had an inkling of why people deigned to share their bed with the same person night after night. It was nice—intimate. Ledi wasn’t sure she’d ever fallen asleep so easily next to a man, and it wasn’t just because she was tired.
Jesus Christ, you need to stop eavesdropping on Mrs. Garcia’s telenovelas.
Ledi moved to get up again; she was fairly certain staring creepily at your neighbor as he slept placed her squarely in the weirdo zone. Playtime was over. She had a lot to do the next day, and getting a few more hours of shut-eye wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.
I can think of the best thing.
She was suddenly all too aware of the feel of Jamal’s arm resting against hers, of all the places where he pressed into her. She knew the weight of him now, could imagine how it would feel anchoring her into a mattress as he—
His arm went around her waist as his lashes fluttered, then his eyes opened. He just looked at her for a long moment, then a sleepy smile tugged at his full lips.
“It’s not often a man can say that reality is better than the dream he was having. And my dream was very good.”
His hold tightened and Ledi swallowed against the dryness in her throat and wished she had taken it easy with the garlic powder on her sandwich.
“Sorry I fell asleep,” she said. “You could have woken me up.”
“You needed rest,” he said. He sat up, but didn’t shift away from her. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I like having you here.”
He was looking down into her eyes, heat and intent in his gaze, and his body and its delicious weight were so, so close. If she swung her legs to the left she could easily slide into his lap. She could press her mouth to his and see if his lips were as soft as they looked, and if his kisses would live up to the way he was looking at her.
She could think of lots of things she might explore with Jamal, but she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to take that first step. She stared at him, hoping he would understand that though she didn’t move, she was trying her hand at unspoken delegation.
His hand slowly slid up her denim-clad shin, fingers curving down over her calf. When his palm reached her knees he tugged at first one and then the other, guiding her legs over his thighs. His other hand slid behind her back, cradling her. Maybe she was still dreaming. What the hell had been in that grilled cheese?
“I . . . I . . .” Ledi felt as if her entire body was under a magnifying glass in the midday sun. She was pretty damn sure that her clothes might turn to ashes and fall off at any moment, and from the way Jamal was looking at her, he wouldn’t be opposed to that.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he said. She could see the reflection of the television screen in his eyes as his mouth moved toward hers. LIMITED TIME OFFER was emblazoned there, in reverse, then AS SEEN ON TV, which made sense because no way was hooking up with sexy neighbors something that happened in Ledi’s world.
“Okay,” she whispered.
His lips pressed into hers, proving her theory that all it took was a millisecond for a world-changing discovery to take place. Hooking up with sexy neighbors was something that was possible on this plane of reality, and it was fantastic.
His lips were incredibly smooth and lush as they brushed over hers, just the lightest touches of skin against sensitive skin that shouldn’t have sent a rush of sensation through her body, but did. His beard was rough against the sensitive skin of her chin and cheeks, a counterpoint to his gentle kiss. Her mind blanked at the intense reaction to just that slight pressure, and then her reflexes kicked in, reminding her that being kissed was one thing and kissing another. She returned the pressure of his mouth, tongue darting out the slightest bit to allow herself just a taste of him. A taste was all she could afford with a man who affected her like this.
Fuck.
She pressed into him harder, trying to regulate the sensation, control it in some way, but his fingers stroked her back and she moaned, her self-control slipping away when he groaned and gripped her thigh more tightly.
His tongue lapped over her bottom lip, and she parted for him, welcoming him in. He moved slowly, but there was nothing tentative about his technique—the stroke of his tongue was warm and strong. Probing. Insistent. He kissed her with a deliberateness that had her moaning into his mouth not just from the sensation but from the possibilities they opened up for her.
Oh, the things that tongue could probably do.
Jamal’s hand moved over her thighs and rested at the curve of her hip, grasping a handful of her sweatshirt as he finally kissed her full-on without reservation. A sharp, delicious pressure thrummed between her legs and she slid farther onto his lap, returning his kiss as well as she could.
There was no trace of the bumbling Jamal who hadn’t even known which knife to use to cut a loaf of bread at the Institute. His hands and mouth and body moved with assurance, with finesse. Apparently there was at least one thing he was really, really good at.
She pressed her body against his, reveling in the solid feel of him.
“Ledi,” he breathed into her mouth, and holy shit, no one had ever said her name like that. Like she was oxygen and he was desperate for it. “I want to touch you. Badly. Can I touch you?”
That was when she realized she was likely in over her head. Because she was already lost in a haze of sensation, ready to risk it all, and Jamal had barely put his hands on her.
Double fuck.
“Definitely. Yes. Go for it.”
She’d barely gotten the words out when the hand that had been bunched in her sweatshirt tugged harder. The fabric that had rested provocatively on the swells of her shoulders all day slid down her arms. He pulled until the fabric was taut over her aching breasts, the friction of it both restricting and teasing until finally the soft cups of her bra were revealed. The new position of the shirt forced her arms to her sides with just enough pressure to hold them there, and for some reason Ledi’s response was a clench of the pussy and an unprecedented gush of moisture that she hoped wouldn’t seep through her jeans.
