“You do fucking matter.” I quickly grasped her waist, picked up a squealing Kensie, and carried her into the shower. She hit my chest as the water drenched her.
“You’re getting me all wet.”
“I think that’s the problem. I’m not getting you wet enough.” I swooped down and opened her mouth with my tongue, and wrapped her arms around my neck. I anticipated more of a fight, but she melted into me. Weeks of longing unleashed, she kissed me hard and ardently. Our tongues dueled while our lips thrashed against each other under the stinging hot water. Her hands caressed my chest, my arms, and my abs and drifted to touch my ass. Every part of me she touched sparked a flame of desire that only she could extinguish with her oh-so-fucking-sexy body. I’d never wanted a woman more than in this very moment.
Kensie guided my mouth to suck on her right nipple through her gown. Soon, she appeared frustrated that she couldn’t feel my mouth on her skin, and she snatched the wet material down over her body. I resumed suckling her nipple while massaging the other one. Sensual tension built into a fiery rage with each pull on her stiff buds. I lifted her against the wall and spread her legs, ready to impale her with my stiff, throbbing manhood. I hadn’t gone raw with a woman in years, and she would have to stop me because I lost all sense and capabilities to do so. Reality must have broken through her haze of passion, and she placed her hands against my chest.
I searched her face before I knelt at her center. She closed her legs around my neck as I pressed her back against the wall, and I focused all my sexual energy on releasing hers. I loved the taste of Kensie and the way she lost all control as I licked and sucked her inner petals that protected her ripe bud. I needed her to forget her anger and hurt and only focus on the insane chemistry we’d successfully restrained all these weeks. I needed her to forgive me for my callousness because she mattered to me more than any woman ever did.
After Kensie came loudly, I quietly washed her from head to toe, wrapped her in a plush terry cloth robe, and sent her to bed. I chose the sofa near the balcony to rest my head that night, and she didn’t question me. I recognized that her body couldn’t withstand my touch again without giving me what we both truly wanted, and I wanted to honor our promise. So, we continued to wait.
Chapter 19
Kensie
“Morning. Sending apologies to those who tuned in to my live last night to see me.” Canaan dragged his hand over his head as he smiled sheepishly at my phone. “I got caught up with practice, and it’s not just an excuse.” He looked pointedly at me. We sat beside each other in the sunroom, eating breakfast to the soothing sounds of the ocean and the warmth of the bright daylight. “It’s been a real challenge preparing for this race. Not only is it my first Formula One, but it’s also the first time I’m working on a sponsored team with a new driver to me. Not to mention that this is my first race on a city street. The race in Miami, like most Formula One races, takes place on the streets rather than on a track. My practice is simulated through technology and on a makeshift track because I won’t be able to practice on the actual route in the actual car until the weekend of the Grand Prix. So, my bad again for missing out on what I’m sure was a good time.”
I pouted at the screen. “Y’all, Canaan forgot about us. We’ll forgive him because heisaiming for greatness.”
Canaan slung his arm around my neck and pressed a slow kiss on my cheek. “I made it up to her last night.” His easy, flirtatious manner had always appealed to me, even back in the day when I didn’t like him, and he was laying it on thick this morning, not just to my followers but to me. He’d been extra attentive and flirty since I woke up later than usual, surprised that he was still there and not gone for the day. He’d said he didn’t want to leave without knowing we were good. The thoughtful gesture alone slicked my panties and drew my heart closer.
I blushed while Canaan chuckled at some of the naughty comments on how my followers believed that Canaan made it up to me. I intervened before the comments really got out of hand. “All right...all right... It’s way too early to be talking like this . . . and he has to go. TTY Later.” Canaan waved before I clicked off and reached for his passion fruit juice.
I grabbed his chin. “Why are you so cute? Ugh . . . It’s like I want to stay mad, and you refuse to let me.”
“I need my Kens happy.” His gaze drifted to my exposed cleavage. “And I really do need to go before I take you on this table and forget our agreement.”
Before more heat could rise again between us, I released his chin and took his glass out of his hand to drink. “Have you considered my idea?”
“I don’t think people watching me drive laps will help ease my nerves.” Canaan slid his empty plate toward the center of the table. This morning, he had explained that he had retightened his focus at practice, which was the only reason he’d forgotten about my live.
“This is my suggestion for a way to solidify your fan base and to help your practice. The last time I attended, you cooked. You need the energy of a supportive crowd to motivate you. The fans also need to understand that this isn’t a frivolous sport for white folks.” I wiped the corners of my mouth with a linen napkin before perching on the edge of the table beside where he sat, my bare legs grabbing his attention.
