Page 38 of Kandie Shoppe

Like a lit match on drought dried hay, this motherfucker snaps. Lean hips slam into me, hitting my spot. “Ahh,” I half scream, half groan at the force of his relentless fucking. Lights dance behind my lids as he squeezes my throat, matching the force of this thrusts. The bed is moving. I bet Mrs. Lopezcan hear it scrapping against the dense hardwood and cement separating our businesses.

He’s fucking me like he hates me, and I love that shit. I fuck him back with all the anger and hurt I feel in return. Clawing and biting him, I take everything he has to give, returning it measure for measure. The secret I kept, the pain I’ve endured, spills from my body and eyes. Tears mingle with sweat. I taste blood on my lips — his lips and it feels like it’s my due. I take. He gives.

Hot bodies slick seeking pleasure trying to obliterate pain. We dare not speak somehow finding solace in each other.

“I’m about to come. I don’t want to pull out.” Pumping, he grinds his dick in me, hitting my spot, making me tighten and spasm around him.

“I have an IUD,” I confess, biting his pec hard, leaving a satisfying teeth print. It only alleviates the sensory overload a little.

“Good.” Thrusting against my spot, he drags my leg up, pressing in hard, shattering me. Pumping into me, he comes deep inside, meeting me as I crest on a tide of bliss. Fucking into me, he fills me with come full to overflowing.

“This is the only place I want to be, wildcat,” he whispers into my hair.

I don’t give him the words he wants. I can’t. I learned long ago not to.

Chapter

Eleven

Ulysses

“Your turn.” Sebastian grins over at me, rubbing a towel through his inky black hair. The liquid mercury of his eyes, so like that of his half-brothers, Mathias and Ananias, trains on me.

“Fuck no,” I say, giving the water tank a hard look. “No way. I’m making myself a sitting duck in that thing with so many Loves around.”

“Nah.” He waves dismissively. “Aside from Marlene, you’re the most liked Shelby.”

“That would be you,” I tell him with a nod.

“I don’t claim you, motherfuckers.” Smirking, he shakes his head. “Not about to ruin my reputation.”

Chuckling, I don’t argue. We both know everything about him says he’s a Shelby despite his denial. Those gray eyes are sign enough not to mention that he’s the spitting image of his father and brothers in height and build. The only difference is his darker skin tone giving credence to his Columbian heritage.No young woman who worked on Shelby property was safe from my uncle and that includes his mother, Antonella.

“Where are the girls?” I ask, letting the subject drop looking around for his twin daughters.

“Over at the petting zoo, Val set up. Hang on while I change and we’ll go over so you can say hi.”

Turning from the tent he ducks in to look at the market festival and I can’t help feeling a pang of regret Mom can’t be here. She’s having one of her bad days. I hate seeing her suffering like she is. We’ve already got what we need when she can’t take anymore thanks to Angel’s connections, but still, she hesitates and though it tears me apart, it’s not my place to make this decision for her. I was flat out against it when she first asked, but seeing her in so much pain slowly moved me over to her side on the issue.

“Careful with this, amigo. Don’t open it until you’re sure you’re a hundred percent ready. It’s highly concentrated and one whiff is going to have you meeting the Most High right along with your beautiful mom. Gloves, mask, and don’t get any on you,” he instructs as he passes me the highest concentration of fentanyl.

I just hope today’s not the day. Knowing how fucking selfish the thought is, I push it away. I don’t even deserve to feel this way when I stayed away for so long.

“Ready?” Turning to my not-cousin, I nod.

“You alright, man?” It must be something in my expression that gives me away that prompts him to ask.

“Just thinking how Mom would love this.” I nod to all the tents and the folks around having a good day now that everyone is hale and whole after we lost so many people in our community during the pandemic due to lies and misinformation.

“Yeah. I’d say it gets easier, but that’s a lie.” His face clouds. He lost his mom from covid and his wife by suicide due topost-partum psychosis when his twins were newborn. If anyone understands, he does. Slapping me on the shoulder, he gives a little squeeze that closes my throat and comforts at the same time.

Every few feet we’re stopped by citizens with either praise or complaint for one or both of us.

“We need another traffic light. You see all these folks coming into town for work,” Mrs. Louise grumbles on her way to The Camelia tent.

“There’s a lot of debris on highway seventeen, I heard Ezekiel-Jane had an accident down there a week or so ago,” Mr. Stinson says, unaware that we cleared the debris and saw no evidence of a wreck other than some skid marks. Not that it would be a surprise if it did happen, Loves rarely involve others in their business, especially the law and definitely not a Shelby.

Not for the first time do I wonder how her family is taking the news that she’s with me. I’ve seen some of her cousins giving me hard looks, then turning to talk among themselves. I’m either going to be invited to the cook-out or find myself in the Tombigbee.

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