Hoops Limited Edition Box Set, page 86
She’s affected, too. The tears streak through her make-up and she doesn’t even check them. And she does something unexpected. The thing I love about her; how she feints left when I anticipate right. My little rule follower, the queen of doing things as they’re supposed to be done; the standard bearer for crossed “t’s” and dotted “I’s” grabs the back of my neck, tips up on her toes, doesn’t wait for Father López to pronounce us anything. She shows the world what we already are.
A match.
And she kisses me.
“I think we scandalized Father López,” I say, raising my voice so Banner hears me in the bathroom. “Two unauthorized kisses in one ceremony.”
Her deep laugh reaches me in the bedroom.
“I know. My Aunt Valentina probably has rosaries dedicated to us now.”
We could have gone anywhere in the world for our honeymoon, but we came back to the villa on St. John’s. It holds significance for us, a turning point in many ways. It seemed the perfect place to start this new chapter of our lives together.
“She did seem concerned for my eternal soul.” I tie the knot on my sleep pants. I’m usually a sleep naked kind of guy, but it felt weird to be all bam on our honeymoon the first time we make love as man and wife. And my assumption is she’ll come out of that bathroom in something special that I’ll probably rip off with my teeth in five seconds. But I can at least begin the night civilized.
“Aunt Valentina is concerned with everyone’s eternal soul,” Banner replies with a laugh, her voice coming closer. “I think you won her over, though, delivering your vows in Spanish. You won me over, too.”
She appears at the door, and my mouth literally drops open. I expected some kind of gown or virginal white lingerie. Not sure why. I’ve done my part to ensure she’s far from virginal, but her choice for tonight is absolutely perfect. It’s a black teddy, cut high at the hips, cinched at her waist with a silk bow. Patches of silk are strategically placed, but it’s mostly lace, and her skin glows through the openings. The dusky discs of her nipples are clearly visible through the lace molding her breasts. Long and firm, her legs glimmer with the lotion or oil or whatever she put on them. Whatever it is, it’s damn sexy, and makes me want her thighs wrapped around my head while I devour her pussy.
I mean, I always want that, but the glimmer levels it up.
Thick, dark hair streams down her back, and tiny curls flower around her hairline. She’s left her face exactly the way I like it. Free of make-up, the way I first fell for her. Nothing but her naturally pretty lips, seven freckles and a dimple that tells me when I make her laugh.
“Wow,” I say, once I can form words. “Um, you look . . .”
I swallow whatever inadequate shit I was about to say to describe the perfect mixture of pure and sensual standing in front of me. I give up on words and walk over to her. From the neck down, she’s all confidence and firm, full curves. When I look into her eyes, there’s an unexpected shyness that only makes me want her more. I have one more thing I need to do before I let myself have her.
“I, um . . . I have something for you.” I reach into the pocket of my sleep pants and draw out a gold coin.
“Is that an arra?” Her wide eyes find mine, a pleased smile christening her lips.
“Yeah, uh, I heard it’s tradition for the groom to give the bride thirteen of these on the wedding day.”
She takes it from between my fingers, studying it for a few minutes and then says. “It’s engraved with today’s date.”
“I thought we could kind of make our own tradition, and every year add another one with a new anniversary date. Not just for thirteen years, but . . .”
Forever.
Self-consciousness steals the word from me.
“It was a stupid idea,” I say after a few seconds of silence. “We don’t have to—”
“I love it,” she whispers, cupping my cheek. “Thank you.”
It was a simple thing, but I’m glad it holds meaning to her the way I hoped it would. And I’ve been imagining these next moments all day, certain that making love to Banner once we’re married will hold meaning, too. She looks so beautiful, I want to see her from every angle.
“Turn around for me,” I say, my voice husky, pleading.
“Jared.” She laughs, her glance skidding away from mine, off to the side. She bites into the pillowed softness of her bottom lip, lifts her lashes to study my face; see if I’m serious.
“Ban, please. Show me.”
Holding my stare, she nods and starts turning slowly. As soon as she’s facing away from me and I see her ass, I take her shoulders, stopping the circuit. It’s a thong. Both ass cheeks are just . . there, swelling out from the curve of her waist and back. How can I not . . .
I sink to my knees and bite the left cheek, then soothe the sting with my tongue.
“Oh, God, Jared,” she gasps.
I repeat the bite and soothe on the other cheek. Her ass is so full and round and firm. God, all that work pays off. There is no body I’d prefer over hers. No one I’d rather see than this woman, my wife. I scatter open-mouth kisses over her bottom and reach around to touch her stomach. My hand inches down until I reach the lace between her legs. One finger slides under the fabric, moves down to caress her clit.
“Jesus.” She reaches around behind her to clench her fist in my hair. “Yes.”
I stroke her clit over and over until it’s swollen and wet, and continue the sucking kisses all over her ass. Her hips take the rhythm of my finger, and as I speed up my strokes, she becomes more frantic.
