Page 43 of Church Girl
I try—and fail—not to squirm in my seat. Try—and fail—not to press my coochie hard against the cushion to alleviate the ache that throbs between my legs. Try—and fail—not to look into Von’s gray eyes and glimpse the intimate knowledge that he knowsexactlywhat I’m doing.
“I don’t know about all that,” I say, hating the breathless quality to my voice. “Who has or hasn’t been inside of me isn’t your business.”
Those eerie, beautiful eyes flash, and moisture seeps out of me, wetting my flimsy panties.
“You’re right.” He nods. “And I don’t care anyway. I don’t give a damn if you’ve fucked twenty men in your past, or if the only thing that pussy knows is your fingers. What matters to me isIhaven’t been inside you. And keeping it one hundred, ma? It’s probably a good idea I don’t know how that pretty cunt would curve to fit my dick because I might body a muthafucka over something that good, wet and tight. So yeah, good look. Don’t answer that question.”
How in thehellam I supposed to talk, tobreathe, afterthat? The drumming of my pulse fills my head, vibrates through my body. A flood opens between my thighs, and it’s embarrassing how drenched I am. A part of me feels like I should demand he get up and leave for disrespecting me with his loose and reckless mouth. That part feels I should be cautious, even intimidated, by the blatant sexuality he doesn’t try to hide.
But that half is a liar.
I’m not disrespected.
I’m not offended.
I’m not unsettled.
I’m turned on and hungry.
Nikki chooses this moment to return, and I forget my irritation that she didn’t appear earlier. This is perfect timing. I could kiss her for saving me from myself and my vagina.
“Here you go, boo.” She bends down, expertly balancing a bucket with a champagne bottle wedged in it and a drink. As she sets both of them down, she tosses a polite smile at Von, but her attention switches back to me. I might be sheltered, but I can read the invitation in her warm smile and the gleam in her pretty eyes. “Enjoy. And if you need anything, just send for me.”
Giving me a wink that doesn’t come across as douchey on her, she leaves, and desperate for something to do with my hands, I reach for the glass with the reddish alcohol in it. Sipping it, I taste the tartness of the cranberry with a hint of sweetness. Yuuum.
“You might want to slow down on that,” Von cautions as I take another healthy sip. “Especially if it’s gonna have you eye-fucking the waitresses.”
I gasp, causing the alcohol to go down the wrong way. Like the lightweight I am, I bend over, coughing, eyes watering. Damn. Why can’t I just drink like normal people?
“Why are you over here again?” I rasp once I get myself together. My eyes still water, but I can inhale. And since I can do that, I take another sip. Yes, it’s a small rebellion, but I’m owning it. “Aren’t your friends missing you?”
Subtle. Very subtle. And from the twitch of his mouth, he fully gets that I’m trying to get rid of him.
“Nah. I came over here for a reason. Don’t think I’m letting go of what had you over here in the strip club looking like you lost your best damn friend. Start there and then finish with why you’re here alone?”
“Listen, Daddy—”
“Find something safe to do, Liyah. Don’t play with me like that.”
There’s a lot of eff-around-and-find-out in that low warning. My eyes widen, taking in his narrowed gaze, the downward curve of his mouth. I swallow hard and blow out a low, trembling breath.
That bright sensation skating over my nerves, spinning in my stomach? Why can’t it be fear? I’d even settle for nervousness. But God, it’s not. That’s all excitement and shimmery want.
“Like I was saying,” I whisper, then clear my throat. Speak louder. “Not that it’s any of your concern because, again, full-grown woman here, I’m not alone. My cousin works here. She’s the one who got me this section.”
Surprise softens the hard line of his mouth, flares in his eyes, and he leans back a little. Thankfully, granting me the barest amount of room to breathe.
“You have a cousin who dances here?” He scans the room as if searching for someone who might resemble me. “Who?” Skepticism colors his voice.
“Tam—Jade.” I catch myself before revealing her real name. But I don’t even try to conceal the pride in my tone.
“No shit?”
“You know her?”
He snorts. “Who doesn’t know her? Shawty’s bad as fuck.”
The spurt of jealousy catches me by surprise. Von isn’t mine. Nowhere near mine. So this...unnerving, twisty feeling doesn’t make sense. I never experienced this with Gregory, and he was the man I’d been about to marry. As a pastor, he had women constantly coming up to him, hugging him, touching his arm, smiling up in his face. And I didn’t care. Not once.
