RED VELVET

The Lunchtime Chronicles

By

Siera London

writing as S. London

USA Today Bestselling Author

Table of Contents

Title Page

COPYRIGHT

About This Book

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

A Note from Siera

Jolly Rancher

L. Loren’s LoveRotica Sex Journal

Lunchtime Chronicles Season 3

My, My Sweet Potato Pie | By Sonja B.

Also by Siera

About Siera

CONNECT With SIERA on Social Media

COPYRIGHT

RED VELVET

Messy Mandy Presents: The Lunchtime Chronicles

Copyright © 2020 K. PRINGLE, SIERA LONDON

Kindle Unlimited Edition

http://www.sieralondonauthor.com

Cover art by Wicked Smart Designs

Edited by Love2Read Romance Editing

First Edition, September 2020

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Certain real locations are mentioned, however, all names, characters, events and incidents described in this book are fictitious or a product of the author's imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

All trademarks, service marks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the current U.S. Copyright Act, with the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form in whole or in part by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission from the author, Siera London.

About This Book

A LoveRotica Sex Journal, a curious librarian, and a sexy alpha who keeps what he finds.

KNOX UENO

I never thought a bookworm librarian could crack my spine.

Talk about underestimating a book by the plain cover.

Siah rewrote every page I thought I knew, and then put me back on the shelf, well-used and ready for check-out again.

I’m not mad that she worked me over.

I’m pissed that she left.

SIAH KENT

When I went to Knox’s bed, I unleashed all my wicked fantasies.

I can’t want more. So, after our weekend together, I scribbled, “The End” to our story in my LoveRotica Sex Journal and boarded a flight for home.

I’m single and satisfied until Knox rolls into town flipping all my well-ordered hormones with an erotic entry of his own.

It doesn’t matter.

He’ll never know my backstory, and I refuse to share my climax.

Dedication

Welcome to Messy Mandy Presents: The Lunchtime Chronicles, steamy, short erotic romance served piping hot. I’d like to dedicate this book to my Aunt Shirlene. She was a tremendous supporter of my work and a fellow romance book lover. We would laugh for hours about book boyfriends and how she could grab a player’s attention and have him pushing her wheelchair. I will miss her.

TO THE LUNCHTIME CHRONICLES Season 3 authors — Posey Parks, Author L. Loren, Keta Kendric, and Sonja B — words will never express how my spirit soars when I think of the fun times we’ve had in Messy Mandy’s world. The power of our combined creative voices infused this project and the romance reading community with a renewed passion for Fall 2020! It was my honor to work with each of you and share your talents with the Lunchtime Chronicles readers.

To my literary sisters — Michele Ingrid, Xyla Turner, L. Loren, T.B. Bond, LaQuette, and Taisha Demay — Knox and Siah’s story would not exist without our daily writing sprints and weekly phone calls. I feel your love across the miles. Truly, I am blessed because you are my friend.

Prologue

Mī Fantajī -Siah

My back hits the palatial windows overlooking the Sicilian countryside, and for a second, I’m an excited tourist visualizing the jaw-dropping street view of Knox’s hands gripping my ass. Despite the sunny spring morning, the glass feels cool and dry against my skin. I expect the chill to spread through my limbs, but his body cocoons me in warmth. Like the air trapped in my lungs, he holds my orgasm hostage, stretching the minutes to mind-bending hours. Thanks to Knox, my vaginal vacation has officially ended. His penis, the Knox cock should be molded and casted and the details documented in the women’s history archives. I knew he would be a fantastic lover, but I never imagined—

“Oh, damn, that’s my spot,” I pant, digging my heels into his firm ass for leverage. He grunts in response, angling me a fraction lower on his sculpted forearms.

“It’s mine now, Siah.” He chuckles, as if I have revealed more of my secrets.

Anticipation mounts. He flexes those powerful legs, working me up and down with practiced precision. Toned muscles cap his shoulders. My mouth waters as they grow slick from exertion.

“Yeah, do that again,” I demand, locking my fingers around his neck. “Harder,” I command, the word blunt and harsh, as I bounce my ass faster than a seasoned jockey on a thoroughbred in the final stretch.

And guess what? He doesn’t leave me hanging.

The feel of his large hands holding me open, balancing he thrusts deeper inside drives me wild. Frantic and wet slapping sounds of my hips slamming down on his steely cock ricochet all around us.

“I could get loss in you forever, Siah akai,” he rasps in my ear, the graveled sound of his voice heightening my senses.

He called me, my love. My breath hitches, and my pulse quickens. A flush of heat spreads through my chest. I feel beads of perspiration forming in the valley between my breasts. The urge to give him more than my body grips me, but I clamp my lips tight.

This is a game, a voice warns. A reminder that even Dorothy had to leave Oz.

“You know the word, akai?”

On occasion I’ve heard him speak Japanese with his friends during a basketball game or in frustration, but this is the first time he’s directed an endearment in his native language at me. Am I doing that thing when a one-night stand makes a tiny moment into a marriage proposal? Nope. Not going there, not phoning there, not even sending a mother fucking text to that kind of trouble. Knox and I are friends.

Fucking friends.

He quiets, his ragged breathing evens as he waits for my answer. I can’t. Then I remember my cautious inner self has had my vagina on a dusty shelf for half a decade. My performance deserves this man’s praise. I know it’s my pussy he loves, but it’s been a minute since a man gave me something other than the brush off.

“I do,” is all I say, and the simple phrase strikes a resounding cord. Drake and Deja’s wedding brought us to Italy, but for me— this feels like a honeymoon.

I see this man-intense, tanned, inky strands damp with perspiration. I smell this man-dark, warm, spiced. I want this man- now and forever. I’d be a fool to surrender more than I have, so I tighten my legs around his waist, urging him on. He not only watches me with those midnight feline eyes, he listens. My moans, my sighs, my pauses—like a secret agent, he decodes my body’s language and reveals my unspoken truth. Does my touch belie the years I’ve yearned for his possession? Can he hear the words my lips will never tell?

“Watashi no ai,” he whispers before I hear, “forever.”

This one I don’t know the English translation, but the affection in his tone strokes across my heart with a lightness of a feather.

“What did you say?” I ask. As the hours have fallen away, the banter between us ebbs and flows from flirtatious to futuristic. This is the first time he’s said forever. Two firsts in one night. Can I trust this love and the future he speaks of? I want to believe it so bad that my heart aches.

Knox slows his movements, yet he’s reached deeper inside me. Our bodies are inseparable, fire and flame that’s burning as one.

“Feel my translation,” he whispers.

And, I do. My heart wants to hold onto this soaring above the clouds feeling of being loved, writing a happy ending to our short story.  Friends who touch one another with love, but can never be lovers. We have no future beyond these walls.

Right?

“I know you want to,” I state boldly, relishing the ripple in the muscles across his broad back.

“Damn right,” Knox growls as he tunnels deeper into my sex.

“That feels good.” My inner thighs began to tremble, working to maintain a grip on his bucking hips.

“I’m not going anywhere, Siah.”

He sounds so sure. Yet, certainty is the one thing I cannot give. Either way, his words spur me on. Tightening my muscles, I clamp my sex down on his pulsing rod. I hear the hitch in his breathing. I’ve got him in the palm of my hand.

Gripping me harder, he slams that thick meat into my hungry center again and again. My breath comes in fragments, and I swear spots cloud my vision. Maybe I spoke too soon.

“Knox,” I moan. His name on my lips an admission that he has me too.

We’re edging closer to oblivion, both of us grinding, grunting, straining sweaty limbs, reaching for another tumble into ecstasy.

I close my eyes, allowing each thrust of his rigid cock to ripple through me. The force is a seismic wave of vibration blurring every touch, every thought, every image until nothing exist beyond me... and this man. I’m coming; my velvet pussy—his description, not mine—milking his rod.

“Stay with me,” he grunts, head flung back in a shuddering release.

“Yes,” I whisper, in the heat of the moment.

My name is Siah Kent. The woman who lives her life through romantic heroines, book boyfriends, and my sex journal. Knox Ueno is mī fantajī, my fantasy wrapped in lean, hard muscle.

I should have stayed away because two days later I had to leave him.

Chapter One

Knox Ueno – Six months later...

I find lost things. Paintings, jewelry, books, memorabilia. That’s the job of a private recovery specialist. Museums, art dealers, libraries, and insurance companies pay me a hefty sum when precious items, invisible to most, vanish. My flight landed at Baltimore International Airport two hours ago. Stillness rides shotgun with the midnight hour, but it does little to quell the turbulence coursing through my veins. I’ve reached my destination. My new assignment has me back in Maryland, on the campus of Sinclair State University. A lone structure lights the darkness. My heart thuds in my chest reminding me that this time it’s personal.

A woman is missing.

My woman.

She wasn’t kidnapped. If she had been taken it would’ve given my frustration a target. Fifteen years in the Army Rangers trained me to annihilate my enemy, to push through pain, to bury my emotions. Combat training has nothing on the havoc a woman reeks once she has you on the hook. No amount of instruction could’ve prepared me for Siah. One night with her long chocolate legs wrapped around my waist disarmed me. Images of us, breathless and tangled in sweaty sheets, fill my dreams.  My brain is paste, and my balls are bluer than an unemployed Chippendale dancer. The worse of it, I’m experiencing more feelings than considered safe for a human being with a ‘y’ chromosome.

I feel vulnerable as fuck.

And the part that really pisses me off is when her smart ass deprived me of the argument we should’ve had, the one I would’ve won by her boarding a flight on her own two little cute feet. Fleeing from the possibilities her body whispered when she thought I wasn’t listening. In forty-three years of living, Siah is the perfect mix of lover and friend. She thinks by running that she’s lost me. Not in this lifetime. I’m here to claim what’s mine.

Shoving the unsettled energy back, I’ve entered the only doors without an alarm or a staged sleepy-eyed residential assistant. The library.

“Knox Ueno for Ms. Kent,” I say to the young woman behind the half-moon circulation desk. Trudy, the library assistant, shakes her head in the negative. She’s maybe twenty-four with dark hair, pale skin, hazel eyes, and an intellectually superior attitude. I’m definitely dealing with a graduate student.

“She’s in a meeting. They can’t be disturbed.”

Siah works as the academic librarian at her alma mater. Trudy is opposite of the job description on her name tag. Her assistance, and I use the term with laxity, is a barrier I’m prepared to evade.

“Interrupt. Tell her Mr. Ueno is done with waiting,” I rasp.  Do I sound possessive? Possessed, possessive, the label doesn’t matter. I gave her months to call, to explain. My patience was met with silence. I’m the best at what I do because I can let go of rare beauty. None of the things I find are mine to keep. Siah is more than mine. I’m hers.

“Maybe I can assist you,” she suggests for the third time.

I push aside the neatly stacked four book tower separating us. “Yes, you can.”

She smiles up at me, a little too practiced, and I know this woman is the kind of trouble you can’t see until after dinner and drinks.

“Get Siah.” Fatigue has loosened my pc-meter, irritation squeezes me in its grip. I need Siah, sex, and sleep. Preferably all in the same night. First class cabins offer some level of comfort, but at six-foot two, seventeen hours folded into a sleep pod is exhausting.

Just then, I hear a moan from behind the door marked staff only.

Trudy turns her head, a tentative glance over her shoulder. I narrow my eyes in suspicion.

“What’s happening back there?”

She gives me a faux smile and says, “I’m afraid that’s a private meeting.”

Trudy has no idea how far I’m willing to go to reach Siah. We’re in a standoff.

“Times up, Trudy.” I chuckle, pivoting on my heel. The door marked Library Staff Only is ajar, and the echo of my boots are far from silent. “Siah,” I call, wanting her to know I am coming.

Why? I grew up in a Navy family. We relocated every two years. When it comes to establishing dominance as the new kid in the neighborhood, there is no hiding. I won’t let Siah hide from us. I for damn sure am ready to attack whoever touched my woman.

And, I want answers. Our time together, though short, was real and made for more than one or two nights of pleasure.

Trudy rushes after me. “Hey, John Wick. You can’t barge in here making demands.”

I shrug off the dig. It’s not the first time I’ve heard the reference applied to my overlong dark hair and long physique.

“And that room is off limits to library users,” she continues, drawing more attention. That’s on her. I did ask nicely for her assistance.

“What about lovers?” I ground out.

A red-faced, slender woman stumbles to a halt. I blow past the stunned youngster with the floor-length prairie skirt swishing around her ankles.

“What... you can’t say that in the library,” she stammers.

“Oh, if these shelves can talk.”

I’m down for sex between the shelves. I move undeterred by protests or vacant stares from over-caffeinated seniors huddled in study groups. My thoughts are focused on the only woman who can realign the pieces of our derailed relationship in my head. That usually silent woman felt me on the deepest of levels. In my bed she demanded. She commanded. She surrendered.

My blood flowed through her veins, and her breath entered my lungs. We were one. I want that feeling again. On the other side of the door people are talking.

“Open your legs wider. I want to hear you come.”

At the sound of Siah’s voice I jerk to a halt. What in the actual fuck?

“I’m calling campus security,” Trudy says in a rush.

I’m standing outside of my girl’s office doubting my ears.

Fetish movies have some freaky librarian scenes, but I never expected Siah to be a featured star. From ground to ceiling are pages wrapped in eloquent words, waiting for me to utter something profound. Fuck. My instinct is to topple the metal shelves with the perfectly arranged books. A literary arc of Shakespeare, Shaw, Mosley, Coltran, Winfrey, and Angelou surround me— all seem to be watching. How should I respond?

I grip the knob and push the door open. Instantly, my vision clouds with red. “Siah,” I growl, gruff and raw. She’s the one who awakened every one of my predator instincts when I returned to our hotel to find her and that damn book cover suitcase gone. “Shit.”

My eyes must be crossed because the picture is all wrong. Siah is laid out on the tan carpet, her long legs spread wide. Her dark locks have been replaced with a jazzy Josephine Baker-style crop, one silky finger wave falling over her half-lidded eyes. Her signature red-colored shirt scoops low over full breasts and erect nipples. Cropped red slacks stop short of her delicate ankles and red velvet pumps.

“Knox,” she mouths dreamily, more to herself than me.

For a second, my dick forgets the rest of the scene, choosing to focus on Siah’s undeniable beauty. Her nostrils are slightly flared like she’s sprinting for an invisible finish line, and my intrusion fails to trip her up. Pearly white teeth are pressed hard against her plump red wine-stained lower lip. Fuck... then what’s about to happen hits me. I know this look; I’ve replayed this vision a thousand times since we’ve been apart. She’s about to come. I shift my eyes lower—with another man between her legs. Sure, he’s younger and fully clothed. Like I give a fuck. He has a cock, and it’s too close to my woman’s clit.

“What the fuck kind of library check-out is this?” I bellow.

I speak multiple languages, but before I can translate my rage into English, a barrage of curses and threats flow in my native tongue. All the nights I’ve dreamt of Siah’s red lips and that velvet pussy stroking my dick, this is not how I envisioned our reunion. Seeing her legs open with another man inhaling her sweet cream ignites a primitive need to mark her as mine.

“Knox.” Siah jolts, the veil of arousal lifting from her eyes. Our gazes lock, and awareness thrums between us. My cock pulses in my jeans. She tries to close her legs, but the now pale-faced deadlocked male between her thighs is an unwanted blockade.

“Let’s talk. Now.” If I’m expecting shame or regret, then the devil is waiting for a sparkling water with a twist of lime.

“I’m in a meeting,” she says, lifting that stubborn chin.

In other words, no. Fine. I slipped off my black jacket, tossing it aside.

