Rock Chick Reborn ~ Kristen Ashley Page 15

  And I made that choice.

  Then I made it happen.

  I’d been experiencing the longest, slowest rebirth maybe of all time.

  A rebirth I had to fight for.

  And could have died for.

  But I kept at it.

  And I would never be at peace. Not after all I’d done.

  But I was going to take this new life I’d chosen.

  And I was going to live it up.

  “Baby, you okay?” Moses asked.

  Only then did I move.

  I reached out a hand, grasped him by his button down, and pulled him into my house.

  Into me.

  His hands immediately came to my waist.

  And with my head tipped back, his lips came immediately to my mouth.

  I clamped a hand on the side of his head.

  And that was when Moses kissed me.

  I moved backwards, taking him with me.

  His lips detached.

  Oh no.

  “Shirleen.”

  “Close the door.”

  “Baby.”

  “The boys are gone.”

  “Sweetheart.”

  I let his shirt go so I could clamp both of my hands on his head.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  Moses looked into my eyes.

  He then turned to shut the door.

  I heard the lock go.

  Then he turned back to me.

  And I again had his mouth.

  I took it. Lord, did I. I took from it and let him take from me. I pressed tight to his strong length, walking backwards, leading him with me, drinking from that sweet mouth, drinking deep.

  When I sensed my bedroom door, I shifted us, his head came up again and he stopped us.

  “You sure?” he whispered.

  “I have only been more sure of one thing in my life. Offering my boys a home,” I answered.

  His warm brown eyes got warmer.

  Then they got hot.

  And suddenly I wasn’t leading Moses Richardson anywhere.

  He was taking me where he wanted us to be.

  Which, shortly thereafter, was us falling on my bed, him on top.

  That was a way I did not mind in the slightest my duvet getting unpoofed.

  He was hot and heavy with his mouth, his tongue, but he went gentle and slow with his hands.

  Until I pulled his hand up to my breast, curled it around, arched into it, and when he slid his thumb over my nipple, I moaned into his mouth.

  This was it.

  This was the good stuff.

  Real.

  Open.

  Safe.

  I believed.

  I believed in that.

  And I believed I deserved to have it.

  I pulled at his jacket.

  He yanked it off and tossed it away.

  I tugged his shirt out of his pants, dove my hands under and felt his smooth, warm skin.

  Lord.

  Heaven.

  “You feel good,” I whispered against his mouth when he stopped kissing me so he could nibble my lower lip.

  His thumb slid back over my nipple, and I whimpered a little and arched into him again.

  “You feel better,” he rumbled, slanted his head and kissed me again.

  And again.

  Then more.

  He made me dizzy with it.

  Lost to it.

  Until it hit me I wanted even more.

  I went after the buttons of his shirt.

  His mouth went after my neck as I undid the buttons of his shirt.

  That felt nice.

  “Please tell me you brought condoms,” I breathed in his ear.

  Another button open.

  “I put three of ’em in my wallet the night after the Rock Chicks broke in.”

  Oowee.

  I smiled.

  And opened another button.

  He lifted his head to catch my smile.

  Then he dropped it to kiss me again.

  I forgot about his buttons because his kiss was so sweet, so hot, I had to hold on or I’d get an ice-cream headache at the same time I melted into my bed.

  And I had to get serious about that, and in doing so might have curled my nails into the flesh at his back.

  He instantly let my mouth go to lift up a smidge in order to undo his cuffs then he yanked the still half-buttoned shirt over his head.

  I caught sight of his wide pecs, the swells and planes that made his midriff, his flat stomach, the crease of his navel.

  And it was then, I lost control.

  In other words, I attacked.

  He was on his back and I’d yanked my skirt up to straddle him, but hunched over to get my mouth on that chest.

  His skin felt good.

  It tasted better.

  “Baby,” he murmured.

  I licked his nipple.

  His hand clamped on the back of my neck. “Fuck, baby.”

  He was all kinds of goodness to offer to go slow.

  But enough of that shit.

  I had nails to his abs, mouth to his neck, when I felt his fingers tug the skirt of my red, long-blouson-sleeved, cold shoulder dress.

  “Want this off,” he murmured.

  I lifted up and twisted my arms behind me to get at the zip.

  He curled up to sitting and said, “Before you dislocate a shoulder, let me.”

  He was smiling at me.

  I went in and kissed that smile off his lips.

  The zip went down fast.

  The dress then went up, up . . .

  I broke my mouth from his and lifted my arms . . .

  And away.

  His eyes fell to my body.

  I clasped his bristly cheeks to lift his head so I could kiss him again, but I got nowhere.

  Except on my back with Moses on top of me.

  “I liked the dress,” he growled.

  “Good,” I pushed out, staring into his face, that face wearing an expression I’d never seen before.

  I saw it with my eyes, but I felt it with my lady parts.

  Nice.

  “But the underwear . . .” he went on.

  I had to admit, I had a thing for underwear.

  Lacy underwear.

  “Did you know we’d be right here, right now?” he asked, his hand smoothing over my side, starting to go in.

  “Um . . . no. If you’re asking if I wore these for you, it’s not even my best set.”