Jamal ran his fingertips down the nape of her neck, over her exposed shoulders. He traced his finger over her jawline, her collarbone, and she moaned and arched her back, greedy for the touch that left sparks of sensation in its wake.
“Do you like that?”
When his hand stopped moving, she looked up at him and realized he was asking a question, not just making idle dirty talk to fill the silence. His gaze was hot and intense, and she almost closed her eyes against the feeling it caused in her chest.
“Yes. I like it,” she said quickly, because she wanted his hands moving again, wanted the distraction of a sensation that wasn’t this pressure beneath her rib cage that she hoped was heartburn.
“Brilliant,” Jamal said. His thumbs brushed over her hard nipples through the soft fabric of her bra. She expected him to lunge, to get right to it like so many of the men she’d been with, but he moved so slowly that after a moment Ledi wanted to scream with frustrated pleasure. His gaze was locked on hers as he brushed and squeezed and twisted, like he was calibrating her to the right frequency, one that left her gasping and trembling for him. Waves of pleasure rolled through her as he alternated soft brushes with hard pinches.
He wasn’t driving her crazy because of lack of technique; that was the technique.
“Oh god.”
She squirmed in his lap, scooting herself right up against the erection that tented his pants. If he was searching for the right frequency, she’d found his antenna; the length of it pressed up against her through his jeans, twitching and hardening in response to her soft cries as he teased her to the point of insanity with his hands. Her arms were still against her sides, but she could move her ass and she did, gliding it over the length of him.
Jamal hissed and rocked up against her, but both of his hands were busy with her breasts. His fingertips traced the cheap material edging her bra reverently, making her feel as if she was decked out in lace and silk instead. He hooked an index finger in each cup, pulling them down and exposing her.
“So lovely,” he said, hefting the weight of each breast in his hands. Then he bent down. He lapped at one breast, and then the other, the strokes of his tongue alternating between punishment and adoration. He licked and sucked, and when she thought she couldn’t stand any more, he brushed the rough hairs of his beard over her sensitive nipples.
“Oh fuck.” Her voice was strained, caught between a scream and a whisper as sensation threatened to overwhelm her. Ledi pressed her chest up toward his torturous beard, then away, then back up, as if her body couldn’t decide what was worse: the excess of pleasure or the lack of it.
His hands slid up behind her back, holding her in place now as he teased her with tongue and lips and beard. His hard length pressed against the seam of her jeans, as he worked his hips.
“Oh fuck!” Pleasure threaded through her, spreading over her body and pulling tight until she was caught in the web of her desire for him. She wanted to touch him, but her arms were pinned against her sides. Her ass ground against his groin though, and if she stretched her fingers she could stroke the confined length of him through his jeans.
“Mmm.” The sound rumbled out of him and his head dropped back as he ground up against her hand. She was just getting a hold of him through his jeans, but then he shifted his hips so that he was just out of reach of her hands.
“I’m taking care of you tonight, remember?” he asked.
Ledi’s throat went tight at the words, words she rarely heard from anyone.
I’m taking care of you.
Tonight. She couldn’t forget that crucial part. Limited time offer.
“Then do it,” she said. Her body ached with need and she didn’t want him to say anything else. She wanted to feel.
One of his hands left her breast to unbutton her jeans, to roughly slide the stretchy denim down until it was around her ankles. His hand traced the path up her shin and took a detour at the knee toward her inner thigh. Ledi gasped at the gentle friction of his advancing fingertips, at the way they traced her slit through her underwear. He rubbed his palm over her mound through the thin fabric and Ledi’s whole body tensed at the sudden, direct pressure.
His other arm was behind her and she felt the flex of his biceps supporting her as she arched wildly in response to the intense pressure of the heel of his palm.
Her hands splayed against his hard chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as sensation shuddered through her.
He slid his thick fingers through the side of the underwear, tracing her clit down to her slick opening. “Goddess, you’re so wet.”
“It’s a somewhat common physical reaction to arousal,” she muttered around a gasp, and he laughed.
“I guess I won’t get too cocky about it, then,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. She moaned into his mouth.
“No,” she said. “Not about that at least.”
He teased her like that for much too long, murmuring as he slipped his fingertips firmly over the hood of her clit until she had no idea what he was saying, could only focus on the pleasure his hand was giving her. Finally, finally, he worked one thick finger inside of her, and then another. He slicked his fingers in and out, slowly, then quickly, alternating speeds.
He worked some kind of magic from the inside, caressing her in a way that had her riding his hand unabashedly. The damp fabric of her underwear was one friction and the drive of his fingers another; they combined to completely undo her. Her breath came in gasps, and she wanted to beg him for release but she was unable to make more than desperate, high-pitched noises as he drove her toward climax.
It wasn’t just the way he touched her. His gaze was on her the entire time. He looked at her like she was a goddess. A queen. His queen.