“You.” I point to the guy in the place I should be. “Get the fuck away from her.” It’s my only warning as I stalk forward.

“Knox, don’t you dare.” Siah’s voice climbs.

“What? I’m saving his life.” I glare down at her, letting her witness the fact that I’m serious.

She rears up on her elbows to glare at me, her chest heaving. A half smirk twists her lips as if she’s daring me.

“This is my LoveRotica Sex Journal group. You can shut up and stay. Or, shut up and go. Either way, you interrupted me giving birth to my orgasm.”

Damn, library study groups have changed since I attended class. What the fuck is LoveRotica? If women were willing to orgasm in the library during my college days, I would’ve read every book on the shelf, not just my favorites.

I step further into the room. “Any orgasm you birth knows I’m the daddy.”

“Knox,” she hisses through clench teeth. “This is private.”

I close the door behind me, dropping down to my haunches. Our gazes meet. “I’m a master at handling you in private.” Turning my head to her male partner, I say, “Back the fuck up.”

A chorus of mumbling erupts from the seven or eight LoveRotica onlookers. Ignoring them, I focus on Siah.

Cupping her nape in one hand, I pull her closer to me and plant a kiss on her lips. “I missed you, akai,” I mutter.

This is the closest I’ve been to my velvet in six months. Her semi-parted legs are inches from my face.

She lifts up onto her hand, rubbing two fingers over her lips. Though tempted to train my eyes on her heated center, I meet her wide gaze. When she notices I’m watching, she lets her hand fall back to her side.

“Well.” She glowers, and it’s so cute. I want to kiss her again. “Your timing sucks.”

“I disagree.” Inhaling, her spiced cinnamon scent touches my nose and hits my senses, making my body react. I want to bury my cock inside her right now. Behind Siah’s eyes, lust and desire ignite. My lips part into a wicked grin. Flattening my palms on both her knees, I slowly press her legs open until I hear that telltale breath of surrender.

“Knox,” she says, on a breathy sigh, lids sliding to half-mast. “What are—”

“Shh, akai,” I whisper. “What kind of daddy would I be if I missed my baby coming?”

My name is Knox Ueno. I find lost things. Discovering the part of Siah that loves me is just the beginning.

Chapter Two

Siah

Knox is here, but he shouldn’t be. My once weekly meeting is over, but a few of the LoveRotica Journal Club members linger, waiting for more fireworks. That’s the only way to describe the orgasm I unleashed with Knox’s cat-like eyes trained on my pussy. Girl, I screamed so loud, my journal partner Nathaniel gave me two snaps, a thumbs up, and offered to let me sing backup on Prince’s When Doves Cry at karaoke night.

I can’t believe Knox is here. I’m so happy, I think. Maybe I should be mad because Knox is here. Six month late—what the hell took him so long?

Yeah, my ass is battling the split personalities in my head. Like the other members in my support group, I can hardly keep my gaze forward. With his raven black hair brushing broad shoulders, twilight-colored eyes that see too much of what I try to hide, he is the pin up poster for every one of my private fantasies. The slim fit button-down black dress shirt clings to his sculpted chest. And the bowed legs encased in black denim is straight up mafia romance sexy.

“I’m really sorry, Ms. Kent.”

Trudy eyes Knox with a worried side eye. Do I blame my dedicated helper? No. Though he’s leaning his fine ass against the door jab, eyes staying on me, there’s no denying his predator like vibe. My heart rate quickens, not because I feel hunted. Rather because... I like it.

I pat my trusted assistant’s arm. “It’s okay,” I say, rolling my eyes at a smirking and satisfied Knox. “I can handle him.”

Her expression tells me she’s not convinced. “You sure?”

Hell no. “Very,” I pronounce with a wide-eyed smile.

She cuts a broad thoroughfare around the quiet wall of a man, accidentally bumping the propped open door. A thud sounds, and I jump. Knox is at my side in an instant, large, looming, protective.

“It’s true.” He smiles at Trudy. “Ms. Kent knows how to keep me quiet.”

With the back of my hand I rub my forehead, still a little fuzzy from my orgasm. Looking up at Knox, I cock one finger. “Come with me.”

My heart races as I lead him to the small office I share with four other librarians. Never has a man showed up on my job demanding to see me. Damn, I can’t wait to write tonight’s journal entry.

“How did you get past Trudy?” I don’t have to look at him to remember that carnal masculine stroll that belies his strength. I tell myself it’s okay. The one thing I’ve mastered in my forty-years of living is how to let go of the things I can’t have.

“Need a bodyguard now?”

I ignore the deeper meaning of his opening interrogation question. Knox knows me, but I also know him. His being here means he wants something from me. And damn my hussy of a body, I want to give it.

“We’ve had a theft problem—books, computers, smartphones. After my ruby brooch disappeared, Trudy started locking all the access doors. As for the bodyguard,” I reply coolly, “I know how to give my body everything it needs.”

It’s not a total lie. The sex journal challenges curbs the ache, but my profile is still active on the N2U dating site.

I’m in his arms before my next breath. His scent is crisp, dark, and woodsy. The more I inhale, pulling him into my lungs, the more I melt into his hardness. My ass is pressed up against his stiff cock. “I didn’t take you for the fucking around type,” he rasps in my ear. The minty smell of his breath brushes my cheek, and I shiver. Is he for real? He’s ruined me and my pussy for other men. “Mine is and will always be the only name in your sex journal.”

The confidence in his tone surprises me. The possession in his voice and tone thrills to the point of lightheadedness. I haven’t had a whiff of dick since Italy. Maybe I’m suffering from a low cock count. Messy Mandy calls it cock-anemia. But, I think this intoxicating rush is the Knox effect.

“My journal is just that... mine,” I say, pulling free of his grasp. He wants me to spill my own tea? I laugh. Its harsh, and scraping, like my feelings when he didn’t call. Not that I was waiting, but I did sleep with the dumb ass smartphone under my pillow for two weeks.

Spinning to face him, I ask, “Are you working a case? Is that why you’re back in Sinclair?” Accusation hangs on every word. My eyes drift to his groin. His cock pulses under my intense gaze. Damn, that’s sexy. My mouth waters, and I swallow my desire to tongue the wide head of his delicious cock.

A low rumble fills the air. I blink. Lifting my head, I follow the sound, stopping at Knox’s chest.

“The job is 24/7, except when I’m inside you.”

I ignore his baiting. Attacking him is my last line of defense. “Tell me why you’re here, and then go.”

“Heard about the public orgasm orgies.” He smirks.

“Public is the only orgasm you’ll get from me,” I rasp, flipping the light switch to an on position with one finger.

Someone clears their throat. Behind Knox stands Nathaniel, one of the four males in the LoveRotica group. This is my second time facilitating the ninety-day journey for the university staff.

“Hey, ah—Siah. Do you need me—”

A soft buzz starts before the fluorescent tubes above flicker and brighten to an artificial too white light

“Oh, hi, Nathaniel,” I start before I’m propelled forward.

In one move, Knox has an arm around my waist and turns to face Nathaniel. The two men are face to face. Height wise, Knox has him by two or three inches. They’re both lean, but Knox is all muscle, where Nathaniel is skin and bones with greasy blond hair.

“You like to live dangerous,” Knox says, extending a hand. Nervous laughter comes from the other man.

“Not at all,” he says, taking Knox’s hand. When Knox doesn’t release him, Nathaniel’s wide eyes communicate his mistake.

I jab an elbow in his ribs. “Let him go,” I mumble, still smiling at the reddening history professor.

“Whatever Siah needs,” Knox grumbles, “I have it.”

Cloaked in shadow, his words sound ominous. Poor Nathaniel. He’s asked me for a date more than once, but I always refuse. This attempt to stake his claim is such bad timing. Knox releases Nathaniel.

“Glad we talked,” Knox says without cracking a smile.

I close the door as a perspiring Nathaniel did a Michael Phelps freestyle in the opposite direction.

“What the hell was that, Knox? I have to work here.”

He shrugs. “You and Nate,” he mimicks, “knew that ‘need’ shit wouldn’t fly with me.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you going to answer my question? Why are you here?”

Inside, I hope he doesn’t fuck this up. Though I have no intention of sleeping with this man again, my ego wants to hear him say the words. He wants to fuck me again.

“You,” he says, walking the narrow aisle between the four cubicles.

He’s been on the campus plenty of times, but I never invited him into the inner sanctum. It sounds weird, but giving Knox access to my small office, seeing his broad shoulders engulf my five foot five frame adds more potency to his masculine power. Power that he already held over me, like that deluge of water in the Flash Dance movie. I’m drenched in his presence; my pussy is still wet for him.

“What about me, Knox?” I demand, snapping my fingers. He’s not used to this side of my personality. Neither am I. I realized in Italy that I had made a tactical error in sleeping with Knox. Wanting him the way I did, made me too vulnerable.

He angles his head to study me. “You knew I’d come.”

Seeing Knox makes my thoughts flood with intimate details of that weekend. The fall of his straight mane brushing my nipples, the press of his lips on my skin, the pull of his mouth closing over my clit.

“So, why wait six months?”

I hadn’t given up. Instead, I did what most mature women do, I moved on. In your 20’s you wait around on some guy who rocked your socks to call. By thirty, if you don’t hear from him in two days you go to his house with toilet paper and a few of those shit bags from the dog park. At forty, if you don’t get a text within twenty-four hours you assume he’s dead, married, or both.

Knox backs me up against my cubicle, his body an immovable wall holding me upright. I feel the slow slide of his hand over my stomach. My breath hitches when his breath caresses my neck.

“I gave you time.”

“For what?” I ask, my breath quickening. He’s running his full lips along my collar bone. That’s my spot. It’s sensitive as hell, like he’s stroking my clit.

“For you to tell me not to come for you.”

I shift to look at him, but he tightens his hand, stopping me.

“Don’t move. I want to hold you like this.”

“Hugging my ass?”

“Yep.” He chuckles, and it moves my chest along with his.

He inhales, his breath slow and deep. I think of him holding his breath until this moment. Why? Because that’s what I’ve been doing since I left him.

“You know my group is on the other side of that door? I want to make a good impression.”

His smirk is practically audible. “Then fuck me and pretend to love it.”

I want to, and there would be no pretending. I do love giving myself to him. Yes, I can orgasm in public, but Knox’s knowledge of my body’s responses is too personal. His touch reaches beyond physical sexuality. This man possesses the power to make love to my soul. What he gives me is for my eyes only.

Managing to hold onto one pressing thought, I say. “I don’t want anybody else to see you.”

It’s true. Addiction can be deadly, but he gives me life. Sharing him is impossible. I don’t even want the heifers on the other side of that door imagining what he can do with these talented hands. And his dick should be listed as a national treasure.

He chuckles. “Are you always this selfish with the men you sneak out on?”

“I didn’t sneak. I stayed two days past my expiration day.”

He taps his temple. “My memory is good. I’m sure you told me your pussy is Febreeze fresh and Air Wick sweet.”

I laugh, because those are the words I said to him when he invited me to shower before our first time together.

“You are wrong for that.” I chuckle.

He laughs too. This is how it is between us, comfortable, but intense.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, running his fingers through my bleached blonde do. I exhale, loving this stillness between us. When he lowers his forehead to mine, I tilt my head back, giving him access to my lips. “I missed you, akai. There’s no termination date on us. Tell me why you left.”

I stiffen. This is what I was running from. All the whys and why nots about a future that isn’t mine to want.

I push his hands away. “We had our one night. Leave it alone.”

He grabs my wrist. “I won’t. We’d be fucking right now if the LoveRoticas weren’t lurking.”

It’s true. One tug and I’m back in his arms. Already, I’m thinking how I could give him the very heart of me. He’s my one.  All my doubts seem to fade in his arms. I inhale his dark spice, taking him into my lungs. It stings like an arctic blast, chilling me with how badly I want this to be right in a sea of wrong lifetimes. If only we’d met in a different place in time.

“You think this is right between us. But, you only know a part of my life.” I have responsibilities at home that men can’t seem to grasp or respect. Twenty years ago, when the car accident robbed me of my father, I had hope of finding a man who would lift me up while I supported what was left of my family. It’s never happened. Now, I don’t expect it to change.

He interrupts. “Then tell me.”

I like Knox, but not enough to risk heart break again. That’s why I left him in Italy. It’s a conversation I never want to have with him.

I shake my head. “Oh no. I’ve been here before.”

He grips my chin, looking into my eyes. “Not with me.”

When he doesn’t look away, I feel him cutting through my armor. I have to get out of here.

“Look,” I say, pushing at his chest. “It’s my day off. I only came in for my support group.”

“Yeah,” he rubs his neck, “we need to talk about your sex group.”

I roll my eyes, not about to take advice from a man who’s not mine.  “It’s a self-discovery group. And... it’s my business.” I glance at the door.

He angles his head towards the door. “You want me to go?” he asks, hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

“Yeah, I do. It’s my night off, and I need to get home.”

Silence stretches worse than cheap panties in a good dryer. I thought I’d feel lighter asking him to go, instead I feel my chest rising faster. Can he hear me breathing?

“Us... being apart feels wrong.”

No need to say that twice. I agree, but I can’t utter the words. A lock of hair falls over his eye. My fingers twitch to push it away. I want to see his face, memorize every angular plane.

“Six months can do that.” I smirk.

He raises a brow at my obvious sarcasm. “Okay,” he sighs, “I’ll leave.”

I press my lips together, cutting off a protest. Shut your crazy ass up. The man is giving you exactly what you asked for but don’t want. This is how women end up cursing at children and Jehovah’s Witnesses. Deprivation.

“Thanks, Knox,” I say, a little sad that he’s leaving me here. It’s probably best. He’s never in town for long.

“Come here,” he whispers.

I walk straight into his arms. One last kiss. I tell myself it will be enough. He closes his arms around me.

“Don’t thank me,” he whispers. I’m coming with you.”

“The double meaning—it’s intentional?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he cups my ass while grinding his hard cock into my pelvis.

My breath hitches. Shit, I walked into this one.

Chapter Three

KNOX

“You invite me to your house, bring me straight to your bedroom, but you don’t want to fuck?” I call out, hoping she hears me over the bathroom’s running water.

After seating me in a saucer chair, basically a bean bag with legs, Siah disappears behind a partially open door. Scents of warm cinnamon and hot spice float in the air, tickling my nose. Her bedroom reminds me of a small efficiency apartment with a French door seating area surrounded by bookcases facing her unmade bed, a wet bar on the entry wall, and a huge double-door master bath.

“Did you say something, Knox?”

Huh, I didn’t think the water was that loud, but I thought better of repeating my initial comment.

“Your room is eclectic. Lots of red.” Stacks of books including fiction, non-fiction, and memoirs line the walls. My woman is a true book junkie, and her personal space is a menagerie of bold colors. Orange, purple, gold, and of course, red are a testament to Siah’s timeless, yet unique beauty. It’s cozy, sensual, and lived in.

“Thanks. Every Valentine’s Day my father would give me a gigantic red heart-shaped box filled with chocolate chews. He was the first man in my life,” she says, the buzz of an electric toothbrush distorting the syllable, so it sounds like yanks. “That chair and that brooch I mentioned were sixteenth birthday gifts from my dad.”

Pondering the theft of her brooch, I study the images of her life. How many items in this room are a memorial to a daughter’s first love, her father? On second glance, there’s other vintage pieces-a 1980’s Spencer’s lava lamp and an autographed picture of the Fresh Prince of Bel-air sit on a bookshelf next to a faded image of a young Siah with sad eyes in a prom dress.

