Ill be your somebody, p.1

I'll Be Your Somebody, page 1


I'll Be Your Somebody

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I'll Be Your Somebody

  I'll Be Your Somebody

  Savannah J. Frierson

  I'll Be Your Somebody

  Copyright © 2009 by Savannah J. Frierson

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without prior written permission of copyright holders.

  This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Cover image courtesy of

  ISBN: 978-0-557-08331-2

  To being somebody’s somebody.


  Thank you to all of my readers, mentors, friends, and family for supporting me and my endeavors. Special thanks to Jayha Leigh for encouraging me to write this continuation of Trolling Nights.

  One Predawn

  Rosita Velez was slow to open her eyes, to face the reality that she was here…again…with a heavy, muscular, dark-bronzed arm draped over her bare, cinnamon waist. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t moan when the arm tightened around her, bringing her back against a hard body that shouldn’t give as sweetly as she knew it could…as it had last night while she imitated una vaquera.

  But he’d been such a willing bronco…

  “Rosita, chica…”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. She could remember when he’d started calling her that, right before the wedding of their best friends Tim and Bevin Capshaw. Her mother had kept calling her chica, as was her right; but he had to take it a step further, thinking he were so clever because it rhymed. And now it stuck. Even Robbie called her that, but her brother lived to get on her nerves, knowing she loved him too much to kill him.

  Soft, moist lips touched her naked shoulder and she shivered. “Rosa.”

  She sighed and relaxed into him automatically, cursing herself for the unconscious action. He was the only person with a penis able to get away with calling her that other than her father…and sometimes her brother. But he’d called her Rosa last night as he slid inside her paradise over and over again. She hadn’t smacked him for it, just clutched his shoulders and bit at the crook of his neck and clamped around his cock so he would never, ever leave her.


  Eyes drifting shut, she became spineless, especially when he pressed her back against the bedding and rose above her, his black eyes boring into her soul so deeply she couldn’t mask it with sass and no-nonsense—even with her eyes closed. He cupped her cheeks and let his broad nose touch hers, her legs opening so she could cradle him close, so he could enter her again, which he did.

  She gasped and her eyes flew open, especially when he remained unmoving inside her as his cock throbbed with his heartbeat…that matched hers evenly.

  His expression was so serious…so different than it usually was. He had jokes for days, but nothing about this was a laughing matter. Unable to help herself, she touched her palm to his cheek, her heart fluttering as rapidly as his eyes did, her body exhaling just as fully as his did.

  “What you do to me,” he whispered, turning his head to kiss her palm. “Rosa.”

  She kissed him, letting her tongue dance with his as he began to move inside her. He wasn’t the biggest or the thickest, but he was still the best lover she’d ever had. This man possessed something none of the others had, and she was too chicken to say what it was.

  Even though they both knew.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her flush against him, his solid strength turning her softness to fuzzy cotton. She wound her legs around his hips and he ground into her, not leaving her warmth, but savoring it.

  He settled his face into her neck and she dug her nails into the back of his head. This embrace was hard, intense. Breath squeezed from her lungs as her skin absorbed his.

  “What you do to me,” he whispered again.

  It wasn’t a question; it was acceptance of an answer.

  Rosita trembled, feeling her heart opening wide even as she tried valiantly to shut it again. Her very own Pandora’s Box, except it was receiving, not releasing.

  He paused again, buried to the hilt inside her, his fingers kneading the small of her back. Rosita felt tears sting her eyes and she nestled her face into the crook of his neck. This was different from all the other times, even though it had started the same. She’d come up to Virginia Beach from Charleston to visit Bevin, but had ended up here, at his flat tearing off his clothes so she could get fucked good and proper. And for the first few hours or so, he’d obliged her, talking filthy, being none too gentle—rough and raw. But then he’d started nuzzling her, started calling her Rosa, her name falling from his lips like stardust, pixie dust. She’d done a fair impression of Wendy Moira Angela Darling, and she’d cursed it as she relished it.

  He shifted, settling onto his butt, never letting her go. She straddled him, reminiscent of the very first position they’d tried six hours ago, except they were both sitting up now. He scooted to rest his back against the headboard, his face still in her neck, his goatee scratching the silken, sensitive skin there.

  “Ride me,” he demanded, and she shivered again.

  Rosita began undulating her hips, not sliding off his length because his arms were too powerful around her, too secure, too wonderful. He started kissing along her neck, across her collarbone, up to the point of her chin. His hands moved from the small of her back to her breasts, cupping their heavy weight, thrumming her chocolaty nipples. He continued to nip her chin and tweak her breasts while she just rocked upon his erection. She felt his eyes on her again, and she looked everywhere but at him. He had her too open as it was; she needed to guard some secrets for herself.

  “When are we gonna stop this?” he asked breathlessly, moving his hands from her chest to wrap his arms around her waist again.

  “As soon as I come,” she hissed, her face pinched as she glimpsed the release she desperately needed.

  There was a deep, breathless chuckle. “And then what, you go back to Bevin’s until you need my cock to scratch your pussy’s itch?”

