You Called Me-ARE and Apple epub (18 page)

“Why did you ask Morgan to celebrate with you tonight?” He sensed pain under behind her sad eyes.

“It bothers my mother when we don’t include one another in on things. It hurts her that her girls aren’t closer so I try and be there for her whenever she needs something.”

“Is Morgan married?”

“Divorced,” Kenya admitted, rubbing her feet. “Normally I let it go, but with you sitting there I thought she would curb it, only she seemed to be in rare form. Morgan enjoys digging into people, especially anyone with me.”

“You’re mother and aunt appears to be nicer.”

“They are. I love my family; don’t necessarily like all of them.” She wrung her hands. “My Aunt and I get along more like siblings. She was a late in life childlike me. She understands.”

Every layer he unraveled exposes more hurt for his woman. 

“You’re welcomed in my home, Kenya. Never feel you have no one supporting you.” That came out without thinking, because it’s how he felt. She deserved better than what she received tonight.

“Tell me about your family? Who are the people in the photograph’s around the room?”

Mouth gone dry Jonathan eyed the woman taking the plate from his lap to crawl over him, angling her knees to either side of his lap. Closing his hands around her hips the dress pushed up her bare thighs bearing black panties. “No more avoiding me. Talk to me, Jonathan.”

“Eat first.”

Kenya leaned forward lips warm on his mouth lingering down to his neck. Jonathan thought he would explode Kenya was so attentive. The dress slipped off one shoulder, satin bra straps followed when she sat up, picked a vegetable from the plate. Full lips closed around a soft carrot before it found his mouth, slid between his lips. Eyes open, Jonathan accepted the sweet vegetable served from even sweeter lips. Raised a brow feeling her knuckles brushing down his chest unbuttoning his dress shirt after each piece from the plate they shared. If he wanted her in his life, he would have to tell her who she was dating.

He reached over grabbed the bottle of wine and the glass, kissing the soft skin on her shoulder. “My family,” he started, deciding where to begin with the dysfunctional history he was about to share.

“Your family?” she said. Intrigued, seeing her return the glass to the table, before raising the bottle to her lips. Chandelier reflection glittered over the wine coating her lips. Capturing her mouth, Jonathan licked at the drops, swirling his tongue over her parted mouth. Savoring her sweetness as pressure built in his groin. Tracing her cleavage with one finger wasn’t helping him form sentences, just made him harder. “Jonathan, tell me about your family?” she repeated.  

“If you tease me, pretty lady, I’m gonna react.” Soft chocolate skin warmed his finger stroking under her bra cup. Skin, perfect, smooth, and firm.

“We both know where this is leading, Jonathan,” tugging the waistband of his trousers. “There’s no teasing tonight. I’m liquid fire sitting on your lap with all of this pushing up into my wet panties,” wiggling her hips over his thick ridge poking at her body. He was gonna explode and soak more than her panties if she kept it up. “Give me a few minutes and talk to me.”

He shifted her hips back to adjust himself under his pants. Voice tight, he said, “Until I was twelve, I grew up in Ireland. Parents couldn’t live together so my mother brought us to the states. She’d got a job as a manager in a jazz club downtown in Trappers Alley. It closed a few years back now, but I got to know a lot of the merchants.”

“That’s not a place for a twelve year old boy to be strolling around. The night life is jumping down town with great clubs and music, but like in most inner cities there’s a darker side not for kids.”

Jonathan stroked her face, seeing all those pictures flooding his mind from when he was a boy. Run-a-way’s living on the streets and women selling themselves to put food on the table for the kids they left alone at home. He blinked back the sorted memories feeling Kenya’s hand on his chest.

“That’s why you take the kids camping, and skiing offer your limo service to run-a-ways and prostitutes. You saw firsthand kids living on the streets.”

He nodded.” When I called the precinct about volunteering the chief told me something that made no sense so I never mentioned it, but now I have to ask you.”

He raised a brow.

“They said you take the men home that get their cars impounded after they get arrested for solicitation. Why would you help them?” Kenya asked picking at the buttons on his shirt pushing it through the tiny holes. She was undressing him and his mouth watered making him forget her question. “Why do you do it?”