The bathroom door opens, and my blood starts pounding in my veins. Six months without her touch, and the tight rein I held on my sex drive is revving the engine. I lean forward, eager to see Siah’s sleek curves covered in a frilly red negligee. She steps into the light, pausing. My jaw goes slack before my mouth hinges open. What the hell?

Big chunks of her hair are curled around yellow and pink twisty rods sticking up in every direction. Under both eyes are pink gel leech-shaped pads. That’s not all. There’s no sexy lace. Instead a ratty, over-sized terry bathrobe covers her lush frame from neck to toes.

“Refusing to go back where you came from isn’t the same as an invitation, Knox” she says, killing the light.

Growling, I sink back in the beans. “Aw shit, Siah. I know what you’re doing?”

She gives me an innocent smile. “What? Having a cocktail before bed. Want one?”

I’d much rather feed her my cock, but I’ll let the fun and games continue... for now. A woman doesn’t put this much effort into looking unattractive unless she’s purposefully trying to deter a man’s pursuit. This isn’t her showing disinterest. It’s her true motives at battle with fear and desire.

“You think I won’t fuck you with the Medusa curlers and big ass robe hiding your body?” At the bar she mixes cranberry juice, raspberry-flavored Vodka, lime, and Grenadine in a martini glass. Handing me the fizzy red liquid, she pours a drink for herself.

“I can’t believe you showed up at my job on my day off.”

I take a sip. It’s good, so I down the rest. For my next party trick, I’m sure I’ll need my hands free. “Huh?” I had no idea of the work shift from five days down to four. “You’ve always worked on Friday nights.”

She shrugs. “My daytime responsibilities changed. Starting at one o’clock keeps my mornings open, and the ten-hour shifts give me a three-day weekend to recover.”

Recover from what? As a single woman, I thought having nights available would be advantageous. Not that I want her available to another man. When she tries to slip past me to sit on the bed, I grab her wrist, pulling her down to my lap.

“What responsibilities?” I quiz. In the three years I’ve known Siah, she never talks about her family. None of our shared friends do.

“Knox, my drink.” She laughs. A few drops slosh over the rim, flowing over her slender fingers.

Not that I expected an answer, but I had hoped she’d trust me with the details. Without shifting my eyes from her, I extend my tongue, lapping up the juices. “Delicious.”

A soft moan escapes, and her eyes drift closed. Her ass drops into my crouch, as her legs sprawl across my spread thighs. My dick bobs its head in delight. I know she wants me in her bed. I’m baffled by her rejecting me in her heart. No matter how many times I replay our time together in Italy, I can’t pinpoint where I went wrong. Then a thought occurs to me. Maybe, I’m just a journal entry to her.

I don’t think as my temper flares, and I just blurt out this new truth. “You slept with me for your group assignment.”

Siah’s eyelids shoot open. “That’s a lie.”

Her face contorts in outrage. I almost feel guilty with my next demand. “Show me your sex journal.”

I clamp my arm around her waist before she can scramble away. That doesn’t stop her from shooting eye daggers at my head.

“Kiss my ass.” She huffs, handing her drink to me.

“Is that in the journal?” I ask with a straight face, accepting the glass.

Planting both hands on my chest, she shoves. “Let me up.”

“No.” She ran from this conversation in Italy. I won’t allow her to push me away again. My heart can’t take it. “Considering your abrupt departure. The question is valid.”

All of a sudden, Siah’s struggle for release stops. She regards me with dark eyes, intent and serious. “You can’t believe I’d do that to you,” she snaps.

The vulnerability and hurt in her voice shakes me, but I steady my resolve. Something went wrong, and I deserve to know. How can I find the missing piece without any identifying markers?

“You want unbelievable, huh? You dumping me in the no-fuck zone is one.  You birthing orgasms in the fucking library is two,” comes my sharp retort. “Dewey Decimal is probably in therapy because of you.”

“That’s a grade school cataloging system,” she says, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “If tonight was too much, you really don’t want to see my video from last week.”

I raise an elbow, my curiosity piqued. Damn, she’s so unexpectedly sexy.

“Actually, I’m interested in reviewing any tapes you have, silent and with audio.”

A salacious grin parts her lips. “You’re cut off, Knox.”

I fist my hands in her robe, scooping her up in my arms.

“You replacing my cock with your LoveRotica sex club?” Before she can cut me with her sharp and witty tongue, she blurts out the truth.

“Your cock is irreplaceable.”

Siah claps one hand over her mouth. I give a satisfied smirk.

“I knew my woman would come to my defense.” I grin, depositing her on the foot of the bed. She falls back carefree, her body bouncing on the plush mattress.

Dropping to my knees, I part her legs, placing one bare foot on each of my broad shoulders.

She says my name on a breathy sigh, her eyes sparking with need. “Knox, what are... you—”

Slowly, I untie the knot at her waist, peeling away the butt-ugly robe. My eyes feast of the dew glistening on her bare pussy.

“I missed your taste on my tongue, akai.”

Without a word I close my mouth over her firm nub, sucking hard.

“Ah, yes,” she moans. “Knox, yes.”

The glide of her hands threading through my inky locks and her nails scraping along my scalp sends shivers down my spine. I lap at her pussy like a starving man. Parting her with my tongue, I circle her juicy slit. Delivering firm strokes to her velvet walls over and over. The faster I move, the more she writhes beneath my ministrations. Siah bucks her hips, meeting my tongue, offering me her sweet cream.

“Eat my pussy,” she pants.

I look up. She’s using her fingers to milk her full breasts, pinching her nipples between her thumb and forefinger. Shit, it’s so hot watching her pleasure herself; I can’t tear my eyes away. She’d been wild in Italy, begging me to fuck her, adventurous and inventive with our lovemaking. But, this. She wraps her thighs around my head, burying my face in her snatch. Fuck, I can barely breathe. Damn it, I’ll pass out before I stop devouring this pussy. I’m like an addict who’s been denied my fix too long. Flicking my tongue faster, I continue until I feel it. Siah’s back bowing off the bed, her legs clamping me in a vice grip, and then a flood of her cream frosts my face. She screams my name when she flies apart, her body trembling in beautiful release.

With both hands, I grip her thighs, freeing my head, and cracking my neck. I have a new respect for her toned thighs. She knows how to lock me down. I like the thought of us bound, belonging to one another forever.

“Fuck, you taste better than I remember,” I say, tugging at the hem of my shirt. My dick is rock hard to the point of discomfort. I groan in anticipation of losing myself in her slick heat. Siah lays breathless on the bed, legs wide, pussy exposed, her eyes fixated on the ceiling. A big smile spreads across her face, and she reaches for me.

“You’re exactly the same, Knox.”

“Sex, and then we talk about us,” I urge, waiting for her agreement.

She nods. “Deal.”

I’ve place one knee on the bed, then I hear movement in the house. I halt, following the sound, my instincts on alert. “Who’s outside the door?” I whisper.

Siah bolts upright, post-sexual haze wiped out. “Knox, you need to leave,” she says in a rush.

Her tone is high and frantic. I narrow my eyes, taking in her slack expression and rapid pulse at her neck.

“No,” I assert, crossing my arms over my chest.

She scrambles off the bed, knotting her robe. “I’m serious, Knox. Get your shit and leave.”

She’s panicking. What the hell for? Neither of us are teenagers. No one is calling the cops about me being in a girl’s room.

“Get my shit?” I grab her, my hands on both her shoulders. She looks up at me, a worried furrow between her brows. “What the fuck are you doing?” I frown. “We’re adults.”

She’s really worked up, and I’m trying to process why us being discovered is a problem for her.

“It’s my neighbor,” she whispers. “She probably heard us.” She gives me a pleading look. “I don’t want to explain you being here. So, go, please. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What can I say? I can fight to stay. Or, live to fight another day.

She moves, opening the French doors to the front yard. She beckons me to speed up. Damn, not even through the front door.

“Fine. “I muse, scratching my head. “I can assume your neighbor doesn’t know about the LoveRotica group?”

“No, Knox. She doesn’t know,” she hisses. “Help me out.”

Throwing my jacket over my forearm, I casually stroll to the door.

Siah raises up on tipped toes, placing a quick peck on my lips. Sealing my mouth to hers, I mingle our tongues together, leaving our taste on her juicy flesh.

I grip her chin before she pulls away. “Tonight, I’ll go,” I rasp, “tomorrow, you come until I say we’re done.”

Chapter Four

Siah

The smooth glide of rubber wheels across the hardwood flooring alerts me to a visitor before a thin stream of light splits the bedroom door from the frame. I was harsh with Knox. A grimace forms when I replay the ‘get your shit’ comment. The man must think I’m a psycho. A buzz still hums through my sex at the orgasm he’d given me with his mouth. Gosh, the man is amazing—smart, protective, romantic, and he loves books. It shames me how I’d behaved when faced with my two realities. Knox or my—

“Siah, you still awake?”

My mom, Serray Kent, rolls herself forward, maneuvering her permanent mode of transportation expertly. I push the bedcovers from my neck and sit up with my back against the headboard.

She looks beautiful. Her brown skin is seamless and glowing. Salt and pepper gray streak her black cropped curls. Mrs. Kent is in the beauty shop every Saturday. She’s sacrificed so much for me to complete my education. The car accident confined her to a wheelchair, but she’s still full of life. Even though her body isn’t.

“Yea,” I sigh, admitting to her and myself that the man who walked out of my door an hour ago is very much in the room with me. I can still smell his scent on my skin. No, I didn’t shower. Don’t judge. I wanted him with me in bed.

“So, is the fine ass man parked on my side of the driveway the reason you spent two extra days in Italy?

“Oh my gosh.” I hop to my feet. “Is he still outside?” Yes, I live at home. Don’t give me that pitying look. It’s not what you think.

“Girl, no. But I could tell he’d rather be grabbing your ass instead of that Porsche’s steering wheel.”

My mouth drops open. My three-nights-a-week-on-the-church van mother doesn’t talk asses.

“Ah, okay.” I frown. “I’m not sure how to respond to that, Sister Kent.”

Serray’s laughter fills the room. “Gurl, you can’t play the librarian with me.”

I’ve never brought a man home before. Knox is my first, and I’m not quite sure how to describe what’s happening with me, or us. Respecting my mother and our home is paramount. We share a roof, utilities, meals, but I can’t share details about my man.

“Who’s playing?” I smile through the shadowed darkness. “I am a librarian.”

She leans forward, shoving my leg. “You’re a butterfly,” she snorts, as if she knows all my secrets, “waiting to fly.”

I write out my feelings a lot. It’s something I learned in junior high school. One drunk driver changed our lives forever. Mom lost her legs, and we both lost the man of the house. I’m not sure when the roles switched between us. It wasn’t right away, like some would assume. One day she stopped taking care of me, and I started caring for her.

“Call me an open book.” My room is a virtual library. Books live in every corner, litter every piece of furniture, and yes, if I happen to gift a book, I repopulate the shelves with the literary treasure trove beneath my bed. Don’t judge.

“I found your LoveRotica Sex Journal.”

That gets my head to poke out of the shell. What is it with today? First, Knox, and now, my mother is snooping too.

“Mama,” sitting up, cross-legged, I pat down the covers, “you went through my stuff?”

“The devil is a liar,” she rasps, eyes narrowed at the affront.

I’m not taking the bait. She might not have snooped this time, but she’s pretty good at locating all my hiding places. “Then how did your nose end up all in my business?”

She flashes a broad smile. “Barnes & Noble is a snitch.”

No snooping required. I remember we share an account. My passion for reading started at birth with this beautiful woman sharing her literary adventures with me in the womb. She was a wonderful teacher for me and the neighborhood kids. Little has changed.

“My bad,” I nod in understanding, “but, you totally should have kept the info to yourself.”

My mom rolls closer to me, finger wagging like she did when I was a girl. “You’re lucky my monthly book budget is bankrupt. I was about to one-click According To My Nipples when it popped up in suggested reading list.”

“Ew, mama.” I frown. “I do not want to talk nipples with you.”

She waves off my comment. “Girl, you better be thanking these Kent legacy breasts. You got that full rack and the smooth complexion ‘cause of my breast milk.”

“What?” I flap my hands. “Never mind. Don’t say nothing else about sex journals, nipples, or breastmilk for the rest of my life.”

“You’re the one buying orgasm books,” she mutters under her breath.

I pause, giving my very open to any conversation mama a pointed look.

“I’m getting a separate account tomorrow.” I swing my feet to the red faux fox fur rug beside my bed. “I’m hungry.”

“I bet you are.”

We’ve always been this way. I can talk with my mom about anything. Maybe it’s the teacher in her. Growing up, our house was the neighborhood fun palace with slumber parties in the winter, springtime Easter egg hunts in the backyard, horseshoes, and tether ball in the summer.

I roll my eyes, taking the handles of her chair. “You are a bad influence.”

My mom swivels her neck, looking up at me. “Don’t think because you’re the only child, I didn’t get plenty of practice before this chair, Siah Renee.”

“Eww,” I grimace, pushing the chair and my potty-mouthed mom into my small kitchen. “Do you teach Sunday school with that mouth?”

I grab the egg carton, a pack of sausage links, the squeezable mayo, and manage to snag the fishtail end of the wheat bread loaf.

“Yes, I do,” she grabs the OJ carton from the fridge closing the door with a bump of her wheelchair. “Sex is one of the best parts of sharing your life, Siah.”

“I’m not talking.” This time of night we always eat the same meal. We love breakfast. It reminds us of a different family. A time when Mom, Dad, and me gathered around the table, laughing and planning the days ahead.

“Baby girl, you better realize when a man follows you home, looking to play hide and seek with beef sausage.”

I bang the frying pan on the stove, purposely drowning out this sex education class.

“Don’t think your mama can’t pull a playa to ride this party train.”

I burst out laughing. “Who are you, and where is Sister Kent?”

She sobers. “I’m glad we are finally having this conversation.”

The laughter comes to an abrupt halt. I place the ingredients on the counter, wheeling Mom up to the table. “What are you saying?”

Without looking at me, she reaches over her shoulder and grips my hand. Her fingers are slender and calloused. Her touch is maternal, loving, and concerned.

“You stopped living when I stopped walking, Siah.”

The delivery is so soft that the words hit harder than expected. My gut knots. Silence stretches between us. I want to deny this truth, but I can’t. Was I wrong to want to take care of her the way she took care of me?

“Mom,” I whispered. “I love you. Taking care of you makes me happy.”

She nods. “I know, baby. But, knowing you feel like you have to sacrifice your happiness for me, makes me sad for both of us.”

I’m confused. What can I say? “You want me here, right?”

This is my childhood home. It was Mom’s idea to convert our four-bedroom, two bath ranch-style house into a duplex. Each side with two bedrooms and one bathroom. We share the front and back yards. I insisted on the connector door between the twin kitchens.

“I thought you’d have your own place by now. Lord knows, I’ve encouraged you to find love for myself and start a family.”

“Is all this talk of love and family coming from Knox’s visit?” I knew it was a mistake to invite him in. Not just my home, but my heart. As much as I want to deny he doesn’t hold a place in my life, I’m afraid he is the center of my world.

“Yes and no.” She clears her throat. “Sounds carries through these walls more than I thought. He sounds talented.”

“Well, there is that. But, I suggest you stick with no. Knox is visiting, Mama. He is a recovery expert. He lives his life on airplanes and in hotel rooms.”

He’s never promised me more than a good time. Yes, he’s dropped hints, but I can’t change my life for a maybe happily ever after.

