Page 77 of Sweetest Temptation
She pulled up and let my now hard dick pop from her mouth. Twisting to face me, she purred. “We taste so good together, baby.” Not waiting for me to respond, she turned back around and swallowed my dick deep into the back of her throat.
“Shit, Nova baby! If a nigga wasn’t already in love, I swear… this visual would definitely do the trick.” I palmed the back of her head, guiding her up and down.
I felt like I was ready to bust the biggest nut of my life. Just when I was about to let loose, Zanova climbed on top in reverse cowgirl, slid down onto my dick, and fucked the shit out of me. Her pussy was eating my dick up. The shit was feeling so good, I couldn’t hold my shit in a second longer. I came so hard, I almost blacked out.
After lowering my heart rate, we showered, got dressed, and headed out the door. Forty-five minutes later, I pulled my Bentley Bentayga into Zanova’s parents’ driveway, the low purr of the engine fading as I shifted it into park. Today was the dayI was officially meeting her folks. A nigga never been nervous about shit, but for some reason, this had me uneasy. My palms weren’t sweating or anything, but my stomach had that tight, restless twist that wouldn’t quit.
The last time I did something like this was when I met Paige’s people. That memory alone made my jaw clench. Zanova’s parents didn’t strike me as the pretentious, judgmental type from how she talked about them. Paige’s parents, on the other hand, were cold as ice and twice as fake. Her folks didn’t care about who I was as a man. They only cared about how fat my pockets were. All they saw when they met me was dollar signs, the designer watch on my wrist, and the car I drove.
I should’ve known then that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
I stepped out of the car and went around to the passenger side to assist Zanova. I opened her door, and she placed her hand in my mine and climbed out. The white, fitted dress she wore stopped just above her knees and hugged her curves perfectly. She had her long hair bone straight and hanging down her back. I shut the door, but not before stealing a kiss. She looked nervous.
“Why are you looking nervous, love? Should I be worried?” I chuckled.
“No. It’s just… my father gave my ex such a hard time. He didn’t care too much for Jerome when they first met and never grew to like him either. My dad doesn’t play about me. He’s protective, maybe a little too much sometimes.”
“Good. That means he loves you. I can respect that.” I squeezed her hand. “But he's gonna love me. They both are. I’m a likable person.” I winked at her.
“Oh, yes. My mom is going to love you. She’s the nice one.”
I chuckled, taking her by the hand.
I led her up to the door, my thumb brushing the back of her hand as she reached to ring the bell, but before she could even touch it, the door swung open. Standing there was an older version of Zanova—same warm brown skin, same almond-shaped eyes, same kind of beauty that didn’t need effort. Her smile was wide and welcoming, the kind that instantly made you feel like family.
“Y’all made it!” she said brightly, her voice carrying that mix of love and authority only moms seem to have.
Zanova grinned and stepped forward, hugging her mom tight. “Hey, Ma.”
I stood back a second, watching them. The resemblance was uncanny, not just in looks, but in energy. You could tell where Zanova got her softness from.
Her mom glanced over her daughter’s shoulder and locked eyes with me. “And you must be Samir,” she said, her smile widening even more.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, stepping forward and offering my hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Oh, none of thatma’ambusiness,” she said, waving her hand playfully before pulling me into a quick hug that caught me off guard. “Call me Clarissa.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Clarissa, it is.”
She looked me over with that motherly mix of curiosity and approval. “Well, I can see why my daughter is so smitten. You’re even more handsome in person.”
“Ma!” Zanova laughed, a little color rushing to her cheeks.
I grinned. “She talks about me, huh? That’s a good sign.”
“Mm-hmm.” Clarissa stepped aside to let us in. “Come on in, both of you. Lunch is ready, and Lord knows my husband’s been pacing since she told him you were coming.”
Zanova shot me a look, half warning, half amusement.
Clarissa led us through the hallway, the scent of home-cooked food getting stronger with every step. The house had that lived-in feeling, with the family pictures on the walls and the energy that made you lower your voice without even realizing it.
She guided us into the dining room, where lunch was already set out on the table. Baked chicken, mac and cheese, collard greens, cornbread, and something that smelled like sweet potatoes. The spread looked more like a Sunday feast, and not just a casual lunch.
At the head of the table sat who I assumed was Zanova’s father. He was tall, from what I can tell, with broad shoulders and a stern presence. His gray button-down was neatly pressed, sleeves rolled up to the forearm, and his dark eyes lifted straight to me. It wasn’t a glare, but it damn sure wasn’t a smile either.
“Samir…” Clarissa said, still smiling as she gestured toward him. “This is my husband, Dale.”
“Sir,” I said, stepping forward and offering my hand.