“I know men like this. They go into the inner city do their dirt and go back to their clean wives and girlfriends and then go to work the next day complaining about how bad the inner city is. I charge them a premium to get them home in a limo then have them picked up in the morning to get their cars out of impound.”

“Why? What happens to the money?”

“Kids of parents who don’t pay their child support are left out of a lot of things other kids get to do. I try to make it possible for the parents who are solely supporting these families to allow their kids to go since they can’t afford camp or the uniform. The money from the abuse of the city goes to provide outings like the one we took the kids on.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Why did I need to?”

“Because I deserve to know if my life is in danger when I come here,” Kenya paused looking around his home before returning her gaze to him. “Your mother didn’t have any money when she came here?”

“She’s a proud woman. She didn’t want any of the Blakemore money until it was time for me to start college.”

“What about the neighbors you said you grew up with? Where do they fit into this?”

“My neighbors watched me in the afternoons. On the weekends I went to the club.”

“The girls you said you grew up with?” Kenya half-questioned half acknowledged he noticed accepting another sauce covered linguine noodle dangling from her lips. Sucking creamy sauce from her bottom lip behind the noodle, he swallowed. Tangy and sweet the sauce blended with Kenya’s delicious intoxicating taste.  Nodding, he said, “Their family treated me as one of their own. I never went out much and many Friday’s I sat in the lounge at the club and did my homework. It’s where my love of jazz developed.”

“You’re protective of those women and kids earning a living on the streets. That’s why you offer the limousine serve; you’ve seen the darker side to their world?”

“I told you karma is harder on the wealthy.” Karma was a nightmare at times for him. Kenya’s lips found his before he had a chance to speak and her love and support poured through his body, soothing his jagged nerves. She pulled back, feathering her fingers through his hair and knew she was the one to keep in his world.

She asked, “Then who is the family in the picture on the wall behind me?”

He eyed the estate framed on the wall, “Last two generations of Blakemore men. My father was the oldest. I’m his only son.”

“Sounds like a lot of history behind the words you’re not sharing. I just want to know you, Jonathan.”

“My parents married under a contract between the two families to save both from ruin. My father was unfaithful and cruel. Mother moved she and I here to the States when I was in junior high school.”

They sat quiet, his hands running along her smooth bare legs under her dress. He'd never told that story or even wanted to before Kenya. He'd held on to that shame that he came from a weak man. Bringing women to the castle only disrespected his mother, him and the family. Some role model for him to follow. Jonathan blinked as Kenya stroked his face.  

“With nothing? No financial help?” Kenya questioned, saddened he could see, and her compassion held him in a way no woman’s attempted with him, unselfishly. She dropped tender kisses over his brows. Here she comforted him instead of the other way around.

“If she wanted to live under his thumb. Her father was killed in a house fire and my grandmother was never the same after that. She lives with my mother.”

“That’s awful…your grandfather’s death. I can’t imagine your grandmother’s pain.”

“She’s never gone back to the house.”

“I’d have a hard time going back…losing a loved one to a fire has to be the worst thing ever.” Kenya rested her cheek on her raised knee holding a sofa cushion in front of her bare thighs. “About your parents…in the same house.” She sighed. “That’s a castle, big enough for them to never see one another if they didn’t want to.”

“Believe me, they didn’t want to.”

“Did you want them to?” she asked. Talking about his parents gave him a headache. “Who are you, Blakemore? There’s a wall between us whenever I ask about your family.”

He stared at her tipping a sideways glance, thinking she waited to hear some escaped royalty whimpering while he slummed with the common folk and just by chance, she ran across his path. She would be disappointed.

“I’m a man with a lot of people pulling at him all the time from every direction. Are you looking for a place on the list?” One of the reasons visiting his family home was far and in between. The questions started the moment he stepped off the plane. When was he going to take over the estate? He needed a wife. When was he settling down and starting a family?

Kenya said, “It’s just me, Jonathan. Stop pushing me away. Where’s your father now?”