“Sounds exciting.” It was. Insurance companies and private parties seek him out to recover their stolen property. Law enforcement, domestic and international, allocate very few human resources to recover property, even if it’s worth millions.

“It’s transient and unstable,” I say, returning to the stove. The butter sizzles, and I slowly add the ingredient. Mom busies herself with the cups and pouring our juice.

She drums her fingers on the tabletop. I grit my teeth, knowing she’s not done with this.

“Seems like the man knows how to lick the pages of your book.”

“Mom!” I shout, testing the toast with my fingers. It’s hot, but not scorching. “I do not want to talk dirty, sexy, or LoveRotica with you.”

I wipe my hand on a dish towel, transferring two slices of toast, a turkey sausage patty and two fried eggs to the paper towel-lined platter. Neither one of us needs the saturated fat, and Mom’s primary care doctor is adamant about her maintaining her ideal weight.

“Okay, Ms. Thang,” I say before grabbing Mom’s plate. It’s funny, I thought she’d be more concerned about a man entering my life. The possibility of change is frightening.

“Does Knox know you’ve been practicing your orgasms?”

“OMG, that’s too much. No sandwich for you.”

“Is that what you told Knox?” My mother laughs. “That’s why he was in my driveway at two o’clock in the morning, choking the wheel?”

I point to the door. “Wheel you butt out of my kitchen, Dr. Ruth.”

“You can’t say the word happiness without saying penis.”

“Go,” I screech.

My mom laughs, and the sound is full of warmth and love. Knox is gone, yet his presence has invaded my home, and invisible force pushing against the natural order of my life.

“My goodness, this is the most animated response I’ve seen from you since Lavelle Henry tore the cover on your signed copy of Terry McMillan’s A Day Late and a Dollar Short.”

“Keep talking. I’m going to lock you out.”

“Dang,” my mom looks up at me, a grin separating her full mouth, “me and Knox getting put out.”

I prop my hands on my hips. “Stop saying his name.”

“Nope.” She smirks. “I like it. Maybe you’ll finally put some Knox in your bedpost.”

“You know what? I’m questioning where that church van is taking you once you leave here.”

My mom starts backing up. “Fine, it’s late, and Saturday morning is my shop time with the girls.”

“I can take you in the morning.”

“Somehow, I think you’ll be pre-occupied. I sent Mandy a text.”

Oh goodness, no. Messy Mandy spreads more gossip than the national press secretary.

“Mama,” I huff. “Why would you call Mandy? You know she’s probably hacking into the traffic cameras at this very moment to spy on me. Knox can wait.” The moment the words leave my mouth, my pussy objects. “We’re friends, Mama. Nothing more.” That is a total lie, but I run with it. I had to.

“Siah,” my mom’s voice sounds light and hopeful. And like the daughter she’s trained me to be I shift from give to receive mode. “Mandy is a good girl. It’s that twin sister, Maxi, who’s flashing her spiced ham at every hot dog with a piece of cheese.”

“No you didn’t call that woman’s stuff spiced ham.” I stare, shaking my head. “Again, you should switch seats on the church van ‘cause you about stir up some trouble.”

My mother rolls her eyes. “Let me worry about my religion. You need to give that man a chance.”

I release a heavy sigh. “How do you know?” I challenge.

“He might be the one.”

“The one to take me away from all of this?” I ask, letting my reality hang between us. My mom is spirited, loving, supportive, and dependent. Knox is here for a visit. Hell, he’s probably working a case. I have one, maybe two weeks with him before he walks out of my life for another six months.

“See what I see, baby. Knox could be the man to replace all your romance book boyfriends with your own happily ever after hero.”

Yeah, she might speak truth, but as much as my mom believes she’s self-sufficient, she’ll always need my help.

Chapter Five

Knox

I arrive at Siah’s place at exactly ten forty-five. Sleep has been elusive, but the time spent planning our night is well worth the red eyes. The bell chimes the original Star Trek theme, and the click of heels can be heard before she opens the door. Maryland is cool in early November, and my black leather blazer is the perfect weight. She opens the door, greeting me with a smile, looking gorgeous. I exhale the breath I had been holding. Honestly, when a woman tells you to get your shit, it’s a 50/50 chance whatever you left behind is trashed, including your number.

“Hey, Knox. I expected you this morning.” She muses, stepping aside to let me in. I hear the question she wants to ask. Did she crave me like I hungered for her? Today she’s wearing a red velvet dress, with a push up bodice and the thinnest layer of white lace. The hair rods are gone, praise the gods, and her curls are bouncy with a soft sheen.

“You look beautiful,” I say, and it’s all I can do not to trip over my two feet.

Crossing the threshold and inhaling, I draw her sweet and spicy cinnamon fragrance into my chest. Lust shoots through me, gripping my balls, awaking the unmet needs as a primal need rises.

“Thank you.”

I feel like a big, bad wolf ready to bend my little red velvet riding hood over a tree trunk and pump her full of my cock.

“Take this,” I grunt, handing her a gift bag with three different colors of tissue paper. The bookstore clerk swore Siah would love the added touch. I hope she’s right because I have a second gift she needs to be primed for.

She takes it without question. I appreciate the trust she exhibits by readily accepting my peace offering. I wonder why she can’t do the same with me. Today, I’ll get my answer. If I have to fuck her senseless until my cum is the only truth serum she’ll ever need, consider it done.

The little minx missed me. “Does velvet need stroking?”

Her pupils dilate at the mention of my sex vixen name for her.

“Actually, I finished what you started.” She winks. “I’ll let you know if you can be of assistance.”

The image of fingering her pussy, making herself come, has my cock lengthening in my jeans.

I stopped, boring into dark eyes. “Discovery heightens the excitement, akai.”

“What is it?” she asks, a hint of a smile on her face. Her eyes light with curiosity.

I have the urge to kiss her, so I do. Grasping her nape in my palm, I pull her into my body and presses her lips to mine. The first taste has me lost in the plush softness that is Siah. I slip my tongue between her moist pillowy heat, feasting on the plump sweetness. Delicate fingers seek and find my chest. Nails dig into my skin, and I groan, wanting her mark on my body.  I have to treat this like a case. She’s dropping hints, but the full picture of her resistance hasn’t materialized. The words go slow echoes in my head, and I end the contact. When confusion clouds her face, a direct her attention to her gift.

“See for yourself,” I say, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.

I spent last night planning my mode of attack.

Her fingers tightened on the twisted nylon handle. Stubborn woman. She’ll wait just because I told her to do it.

The door clicks behind me. I take her into my arms. She settles her back against my chest. I inhale her sweet scent. It’s warm sugar and red berries. My mouth waters as I remember the taste of her.

“I’m surprised I didn’t see you at breakfast,” she says.

“I had early morning business.”

She pulls away. “Then what are you doing here?”

Her tone is sharp, and I realize she’s upset.

“Siah, what’s up?”

“Look, Knox,” she sighs. “I appreciate the gift, but you’ve always got business. You had six months of business before you even got around to thinking about me.”

Leading me through a spacious living room with sparse furnishings, an elegant but uncomfortable looking couch floats in the center of the room facing a wall mounted flatscreen television with a sound bar below. Floors of hard dark wood gleam against my polished boots. In fact, considering how much Siah loves, crystal figurines and ceramic tile, he expected to find a room full of delicates most women would fret over with a man nearby.

I raise a brow. “You looked for me?”

She gives me a flirty glance over one bare shoulder. “Yeah.”

Damn, she turns me on.

I snag her around the waist. “You should’ve called.”

“No,” she sighs, and her body softens, “I have no intention of getting butt naked for you again.”

“For us.” I laugh, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Stop tempting me, Knox,” she whimpers. “Resisting you is hard enough.”

I spin her to face me. She looks up at me with her sweetheart shaped face, a light application of smoky eye shadow, and painted lips. A growl escapes as the colors sink in.

“You’re wearing the lipstick... My color.” She loves red, but the richer shade she’s wearing is a symbol of wealth, prosperity, and health in my culture.

Siah rolls her eyes. “You do know you’re all kinds of wrong, right?”

She’s deflecting, but it’s too late. We both have preserved keepsakes of our love affair de’ Italia. In Italy we visited a small shopping village of ceramic designers and jewelry stores. Siah spotted the only cosmetic boutique. I followed her inside.

Watching her play with makeup brushes and swipe a different color lacquer on each nail, opened my eyes to the fact that I could follow her anywhere, even to a cosmetics counter.

“What else did you keep?”

Fair question, since I had been discarded. She’d picked up the red lipstick tube more than once. It intrigued me, studying Siah’s internal debate. To try or not to try? Eventually she’d deposited the little red tube back in a square wall cubby, hiding it from view.  I purchased it for her. What else about herself did she shield behind that disarming smile?

“What?” she asks defensively, “You want it back?”

I step into her personal space, leaving no room for retreat. “I do. I want everything with you, Siah. No hiding. No hesitation.”

She swallows. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Her pearly white teeth sink into those red velvet glossed lips, and my dick hardens. I lean in, eager to taste her lips again.

“Well,” a woman’s drawl comes from behind us, “excuse me.”

I pull back to see an attractive woman rolling a slick black on black wheelchair from Siah’s kitchen. Her brown eyes, a replica of Siah’s, sparkle with mischief. She’s mid-sixties probably, but her smile says don’t label me a senior citizen. Is this last night’s neighbor? The uncanny resemblance and Siah avoiding my stunned gaze gives away Siah’s secret. Her mother lives next door.

A long sigh sounds beside me. I look to Siah. She seems tense, but it’s unnecessary. I plan to be in her life, so meeting the person most important to her is an honor.

“She knows you were here last night,” she admits.

“The midnight caller returns.”

“I’m Knox Ueno,” I say, extending my hand in greeting. When Siah tries to step away, I keep a possessive arm around her trim waist.

From her seated position she angles her arm up and out. “And I’m jealous,” she retorts, not the least bit shy.

“Mama,” Siah mutters, her eyes wide in embarrassment. “Knox, this is my mother, Serray Kent.” To her mother she says, “Try to be a nice church lady with this one.”

I laugh. I knew this woman who has me wrapped around her panties sprang from no mere mortal woman.

“Nice church ladies are cool too,” I joke, loving the wide smile that Serray flashes me.

“Huh, my nice lady is reserved for my potential boyfriend, not yours.”

I look to Siah then. Has she talked about us? Alarm reddens her cheeks, and I immediately know she’s at least had a conversation involving my name.

“Makes sense,” I respond, pulling Siah tight into my side. “My woman doesn’t play nice,” I whisper. “We play for keeps, right?”

A sharp elbow to my ribs knocks the air from my lungs. A give an audible grunt.

“Siah,” her mother chides, shaking her head. “Is this what that journal teaches?”

I give an incredulous look. “Mom got a peak, but not me?”

Siah throws up her hands. “No one, especially you two, sees my journal.”

Serray cruises further into the living space. It’s then that a notice the bare floors, the wide passage around the sparse furnishings, and the blank space were in most homes a lone chair would occupy.

Siah takes that as her cue to have a seat. “Don’t worry about the jab. He’s tough.”

“Knox,” Serray croons, a melodic quality in her voice, “how long is your visit?”

“Don’t answer that,” Siah says, rummaging through the gift bag.

I don’t have the answer the question, but I do. Though Siah hasn’t said it, I know she wonders when I’ll pack up and leave Sinclair again. After all, it’s usually business, a significant milestone, weddings or funerals, that mark my arrival.

“That depends.” I glance at Siah on the couch, she tosses the tissue paper the salesclerk insisted was necessary.

“On?” they both echo.

“Open the box.” I nudge Siah’s arm.

She looks inside and gasps. “Knox,” she whispers.

“On Siah,” I reply smoothly. I can live anywhere in the world. Before Siah, I never had a reason to homestead. Now, I have two.

Serray gives me a knowing smile. “Well now, you can tell me more over lunch.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” I say, coming to my feet. “I have Siah covered for lunch time.”

“Alright, Siah,” she tsks. “You got yourself a take charge man. Where are y’all going?”

That’s when Siah reads the tickets in her hand.

“A private event at the National Museum of African American History and Culture in DC and an annual membership,” she shouts.

Opened in 2016, the newest addition to the Smithsonian institution is the only national museum committed to the documentation and preservation of African American life.

“You like?” I ask.

Siah launches herself into my arms. I catch her, my hand landing just shy of her ass. “I love it,” she whispers in my ear, burying her face in the crook of my neck. Holding her close, I relish this unbridled emotion, just us being happy together.

Yeah, I nod. My sexy little librarian is melting in my arms. I can’t hide my pleasure at her happiness. I look over at Serray. Her mom is as lit up as her daughter. She gives me a wink, confirming my suspicions. I definitely have an ally.

Chapter Six

Siah

Interstate 295 to 95-South deposited us on 14th and Constitution Avenue NW in record time. Saturday morning tourists crowd the sidewalks with Segway guided tours. Double Decker Hop On and Off buses are idled at every four-way stop. With my arm linked around Knox’s hard bicep, the energy of the city, the car horns, the hype rap music from a tricked-out vendor stand entices me to fall in step with the beat of his graceful pace. The excitement of this adult field trip amplifies in my blood the moment I see the thousands of crocuses dotting the lawn, a symbol of hospitality in African amulets. We enter the bronze-colored museum’s five-story grand atrium, and it takes my breath away. Hundreds of people, their voices raised in celebration, are gathered in front of the Founding Donors wall. Names like Oprah Winfrey, Bill and Melinda Gates, Michael Jordan, and Walt Disney are immortalized in stone for their contributions to archiving American life through the eyes of black folks. We have forty-minutes to chill before our private tour, and Knox suggests an escalator ride to the sub-ground floor for lunch.

“Yass,” I readily agree ‘cause I’m starving for more of what he gave me last night. Maybe, some soul food will calm my, please snack cake on my pussy again, pre-occupation. “I’m hungry.”

“I know what I want to eat.” Knox is behind me, his voice dripping with sexual innuendo. Between my legs, my pussy is singing a mass choir hallelujah.

Shooting him an over the shoulder glance, I give a saucy grin, “Don’t get me worked up.”

He places a large palm on my lower back; his heat seeps through the fabric, warming my skin. A tingle shivers down my spine. As if he knows his effect on me, he chuckles.

“We have unfinished business,” he whispers.

Hey, he doesn’t have to say it twice. The service lines are shorter than the surrounding conversations this early in the day. Before too long, my tray is filled with at least one food item from all four food stations. We find a seat among the crowds where the piped in sounds of Motown can be heard while we eat.

Why does time speed up when its shared with someone? It’s a question I ask myself as Knox and I enjoy lunch in the museum’s Sweet Home Cafe.

It’s been a minute since I enjoyed a meal and conversation with a man who wasn’t a co-worker or an awkward online date where I’m pretending the stranger across the table is a perfect match because we read the same book, like the color red, or eat with a knife and fork. This moment with Knox, listening to me talk about assisting faculty curriculums, laughing at the inappropriate search logs in the library’s computer lab, and how we occasionally find discarded condom wrappers in the library’s 3rd floor reference section keeps our dialogue flowing. He’s easy to talk to. I could go on forever, and I’d still feel robbed.

Instead, I turn the discussion to him. “Are you going to show me what’s in the bag?”

Knox grins, taking another sip of his black tea. The clerk gave him a blank stare when he asked for green or oolong. His plate of sautéed vegetables, rice, and baked fish is a sharp contrast to my rectangle tray of fried chicken, macaroni n’ cheese, steamed cabbage, a buttermilk biscuit, a wedge of red velvet cake, and a slice of sweet potato pie.

