Page 16 of Tyriq & Teaira
“You know you don’t have to ask.”
Somberly, he walks to my bathroom and I stand. I need paper towels and a glass of ice for my ginger ale. I’m also going to fix him a drink. He looks like he might need one. I’m at my bar area when he returns. Instead of staying by the door, he walks toward the living room then bypasses it and comes up behind me. His arms wrap around and he pulls me into him. His chin rests on top of my head then he loudly inhales and exhales.
“You always smell good as fuck,” he mumbles.
“Thank you. I was about to make you a drink.”
“I’m straight,” he says. It seems like we might be getting somewhere. He’s talking and the harshness in his tone from earlier is gone but the remnants of hurt or sadness are loud and clear.
Careful with my words, I try to keep him talking. “You hungry? I actually have food and groceries,” I say while smiling.
He sighs heavily as hell then says, “Nah. Just left a fucked up dinner at my moms.”
That’s what’s wrong.
I don’t say anything because my talking might actually stop him. So I respond with body language. I place the bottle down then put my hands on his crossed arms resting on my waist. Gently, I rub my hands on him.
“When I have home games, my moms cooks a family dinner the day before,” he says, then chuckles, a satirical laugh not a funny one. “Family. Well, I can’t really call it that shit. My fucking father isn’t invited,” he says. Although I have a million questions, I just chew on my lip and keep my mouth shut. I know he has a sister because he talks about her and his mom all the time. However, he has never mentioned his father. I just assumed he wasn’t in the picture.
“I don’t want that hating ass nigga around me. Picture that shit, my fucking father is my biggest hater,” he continues and my heart breaks at his words. “The fucked up part is I don’t even know why the nigga hates me. This shit is wild, and man, today, I let him take me there. I let him push me,” he says and I can feel him shaking his head on top of mine.
“I almost laid his bitch ass out… In front of my fucking sister and momma. Fuck!” His head lifts and I feel him shifting, like he’s trying to detach, so I hold onto his arms. When I do, I feel him relax and his head returns on the top of mine. “Shit. All he had to do was not be there. Fuck!”
He’s rambling and I’m not exactly sure what happened but I can hear that it’s fucking with him. He sounds so hurt, disappointed, and angry with himself. When he stops talking, I brace myself, hoping that he continues, but for a few minutes, he doesn’t. We just stand here in silence, him inhaling and exhaling loudly while I caress his arms. Finally, I decide to say something.
“You wanna sit down?” I ask, thinking maybe he’ll talk more if we’re comfortable.
“Yeah,” he says, then starts walking us to the living room. His body doesn’t break from mine until we are in front of my sectional. There, he sits then pulls me down on his lap. Once I’m seated, I kind of scoot my ass off him and drape my legs across his lap. One of his arms snakes around me and his other hand rubs my legs. “What you watching?”
“Scandalbut I can turn it off.”If you want to talk.
“Nah. We can watch it,” he says and I try to hide my disappointment. I really want to talk about his family and understand this sad ass look on his handsome face.
As if there isn’t a big as pink elephant in the room, we sit and watch two episodes while murdering my bag of popcorn.He asked a million damn questions, and only because he’s going through it, I answer them all. Normally, I would curse somebody out, stop my show, and turn to something else. I likeScandalin peace but I make an exception for him.
Before starting another episode, I ease off him and take the empty bag of popcorn and can into the kitchen. I toss both in the garbage can then wash my hands. I grab two bottles of water and paper towels then go back. When I hand him the waters and try to step over him to sit, he stops me and pulls me back on him.
“I thought you were sick of me all on you.”
“Nah. That’s cap. This is the only place I want you,” he says while rubbing his big hand on my leg. He inches his hand up and his fingers run across the bottom of my romper. “This shit is see-through. You ain’t got nothing on under here.”
“It’s not see-through,” I rebut.
His hand pushes up more under my romper and moves to my inner thigh. His fingers are millimeters from my pussy. He turns his head then stares down at me as he moves his hand all around my thigh. His big, warm hand feels like heaven on my skin and I can’t stop the low moan that escapes my lips. He smirks.
“But do you have anything on under this?” he asks but he already knows the answer. His fingers are now tickling my pussy.
“Riq, stop. We should talk about what happened so you can feel better.”
“Shit. I’m feeling better already.” His fingers run up and down my slit, then one slides into me.
“Riq,” I moan as he thrusts in and out. The feeling is crazy and the way he’s looking at me only intensifies it. I’m no goodand my next words hold no damn conviction, at all. “We need to talk not…damn…oh, shit!”
His thumb circling my clit changes the course, purpose, and intent of my words. While pleasing the hell out of me with his long ass finger, he leans in closer then slowly runs his tongue across my lips. I try with honestly no effort to speak again, but hell, I don’t want to. I want whatever this is that he’s doing to me at this very moment.
“How do I get this shit off?” he asks, but before I can say any-fucking-thing, another of his long fingers enters me.
Damn.