Grabbing the bottle from the table, he slugged the drink so fast he barely tasted the sweet drink. Tipping a glance at the wall, he eyed his family home on the wall, the heritage waiting for him to take over. “He lives between Ireland and the States, comes to town every couple of years. Not a part of my life.” Thought of his CPA certificate on his bookshelf in his office down the hall, how his mother went to his grandfather to get access to her money to pay for college, so she wouldn’t have to ask his father and deal with that life style. 

“Thank you for trusting me, Jonathan. That wasn’t easy.”

Nothing about his life came easy and he hoped Kenya could handle who and what his life entailed because he wasn't letting her go.

Talking about his father was killing his plans and his erection. He held the bottle up. “Thirsty?”

“No and neither are you.” She backed off his lap then set the plate and bottle on the table. “Show me the Jonathan from the club, the one requesting naked time with me. We've waited long enough.”

“Kenya…”Following her hands wiggle the panties down her thighs, Jonathan shot to his feet. “The bra too, and leave the dress on,” he added, yanking off his shirt hanging from his shoulders. It covered the satin bra in the hallway.

Done talking, Jonathan picked her up, hooked her legs around his waist. He wanted to lay her over his desk, slowly undress and taste every inch of her body. Hell, when her panties hit the floor in the living room, so did his patience. He had to have her now. Inside the room he tore at their clothes, shoving the dress over her head, frantically unclasping his pants to pool down around his legs. Screw his plans of slow and easy, that dress had hugged her ass like a wet paper towel over an apple when she dropped her panties.

Moonlight lit his desk chair through the window. The black leather chair’s casters clattered over the plastic mat beneath the desk as Jonathan pulled it beneath the window.

“Jonathan, protection,” she groaned hair partially, covering her face sliding out from behind her ear.

Reaching down he slipped the one from his pocket on the floor, tossing it on the windowsill overlooking the river. Relax.

“Put your hands on the glass,” he directed. Damn, moonlight clung to her beautiful bare breast, so much for him to taste.

Stepping back he shuddered, his boy jerking against his stomach slick and ready to get inside her body. Holding her waist Jonathan tossed his head back focused on the certificate on the wall to calm his movements. The mere touch of her hot body against the head had him leaking. Bringing his head down, he rested his cheek on her spine.

“You’re mine, woman.” Kissing a line down her back, Jonathan spoke against her skin seductively stroking his hands down her hips, making her shiver behind his blunt nails dragging up her sensitive skin. “I have no patience right now, Kenya,” rolling on the protection stepping out wide he evened out their body height. Sliding a finger between her legs what he found he couldn’t pass up. Stepping away easing onto his knees, he buried his face between her legs praising the swollen flesh with his tongue, making her cry out.

“Jonathan!”

“Kenya,” he praised, tasting, inhaling, and lapping her intoxicating flavor blowing his mind and patience. 

Three long rough licks and Kenya bucked into his face. Coaxing trimmers from her body, he loved the scent of this woman, the salty taste and sweet body oil rising from her skin. Buried his tongue deeper feeling her fingers reaching back to hold his head to her swelling body. Kenya’s muffled curses and moans had him pushing her legs out further wanting to taste more of her sweet body. Gripping her behind, he thrust in harder, deep, her body bucking, jerking as he worked the first orgasm from his woman.

Getting to his feet, he dipped his head and kissed the line up her back over the moist skin. Jonathan loved hearing her moan from his touch from his breath on her skin. His mere presence made her wet and that knowledge made him want to pleasure her all night.

Reaching beneath her he massaged her breast as he licked the nape of her neck. Salty and sweet. A buffet of flavors tempted him to taste every inch of her body, seen and unseen. Kenya’s legs trembled under the moonlight streaming through the window. Gripping her waist, he turned her to face him. His jaw tightened. The rasp of her breathing had him taking himself in hand rubbed the head along her wet entrance, felt the heat penetrating his condom then pushed past her opening into her, gritting his teeth.

The scent of her rose from his hand as he closed his fingers around one firm breast, sucking the sweet skin into his mouth. Kenya’s nails scraped down his back and he caught the slack-jawed sultry pose of his woman her head pressed along the glass of the window.