“Why are you distracted by this teenie weenie bag?” he asks, picking up the handles, swinging it playfully in my face before dropping it into the empty chair at our table.

“You know how on those hospital-based TV dramas a grateful hot guy returns to the busy unit with a gift for his long-suffering bedside nurse?”

“Yeah, in Shondaland,” he razes.

“Exactly,” I point. “Nurses are the sexy blondes-have-more-fun group, not librarians. Broke college students don’t come bearing gifts.”

I watch him, thinking he’ll agree with my comment. It always fascinated me that both are helping professions, but students don’t remember the librarian who cultivated their passion for the written word or helped them find the perfect reference before the term paper deadline.

“Nurses got nothing on the keepers of language and literature. You, are a sexy as hell librarian, Siah.”

Laughing, I blow him an air kiss. “You should be my spokesman.”

He lowers his cup with a dull clink of the ceramic against the faux wood cafeteria-style table. “Look, Siah.” He exhales, and I get the sense that he’s as eager for answers as I am. “I’ve been alone my whole life, even as a kid. After my parents died, I didn’t have a place to call home. With you,” he looks at me, a deeper need reflected in his eyes invisible until now, “I feel at home.”

His smile is slow, hesitant, as if he’s waiting for me to shoot him down.

“Me too, Knox.” I lower my fork. “I’m just trying to figure out why.”  What does he see that the others didn’t?

“You’re worth any man’s attention, Siah.”

I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he says my name. My heart beats faster, enough to power a DC city block. Should I take credit for how relaxed he looks? His big body dwarfing the stackable chair looks uncomfortable, but he makes me feel like there’s no other place he’d rather be.

“I am, but... you live a life of adventure. I’ve spent my whole life in the same house, in the same town. My adventures are lived through words on a page.”

“We all make choices, akai.” He takes my hand in his, squeezing it. “You’re mine.”

He doesn’t let go, and neither do I. His words carry notes of forever. Or, am I spinning a fairy tale that will end with me trapped in a nightmare?

“I want to give you my heart, Knox.” This is the man I wish had been there to kiss the bruises of my past because his touch is a healing balm in my present.

“But?” he rasps.

I swallow, steeling myself for what could be a crushing blow to my heart. “My mother needs me.”

He nods. “Did she tell you that?”

My back stiffens. “She shouldn’t have to. I’m her daughter. She depends on me.”

He regards me with knowing eyes. “And, you on her.”

Is he accusing me of making the wrong choice? That somehow my love for my mother has been an excuse to not find a love of my own? I search his eyes, and there’s only kindness and understanding.

“You want to fight us, why?”

“Because I need something to be wrong with you, Knox.”

He forks more rice between those firm lips. “And, they say women have a hard time finding a sane man.”

“I know, it sounds crazy, but you make me want more than I should with you.”

He leans in close, and I inhale his spicy scent. “Don’t curb your appetite. I like you hungry.”

“How did you get so... so, fucking sexy and sweet?”

“What answer are you looking for?”

“I don’t know, tell me about your childhood. You rarely talk about yourself.”

He shrugs, but the laughter flees his eyes. “Two military brats got married, and here I am.”

“No,” I say, taking a bite of red velvet cake and offering him a taste. “I need details.”

My fork disappears into his mouth, and I swallow. Damn, I want to kiss him.

“At eighteen, my father enlisted in the Navy. He and my mother met at a single sailor mixer.

The white boys thought she was Japanese. My father approached her to ask why a beautiful Filipino woman would allow them to think such. “

“What did she say?”

“She laughed and told him they would still label her Japanese since her skin was tan and her hair was dark. They were married six weeks later.”

“Wow, that sounds like something out of my romance books.”

He brushes aside my comment. “We connect, Siah. Don’t get me wrong, I want your velvet.”

“I’m glad you put that out there.”

He nods. “You tie me up inside, woman. I value you beyond your body, Siah.”

“Why are you pushing this so hard?”

“Wooing you?” he asks, raising a brow.

“Yeah, and,” I gesture to the little pink bag, “the gifts.”

“You need to see I’m serious about us.”

Doubt isn’t my real issue, it’s fear. After years of hoping and praying for the man who would love and cherish me, he can’t blame me for reaching the point of acceptance. I try to look away, but he captures my chin.

“I know you wouldn’t toy with me.” There’s no pretense in the way he strokes his thumb along my chin or the slight tremble I feel in his fingertips.

“Coming home to find you gone can’t happen again.”

Angling my head down, I brush his knuckle with my lower lips. “That’s not fair.”

“I never said shit about being fair, Siah. You are the woman I want. Can you say the same?”

“Yes, I am the woman I want.”

He shakes his head. “I knew we should’ve fucked first. Holding you, in the safety of my arms, your head resting against my heart, strips away your fear of what we can be.”

“Knox, you saw my life this morning. I have reason to be afraid.”

“Why?”

“I used to have hope that I’d meet a man who’d love me and respect my commitment to caring from my mother.”

“Of course, you do. Saying yes to us won’t change you being a devoted daughter, Siah.”

“No. After years of introducing nice guys into our lives, who said they were crazy about me and my cool mom in the tricked-out wheelchair... they never called me again. Worse, most of them refused to answer my calls.”

Lifting a finger, he points at me. “You deserve to have love in your life. Yours and mine.”

Is this an admission of love. And if so, can I trust it? Should I?

“Knox, we’re a two-piece chicken combo.” When there’s a question, restate the obvious. It’s a principal we teach the students.

“Meaning?”

“These breasts come with a wing man, woman,” I correct. “I’ve paid for too many foiled dinner plans with my broken heart. It took a while, but I finally picked up the tip the nice guys left me. I’m not worth the extra effort.”

“I understand how you could think that, but it’s a lie.”

Can you feel my eye roll? It’s Kamala Harris, green and pink strong. “You’d be the first.”

Knox drops one palm to the table; his knuckles blanch, and I know he wants more than I’m giving.

“My dad,” he sighs, “he lost both his legs to a land mine during Operation Desert Storm.”

“Oh my God,” I cup my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

Knox waves off my comment and keeps talking. “It was a long time ago. But, he and my mother continued to have an active and full life, Siah. They were in love, and they loved until the day they died.”

“That’s beautiful. Their love for one another.” I had no idea our lives were so similar. It’s a wonder he felt comfortable with my mom. Questions usually followed after men met Serray, but not Knox. He just listened when I explained about the accident.

“It was. So, when I tell you I understand about your mom, I do. Now. Tell me what you,” he emphasizes, “want, Siah.”

A tick thrums at his angular jaw. I’m at a loss. I’ve stated my truth in plain o’ English.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”

“No, it isn’t. This is why we can’t be together. You think I’ll fuck you and leave?”

“That’s what nice guys do. They didn’t want me enough to appreciate that a woman willing to care for her mother is the same woman who’d willingly care for them if they needed. I’m the same woman who’d love and care for our kids, grandkids, and the stray cat our daughter might bring home.”

He presses. “I’m the right guy, Siah.”

“What’s the difference?”

He meets my eyes. “I’m going to fuck you and keep you.”

I don’t look away when I ask the next question. “Promise?”

“I do,” he says, coming to his feet and offers me his hand.

“Then, I’m yours.” I swallow. Did I just promise myself to Knox Ueno? I did. My heart soars in my chest. I see us happy together. Maybe even having a family of our own. Giving myself permission to dream that with this man I can have the reality of all my journal musings.

“We’re done here,” he rasps, grabbing the bag and tosses what’s left of the food.

“Wait,” I protest. “Don’t I get to see what’s inside?”

He grabs my hand. “I’ll give it to you during the viewing.”

Now I’m really curious and more than a little bit horny.

Chapter Seven

Siah

“Knox, I can’t believe you have carte blanche to the black history museum archives.”

We pass the Oprah Winfrey Theatre, not stopping at Chuck Berry’s Red Cadillac in the Music Crossroads exhibit, the Black Women of the L.A. Rebellion in the halls of Activism, or the new Kobe Bryant Tribute addition in the Sports: Leveling The Playing Field wing. We enter a small gallery beyond Harriet Tubman’s shawl and Nat Turner’s Bible. The walls are covered in smoked glass mirrors, each with a stenciled message denoting African-American women’s contributions to this great nation under God.

He nods, his expression reverent. I’m thankful a man of Knox’s integrity and quiet strength is willing to risk injury, and at times, his life, to return the lost treasures of my heritage. Inside, my heart writes a new song about how he wants to do this new discovery with me. It shows me I matter to him, and I want to do the same in return.

“I’ve recovered a few items in the society’s 400,000 piece catalog.”

Wow, I knew the historians on staff worked diligently to retrieve pictures, quilts, furnishings, clothing, letters, and books significant to African American culture, but I had no idea the collection had expanded to this length since the museum’s opening.

I squeeze his hand tighter. “Damn, how cool is it to be James Bond?”

Knox shakes his head. “Henry Golding would be a better choice.”

Hmm, a British Malaysian super spy? I’d buy a ticket. It was getting harder not the fall for Knox. I think I already have. Seriously, the man knows I’m a history slut. Feeding my beast is a sure way to capture my heart... again. I can’t resist the pull of learning something new. Information addiction is the curse and blessing of every librarian.

“You are too nice to me.”

“You’re my heart, Siah.”

Could this thing between us be this simple? I’m a stranger to love, but Knox makes me believe we can be best friends.

“And you are mine.” I smile, meaning every word.

He takes me in his arms. “Then its settled.”

He doesn’t say more. In this heartbeat, I want to live in his fantasy world. This suspended moment, we pretend that nothing matters beyond what we want. The dream of a husband, three point five kids, the point five being the beagle I can’t bring myself to invest in with the job and mom. Don’t blink. Don’t blink, I repeat to myself. Knowing that when I do, time will reclaim the magic.

I clear my throat, essentially erasing the rising tension. “What did you want to show me?”

“The world,” he says, his eye’s crinkling at the corners when he smiles, “but, let’s start with this.”

He bows, directing his hands like a waiter to a spotlight, and the small glass case in front of us illuminates. Oh my God, he is so stinking sweet. I literally see my panties falling down around my ankles. There is no way in seven levels of purgatory that this man is not getting all up in my velvet tonight. The sly grin splitting Knox’s lips tells me he has a similar visual.

I read the name placard, Frances Wilkins Harper, abolitionist, poet, and founder of the National Association of Colored Women. Tears spring to my eyes. Many Americans know of Harriet Tubman, and her near one-hundred-mile escape from Dorchester, Maryland to Philadelphia in 1849, but few recall this Maryland native. There were many well-known black women abolitionists to include Frances Watkins Harper.

My head shoots up. I regard Knox. His eyes are intense as he watches me. Heart pounding, my nails bite into my palms.

I stammer, too overwhelmed. “Is it real?”

A grin splits his face, and pride fires in his dark eyes. “It’s authentic.”

Knox appreciates my passion for books, especially those penned by black women, regardless of historical era. My hands tremble as I touch the glass protecting the precious manuscript. Born a free woman, Harper had traveled the east seaboard as an anti-slavery lecturer and a poet.

“Thank you. Thank you.” I kiss him with wicked intent. No one is around, and we take advantage of the privacy. He lifts my dress. I open my mouth to protest.

“Quiet, akai,” he warns.

The feel of his warm hands gripping my ass, transports me back to Italy.  Before I can protest, my red lace bra is pushed aside, and my full breasts spill from their cups. Not one to brag, but my titties are the bomb dot com. By a woman of color standard, I’m a light weight in the ass department, but my tits are porn star award winning and au natural.

“Aw, shit,” I moan when Knox sucks my heated bud between his teeth. “Yeah, that’s good.”

He tugs harder, and I feel the bite of this teeth in responds. Damn, this man knows what I like. Making out in a public place is so going in my sex journal. I love that he adores my less than perfect body.

My hips hug his waist, and I’m riding his growing erection through his black jeans. Fuck, this is hot. Lost in sensation, I bury my hands in his hair. Gyrating my hips, I push more of my tit into his hungry mouth. The elevator ding reaches my ears, a reminder we won’t be alone for long. Knox’s grips tightens, silently telling me he’s aware of the risk. I groan in the inside because I don’t want this to stop.

“Down,” he growls. It takes me a second to realize he wants my feet on the ground. I comply.

My back hits the wall. With his chest he presses me against the mirrors, and I know our history is being written, stenciled on the walls that frame my soul. He cups my pussy, stroking my wet center. I hiss, the press of his palm plunging me deep under his spell.

“Is that sweet pussy covered in red lace?” He shoves the scrap of cloth covering my wet slit aside. I part my legs, offering myself to him. He reclaims my mouth, and I feel something smooth and round glide over my exposed nether lips.

“Knox,” I whimper. He breaches my pussy with his fingers, but there’s that smooth globe thrumming against my clit. “I feel—”

“Me,” he growls, “and your gift.”

Then it hits me, the mystery gift revealed. “You brought me Ben Wa balls?”

Just then, I feel the telltale stretch of one, followed by a second solid mass enter my moist pussy.

“I remember every conversation, Siah. I bought them in Italy,” he groans. He saved these for me? Like I saved myself for him. Has he been without a woman these six months?

“Were... there others?” I pause.  We never promised fidelity. I know I have no right to ask. Not that knowing there were others would stop what was about to happened. But, I would be disappointed.

A sharp nip of his teeth pinch my bottom lip. I jerk at the sudden bite of pain. “Hey.”

“I didn’t fuck around on you,” he growls. “Try that distraction shit again, and I’ll be in your ass.”

“Oh hell, do not threaten me with a good time.” Some women shy away from anal sex. I loved the feel of a thick cock stretching my rosebud. I suspect Knox knows that, though we did not go there.

He rears back at my silence. “You want me in your ass, Siah?”

I lick my lips, and his eyes stay with mine. “I’m open.”

“Shit,” he hisses, pushing deeper into my sex, the pace faster than before. “I think you’re ready for your third gift.”

“There’s more,” I pant, riding his digits.

“Come first,” he demands.

With his fingers, he’s fucking my pussy with wicked abandon. Tightening my muscles, I try to keep him inside me forever.

“You come. We go home. Then we fuck, hard.”

He growls that last part. I come on a scream, but Knox steals my breath and the sound, taking them into his mouth.

What feels like ten minutes later, he leans forward, capturing my chin with my dress righted and my panties in Knox’s pocket, we stumble in the hallway, jerking to a halt. He brushes my lip with his thumb. My breath quickens at the same time my nipples bead. “I want you for dinner.”

Even though we’ve just eaten, the hunger in his eyes ravages my last line of defense. I nod. “Let’s go back to my place.”

He grabs my hand, interlocking our fingers. “When we get there, pack a bag.”

“This isn’t Italy, Knox. We don’t have to stay at your hotel.”

“I know. You’re coming home with me.”

Home? When the hell had that happened?

Chapter Eight

Siah

“Knox, your house is beautiful.”

My mother literally cheered when I left the house with my Vera Bradley weekender. She also had a copy of All About My Nipples on the coffee table. Knox blushed ten shades of red. I, on the other hand, made a mental note to order my copy.

“I hoped you’d like it,” he says, dropping my things on the counter.

A thousand questions rush through my mind as I look at the open floor plan. The roof is flat, and the walls are minimal. It's like the whole outdoors is inside the house like it's an adult treehouse.

“How did you find this place?” I thought I’d feel uneasy entering his home, touching his things, but as I spy the king-sized platform bed from the open foyer, I envision us making love. The tall Poplar trees create a canopied backdrop behind the wall of windows surrounding the bed.

“A realtor friend,” he calls.

