Page 20 of Kandie Shoppe

She arches away from the intensity.

“No, trust me,” I say, making her hold still, making her take me.

Sensing her panic, I fuck her harder, driving her past her limits.

“U—” she cries when my thrusts and fingers work her over the edge, making her climax.

Her sob crashes into me the same time my orgasm sends me plummeting into bliss.

Pulling her over me, I collapse back on the bed, knowing if I fall on top of her, I may crush her.

“How we doing, wildcat?” I ask, looking at the crown of her head.

“Good.” She shifts and I can still feel her muscles clenching around me.

“You should have told me.” Slipping my hand lower, I grab a fistful of her supple bottom flesh, squeezing and releasing.

“What? So your hero complex could kick in and you could give me a polite ‘no’?” Her eyes flutter in an eye roll I always found irritating until just now.

“I wasn’t going to tell you ‘no’ tonight.” Squeezing again, I can’t help but like the way her mouth forms a little O as she shivers from the aftershock of my loving.

“Oh? Why is that?” Resting her chin on her hands, she asks with a lift of her brow.

“You’re a grown woman now. You were a kid when I left,” I tell her.

“So I grew up good, huh?” A cocky grin spreads across her face.

My dick rises to answer and her eyes flood with new passion.

“Fuck yeah.” I’m thrusting up into her soft heat as I prepare to show her just how well.

Chapter

Five

Only God Can Judge Me

Kandie

It’s two days later,and I still feel like death warmed over. All the dirty looks and whispers I’m getting from the church matrons and the deaconess aren’t helping, either. These mean heffas really acting like they think they are going to heaven when they are going to bust hell wide open for the way they treat people. It’s nothing new, though these are some of the same ones that made my parents feel unwelcome. Had Nikki thinking our family wouldn’t welcome her since a few are relatives, but everyone I know has family they don’t really deal with for a myriad of reasons. People always think kids don’t remember stuff or it will fade with time but one thing’s for certain and two for sure is Kandie Love remembers. I smile at theGame of Thronesreference my sister used to use when it came to what she called as my amazing superpower to never forget things oran eidetic memory.The North Remembers And So Do Ishould be on a custom-made T-shirt with my name on it.

My cousin, Clover, is the same way which comes in handy in both of our chosen career choices, her an apothecarist and herbalist and me a baker. We can just recall our recipes for elixirs, pies, and cakes. I don’t need recipes and she doesn’t need formulas. My dyslexia is not my only superpower nor her autism hers. But you’d think I was setting out to poison folks with some of the looks and stares I’m getting as I set up my little booth of goodies I’m donating for the building fund.

The only reason I came was because I promised Mama-Pete I would bring some cakes. By the biblical way, we learned that in Baptist Training Union, churches are supposed to only have donations they aren’t supposed to be selling stuff. That’s the whole reason Jesus was turning over tables. They real funny with the things they chose to be upset about.

Ignoring them, I snap the tablecloth out over the table, watching it catch the breeze.

“Need some help?” The soft, honied tones of our assistant pastor, Nathaniel Simpson, comes up from behind me.

“Um.” I cast a look over my shoulder, a sting of embarrassment making my face heat. “I’m good but thanks.” Smoothing out the pink fabric, I strategically put vases filled with daisies I plucked earlier from my window boxes at opposite ends of the table in case the wind tries to act up as it always does when I do one of these things. I also learned never to wear anything too light and airy because sure enough, everyone is going to see I don’t wear panties.

“I just thought I’d ask since everyone else has help,” he says with easy confidence. He’s right. Everyone else’s little table is either mostly done or finished because they have a husband or their kids helping them. That, alone, would signify the scarlet letter of being single, but looking like I fell in a ditch — whichis what literally happened also makes me look bad. It’s a good thing I long stopped giving a damn what people think, being accused of murdering the sheriff in an arson when you’re just a kid will do that. Being exonerated after everyone but your grandparents, a very few of your relatives, and the dead sheriff’s wife, stood up for you will do the rest.

“No worries, friend.” I give him a genuine smile reserved only for genuine people. Nathaniel moved here about three years ago to become a teacher. Instead of moving to the Shelby side and teaching at their elite private school, Shelby Academy, he came down to the Love side and used his impressive degree from Columbia for the Love Middle School and volunteers to teach ESL at the library on the weekends. He’s not bad to look at either with his hair the color of rich molasses and eyes four-leaf clover green, and though he’s not quite six feet, he does work out and it shows. Any woman would be lucky to have him interested in her. He’s a nice guy. And that’s where the interest stops for me. I don’t like nice guys. Nice guys get folks trying to tear their families apart in the middle of the night even after they have jumped through all the hoops to save them. Nice guys rush into burning buildings to save kids, only to have them collapse on top of them and those same kids. Thank you, kindly sir, but no thanks.

Crestfallen, Nathaniel moves away, then stops. “I’m a little worried, Kandie.” Eyes tempered by concern, he looks me dead in mine. “You have friends here.”

Warmth steals over me. Reaching out, I grab his hand. He squeezes mine with gentle assurance. There’s a beat, then another one. My breath catches. Are we having a moment?

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