“Oh, God,” she cries out, close to orgasm, but I’m not ready for that, so I stop.
“No.” Her voice breaks. “Jared, please.”
“Trust me, Ban.” I stand and turn her around to face me again. I bend to kiss her, and she whimpers against my lips, on the edge of something I more than want to give her. I lead her by the hand over to the bed and gently push her shoulder so she’s sitting on the bed.
“Open your legs.” It’s said softly, but it’s a command, one she’s more than happy to follow. She spreads her legs immediately, and I stare at the soaked lace bisecting her pussy. My mouth waters at the sight, at the thought of my tongue on her; of my face buried there. I take my place on my knees in front of her and bow between her thighs.
At first, I content myself with tasting her through the lace, allowing the scrape of it across my tongue to heighten the sensation. My mouth never leaving her pussy, I reach up to untie the silk bow at her waist. The panels fall open and her breasts spill out. I pull the lace aside so there’s nothing between my lips and her pussy.
“Rub your nipples,” I say against the wet, silky lips.
Panting, she nods, reaching up to pinch and roll her nipples while I open her up and suck her clit.
“Ahhh.” She thrusts into my face, still rolling her nipples. “Dammit, Jared.”
I scoop her legs onto my shoulders and lick into the folds, slip my tongue inside, pull the lips between mine.
“Dios, Dios, Dios,” she pants, her hips moving faster over my face, her hands urgent on her breasts. “Please, please. Por favor.”
I lift under her thighs, bringing her ass higher to my mouth, and shift my lips to her asshole, running my tongue over the puckered surface.
“Oh, shit,” she screams.
I dig my tongue into the tight hole and reach up to stroke her clit.
“No, no, no,” she sobs. “I can’t . . . Jared, you have to.”
I don’t have to do shit but stay right here until she squirts all over my thumb, which is my goal. I pinch her clit and push my thumb into her pussy, which contracts helplessly around me. I lick into her ass deeper until she squeezes my head between her knees and screams. Her juices run from her pussy down the seam of her ass. I try to lick leisurely, but I want it too badly, and my tongue chases every drop until I’m grunting and squeezing her thighs and spreading her ass cheeks to lick it all out.
When I’m sated, I look up to find Banner laid back on the bed, arms stretched above her head, breasts free of the bodice. Tears slip from the corners of her eyes and she’s muttering, begging me in Spanish under her breath to fuck her. I stand, shuck the sleep pants off and fist my cock, which is painfully erect. I’m going to fuck my wife like an animal, so I hope she’s ready. She slits her eyes open, catching my starving stare. She slips the teddy off, lifts her feet to the bed, widening her knees, spreading her thighs, to receive me.
She’s ready.
I crawl up on the bed between her legs, and don’t even pretend I want more foreplay or another caress. I want inside this pussy right fucking now and she knows it. I align our bodies and without further ado, charge in.
“Ahhhh.” Her pussy rips that sound of deepest pleasure from my throat. “Dammit, Banner, what is your pussy made of?”
She laughs a little.
“Don’t talk,” she says huskily. “Fuck.”
I can’t even go fast enough, get deep enough. I hook an arm under her thigh for leverage, to tunnel in farther. Her hands come up to loop around my neck, her fingers threading into my sweat-dampened hair. She presses one hand over my heart, and holds my eyes.
“I’ll stay right here,” she whispers, repeating my vow to her from the ceremony. “I love you so much.”
God, she can’t say that to me right now. Something tight in my chest starts dissolving.
“I love you, Ban,” I tell her, setting my forehead to hers. I rain kisses over every inch of her face.
God, she’s precious. The best thing that has ever happened to me. So much more than I deserve. And then I know what August means. It didn’t happen for me at the altar. Not the one in a church with people staring at us, inspecting us. No, for me it happens at my altar. Inside her body, where I worship. The tears prick my eyes and burn my throat. They finally run from my eyes, over my cheeks, onto her neck. I adorn her body with my sweat, with my tears. This body, this heart, this soul, this woman is the only thing I truly revere. And as my body joins with her again and again, as my heart, so sullied, meets hers, so pure, I know how it must feel to be the horizon. To live at that precise point where heaven meets earth.
I come on a roar, driving my cock into her again and again with branding force, claiming her body from the inside. The irony, of course, is that Banner owns me. I’m hers and probably have been since the day I met her. It’s like I said. I fell for her in pieces, and she takes more of me with every touch, every kiss, every word, every act of kindness.
And tonight, now, I’m irrevocably all hers.