At a snap of the bolt in the lock, I jump. I can't believe he purchased a house within thirty minutes of the college and my house. The kitchen, dining area, great room, and at least one bedroom is furnished, but that news scent hangs in the air. Does this mean he’s staying in Sinclair? With me?

“You comfortable?” he asks, coming up behind me. Rapping me in his arms, he tucks my head under his chin, his hands rest on my quivering belly.

I bite my lip. “Don’t ask me that?”

He inhales my scent, and I angle my head to give him full access.

“There’s beer, wine,” he motions to the stainless-steel kitchen with white and gray marble and bamboo floors, “and water.”

Reaching up, I tangle my fingers in his hair. “I’m thirsty, but not for anything cold.” The Ben Wa balls work their magic. My wet pussy feels tight and full. But, not with what I crave. Knox’s long, thick cock is what I want buried deep inside.

Lowering his head, he trails wet kisses down my neck. We’ve talked more today than we ever have. Normally, I’d want to keep the conversation going, but the more he touches me my mind shifts in a carnal direction.

“You’re ready to fuck me?”

“Use your big words, why don’t ya’.” I laugh, until he points to the tripod mounted camera in the corner. Choking on my own saliva, I freeze.

“What—what’s that for?” I know we both like freaky shit, but I’m not trying to be a Twitter video ho.

Without letting me go, Knox slowly walks us over to the kitchen table. Studying the contents spread across the surface, I gasp. A composite notebook and a copy of the LoveRotica Sex Journal lay open.

I lunge for it, but he spins me off my feet. “How did you get this?” I demand, arms flailing.

Grabbing the journal, he lifts his hand out of my reach. “Nope.” He laughs. “Independent bookstore owners are my friends. Got mine this morning.”

“Ah, that’s why you arrived at lunchtime.”

He nods and starts flipping through pages. I smile when I see he’s careful not to crease the cover. He is such a book nerd. I love that he’s as neurotic as me when it concerns his books.

“You up for a couple’s challenge?”

Having completed the challenge once, I have each step memorized.

“There are nine challenges,” I quiz, recounting the strip tease, sex toys, and masturbation challenges. The last one had been my favorite. Watching the porno movie had been the hardest for me. Too many fake screams and oh daddy. “Which one?”

He gives me a wicked grin. “All of them.”

I stretch my eyes wide in astonishment. “In one night?” I ask, unable to hide my excitement.

“Except number five. It’s bull shit. You... flirting with a stranger, will get me arrested.”

Completing my sex journal was a private journey of self-discovery, but I’m down for acting out my deepest fantasies with Knox.

“Take off your clothes,” he says.

Offering my back to him, I give a twisted grin. “Huh, you're not wasting any time.”

“On the contrary.” He places a feather-light kiss on my shoulder. “We've wasted too much.”

Facing forward, I let him take the lead, even when I hear him rustling through a drawer.

I don't protest when I hear the slide of my zipper easing down or the push of the material falling off of my shoulders as the cool air caresses my skin.

“Siah, this is the beginning of us.”

Already, I'm thinking, that this is the end of me. The end of all the fears about giving my heart to Knox. The doubts that I would find a man who accepts me for me. Who doesn’t see my family as baggage to be avoided.

“Knox, I want you to make love to me.”

His hand stills. “Do you love me, Siah?”

It's a question I don't want to answer because I know the answer. My heart tells me yes, but my brain says silence is safety. I think I've always loved Knox. Not the instant love of my 20’s. This is a more confident mature love. The kind of knowing that comes with experience. It tells me I can grow older and feel secure, share my highs and lows without judgement.

“You don’t have to answer, but you must listen.”

I nod, to afraid I’ll blurt out everything and overwhelm both of us.

“Love should be scary, akai. It’s the most powerful and reckless emotion we can share with another person. There’s no force on earth capable of containing or channeling it. But, when it’s genuine, there’s no denying it either. I tell you I’m yours, because I love you.”

I pivot, facing him. “Knox—” My eyes cloud with tears. After years of tumbling into and over losers, how did I walk into my true lover’s arms? Whatever I’ve done to win this man who’s so in touch with his feelings that he boldly states his love, I’m grateful for.

“No.” He touches my lip with his finger, silencing me. “Don’t say it until you’re ready.”

My breath hitches. He doesn't say that I'm his, instead he affirms he’s mine. My throat tightens and my eyes water. Knox is my perfect gift. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I press my head to his chest. His heart thunders like mine. “I want you to take me to your bed.”

“Oh.” He chuckles. “We’ll get there.”

And then he grabs a small rectangular remote from the counter and hits a button. The smooth playing of a piano and horns sound from hidden speakers. I recognize the artist, Jessie’s J version of, I Feel Good.

Knox untangles my arms from his waist. He slips out of his jacket and reaches for the top button on his shirt.

“Challenge #8, a R&B striptease.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip when he reaches the last button in the row. “Take off the rest, Siah. When I said together.” He snaps his jeans. “We do everything together.”

Damn. “Alright then.” I reach for my bra hooks. “I never imagined us... this.”

He chuckles. “Glad you said that.”

“Why?”

His shirt hits the floor, and oh, shit. His abs are so defined I think of a chocolate bar and Knox’s cock hitting the back of my throat. A moan erupts before I can stop it. Those dark eyes bore into mine. My whole body tingles. It’s the Knox effect again.

“I want you naked, on the floor, legs open.”

Excitement shoots down my spine. His hot gaze, full of wicked intent, lingers on my breasts. My blood heats as my nipples harden.

I glance over my shoulder. “And the camera?”

“Is rolling. I can’t wait to watch the replay of me tonguing down that velvet pussy.”

He hasn’t touched me, but between my legs, cum drips down my inner thigh.

Chapter Nine

Knox

I kneel at my queen’s feet. Drinking in Siah’s beautiful chocolate body laid out atop of her red velvet dress, I thank the gods for my good fortune.

“You want more of an invitation?” She giggles, cupping her breasts. My mouth waters just thinking about sucking on those ripe nipples. With her legs open I can see her dew glistening on her pussy lips. The slim white string of the Ben Wa balls slides down between her ass cheeks before disappearing.

“You are so damn sexy,” I mutter, stroking my bare erection. I set up the camera this morning before I left, hoping that the museum and lunch would lead to my dining on an agreeable Siah for dinner and dessert. My plan worked too well because now I want to pounce with the grace of a feral stray, instead of savoring what’s mine.

“I admit, this challenge is more fun with your eyes on me.”

She arches her back, undulating her hips to the music. I was up all night reading that LoveRotica Sex Journal. Knowing that she completed every erotic activity, especially fucking her velvet pussy with a dildo, makes me harder than iron. The camera’s green light is focused on the both of us, I stroke my dick faster.

“Loving you. Making you happy is a challenge I will give my life to, akai.”

Like a tiger on the prowl, I plant one hand by her hip, inching up her curves. Siah cups my face, raising her head to claim my lips. She takes what she wants, tilting her head until our mouths fuse in perfect union. More than I think possible, she connects to my energy, completely plugged in to our sexual current. Instead of feeling depleted, I am renewed.

“You are the world to me,” she whispers.

Deepening the kiss, I plunge deeper in her throat. Siah softens, her body so pliable against my hard planes, I feel as if I’ve consumed her. Her taste is like sustenance to my soul giving me new life. Her one hand tangles in my hair, while the other squeezes my ass. If this continues, I’ll come here and now. Stop, I tell myself. When we break apart, breathless.

“Play with that sweet little pussy for me,” I urge.

She does as she’s told, keeping her eyes on me. I try my damnedest not to blink, not wanting to miss one sigh or one whimper.  Fuck, this is torture. I want to replace her fingers with my cock, but she’s enjoying giving me this show. Unable to resist, I drag one finger over her pussy. Spreading her dew over her breasts, I claim one nipple, then the other. I can’t wait to do every naughty thing that she wrote down in her own words. I was up all night dreaming about this with my eyes open.

“Knox,” she moans. “I’m close.”

The sound of my name on her lips while she’s pumping her pussy, her lips parted, fingers move urgently over that bundle of nerves, has my dick leaking pre-cum. The journal calls for us to view a porno. It’s not my speed. But I had every intention of watching us masturbate together over and over, after we fuck. This might become my morning news program.

“Akai, I’m here.” She is my only love. The one woman meant to be mine forever.

“I need you,” she pleads, “to fuck me.”

To my credit, I remember the balls sensitizing her tight cunt for my invasion. Lowering my head, I use one finger to tug. Slowly, I add more resistance, forcing her muscles to relax. Siah writhes beneath me, the pulse at her neck quickening, her breath coming in short bursts. With a swift motion of my wrist my tongue replaces the balls, filling her passage as her sweet cream spills into my mouth. My hands roam her body and heightens her senses, lengthening her fall into ecstasy. The quiet suck of me taking her essence, laving her folds, mixes with the continuous play.

“Knox!” she screams, her lids slam shut.

Fuck, as I cover my cock in a condom, I thought I was prepared for this. My fantasy paled in comparison to reality. The magnitude of her surrender honors me. Because the truth is, Siah may deny me the words, but her heart belongs to me.

Lifting one long, toned leg, I place her left calf on my shoulder, positioning myself at her entrance and pause. “Look at me, my love,” I whisper.

Her head shifts the slightest bit, and then her gaze finds mine. Tears swell in her eyes. Her voice trembles as she utters the words that seal our fates.

“I love you, Konesuke Ueno.”

Hearing my given name on her lips and the words I love you in her beautiful voice rocks me like a musical beat.

“I know it was hard to admit you love me.”

Siah’s big, brown eyes glimmer with tears, but they don’t fall. Instead, she rolls her hips beneath me, brushing the tip of my cock. “You’re worth it, my love.”

I relinquish the little hold on my restraint. I breach her entrance, sliding into her soaking wet sex, burying my cock to the hilt. “Only me,” I groan.

“Yes,” she moans.

I thrust hard and deep, riding her pussy—building the flood of anticipation—passion threatening to overwhelm us both. Moving back and forth, every touch drives our pleasure to the brink. Hearing Siah’s range of sighs, moans, and pleas feeds my ego and hardens my cock.

“Damn, you have the softest pussy,” I mutter.

“Velvet,” she rasps. “And, I want on top.”

She doesn’t have to ask twice. Closing an arm around her middle, we move.  In this position, it’s like watching poetry in motion. Siah’s hips move to a rhythm only our bodies know. She impales that velvet sheath on my cock over and over. Sweat drips off her face and her arms. I still demand more of her sweet little body. Grabbing her hips, I guide our passion, pushing us higher, pulling her closer, surpassing the boundaries no longer needed. We are safe in each other’s arms.

“All of you,” I groan. “That’s what I want.”

Her whole body stiffens a moment before a river of sticky warmth bathes my cock. Her release spurs me on. Now that my woman is satisfied, I barrel towards my own release.

“When you come,” she whispers, “come on my tits.”

I just heard my four favorite words in the English language. My balls tighten at the thought of my creamy cum covering her peaks. I can’t wait to slide my cock in between those full pillows and into her moist, hot mouth.  My balls tighten, my cock jerks, and my jaw locks so hard my teeth hurt. With a struggle, I pull free of her juicy pussy and unsheath my dick. No words are needed.

Siah jacks my cock with both hands, milking thick ropes of cum from the head. I watch white lines cover her nipples and the valley in between her breasts, dripping off the firm mounds as her belly heaves, and noisy breaths exit her lungs.

“Oh my goodness, I love you.” she says on a ragged breath, “I think my heart stopped twice.”

“I know,” I beam, pulling her up and hugging her close. Placing a kiss to her sweaty curls, I murmur words of love. With bent knees, I scoop her up, carrying her to my bed.

“Hey,” she protests, sprawling on her stomach. “I’m the heart patient here.”

Grabbing her hips, I position her on all fours. Slipping my finger between her ass cheeks, I press against her rosebud until it relaxes.

“Knox,” she gasps.

Gripping my cock, I grin. “I ain’t tired.”

Chapter Ten

Knox

The moon spills light over our wet bodies. After making love for hours, we’re reclined in the hammered copper soaking tub. Siah’s body is nestled between my legs, my semi-hard dick cocooned in her ass cheeks. Now that I know she loves me, I’m ready for the next step. I’d be lying if I said I’m not anxious about the question I want to ask my woman.

She grins up at me. “Do you want to read the next chapter?”

The smartphone, hers-not mine, is open to the reading app. Her voice holds a content, sleepy quality as she reads the final chapters of Detective MaKenzie Young’s The Last File, a book we started in Italy. She promises not to electrocute us, and because I’m a goner for this woman, I’ll willing risk my life to make her happy.

I give her cute little nose a tweak. “Your waiting to finish the book is proof that it was love at first sight. Admit it.”

“Knox, you know my moto. We slept together. We read together. Book friends for life.”

“Fuck no. I’m done with the friend zone. I’m your love of a lifetime. Now, confess.” I tease. Beneath the water, I give her ass a squeeze. We both laugh, and my heart is lighter than it’s ever been. I just hope the feeling continues when I spring the big question.

She lifts one arm, water dripping onto her bobbing breasts, to playfully smack my cheek. “I confess to not finishing the book in your absence. My reasons are my own.” She laughs.

Not good enough. I tickle her belly until it dissolves into a fit of laughter.

“Stop,” she screeches, rotating her body away from my fast hands. “This is coercion.”

“All’s fair in love, akai.” A few well-placed kisses, and she’s shivering in my arms.

“Knox,” she sighs, “I wish that were true. Her face softens, and she looks at me with open curiosity. “You’ve found all my broken pieces, sealed the cracks with love, and returned my heart totally devoted to you. My resistance was my own fear.”

I gentle my tone, trying to reassure her that she has my love and protection. “I’ll always keep you safe, Siah.”

She exhales. “I know... I really do.”

It’s now or never flashes in my brain. Siah’s lost so much. Her father. Her youth. Her hope in love. I can’t undo the past, but I want to keep her with me, bringing her days and nights of pleasure. Before I can doubt my sanity for broaching the topic too soon, I say, “Come with me on my next assignment.”

Surprise widens Siah’s eyes. She stammers for a response, before lowering her gaze. “Knox, my mother,” she trails off.

“It’s in Maryland, but an hour away,” I say in a rush, hoping this will be the beginning of our adventures together.

She raises her head, her smile bright. “Really?”

Excitement colors her words and feels my chest. “You can check on her every day, but we spend our nights here.”

Her head bobs like she’s agreeing, but no sound accompanies her movements.

“Siah,” I grunt. “What’s your answer?”

She gulps, like she can’t catch her breath. “Yes.” She beams, splashing water at me. “Yes.”

All the breath leaves my body. Did I hear her correctly? “Yes!”

I wrap her in my arms, holding her to my heart. Fuck, this is the happiest day of my life. This LoveRotica Sex Journal should be a mandatory reading list. Fuck winning friends and influencing people. What men really want to know is how to win the girl and influence multiple orgasmic episodes. Guaranteed bestseller.

“Let’s celebrate,” she says, and my dick jumps to attention.

Siah shifts in the tub. Water sloshes over the rim before crashing onto the tile floor. I watch, my rapt attention glued to the glistening water droplets running through the ‘V” of her sex. She sinks to her knees, burying my favorite attraction beneath the water.

“I love you, Knox.”

I stand, and she slides her hands up my thighs until my cock is inches from her mouth. “Show me.”

Slowly, she takes me between her parted lips. Yes, I am a happy man.