“Eyes up here, Canaan.” I teased.
“Then don’t tempt me.” His strong hand rubbed my thigh, and I fought the urge to squeeze my legs. “Kens, if we invite our followers to see me practice, they’ll want my autographs and pics. I’m on the grind, and every second counts.”
“You’ve forgone practice for photoshoots and commercials before. This is no different.” I removed his distracting hand. “If you want to build your brand as this world-renowned race car driver, you have no choice but to play nice with your fans. I’ll create a couple of graphics to post. I’ll also do a live later this evening when I know more people are watching, and I’ll invite them to see you practice next Saturday. A crowd rooting for you motivates you. It’s your home-court advantage in Miami. Gives you a chance to drive before the race in front of a crowd. It’s a win-win, Bae-Be.” I raised my hands and swirled my hips.
His eyes followed my movements as he drank a purple passion juice designed to invigorate the senses, kissed my thigh, and rose from the table. “I’ll talk to Malcolm and see if he agrees.”
I threw a croissant at his head, and he deftly caught it. “Stop it. I know for a fact you do whatever the hell you want. You’re the boss. Like, I really think you’ll ask Malcolm for permission. So annoying . . . yes or no?”
“How can I resist you looking like this?” Canaan tugged on my braids, which I’d parted into two ponytails, and kissed my bare shoulder exposed in my strapless pink romper. “Set it up, and I’ll make sure to join you on your live this evening too.”
“Thank you.” I squealed and hugged his neck.
He firmly cupped my ass. “Taking you out afterward. Wear something sexy. Not for the media. Just you and me tonight. You good with that?”
Canaan didn’t wait for an answer as he strode out of my view, and shortly after, the front door closed. Only then did I jump around in excitement. We’d been in this majestic place for almost two months, and he and I hadn’t spent a moment alone outside of this house since we arrived, except for the occasional trip to the beach and his birthday. Granted, the beauty of the seven-bedroom, eight-bathroom space left little to be desired. The golden bathtub built into the floor, the sixteen-head shower that hit every inch of your body, the spacious and colorful rooms, the pristine white and gold elegant dining room, the walk-around balcony which opened to the endless pool, the manicured lawns, the sapphire blue sea beyond, and the list goes on. Even expensive cars, a private chef, and a Black Card at my disposal to use whenever I hit the streets of Miami were at my fingertips. I was living the dream, even if temporarily.
After my trip to Houston, I was inspired to write again and finally had a routine. Wake up with Canaan for meditation and smoothies, exercise in the home gym, explore Fisher Island, or catch a ferry back to Miami’s mainland to work in a cafe. Arrive back at the house in time to help Ms. Murielle with dinner for the team. Loving my routine, the mix of city and small-town life within minutes of each other, every day had been an adventure—an adventure I captured in my writing.
Dr. Radi had informed me yesterday that our article on the residual impact of slavery on Black love had been nominated for a prestigious American Sociological Association Award. I was also on track to complete my dissertation in the summer, as I had initially planned. Lastly, I’d been pitching my dissertation to the publisher of my first book, which explores overcoming broken family bonds to establish healthy, intimate love.
Ms. Murielle had become my new best friend, hitting the streets together on weekends to shop for special recipes and clothes. The older woman had taken a liking to me. She once told me over lunch that she appreciated my Southern charm and manners and that I was a good match for the man she’d known since he was a boy. From Ms. Murielle, I gleaned stories of Canaan’s youth and how rambunctious and hyper he’d been. Often impulsive and reckless, though always brilliant and respectful to Ms. Murielle, he’d been raised by his maternal grandparents in Barbados and would visit his father during the summers in Houston. His island lilt seemed to appear either when he was angry or teasing. Either way, I found his background and the man himself sexier as I learned more about him each day. Instead of maintaining an emotional distance, I grew closer to him, proud of his determination and grind.
I didn’t mind his long hours or that he was often preoccupied once he returned home because he needed that focus to excel in his craft. Although not physically risky, deciding to write self-help books about love and being a social media influencer hadn’t been an easy route for me. Despite how I appeared to the world, I was introverted and preferred reading to parties and public speaking. Three years ago, I spent weeks refining my knowledge of the latest styles, beauty, and dating tips to complement my research on social interaction and mating, ultimately creating a bestseller,Healthy, Slutty Love. An improv class helped me loosen up and become comfortable publicly sharing myself. Saraj had been my biggest cheerleader and helped me rebrand myself as an extrovert. Maybe that’s why, after all these years, Canaan noticed me. And why, at times, I didn’t seem genuine to him.
