Page 12 of Smoke N' Stroke

“Like I do almost every day.”

“Stop exaggerating.”

“You think I’m playing? I play a move every single day and it’s always, ‘No thank you, Dr. Booker. Go smoke some weed somewhere.’ I’ve been wounded too, Dr. Jackson.”

Even though his words were said in a teasing manner, I could sense something real beneath the words. But he didn’t give me any time to deliberate on them. He wanted to address my vulnerability.

“It’s never a bad thing to allow ourselves to experience real true emotions no matter how it’ll make us feel later. You being vulnerable is never a bad thing unless you’re with someone willing to take advantage of you in that state.”

“I’m happy you didn’t want that.”

“Never.”

“But now I’m not sure I can even stand to be around you.”

“Why is that?”

“You rejected me, and my heart is wounded.”

“Your heart?”

His eyes watched mine carefully.

“It’s an expression.”

He nodded slowly and I wondered if the pounding of my heart was as loud to him as it was to me. I had slipped up and let him know he was in my heart some kind of way. Big mistake.

“I think you should get rest.”

I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and nodded.

“Yeah. My nerves are shot to shit though so itmay be a long time before I actually drift off to sleep.”

“I’ll stay the night.”

My breath hitched. “Didn’t you just say—," I started.

“On the couch. Just to make sure you feel safe.”

“That isn’t necessary, Zaire. Besides, I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”

“I don’t. But if you have someone else to call over—,” his words trailed off.

“I don’t.”

I could have sworn I saw him release a deep breath, but I couldn’t be sure, so I let it go.

For the next half hour, we prepared my apartment for him to stay over. Barely speaking, and avoiding each other’s eyes seemed the safest thing to do when my body was crying out for me to make a move, him to make a move, someone to end this misery. But we made it through with setting him up on my couch which we now stood in front of. Looking down at the three-seat sofa with the sheet and blanket neatly arranged on it, I looked back up at him and pointed out the obvious.

“You really should let me take the couch. This is going to be worse than a tight fit, Zaire.”

“I’m not here to worry about me. I’ll be okay. You get rest, Nala. I’ll see you in the morning.”

His voice and eyes were sure and unyielding, and it only made me desire him more that he was willing to endure a sure-to-be uncomfortable night just to look out for me.

I nodded and headed back to the bathroom, having agreed that I would shower first. My soul wished for me to take my time in there, but all too aware that he wouldn’t be able to clean and rest until I was away in my bedroom, which had me scrubbing vigorously and rinsing off in record time and yelling out. “I’m out.” On my way to my bedroom. I didn’t wait for his response and rushed to get my door closed. I didn’t need to see his chest, arms, back nothing. That would remove the last bit of control I managed to have.

I had just finished putting my body butter on and sliding under the covers naked when I heard the shower spray come on. Instantly I pictured the water cascading over his dark chocolate brown muscular frame, and down to that tight round ass I held when he kissed me a month ago, before falling to his long strong thighs. Not to mention the part of him my cat yearned for. I closed my eyes and without thought, moved my hand down between my thick thighs andfound the warmth waiting for me. My fingers tentatively explored the thatch of wiry hair there, patting the triangle before sliding down in between my wet slit and opening myself up to find my feelings for him were already seeping out onto my sheets. My finger was able to glide around the folds of my body with ease, taking special care of my engorged clit. It rolled beneath my finger, sending bolts of pleasure throughout my torso. Behind my closed lids, I could see flashes of his strong arm around me while our lips moved around each other. Each visual deepened my fantasy, making my movements beneath the sheets more hurried.

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