Chapter Eleven

SIAH

Monday morning Knox and I walk hand in hand onto my front porch. Beyond excited to share my great news with mom, I’m imagining her hugging Knox, inviting him to her annual Christmas party. I insert the key in the lock, push open the door and freeze. The choking stench of smoke fills the living room. I’m running before my brain can comprehend the movement.

“Mama!” I scream with my heart pounding in my chest. “Oh my God.” Has something happened to her? Oh my God, let her be okay. Knox’s heavy foot falls are on my heels.

“Serray!” he bellows. “It’s Knox. Answer if you can hear me.”

A series of strangled coughs sound before I hear the one word that stops my heart.

“Help.”

We rush into my kitchen. Terror grips me at the gruesome scene. Plumes of smokes spill from a red-hot burner.  My mom is on the floor, her overturned wheelchair on its side. Yellow oozes from her hand, the source is a crushed eggshell.  Pop. Pop.

“Ah, Jesus.” I cluck my chest, startled by the burning oil and charred meat in the skillet.

Tears stream down my face. “Knox,” I cry. “Help me get her up.”

“I slipped.” My mama coughs, struggling to suck in a breath.

“Don’t try to talk. I’m so sorry for leaving you.” Knox cuts off my utter grief and shame.

“Stand back!” he yells over the blaring smoke alarm. He twists the stove dial to the off setting before removing the frying pan to a cool back burner. Burnt bacon, shriveled and boot black, still hisses and pops, shooting scorching hot cooking oil over the white stove top.

Red covers my mom’s chest.

“Oh my God,” I sob. “She’s bleeding.” The realization that I was away, living as if I didn’t have a care in the world while she was in danger hits me like a ton of epic fantasy-sized books.

“That’s ketchup,” my mother says, struggling to sit up.

“Are you hurt, Serray?” Knox asks.

His calm angers me. “Of course, she’s hurt. She’s on the floor.”

“I can speak for myself, Siah. I’m fine. I tried to reach the condiments in your cabinets and tipped myself over. I was catching my breath, when the bacon started to burn.”

“Raya,” came a man’s voice from my mother’s side of the duplex.

Deacon Wood barges into my kitchen in his t-shirt, shorts, and bare feet. I am a lot of things, but okay is not one of them. Anger, shock, and disappointment rack my body. My mother invites a man to her house the minute I leave with Knox? This is mind blowing.

“Wh... what are you doing in my house? Wh-y are you dressed like that?” Actually, he’s not dressed. Had he spent the night? There had to be another explanation.

“That’s grown folks’ business,” my mother interjects.

“Baby,” Deacon Wood continues, ignoring me, Knox, and my question. “What were you doing?”

“Trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed.” She half laughs. “Help me up, Big Daddy.”

Deacon Wood... Daddy? I knew Serray Kent’s daddy, my grandfather, and he was not Deacon Wood. Oh, this is so over my head right now. I don’t even call Knox daddy. I narrow my eyes on my mom. How long has their secret affair been going on?

Knox steps back raising both hands in surrender. “By all means.”

Well, I’m about to make my first stand. Surrender is not an option.

“Stop!” I yell. “Don’t touch my mother.” Three slack faces turn to face me. “Why are you in this house. Why are you cooking for him?” Pointing an accusatory finger at the good deacon, I bellow. “Where are your clothes?”

“Siah,” Knox whispers, “calm down.”

I spin on my heel, getting right up in his face. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. She’s my responsibility.”

Mama is upright and secure in her chair, her man guiding the chair into the adjoining unit. The air is fresher, and we all inhale a big breath. I’m not done with our discussion, so Knox and  I follow.

“First, Siah Renee Kent.” She angles her chair to face me. “I’m the mama, and you lower your voice in my presence.”

That draws my fire. “Why are you angry with me? You needed my help, and I was off with him.”

I level a death stare at Knox. His expression hardens. They are words he doesn’t deserve, but this scene is all wrong.

“I am not handicap, Siah. You are.” I stumble backwards.

My brows furrow in confusion. “What are you saying, Mama?”

“I never said I would spend the rest of my life in this house living with my daughter. Now, I tried to give you time to find your way, to get a life of your own.”

“I have a life,” I retort.

“Nope, you have fanciful dreams, journals filled with notes of the life you could be living.”

Deacon Wood grips my mother’s shoulder. She looks up at him, love glimmering in her eyes. They are in love.

“Since you’re here, and you know about us. I’m moving in with Thomas.”

Slapping a hand to my pounding forehead, I’m floored. “You can’t be serious.”

“You got your man, and I got mine.” My mama smirks. “Come on, Daddy, let’s go to the Sizzler.”

I stand there speechless as my mother’s boyfriend steals her away. How could she say I am handicap?

“Akai.” Knox touches me, but I flinch away.

“Can you just go,” I hear myself say. “I need to process all this.” I motion crazy circles around my head.

“Siah,” he whispers, “you’re going to be okay.”

He might be right, but I’m not in this stance. My new adventure wasn’t supposed to start this way. I grew up in this house. A part of me thought my mama would grow old in this house too. This is the house we shared with my father. Not that it’s a shrine, but I’d built my life on this remaining unchanged, even though losing him changed everything.

“I should have been here,” I mutter. “She’s not thinking straight.”

“Your mother knows what she wants. Accept it. Be happy that she’s found love again.”

“What do you know about it, Knox?”

He flinches. “I know a man in love. He loves her. You won’t have to worry.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” My mother does not need me. I’m the failure to launch kid who’s held her back. The joke’s on me. Worse yet, I’m the joke. I look at Knox. The man who, if I accept what he’s offering, will end life as I know it.

I say the three words that will shatter us both, “You should leave.”

“Siah.” He takes me in his arms. “Loving me doesn’t mean you have to let her go. You can have us both. You and I can have forever too.”

“I never said that,” I say matter of fact, stepping out of his embrace. He said I can have them both, but I can’t. His reality for us was the true lie.

Abruptly, Knox lets me go. Inside, my world, the fantasy, and the reality crumbles.

He steps back. The distance between us crushes what’s left of my heart. I hurt him. He doesn’t deserve to bare my pain. Why did I have to gain his love and lose hers all at once?

“I should go.” He kisses my head, and then he’s gone.

The air in my lungs follows him, the vacuum sucks the last of my strength. I slowly slide to the ground. When Messy Mandy walks in the door, I’m alone in the same spot.

Through my wall of tears, I focus on my friend’s pitying stare. “What do you want?”

Looking down at me, she places one hand on her hip. “Knox asked me to check on you.”

Of course he would take care of me. I shake my head. How could I have been so ugly to him?

I wipe at red-rimmed eyes. “Why would he call you?” I sob.

Mandy shakes her head. “Who do you think found his house, duh. I knew too much Knox cock, too soon would turn you stupid. Girl, you got the dick dumb down going on.”

Of course. He wouldn’t trust another realtor to locate the perfect house, our house, sight unseen.

“Shut up.” I laugh. “I told about Knox cock in confidence.” Mandy gives me a bye, felicia side eye.

“Girl, please. You know I spill tea in these streets,” she grins. “Where’s your box of tissues? Can’t have you red-eyed and snotty when we get your man back.”

She’s right. Amanda earned the messy title with her daily gossip column the Lunchtime Dish with Messy Mandy.

“I hope you’re right,” I say, dropping my head into my hands.

“I’m always right,” she chirps.

Just then, my front door bursts open and a mountain of a man in a brown leather wide-brimmed American Outback hat fills the door. Hello, Chris Hemsworth.

“Amanda,” he roars. “You said this house was for sale.”

My eyes fly to hers. “OMG, you’re with a client?”

“Girl, no,” she smacks. “Diesel Conrad is Maxi’s angry-ass boyfriend. She begged me to help him sell his ranch. He’s a grinch.”

Rolling her eyes, she raises one finger, as in give her a moment, then gives me her back.

“I thought I locked your cage,” she sing songs to Diesel.

His name fits his body build. The cowboy takes one look at me on the floor, and then frowns. “What’s wrong with her?”

Damn, he is a grinch. This matchup between Diesel Conrad and Amanda “Messy Mandy” Murphy was going to be interesting. Finding the wall at my back, I hand-walk up the wall. I wish Knox were here with me. We both could share a laugh. But, the way I treated him is no laughing matter.

Mandy steps closer to Diesel. She puts up a hand. “I don’t like you,” she says with an exasperated Texas drawl. “So stop talking, boo.”

“I’m from Virginia,” he rasps.

She waves him off. “Whatever, electric cowboy.”

Bracing his legs apart, he crosses sculpted arms over impressive pecs. “Keep sassing me, Amanda.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatcha gonna do?”

“Paddle your ass red.”

A gleam enters Mandy’s eyes, and I can tell that last comment pushed my very sweet, very urban dictionary friend too far. Mandy thumps Diesel’s chest.

“Mandy,” I warn.

“Oh, Diesel,” she laughs, “you’re about to get your gas lit, boo. My sister might be impressed with your deep pockets and spray on abs, but you get nothing here. So, you and your Mack truck rumble can’t play me like a Tonka toy.”

Diesel laughs, rubbing his calloused palms together. “The abs are all mine, darling.”

If I’d looked away, I would have missed it, but Mandy actually licked her lips. OMG, she likes him.

“I wished I’d met you first.” He gives a humorless chuckle before leaning those wide shoulders down until he is eye level with Mandy. “By now your throat would be too sore for all this back talk.”

“What—” Mandy looks from Diesel to me incredulously. “Did he—did you just threaten to gag me with your dick?”

Shit. No he did not come at my girl like that. His voice was sexy though, but this is my cue to leave these two love birds alone.

Now that I’d caged my own grinch, I need to find my akai and apologize.

Chapter Twelve

Siah

Seven whole nights. It’s Monday again, but this is no Groundhog’s Day. Trudy’s late, and I’m rooted in place at the circulation desk, wondering what else I can do to find Knox. One week without a call or a text. I’m worried, scared, and angry at myself. I’ve called his personal and business cell.  In an act of desperation, I even completed the Contact Me form on his Knox Ueno, Recovery Specialist website.

I know, I’m a mess.

I’ve gone to his house every day after work. It’s as abandoned as my heart. Yesterday morning, Mandy showed up with a welcome basket and caught me peaking in his windows. When she produced a lock-picking kit, Diesel tossed her over his shoulder and drove away. I know Mandy said he’s Maxi’s boyfriend, but I’ve only seen Diesel with her. I’m going to leave that Mandy / Maxi drama alone. Locating my man is priority, even the LoveRotica gang has asked about him.

As quickly as Knox entered my life, he vanished. I won’t stop looking. Librarians are researchers, the information finders. When I find him, I’ll hold onto him like one of my journals or that old saucer chair I love. Every day I email him a letter telling him about my day and how much I love him. There’s never a response.

This was supposed to be my LoveRotica year of self-discovery. Instead, I’m more alone than I’ve ever been. Mom let Big Daddy decorate the house for Thanksgiving. It’s only the first week of November, but there’s Dollar Store turkey-shaped platters with fake orange and red leaves in every room. The place looks a hot mess, but she’s smiling like a teenager. Watching my mom enjoy all the changes the deacon has brought to our lives magnifies how unwilling I was to change. Knox tried to help me let go of my fixations and routines. I punished him for it. Now, I’m the one doing time.

“Siah.”

Hearing my name rips me from my self-inflicted grief. Nathaniel is wide-eyed and visibly anxious.

“Have you heard?” he asks in a rush.

Unless it’s about Knox I truly don’t care, but I paste on a lame smile.

“About?”

He fumbles in his pocket, retrieving his cell phone. “Trudy’s been arrested.”

“What?” I bellow, drawing attention to myself. Snatching the telephone, I read the campus police report. Key words jump out at me. Anonymous tip. Campus theft ring. Private contractor. Recovery specialist. My heart rate speeds up. He’s here.

“Knox,” I whisper.

Running around the desk, I throw my arms around Nathaniel. “Thank you, Nate. You’re the best.”

He blushes five shades of red. But, I’m already scanning the carrels, the stairs, the aisles for my love.

“Knox!” I yell. “Knox, where are you?” My heart is hammering in my chest. I’m breathing so hard; I might just pass out before I find him.

Up the stairs, I’m half-way to the second floor before I suck in needed oxygen. It sounds crazy. My eyes are cloudy with tears, I can hardly see, but I feel his presence. Is this my, How Stella Got Her Groove Back cameo? That scene at the airport where she’s in the terminal searching a crowd of faces for the only one that melts her heart? Done with my 2nd floor man hunt, I take to the stairs again when my phone rings.

It’s Knox’s ringtone, Brandy’s Have You Ever. For a second, I forget to breathe.

Answering, I say, “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

Will he accept my apology? I’m panting and sweaty, but I send up a prayer. Listening intently for his response, my pulse rachets up a notch. I hear his forced exhale and then... laughter. And, he’s laughing.

“Who knew you could run so fast.” He chuckles.

“You’re watching me, you impossible man,” I yelp. “Where are you?”

Backtracking my route, excitement courses through my veins.

“Was a week too long or not enough,” he croons. He’s not angry. Why had I expected him to be different from the calm, confident, and cocky Knox I’d come to love?

Slowly, the tripwire threatening to blow my heart from its cavity at his absence falls away. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I gave you what you asked for, akai.”

A familiar timbre travels from above. His voice sounds closer. Suspicious that I know his hiding place, I look up. “Come to me.”

He grins. “Not yet, our game of finders keepers is underway.”

“You’re on.” I sweep past a group of students, sprinting up the staircase. On the 3rd floor I spot Knox.

Without hesitation, I run into his open arms. “Found you,” I choke out.

He squeezes me to his chest, pressing the air from my lungs. I don’t care. His touch is all I need.

“Oh, my God. You came back,” I choke. “Don’t ever disappear on me again.” Threading my fingers into his thick, black locks, I pull. “I missed you.” I nip his lip, and then kiss him senseless. I inhale his cool masculine scent, pulling him into my soul where he belongs. Instantly, my body responds. My nipples bead, and in between my legs, I feel my pussy grow wet for his cock.

When the kiss ends, he sits me on a carrel. Spreading my legs, I reach for him, pulling him closer. Never do I want to be away from him.

“You knew I was working a case.”

I playfully punch his chest. “You should have told me it was my case.”

Why did I anticipate he would immediately be intrigued by a crime caper?

“Speaking of.” He pulls a small black box from his leather blazer and hands it to me.

Taking it, I ask, “What is it?”

He leans forward, placing a kiss on my forehead. “An early Christmas gift.”

Removing the lid, I pause. “When did you know it was Trudy?”

“That first night. I’ve seen skirts like hers before.” Thinking of those floor-length, homespun outfits, I frown in confusion.

“The inside of the skirt has over-sized pockets for concealing the stolen items. When she bumped into the door, I heard the thud.”

I’d heard the same but had dismissed it. I guess his skill as a finder of lost things, including my heart, is another reason to marvel at the fact that he loves me.

“Wow, Knox.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal to rescue cash-strapped students and budget-constrained staff from a theft ring. “Open your gift.”

Under the lid is a red velvet pouch. Opening it, I shake the contents into my upturned palm. A range of emotions spring up in my head, but awe and love blossom wrap me in their petals. I look into the inky pools of his eyes and see his truth. I am loved, appreciated, and cherished.

“It’s my brooch,” I whisper. Staring at the only piece of jewelry my father ever gave me, a single tear rolls down my face. “I don’t know what to say.” I sniff.

Cupping my face in his large hand, Knox wipes my tears away. “Say you love me.”

“I do love you.” With Knox I no longer have to hide in the safety of routine and the past. I can embrace my future. This is our time. “I know you’ll always protect me, but... I need you to know I won’t hurt your heart either.”

