Page 12 of Loving a Libra
I sat up and shouted. “Excuse me?”
He sat up too. “You heard what I said, but I’ll repeat it just so we’re clear. You got me fucked up if you think you’re not mine. I wasn’t talking shit last night and meant every word I said. I’m in love with you, and I want a future with you.”
“I heard you loud and clear, and as I said last night, you can’t be in love with me. We can’t be, Tariq. It wouldn’t look right, and?—”
“It wouldn’t look right to who? Your one friend, Ginae, who can’t stand Maurice? The only coworker you talk to, Thomasina, who told you that Libras and Aries were a relationship nightmare? Your estranged father, who only calls when he wants money? Who wouldn’t it look right to, Devyn? Because that shit you talking sounds like an excuse.”
He was right, my circle was small. Before my mother suddenly passed away from a pulmonary embolism when I was thirteen, she advised me to keep my circle small, stressing that friends and associates weren’t the same. I never forgot what she said, and I was content with the handful of people in my life because it was easier to navigate and had a lot less drama.
A plethora of thoughts raced through my mind, but suddenly, I couldn’t speak. Tariq rarely raised his voice, and it was never at me. The fire and passion behind his words, the tone of his voice, and the valid points he made had me stuck . . . and made my nipples hard.
“When you talk to me that way, it?—”
“Shit! My bad, baby. I didn’t mean?—”
“No. Don’t apologize. It makes my nipples hard, and . . .” I pushed him onto his back and straddled him. “My pussy wet.”
It seemed just the mention of my pussy made his dick stiffen underneath me. He smirked as he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face to his. He kissed me as if he were starving and kissing me gave him the nourishment he needed to make it to the next minute.
While our tongues became tangled in the throes of passion, I lifted my ass, reached between us, and guided his dick to my throbbing hole. I tore my mouth from his and slammed onto his thick, veiny third leg.
“Fuck!” he grunted through clenched teeth.
“Ahh!” I screamed in ecstasy.
He gripped my hips as I planted my hands on his solid chest and rode his dick like a champion equestrian. The firm bed made the experience even better when he began to fuck me from the bottom. His dick went deeper than I thought possible.
As a thirty-five-year-old woman, I’d had some great sex, even with Maurice. However, he didn’t have shit on his best friend. Tariq’s size and girth alone ran circles around my soon-to-be ex man.
“Riq! Oh God, Tariq! I’m cummin’!”
The throbbing of my walls and the pulsing of his dick was a combination sent straight from the heavens. My pussy juice gushed over his dick and leaked onto his stomach as his seeds shot to the furthest part of my uterus. For the first time in twenty-four hours, I remembered I wasn’t on birth control.
“Shit!” I hopped off his dick like it was on fire. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God.”
“What’s wrong?”
I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, contracting my stomach, trying to push his semen from my body.
“Devyn, what the fuck is the problem?” he questioned, leaning against the doorframe with his dick pointing in my direction.
“I’m not on birth control, and I let you cum in me . . . multiple times. Shit!”
“Oh. That’s it?”
He turned and walked away. I pulled a wad of tissue off the roll and wiped between my legs, repeating the action two more times before getting up.
I didn’t even bother washing my hands because I was too focused on his nonchalant attitude about what I’d told him.
“What do you mean, that’s it?”
“I mean, that’s all you’re worried about. I thought it was something serious.”
“Nigga, this is serious. What’s today?”
“The thirteenth.”
“Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! I’m ovulating.”
