Page 164 of Not My Type
He doesn’t take long to take his clothes off. He has a mischievous smile on his face as he steps in the shower. “Look yer I’m not even play-” He covers my mouth before he pushes me against the wall closing the space between us.
So that’s what we doing, the girl in my head smirks. This is the closest I’ve felt to him in a while. One of his plaits falls down into his face and I hold it. His plaits are usually tied to the back of his head, so I wouldn’t see his hair in his face. It wah pull out thou.
So pull it out nuh Miss ma’am nuh your man? Yes.
He turns on the shower and it starts raining on us. I quickly move back and put on my shower cap. He’s so distracting. Mi not even member bout it. Geez.
I watch as he puts the Dove, coconut scented body wash on my rag before he starts rubbing my body. The contact is intimate, but I free myself as the seconds roll by. I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to contain my laughter as he washes my arm. He moves his hand down. I start laughing. He laughs too.
“Why you a feel me up?” I giggle, as I feel his fingers presses against my folds.
I hold on to his slippery, broad shoulders, and elevate my legs for him to do his thing. His mind somewhere else though.
“No soap there, you know that yeah?” I meet his stare. He nods, now washing the soap from the rag. I hug his shoulders. Showering has never felt better than this. I drag my eyes to his hand moving in and out between my thighs. My thoughts are cut off when he stops doing what he’s expected to do, and starts caressing my clit with his fingers. I bite down on his shoulder and drag my eyes down in bliss.
“Nuh bathe we fi a bathe?” I ask even though I like what he’s doing.
He smirks. “Alright,” he says as his lustful eyes meets mine. He continues and I grip his shoulder unwaveringly. Why is he so rough?
I giggle when I nearly lost my balance. He snakes his arms around my waist instinctively to prevent me from falling. Awww.
I take the rag from him. “Mi can use my rag on you?” I ask, because I know some people are skeptical about that.
“Usually no, but a you so dat good,” he states and that’s my go ahead to wash the rag thoroughly. His length springs back. I reach for it. It’s so big and slippery in my small hands. I pump him, the water from the shower rains down and helps my fingers glide more easily against his skin. A little too smoothly.
“It keep on a slip out of mi hand,” I whine. “Chroooo.”
“Chroooo,” he teases me, laughing at my struggle.
“Stop,” I hiss. “Cause mi nuh know why it a slip out.”
“Cause you a wul it like a no fi yuh,” his face back to its signature mean mug.
“A nuh fi yuh tool? Borrow you a borrow it?” then I laugh out. “Stop nuhh,” I squeeze the head of his dick, holding it in a firm grip.
He’s still smiling, his teeth beautiful. “Of course a mine so me a hold it,” I muster the courage to say.
“Hold it good too,” he jokes. Our laughter bounces off the walls.
MICHELLE
All I wanna do is pee and get back to my beauty sleep. Why’s Zara making so much noise? Chro. Sleepily, I handle my business, washing my hands. I push the door open, and step out. Glass everywhere, I am too paranoid for a house like this. I mean yea.. the sliding glass doors are closed but... wait... I hear sobs. It leaks from the master bedroom. Is she…
She moans... again and again. It’s mixed with her soft cries. A sound I don’t wanna hear. My baby is not a baby anymore. Omggg! They get big so fast. Ugh. I try to block it out. Lawddddd Jesus. It looks like I’m on the wrong side of the house. I quickly rush down, realizing I’m lost. Wah the hell this pan me now fadda God? A who tell the Universe me wah hear mi pitney business?
It’s not even like she’s being loud, I’m just on the wrong side. Their side. Now I need to get my ass back to the guest room. But where the hell to?
A hallway comes into view. It’s wide, modern, sleek, their soft light illuminating the rich marble floors. Portraits line both walls, their gilded frames shining, every corner radiating luxury. I didn’t pass here...
Then finally, I see the stairs to the guest room. “Thank yuh Jesus. Yuh see why me nuh love big house?”
I’m about to turn when a pair of hazel eyes stare back at me from one of the portraits. What the hell? My brows knit together, my breath catches. I step closer...
And closer. It’s... him.
I run my nails over the frame, the cold surface under my fingertips, and then I feel it. My heart skipping. The old memories hit me harder than I expected. My cheeks flush, and my eyes water.
“Michelle?” Mommy calls out. I jerk back, pulling myself from the portrait.