  His expression shifted to another one I’d never seen before and my lady parts rippled.

  Hot.

  “Stop talking,” he ordered, his hand now at my belly.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  His eyes held mine as his hand went down.

  “Good?” he said softly.

  I nodded.

  His fingertips hit an edge of lace.

  “Good?” he repeated gently.

  “Yes, baby,” I answered.

  His fingertips slid in, more, down, curved, the middle one gliding tight.

  My lips parted, I hooked my ankle around his calf and my nails definitely dug into his flesh.

  “I’ll take that as good,” he rumbled appreciatively.

  “Yeah,” I panted.

  He kissed me.

  He stroked me.

  He built it in me.

  And I sucked his tongue deep when he made me explode.

  He was cupping my sex and nuzzling my ear when I came down holding him to me.

  “How late you wanna be for our reservation?” he murmured into my ear.

  I’d had mine.

  He’d given that to me.

  He hadn’t had his and the evidence of that was pressed against my thigh.

  “Mm? Sweetheart?” he prompted against the skin at the side of my neck.

  He was hard.

  And if I said I was hungry or if that was as far as I could go right then, he would have put his shirt on, his kickass blazer, helped me zip up my dress.

  And we
’d go.

  “Moses,” I called.

  He lifted his head and looked down at me.

  Boy, this man was beautiful.

  “I don’t care if I ever eat again,” I declared.

  Maybe that was dramatic.

  But a point needed to be made.

  I made it.

  A flash of white shown behind his lips as a flash of heat shot through his eyes and he dipped his head and kissed me again.

  We went slower. He took his time. In some far part of my mind that wasn’t all about Moses, what he looked like, felt like, smelled like, sounded like, how he was making me feel, all of it so magnificent it was hard to fathom, and gorgeous to revel in, I’d realize that first orgasm was for me, but it was also so we could dial it back and if we carried on, he could give me this.

  This intimacy.

  These moments.

  Being right there, firm in our nows, and doing that in order to make the most of it, but also make this the best memory it could be.

  And he made it the best through his touch, his murmured words, his taking my bra and panties off me like he was unwrapping a package that he knew what was inside, and he wanted it so badly he wished to draw out the experience.

  And he showed me him and how his strength and beauty were in every inch (and of a few particular inches, there were a lot of them).

  And when he slid inside me, he’d given me enough kisses.

  He’d given me enough touches.

  He’d tasted enough with his tongue.

  He’d let me taste enough with mine.

  So we were right there, firm in our nows, staring into each other’s eyes, wrapped around each other’s bodies, as he inched inside me slowly and I knew I’d never forget a second of it.

  When he’d filled me, when I saw the lazy hit his lids and the possession curl his lips, I stroked his cheeks with both my hands, lifted my head so we were so close there was nothing between our eyes but lashes and whispered, “I love my now.”

  Only then did Moses kiss me again as he started moving inside me, making love to me, making my now even better.

  And sealing the deal on Shirleen reborn.

  “You want me to call the restaurant and see if they still got our table open, or any table open, or you wanna give it up and just go to Arby’s?”

  Had to admit, I loved that his go-to was Arby’s.

  Moses and I were lying across my bed. The fluffy folds of my dove-gray duvet (with just a hint of lavender) were totally demolished seeing as not only had we had sex on them, Moses had pulled them out from under us to have them kinda covering our bottom halves.

  And I was resting down his side, but chest to chest with him, smoothing my finger over the creases at the bridge of his nose.

  Up that close, they were fascinating.

  “Shirleen,” he called quietly.

  I looked into his eyes. “You hungry, honey?”

  “I want to leave this bed like I want someone to drill a hole in my head. But your boys—”

  “They won’t be home for hours.”

  He grinned, rolled me, then he was chest to my chest, sweeping the tip of his thumb against the bottom edge of my lip.

  “Right then, I’m good right here with you for hours, sweetheart,” he murmured, watching his thumb move.

  I loved that.

  Still.

  “I should feed you something,” I offered.

  I wanted to make him my Coca-Cola ham with my famous mashed potatoes and my momma’s flakey biscuits.

  I wanted Roam to grill him burgers.

  I wanted Sniff to knock his socks off with something he stole from Bobby Flay.

  I wanted everything and I wanted it right then. I wanted it all to happen within the next few seconds. For the first time since I could remember, I could not wait for what was next up in my life.

  But even so, I never wanted to move from that bed.

  His other hand shoved in at the small of my back and started up my spine.

  “I neglected to mention it at the time, seeing as I was occupied, but I like your room, baby. You got style.”

  I grinned up at him.

  His hand at my spine became a steel arm around my back, and his thumb at my lip became a hand clamped on my neck when a pounding came at the door.

  “Who’s in there?” Roam shouted.

  “Uh-oh,” I whispered.

  Another pound came at the door.

  “Shirleen! You okay?” Sniff shouted.

  “Fuck,” Moses whispered.

  “You got five seconds to open this door!” Roam yelled.

  “We’re armed!” Sniff declared.

  “Fuck,” Moses whispered, gently but swiftly rolling us both up.

  “One!” Roam barked.

  I hit my feet and had my panties in my hand as given to me by Moses half a second later.

