“Oh my God,” I cried out as another impending implosion built.
Grunts and moans poured out of us as he began succumbing to his own pleasure. Feeling him lose control, watching the way his face contorted, and being so stretched and full of dick pushed me over the edge. A silent scream left my mouth as my legs locked and my back arched violently. For the third—and most powerful—time, I came hard, trembling and free-falling into pleasure.
I had no control of my pulsating body as he bucked against me. Cursing under his breath, he stiffened and shuddered. His mouth found mine, and we shared heady, passionate, out-of-breath kisses.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and both of us panted, completely exhausted. Pulling out of the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine. I reached up and gently scratched his beard.
“I’m really feeling you,” I whispered, staring into his eyes.
He brushed his lips against mine. “I’m really feeling you, too.”
16
After the first time we’d had sex, I met his mom. After the second time we’d had sex, he met my best friends. I didn’t have much dating experience, but I knew we weren’t doing things the typical way. It was just my luck that my attempt to get back out there ended up being the best sex I’d ever had with the best man I’d ever met. He made me feel so many different emotions—all of them good, but scary.
What is this?
I wasn’t sure what was going on. But when I looked over at Lamar, I couldn’t help but smile. I liked him, and I wanted to see him, but I’d asked him to be my date only because Aaliyah had said wehadto bring one. Yet, after being reunited, the date felt more significant.
“You are so beautiful,” Lamar whispered, running his hand down my exposed back. His fingertips danced over my skin and sent a chill down my spine. “And sexy.”
“So are you,” I complimented him back as we stood off to the side of the party. I ran my hand down the lapel of his sleek black suit. “I like this look on you.”
The black-on-black double-breasted tuxedo suit was tailored to perfection. Because of his measurements, he had only a handful of suits, and each of them was custom-made to fit his proportions.
“You like this?” He stepped back, opening the suit jacket to show off the complete look.
I nodded. “A lot. I prefer you naked, but this is a close second.”
Clothed and unclothed, coming and going, the man looks good.
Licking his lips, he let go of his jacket and grabbed my face. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” I murmured, staring into his eyes.
And I meant it.
He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. It was a soft, sweet kiss. I wrapped my arms around him and melted into his body.
I sighed contentedly into his mouth before pulling away. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad you invited me.” He kissed me again and then looked around the lake house grounds. “This is cool.”
“You’re having a good time?”
“Hell yeah. Did you taste that food?”
I laughed. “The dinner was perfect.”
Chef Tiana Mason cooked some of the most delicious vegetarian dishes known to man, and Lamar had raved about the chicken from the first bite on. The sit-down dinner had been an intimate gathering of Aaliyah’s closest friends and family—and their dates. I knew a lot of the people there, and I was worried that it would be uncomfortable for Lamar. But I was pleasantly surprised at how well he fit in, the ease with which he engaged in conversation with the people around us—particularly my best friends and their dates. I knew how smart, funny and charismatic he was, but we had spent only a couple of days together, and we were mostly alone. It had been eye-opening in the best way to see him with a bunch of people he didn’t know.
“This used to be my shit,” he commented as the DJ played a song from ten years ago.
The DJ had been playing hit after hit for the last three and a half hours. More than a hundred people were spread about the lake house grounds in celebration. Although the music had been good, Lamar and I alternated from the dance floor to the lake to sitting in the tent talking. It was our first date that wasn’t a quiet one-on-one, and yet, we still carved out pockets of time to make it so.
“… so it takes me twenty minutes to write a work email in total,” I explained as we stood by the lake. “Two minutes to write it. And eighteen minutes to go over it with a fine-tooth comb so I don’t call someonemamawhen I meantma’am.”
He burst out laughing. “Yeah, that’s tough. Has that happened?”