  She snapped her eyes to him and glared. “¡Sucio!”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “¿Es la verdad, sí?”

  She averted her gaze and bit her lip, her climax and her shame warring within her. No, she said in her head, admitted to herself for the first time. He was not just a cock to scratch her itch…he hadn’t been for a long time. In fact, she’d purposely stayed away from him that first night at The Barrel.

  Both of them knew Patrice hadn’t been his initial choice.

  They’d pretended—all three of them, actually—though he’d eventually grown to have real feelings for Patrice. The pretty Korean hadn’t felt the same as intensely, though, her parents too strong an influence compared to her hormones or how “nice of a guy” he was. Rosita had admittedly lost a little respect for him because of it, despite the fact he was among the most elite fighters in the country. So what he could shoot a rifle on target or knock a guy out with one punch? He couldn’t stand up to a woman who was maybe five-four and a buck-ten soaking wet. Rosita needed a strong man, a man who would fight for her, a man who would fight her should she start tripping.

  Be careful what you wish for…

  “¿No es la verdad, Rosita, chica?” he asked quietly in her ear, not moving, his body primed and ready to go upon her command.

  She looked directly into his eyes. “You know it’s not.”

  He smiled slowly, exp
osing the tiny gap between his two upper-front teeth, her heart opening wider and feeling the warm breeze of affection overcome her. “Good girl,” he congratulated, thrusting into her hard. “Very good girl.”

  Rosita’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. His thrusts were measured and deep, as if he were laying claim to her, marking her. She wanted to pull out of his arms. She wanted to meld into him. She wanted everything and was scared that he offered it to her and then some. She wasn’t really ready for this…booty calls she could handle. She handled them very well, in fact. But this, the upping of the ante, was far, far out of her league.

  “Kiss me, Rosa,” he husked against her cheek even as his mouth crept to hers. “Kiss me…”

  She did, softly, nothing but lips, and yet it triggered her most powerful climax thus far. She felt him freeze also, then explode inside her, making her shake more violently than an eight-point earthquake.

  There were most certainly not tears in her eyes or rolling down her cheeks, but those were his fingers gently wiping away the moisture that had suddenly appeared on her face.

  “Mi hermosa chica Rosita,” he whispered against her nose before kissing it.

  She couldn’t help but laugh at that, curling her arms around his neck and hugging him close to her heart. He chuckled as well and returned the embrace just as fiercely.

  “You are,” he said quietly.

  She sniffled. “I know.”

  He chuckled again. “You’re not lacking confidence.”

  “Should I?”

  “No,” he replied, kissing her shoulder. “You certainly keep a brother righteous.”

  Rosita caressed the back of his head, though didn’t answer. They sat quietly for a while, him still inside her, not as hard as he had been, but definitely not soft. Her internal muscles massaged him, more calming than arousing, and she took in a breath full of their scent. For some reason her mind went back to the past, months ago, years ago, back when Bevin had been a Moore. She remembered a conversation they’d had, the night after Tim had told Bevin he loved her, with Rosita practically confessing to her best friend she’d never made love with a man before. Sex, yes; fuck, yes; love…that had always been elusive.

  It didn’t feel so elusive anymore.

  “I should pull out,” he said against her temple.

  “You should,” she agreed even as she gripped him tighter.

  He moaned. “Rosita, chica…”

  “I like you just where you are,” she murmured honestly, letting her lips drift along his temple.

  He kissed her neck and rubbed her back. “I do as well,” he said and left it like that.

  He never did pull out, slinking back down onto the bed and drawing the sheet over them. She fell into slumber, he inside her, around her, having one of her best sleeps in months.

  Ooh, boy, she was seriously fucked.

  One Morning

  The readout was missing a few letters. They spelled “Not”, as in “Not Pregnant”.

  There was not a sound to be heard, a breath to be breathed, a pulse to be pulsed. Rosita and Bevin stared at each other, she on the commode and Bevin on the side of the tub. Her best friend’s golden eyes dropped to Rosita’s midsection.

  “Lawdhavmercy,” Bevin rasped.

  Rosita dropped the stick as if it had shot up a thousand degrees in one second and scrambled off the toilet. She stared wide-eyed at it, her mind telling her she’d suddenly become illiterate, that she did not read what she just read.

  “No puedo leer en inglés,” Rosita muttered.

  The shocked expression on Bevin’s midnight-hued face melted into one of amusement. “Yes, you can read English. Very well, in fact. Welcome to the club, Rosita.”

  Rosita glared at Bevin, two seconds away from sticking out her tongue and cussing her out in fluent Spanish, when a knock on the door made them both jump.

  “Damn! What?” Rosita snapped.

  “Uh, are y’all okay in there?”

  Rosita’s nostrils flared in frustration while Bevin’s flared for an entirely different reason. Rosita sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Hussy.”

  Bevin glanced down at the stick, then raised an eyebrow at her friend. “Pot, kettle, innit?”


  “We’re fine, baby,” Bevin called to her husband, taking a few squares of toilet paper to pick up the stick and throw it in the trash. “You need to use the bathroom?”


  “Where’s my child?”