“Oh yes. Jamal,” she cried out, and his brow creased. His thumb pressed into her clit then, joining forces with the two digits that were already sending desire arcing across her body. He lowered his head to her breast again and sucked just roughly enough to make her cry out and clench around his fingers. He was working her like he had something to prove, and as her body bent, bent, and finally broke as release surged through her—her sobs of pleasure heralded his success.
Ledi’d had good sex before, but the rush of heat up her spine and the toes curling and the wave after wave of goodness, even as he withdrew his fingers? That certainly hadn’t happened before. Certainly not all at once.
Her gaze met his as the last tremors of her orgasm shook her from head to toe, and the fierceness in his gaze shocked her. He smiled, but there was worry in his eyes, and something else.
She sat up and shimmied her sweatshirt back up her arms, then pulled her bra up and pulled the front of her shirt back up over them.
“Um. Maybe I should wipe down Mrs. Garcia’s couch,” she said, voice still shaky.
Jamal closed his eyes and chuckled.
“Let me handle that,” he said. “You should go get some sleep.”
She jumped up as if scalded, buttoning her pants as she searched for her keys. “Oh. Yeah. I was going to leave anyway—”
Jamal raised a finger—one that hadn’t just given her an orgasm that still had her thighs shaking—and held it against her lips. “I’m not kicking you out. Well, I am, but only because if you don’t leave I’m going to be tempted to fuck you senseless.”
He exhaled sharply and ran a hand over his short locks, as if that temptation was a bad thing. He’d just fingerbanged her senseless, so Ledi couldn’t understand how his penis could possibly add anything else to the equation unless he was one of those “penetration equals commitment” kind of guys.
Commitment?
“Yeah, that sounds terrible. Horrible, even. Definitely need my senses, so . . .” She made the sign of the cross using her index fingers and pointed it toward his crotch.
He stalked toward her, grabbed her by the chin, and kissed her. This kiss was better, and maybe worse because of the betterness, than the one they’d shared on the couch. That had been explainable: he’d gotten the middle-of-the-night hornies, and she’d been right there. But this? The way he kissed her slowly and reverently, but also like he was about to fuck her against the door? This meant that their ruination of Mrs. Garcia’s couch hadn’t been a sleep-induced aberration for him.
“Do you work tomorrow?” he asked when he pulled his mouth away. His commanding air was back.
“I have to go into the lab in the morning and check on some experiments,” she said, willing her chest to stop heaving like she’d run a marathon. “And study.”
“Are you free in the afternoon?”
Ledi looked away, then back at him. “For a couple of hours. Maybe.”
He nodded. “I would like . . .”
Afternoon delight? Please say afternoon delight.
“. . . an escort. On the subway. I hear it can be very dangerous, you see.”
Ledi’s excitement faltered.
“Where do you have to go?” she asked. Of course he’d only asked because he needed something from her. What else was new?
“Nowhere. But now I feel foolish for never having braved the subways and I want my first time to be with you. So we can go anywhere you want. Maybe someplace that makes you happy.” He grinned at her, and that cut right through her disappointment. “I know you’re very busy, Ledi. If you can fit me in, I’d be honored to be one of the many things that take up your time.”
Ledi didn’t know what to say to that. Why couldn’t he call her a Saint Bernard again so she could flip him off and go back to life as she knew it?
“We’ll see,” she said carefully, and then slipped through the door.
This was not okay. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling butterflies in her stomach and doing a happy shimmy as she crossed the hall. She let herself in to her studio, the vibration and flash of light across the room a reminder that she’d left her phone at her place. When she saw the solid block of message notifications from Portia, she wished she hadn’t.
Hey, I have to ask you something. URGENT. Call me!
The texts started off normal, growing more annoyed as the night wore on—probably commensurate with Portia’s alcohol consumption. Ledi scrolled down, reading the increasingly hostile messages with numb acceptance, until she reached the last one.
Wow. The is that good? Thanks for making it clear what your priorities are. Nevermind.
Ledi knew Portia was drunk, knew she didn’t mean what she’d written, but the unfairness of the accusation cut through her like a hot knife, melting away the residual giddiness of her orgasm and of Jamal’s clear interest in her.
After all the sleepless nights keeping an eye on her, making sure she didn’t drunkenly stumble into either the East River or the Hudson . . .
Ledi fought against the sudden urge to cry. She had never done anything for Portia with the expectation that Portia would owe her. She did things because Portia was her friend, and usually a good one. It was when she drank that this negative side sometimes emerged, but drinking had become too common a pastime for Portia. Her friend’s bad habit had become Ledi’s albatross, and she was tired of carrying that particular weight along with her own.
Ledi started to type in a response, out of habit, to ask where Portia was and if she was all right, but then she held down the power button on her phone and swiped it off instead.
She thought of Jamal’s face when he’d asked her to take him somewhere that would make her happy. When was the last time someone had really cared about that? Not to assuage their own guilt, but sincerely?
She pushed away the tension that came with breaking years of habit and headed to shower. Sleep came first; she would deal with everything else in the morning.