  “Two!” Sniff roared.

  I was shoving my feet in the holes when I yelled, “It’s me! I’m fine!”

  There was silence while I pulled my panties up.

  Moses handed me my bra.

  “Whose truck is in the driveway?” Roam shouted.

  “Just give us a second,” I called.

  “Us?” Sniff thundered.

  “Shit,” Moses muttered.

  “A second!” I snapped.

  I put on my bra double time and saw Moses had his pants and unbuttoned shirt on when he handed me my dress.

  I pulled that over my head while he put his socks and shoes on.

  He zipped me up.

  I left my shoes where Moses had tossed them and stomped to the door.

  “Shirleen,” Moses called urgently.

  I didn’t listen.

  I marched right to the door.

  I did this thinking the boys would retreat to the living room.

  And it would be there I could ream them.

  And good.

  I hauled the door open and saw the boys standing right there.

  Their eyes hit me then they shot beyond me.

  To Moses.

  “You!” Roam shouted.

  “Motherfucker!” Sniff shouted.

  They both pushed in.

  “Boys!” I yelled, reaching out and grabbing Sniff’s arm.

  He shrugged me off as they faced off with Moses.

  I had their backs but I still could see they took in the bed.

  The air in the room became stifling.

  “You did our mom right under our roof?” Roam bellowed.

  I froze.

  Solid.

  Suspended in time.

  And as I hovered there, a vision filled my mind.

  Words on paper.

  Perspectives of American Military Action in Vietnam

  By Roam Jackson

  Roam Jackson.

  Roam Jackson.

  “Right now, you both need to cool down,” Moses’s voice tumbled through the room, taking me out of my stupor.

  “Your mom?”

  That came from my mouth and it sounded hoarse.

  Forced from me.

  Tortured.

  Roam jerked around towards me, angry.

  Sniff turned towards me, also angry.

  They both caught one look at me and stilled.

  Completely.

  Suddenly, it looked like Roam was preparing to take a step away, but he stopped himself.

  Though he started talking.

  Fast.

  “Not our mom. Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re not our mom. You’re you. Like, independent and you got it together and you dress real nice and you got a great crib and you can boss around the guys and they don’t care because you’re badass like that and you’re like, your own woman. With like, your own life. And you’re just, like, not anyone’s. You’re yours. You’re not anyone’s mom. You’re Shirleen.”

  “Shut your mouth, boy,” I whispered.

  He shut his mouth but he looked sick.

  My Roam who didn’t expose anything, he looked sick.

/>   Not sick.

  Wounded.

  My eyes shifted to Sniff.

  His torso was rocking slightly, his gaze not meeting mine, but he’d moved, standing partially in front of Roam like he was preparing to be his shield.

  I walked their way, slow, on bare feet.

  When I got to them, I lifted a hand to Sniff.

  He flinched when I touched his cheek, but I didn’t bother myself with that.

  I slid my fingers back into his thick hair, curling them around his skull.

  Then I reached long and high, to Roam.

  I did the same with him, the pads of my fingers gliding over his short-cropped hair, curving in.

  And when I got my hands on what was mine, I gathered it to me, hard, yanking them in, until all of our foreheads collided.

  “Shirleen,” Sniff whispered, his hand had come to my hip, maybe to steady himself, but it stayed there, gripping tight.

  I dug their heads into mine.

  “You’re my boys. Mine.”

  That wasn’t hoarse.

  It was guttural.

  It sounded like it came from an animal.

  And maybe I was an animal in that moment.

  A lioness.

  “Shirleen,” Roam whispered, his hand coming to my hip, sliding back, pressing in.

  My eyeballs shifted to him.

  “Don’t you ever say I’m not your momma, boy, you hear me?” I demanded.

  “Yeah. Yeah, Shirleen, yeah.” His words were fast, conciliatory.

  Greedy.

  My eyeballs shifted to Sniff.

  “You ever gonna say anything like that, Sniff?”

  “No, Shirleen, never. Not ever.”

  “You sign your assignments Sniff Jackson?” I asked.

  “Well . . . yeah,” he answered, like it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

  And that was all I could stand.

  So that was when I went down.

  “Boys!” Moses called sharply.

  But my boys had their hands on me.

  They had me.

  They caught me before I fell. And like every time, Sniff gave into his big brother and he let Roam lift me into his arms and hold me close as he walked me out of my bedroom, down the hall of our home, to our living room where he put me on the couch next to him and gathered me in his arms.

  And I wept.

  I sobbed.

  I held on to my boy.

  Until I realized something crucial was missing.

  I pulled my face out of his neck and saw Sniff standing close to us, hovering.

  “You better get down here before she blows,” Roam warned. “Again,” he finished.

  Sniff moved, burrowing in.

  I was still a mess, and only slightly recovering from my episode, but they were teenagers and they hadn’t yet learned to read a woman right, so I was in no shape at all for Roam to announce, “I wanna make it official. I wanna go to a court and get the name Roman Jackson. I’m eighteen now and I can do that. I don’t want anyone asking me what Roam means anymore, and I don’t want anyone wondering why my name isn’t the same as yours.”