  “With his godfather.”

  “Is my child still alive?”

  “Bevin,” came the sigh, and Bevin grinned, washing her hands.

  “All right, my love, we’re on our way out,” she promised, cutting off the water and drying her hands on one of the towels. Bevin opened the door and giggled as Tim gathered her close and gave her a gentle kiss on the mouth.

  Rosita pretended she didn’t notice any of this as she washed her hands as well, her heart squeezing at the possibility that could be her one day. Her and…

  “Rosita,” Tim greeted, kissing her cheek.

  “Hello, Tim,” she said, turning off the water. “Potty’s all yours.”

  “You’re too good to me,” Tim moaned, putting his hands on his hips and following the women out with his eyes, Rosita shutting the door. She couldn’t help grinning as she saw Bevin leaning against the wall and fanning herself.

  “Been a year and some change and I still can’t believe it!” Bevin whispered.

  “Well, you better,” Rosita mumbled. “I have a feeling we’ll soon be in another bathroom with another stick reading another result like the one we just got!”

  Bevin approached her and grasped her hands. “Go to a doctor, Rosa.”

  “I know—”

  “Tell him, Rosa.”

  She didn’t say anything to that, just squeezed Bevin’s hands and took a deep breath. The bathroom door opened and the tall, broad, blond man gave them an odd stare, well, more Bevin than Rosita. Bevin stood straighter and returned her husband’s expression.

  “What?” she asked.

  Tim didn’t respond right away, but then moved and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I love you.”

  Rosita almost laughed at the way Bevin melted, tipping up her head so Tim could kiss her mouth.

  “I love you too,” Bevin promised. Tim pulled back, the largest cheesy grin on his face, and began whistling horrendously off-key as he went back to the living room. Rosita laughed.

  “¡Tu esposo es loco!”

  Bevin grinned and started after her husband. “And yet someone has to love his crazy ass; might as well be me!”

  Rosita let that thought sink in, marveling at how simple it was in its wisdom. She didn’t enter the living space fully, however, her feet getting stuck at the threshold as she watched him play with her godson…their godson.

  Their son?

  “Why’re you standin’ there, Rosita? Kerry doesn’t bite!” Tim teased. Rosita cracked a smile when Bevin scoffed.

  “Clearly someone’s not ever breastfed a body!”

  “Bevin!” Tim whined, wincing.

  She gave him a perplexed glance. “What?”

  “Don’t be mentioning your…” He nodded to Bevin’s chest. “In mixed company!”

  Rosita fell out laughing at the disbelieving look Bevin shot her. “You hear this ’Bama bozo?”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “Ulrich!” Tim cried, and Rosita heard a smack, then a joyous giggle. “That’s my wife!”

  “And she’s fine as hell!” Ulrich said. “You see your daddy abusing Uncle U? He’s a bad, bad daddy!”

  More giggling bubbled forth and Rosita finally entered the living room. He was lying on his back, holding up a beaming Kerry who was reaching tiny, burnished-gold hands toward his broad nose. Rosita glanced at the wedded couple, Tim’s head in Bevin’s lap as she played with tendrils of his hair and whispered softly to him.


ediately, Rosita sat down and held out her arms. Kerry reached for her in return, aided by him as he settled the baby in her embrace.

  “Hey,” Ulrich whispered, kissing Rosita’s cheek as he pulled back.

  “Hey,” she said just as softly, Kerry beaming at her as he clapped his pleasure.

  Ulrich sat across from her and gazed while Rosita gave all her attention to the child in her arms. She wanted to fidget, something she never did for any man, but Ulrich Brown wasn’t just any man.

  “Look at him all comfortable,” Ulrich said softly, reaching out to trace a finger along Kerry’s chubby cheek. The baby had snuggled into Rosita’s chest, sucking on his thumb. Rosita had started rocking without even realizing it. “I’m jealous.”

  Rosita cut a look at him. “Stop it…”

  “Can’t help how I feel, Rosa,” he said quietly, keeping his focus on the baby, but his words wrapped all the way around her like a thermal blanket. There was no way she could respond to that, not with this particular audience, so she kept her mouth shut.

  “I’m saying!” Tim piped up. “When Kerry was first born, I had a hard time not being jealous of my own son—!”

  “Timothy!” Bevin chastised.

  “Calling me by my full name?” Tim moaned and pulled Bevin’s face down to his. “What I told you about foreplay when we have people over?”

  Bevin groaned and pulled her head up, pretending she wasn’t amused by her husband’s antics. “You are a mess!”

  “And yet you married him anyway,” Ulrich teased. “Methinks the one who isn’t right in the head is you—!”

  “Nobody asked for your two rusty pennies!” Bevin said, sucking her teeth and rolling her neck.

  Ulrich glanced at Rosita. “Taking lessons from my Cuban firecracker, are we?”

  Rosita’s lip curled. “I didn’t know you and my mama were tight like that…”

  Tim and Bevin practically died laughing; and because baby Kerry refused to be left out of the revelry, he started giggling as well. Rosita grinned and winked at a sulking Ulrich even as she cuddled her godson closer.

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