When we’re both coherent again and I’m breathing like a human, instead of a raging locomotive, we slip under the silky sheets and fold our arms around each other in the silence that follows religious experiences. That’s what making love to Banner as my wife for the first time felt like. And I’ve been robbed of words. If it’s always like this, I don’t know if I’ll survive it, but it is decidedly a wonderful way to go. I’m drifting off to sleep, when something warm and velvety swipes my neck. Funny how something so simple can instantly transport you to another moment in time. To the moment she licked me just like that after we made love for the first time. Only we were just kids. And it was in the backroom of a deserted laundromat. And it was in the dark.
“Dijiste tus votos en español,” she says, pulling me from the past.
My brain, still sludge from our lovemaking, can barely process, but manages to figure out she’s speaking to me in Spanish. She wants to know how much I know.
You said your vows in Spanish.
“Si,” I reply with definite smugness, because this may be the best gift I could have given her on our wedding day.
“¿Cuánto entiendes?” she asks.
How much do you understand?
“Alguna cosa,” I reply drowsily.
Say something.
“Y Te lo haré saber si entiendo.”
And I’ll let you know if I understand.
It’s quiet, she’s quiet for a moment and then she speaks, her voice a command she knows, when it comes down to it, I will follow.
“¿Cuando puedo tener tus bebes?”
When can I have your babies?
I grin in the dark that she has the audacity to ask me this on our wedding night. But this is the woman I love. Banner is a bold declaration. She’s a living dare that I’ll accept every time.
“Cuando quieras,” I answer.
Whenever you want.
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HOOK SHOT SYNOPSIS
A deeply emotional standalone romance set in the worlds of professional basketball and high fashion.
* * *
Divorced.
Single dad.
Traded to a losing squad.
Cheated on, betrayed, exposed.
My perfect life blew up in my face and I'm still picking up the pieces.
The last thing I need is her.
A wildflower.
A storm.
A woman I can't resist.
Lotus DuPree is a kick to my gut and a wrench in my plans from the moment our eyes meet. I promised myself I wouldn't trust a woman again, but I've never wanted anyone the way I want Lo. She's not the plan I made, but she's the risk I have to take.
* * *
A warrior.
A baller.
The one they call Gladiator.
Kenan Ross charged into my life smelling all good, looking even better and snatching my breath from the moment we met. The last thing I need is him. I’m working on me. Facing my pain and conquering my demons. I've seen what trusting a man gets you.
I. Don't. Have. Time. For. This.
But he just keeps coming for me. Keeps knocking down my defenses and stealing my excuses one by one. He never gives up, and now...I'm not sure I want him to.
“Give yourself permission to let it hurt,
but allow yourself permission to let it heal.”
* * *
Nikki Rowe, Once a Girl, Now a Woman
PROLOGUE
Lotus
* * *
I grew up believing the sky spoke to me. The booming voice of thunder. The sharp retort of lightning. Every storm, a conversation. A volatile exchange. But today, there’s a rainbow. Skittle-colored stripes airbrushed overhead in a rain-washed sky.
“You remember what the rainbow means?” MiMi, my great-grandmother, asks.
Like so many things she has taught me, the answer is ingrained, woven into my fibers. I don’t even have to think about it.
“A rainbow is the bridge between Heaven and Earth,” I reply, my voice coming strong even though my insides quake.
“Hmmm. Somebody’s trying to get into Heaven.” She considers the sky, eyes wise beyond her eighty-some-odd years. “Not today.”
We stand shadowed by one of New Orleans’ famous oaks in the cemetery, watching the few assembled mourners disperse. There are no tears for the dead. There weren’t many who loved Ron Clemmons. He was a man only a mother could love.
His mother and mine.
My pulse stutters at the sight of Mama. I last saw her when I was twelve, four years ago. She is today, as she was then, standing by Ron, but this time he lies in an open grave. I snap my lips tight against the word screaming in my head, determined not to speak.
Mama!
Even though I don’t say her name, she looks up as if I have. Her eyes widen through the short black veil that looks like something fashionable women wore years ago when burying their lovers. “Vintage,” Mama used to say, instead of “thrift store.” Classic, not second-hand. She always wanted the finer things and clung to any man who promised them. Except Ron never promised her much, and Mama still clung like it was a habit she didn’t know how to break.
The fine arches of her brows snap together, and her gaze ricochets between me and MiMi, then darts to the open grave. There are few cemeteries in New Orleans where they bury folks underground. This is one of them. For the poor and unloved, unclaimed. That’s what this is. That’s what Ron is.
She touches the black silky chignon pleated at the back of her head and takes a few steps in our direction, but freezes mid-stride. I glance at MiMi, who shakes her head gravely, telling Mama not to come any closer. It’s acceptance, not shock, on Mama’s face as she turns away and follows the trickle of mourners leaving the cemetery. It’s not the first time she has thought to see me, but MiMi knows I don’t want to see her.
If anyone knows, MiMi does.
Gravediggers take the place of the few who’d stood around while the clergyman read from his little book of ceremonial prayers. Weddings, baptisms, funerals. A verse for everything.