He exhales. It’s long and slow. His chest visibly collapses as if he’s released a huge weight. In that one breath, I know his previous words are true. We have each other, and we’re going to be okay.

“Good, then no more craziness like telling me to go,” he says, his tone is more than stern. It’s demanding. My pussy clenches. I like it.

“You don’t have to worry. I’ve expended all my doses of crazy.” I laugh, running my fingers down his abs. The muscles tremble and contract beneath my fingertips. Inside I feel the same energy jolt in my blood. Is he as desperate as I am to come out of these clothes, to get naked and sweaty in each other’s arms?

“I’ll write that in my journal,” he jokes.

With his one hand he captures my fingers, kissing each one. His eyes meet mine.

“I’m adding a new couple’s challenge,” he whispers.

I rear back, regarding his handsome face. “What is it?”

He pulls a condom from his back pocket, raising it between two fingers. “Marking my territory.”

Glancing around us, I tug at the buttons on my blouse. “We’re really doing this?” I giggle.

He slips the purple lace bra off my shoulders. I still love red, but I’m venturing into new territory with the man I love by my side.

“You know I want a taste of you, akai.” He grins.

And, a taste he will get. It’s lunchtime after all. Before Knox, my journal entries recorded a different future, but our love lights a path to brighter days ahead. I’ll sacrifice the world for our shared tomorrows, but for now, I’m holding onto a little something-something from the past. Looping my arms around his neck, I whisper, “Call me, velvet.”

A Note from Siera

Thank you for reading RED VELVET. If you loved Knox and Siah’s story, please do me a solid by leaving an Amazon, Goodreads, and BookBub review. I have FOUR previous books in the Lunchtime Chronicles Season 1 & 2. The entire 26 book series is available in Kindle Unlimited. Click the link to read Truxton and Ty’s full story, the very first book in the Lunchtime Chronicles serial romances: https://amzn.to/2K1o5El

TO EXPLORE THE COLLECTION and support the National Museum of African American History and Culture, click here: http://bit.ly/LTChistory

THE CORONAVIRUS IN the year of 2020 has changed the entire world in a matter of months. Difficult times continue for many of us, our families, and friends. The financial stability of our communities and many small businesses are at risk. Independent bookstores that showcase books by authors of color are particularly vulnerable during economic downturns. Below is a list of independent book sellers who appreciate your support. Click here: http://bit.ly/LTCIndieBooks

Jolly Rancher

Diesel and Mandy’s story, December 16, 2020

L. Loren’s LoveRotica Sex Journal

Siah’s journey of self-discovery started with Author L. Loren’s LoveRotica Sex Journal and ended in Knox’s arms. Order your signed copy at : https://llorenwriter.wordpress.com

Lunchtime Chronicles Season 3

Look for these Lunchtime Chronicles books coming Fall 2020!

Butter Pecan Gelato by Posey Parks, Coming October 14, 2020

Honey Dripper by L. Loren, Coming October 21, 2020

Carolina Reaper by Keta Kendric, Coming October 28, 2020

Red Velvet by S. London, Coming November 4, 2020

My, My Sweet Potato Pie by Sonja B., Coming November 11, 2020

Mystery Meat by Keta Kendric, Coming November 18, 2020

Southern Comfort by L. Loren, Coming November 25, 2020

Sweet Georgia Peach by Posey Parks, Coming December 2, 2020

The Secret Sauce by Sonja B., Coming December 9, 2020

Jolly Rancher by S. London, Coming December 16, 2020

*All the Lunchtime Chronicles are standalone titles, just download a book and start reading! Catch up with Messy Mandy and the Chronicles Seasons 1 & 2 here: https://amzn.to/35pUVJc

My, My Sweet Potato Pie

By Sonja B.

Chapter 1

Bianca Moore

“PETITION FOR DIVORCE has been granted,” the judge loudly states before banging the gavel.

I stare straight ahead, in disbelief that the once loving marriage I thought my now ex-husband, Byron, and I had, was over. Ten years completely gone, just thrown out like yesterday’s trash. Ten years of my life, I would never get back.

“Yes, baby you’re finally free!” The feminine voice squeaks, sounding like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Slowly turning my head in the direction of the table where Byron and his attorney were sitting, his young mistress sat behind them, grinning from ear to ear, rubbing his shoulders. I found out about her the night he handed me the divorce papers on our tenth anniversary.

I had taken off early that day, eight months ago, from my job at Family Medical Center, where I was a Physician’s Assistant. It was a Friday, and I was ready to celebrate the whole weekend with Byron. I mean, we made it ten years with ups and downs like any other couple, and we were still going strong.

Or so I thought.

I jumped in my Volkswagen Jetta™ and ran to the grocery store to pick up everything to make us a fabulous dinner, grabbing two bottles of Byron’s favorite wine, fresh flowers, candles, and dessert. Tonight, was going to be the best anniversary we ever had.

When I made it home, it was a little after three o’clock. Byron was due to get off from his construction job around five, which meant he would make it home thirty or forty-five minutes later. I was ecstatic the new contract his company was working on is local because there were times, he and his crew would have to travel for to sites that would have him gone for weeks, sometimes months.

I had enough time to get dinner started, and to decorate the dining room with flowers and candles. The sexy, black lace negligee, with matching robe, I ordered online had arrived two days earlier, and that’s what I planned on wearing to drive Byron crazy during dinner. Things had been rocky with us so I wanted our anniversary night and the rest of the weekend to spend quality time together so we could get back on track. The way our schedules kept us so busy, our sex life had become almost non-existent. I was starving for more of my husband’s touch and attention, something more than a quick peck on the lips in passing.

Around five-fifteen, I ran to our bedroom to take a quick shower and got dolled up for Byron. At the same time, my perfect dinner of New York strip steaks, honey-gingered carrots, twice-baked potatoes, and a salad made up of spinach, Roma tomato, and red onion sat ready in the kitchen. The dinner rolls would go in the oven once I finished getting dressed.

I felt like a Victoria Secrets model in my cute little outfit as I “Naomi Campbell Walked” down the hallway like it was Fashion Week, tossing my shoulder-length, dark-brown hair, with blonde highlights, from side to side. My best friend, Tangy Jackson, who has been a big part of my life since we met freshman year in college, talked me into getting them two months prior when she came to visit. I’d never had any dye in my hair due to the fear of my natural hair falling out, but Tangy did her research and found the best colorist in the city. With a hell of a lot of coaxing, I let Macki, the colorist, do his thing, and when it was all said and done, I couldn’t believe how fabulous my hair looked. You couldn’t tell me anything that day! The highlights complimented my caramel skin tone and made my dark brown eyes pop.

But anyway, I’m getting off track.

So, after setting the table, lighting the candles, and tossing rose petals around the dining room, living room, and bedroom, I put the wine in the ice chest and grabbed two wine glasses. Smooth jazz played through the surround sound system as I sat the bucket and wine stems on the coffee table in front of the love seat. Byron should’ve been coming through the door any minute. I seductively laid my body across the love seat with my robe open, showing my womanly curves under the negligee. I would be the first thing he would see he walked in.

Two glasses of wine and an hour and a half later, Bryon hadn’t made it home. I called his cell phone numerous times, only to be sent straight to voice mail. Worry started to seep its way in as I began to think something terrible might have happened. Bryon would usually call if he were running late.

Sighing, I got up and began walking around the house, blowing out the candles that had burned halfway down. Returning to the living room, I retook my seat and picked up my cell to try Bryon again when I heard his keys at the front door. Standing to my feet, I waited for him to enter.

The door slowly opened, and my handsome six-foot, chocolate skinned husband stepped in. His eyes caught mine as he closed the door behind him. His eyes wandered around the room at the rose petals, candles, and wine before returning to me.

“What’s all this?” Byron asked, putting his keys in the pocket of his jeans.

With a twisted face, I replied, “What do you mean what is all this? Did you forget today is our anniversary, our tenth anniversary? Where were you? I’ve been calling you for almost two hours.”

“Damn,” He whispers, now avoiding eye contact as he headed to the hall leading to our room.

“Is that all you have to say, Bryon?” I huff following behind him.

“Look, Bianca, it slipped past me that it was our anniversary today which makes this even more uncomfortable.” He says, going into his closet.

I stopped dead in my tracks. What the hell was he talking about? “Makes what uncomfortable, Byron? What are you doing?”

He comes out of the closet with his duffle bag and then tossed it on the bed. Byron doesn’t answer as he goes to the dresser and starts taking some clothes out, putting them in the bag.

“Byron,” I called, confused.

“Bianca, you know things haven’t been tight with us lately. With work and other things going on, I feel we like have grown apart.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out an envelope. “As I said before, it slipped my mind that today was our anniversary, so I do apologize for doing this today but it is what it is.” Byron holds the envelope out to me.

Taking it, I opened it and took out the papers. I slowly sat on the bed because if I stayed standing a moment longer, I probably would have fallen over as I read ‘Petition of Divorce’ at the top of the page. I was so in shock; the papers fell out of my hands. Byron strides over and picks them up.

“I know this is not what you expected tonight but I want to make this as peaceful as possible. We can split everything down the middle. While I love you, Bianca but I’m not in love with you. I’m not happy and I think with both of us being thirty-two we still have time to find happiness. I won’t fight you over the house. I’ll stay at a motel until I find a place.” He said after he sat the papers next to me then went on to finish packing his bag.

I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience like, watching a scene from one of those Lifetime movies. This couldn’t be happening to me. Yes, things between Byron and I have not been good as of late, but it wasn’t enough to get a divorce over.

I turned to my husband, and he was zipping the bag closed. Byron then did something I never thought I would never witness in our marriage. He took off his wedding band and sat it on the dresser.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I murmur, as I stared at him. His face held no emotion as he picked up the handle of the bag, then threw it over his shoulder.

“Just sign the papers, Bianca. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can move on with our lives.” Byron says as he starts for the bedroom door.

I had sprung from the bed and blocked his path. “No, you don’t get to come into our home and tell me you want a divorce! I love you, Bryon and I know you love me. If it’s something we need to fix between us we can go to counseling.”

He sighs. “There is nothing to fix, Bianca. I don’t want to be married to you anymore. Look, I’m trying to be as nice about this as I can, okay. Now, move so I can go.” He tried to brush past me, but I put my hands on the door frame.

“I’m not moving until we sit down and talk about this. You can’t tell a person you love them on your way out the door in the morning, then come home with divorce papers talking bull shit about I love you but I’m not in love with you. You at least owe me some kind of explanation besides the shit your saying.” I seethe. By now, my pressure was high, and I was ready to slap some sense back into him.

“Bianca, I...” He didn’t finish what he was getting ready to say as the doorbell rang. Byron looked uneasy as he peered at me. It rang again. “Are you expecting someone?”

“Do I look like I am expecting anyone? I was expecting my husband to come home and celebrate our anniversary but instead, I don’t know who this person is that’s standing in our home.” I reply, putting my hands on my hips as the doorbell goes off again. Turning from him, I went to see who it was.

Byron grabbed my arm. “Let me get it.” He said in a rush.

I looked down at his hand then back up at him. “What you can get is your hand off of me.” He must have known by the seriousness in my voice and the death stare I gave him that if he hadn’t removed his hand, he was going to lose some fingers.

He released my arm as the person on the other side of the door started banging on it. “Bianca, wait let’s talk. Who’s ever at the door will leave when they realize no one is going to answer.”

The banging continues as I ignored him and kept going.

“Bianca,” Byron calls when I took hold of the knob and snatch the door open.

“What!” I yell.

“Where’s Byron?” A young, brown-skinned woman asked with her hands on her hips. She couldn’t have been no more than twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. Her long silky straight weave hung down her back, and she had on enough makeup for the both of us. I won’t even begin to talk about the too-tight bodysuit she had on.

“What do you want with my husband?” I questioned, ready to claw her eyes out if she gave the wrong answer.

She smiled cunningly before replying, “Not for long.”

My inner bitch came out before that wench had time to react as I reached out and snatched her by her cheap weave, tossing her head around like a rag doll.

“Byron! Byron, get this bitch off of me!” She shrieked as threw us both to the ground and began to beat the shit out of her.

“You think you can take my husband, trick!” I hiss, clawing at her face.

“Bianca, get off of her!” Byron shouted as he tried to pull me off her.

“No! So, this is the reason you want a divorce, you cheating, son of a bitch?!” I barked as I turned my rage on him. “Ten fucking years and this is how you do me?! Then you had the nerve to bring this bitch to my house!” At this point, I was slapping his ass like he stole from me, and in all essence, he did.

“Quit fucking hitting me, Bianca! You know I don’t hit women but if you hit me again, I will knock the shit out of you!” He threatened.

My hand stopped in mid-swing, not because I was scared Byron would do what he said, but because in all the years I’d known him, he had never spoken to me like that.

As the tears began to fall, I whispered, “Get out.”

Byron’s stared at me with sympathy. “Bianca, I’m sorry it has to be like this.”

“Get out,” I said louder. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

Byron got his bag then went to help the chick up. “Come on, Lanae, get up. Why didn’t you keep your ass in the car like I told you?”

“You were taking too long! I’m pressing charges against her ass!” The bitch had the nerve to say.

“Well, let me finish whipping your ass so it will be worth the twenty-four hours in jail,” I said, stepping closer to them.

Byron held his hand out, stopping me. “Don’t hit her again, Bianca. I can’t believe you did this!”

My head reared back like a cobra ready to strike before a wicked laugh left my body. “You know what, Byron, you’re right. I’m not going to hit her again. I should be hitting your ass because this is all your fault, but I’ll tell you what, if the two of you are not out of my house by the time I get to my purse.” His eyes grew big because he knew I carried my .357 magnum in there.

Byron scrambled, trying to get Lane to her feet as I started to countdown from five going over to my purse. By the time I got to two, I had the gun in my hand and spun around ready to shoot, but the door slammed just in time.

I crumpled to the ground, balling my eyes out. My entire marriage had walked out the door with another woman, and I was left all alone. What was I supposed to do now?

Also by Siera

The Bachelors of Shell Cove Series

•  Chasing Ava

•  Convincing Lina

•  Catching Rebecca

•  Claiming Janna

•  Second Chance Christmas

•  Blindsided: A Lady Guardians Crossover Novella

•  Consuming Logan

The Men of Endurance Series

•  Staying The Course

•  Going The Distance

•  A Return to Endurance

•  All Out of Love

•  Enduring Christmas

Lunchtime Chronicles Series

•  Whipped

•  Thick Cut

•  Prime Ripped

•  Mocha Latte

The Forbidden Series

•  Forbidden Distraction

•  Forbidden Attraction

•  Forbidden Vow

The Fiery Fairy Tales Series

•  Chasing Flames

•  Concealing Fire

•  Commanding Heat

The Kelvinian Warrior Series

•  Cindra: A Paranormal Cinderella Tale

Detective MaKenzie Young Series

•  The Last File

About Siera

Siera London is the USA Today Bestselling & award-winning author of contemporary and paranormal romance, romantic suspense, and crime fiction. She crafts stories of diverse characters navigating the challenges and triumphs to find lasting love. Intelligence, wit, emotion, drama, and romance are between the covers of every Siera London novel. Siera lives in Virginia with her husband and a color patch tabby named Frie.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

COPYRIGHT

About This Book

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

A Note from Siera

Jolly Rancher

L. Loren’s LoveRotica Sex Journal

Lunchtime Chronicles Season 3

My, My Sweet Potato Pie | By Sonja B.

Also by Siera

About Siera

CONNECT With SIERA on Social Media