Bittersweet Chocolate (8 page)

“Oh yeah, she’s here.” He grinned, winked, and walked down the hall.

Brow furrowed, she stared after him. If his lady was there, why was he in her room―wait, how did he know Joel wasn’t going to be at the party?

She waited until she heard music. Then she closed and locked her door. Dressing quickly, she hurried to join her guests. Everyone had arrived and Jason, Brittany’s boyfriend, had assumed bartending duties.

Barefoot and scantily clad, she wore snug-fitting white Wranglers topped off by a form-hugging jet-black bustier with white hook-and-eye fasteners down the front. The way Graham stared at her, heat infused her neck and cheeks. Ignoring his blatant ogling, she moved about the room, speaking to her guests, checking food platters, and making sure everyone had what they wanted. Graham shadowed her every move and caught up with her in the kitchen.

Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. His advanced state of arousal was obvious, but she didn’t push him away, blaming her easy capitulation on the pre-party drinks—she did have a slight buzz. But her senses weren’t so dulled she’d forgotten about his girlfriend.

“Gray, you need to back off. What will your lady think?”

His smile suggestive, he leaned close and whispered, “My lady likes what I’m doing. I can tell by the way she’s trembling.”

Damn, it felt good being in his arms. She’d been feeling neglected lately, in need of caring. If it hadn’t been for misguided notions of love, she would have acted on her attraction to him that first night. She no longer had those inhibitions.

“I want you,” he whispered. She laughed and he switched tactics. “Have you ever smoked a joint?”

Confused by his change of topic, she stuttered, “What-no, don’t smoke, wouldn’t know how.” She frowned. “Why, you want to teach me?”

He grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind him, through the living room and down the hall. They were outside on the balcony before she stopped, halting his forward momentum.

“Graham, this is my party. I can’t leave.” She tried to pull her hand from his grasp.

“We’re just going to my apartment. We won’t be gone long.”

Curiosity ended her resistance. They climbed over the rail and entered his apartment. She’d learned his place was larger than hers, with three bedrooms, two and a half baths. Graham and Richard had their own rooms that shared a bath. The other two occupants, Dalten and Barry, who were cousins, shared a room and the other bath.

She found herself in a large bedroom, her fascinated gaze taking in every facet of its decor. It had to be his room, because the setting suited Graham.

In the center of one wall was a king-sized bed with some sort of animal-print bedding and a small sofa at its foot. Taking her time, she moved toward the sofa, assimilating the masculinity of the room. Clean and uncluttered, its walls decorated with African art strategically placed, the ambiance embodied the essence of the man, erotically stimulating. Dropping down on the couch, she watched the sheer power of rippling muscle and aesthetics of movement as he walked about the room lighting candles and incense.

He came to the sofa, settling beside her. She couldn’t resist running her fingertips down the corded muscle of his arm while observing his every action as he rolled a joint. Their gazes converged when the tip of his tongue snaked out to moisten the paper, and a shiver of excitement rocked her body. His stare never wavered as he lit the joint, put it to his lips, inhaling deeply, and created a red glow as the paper dissolved. A spiral of smoke billowed up between them. He passed the joint to her.

Eyes warming, he watched her sorry attempts to draw on the reefer and inhale. She started coughing. “It burns...my nose.”

He kept up a gentle persuasion, encouraging her to keep trying. By the time she had the hang of it, she was high. Taking the joint from her nerveless fingers, he leaned close and whispered, “Open for me, Marissa.”

Eyebrow arched, she leaned away.

“Come on, I think you’ll enjoy this. It’s called the shotgun.” She frowned and he laughed. “It’s not dangerous. All you do is inhale when I exhale. It won’t hurt.”

Suspicious but curious, she slightly parted her lips. He drew on the joint, placed his mouth over hers, and exhaled. She inhaled. Before she could move away, he grasped the back of her head, held her immobile, and slipped his tongue into her mouth.

Drawing the velvety softness into her mouth, exploring, the tang of licorice-flavored Sen-Sen coating his tongue ambushed her taste buds. Tongues dueling, he gained control. The man knew how to kiss, jump-starting her pulse.

He released the first three hook-and-eye fasteners on her bustier and brushed his hand across the fullness of her breasts before slipping that hand down beneath her waistband. Head dropping to her chest, she squirmed beneath an onslaught of sensations from the stroke of his tongue teasing each nipple. Sighing, she closed her eyes as jumbled thoughts skittered across her mind.

What was she doing with this man? How could she have changed so radically from her all-consuming feelings for Joel? It had taken little effort for Graham to arouse her.

Soft mewling noises escaped her and he pulled away, eyeing her skeptically.

“You really like this, don’t you?”

“I’m not supposed to?”

“No-yes...I’m just surprised.” He continued to regard her. “I like it, those sexy sounds you make.” Smoothing one hand up and down her back, he nuzzled her neck. “Mmm, you smell good. How far are we going with this?”

“How far do you want to go?” Damn. Still unable to curb her insatiable sexual curiosity, and probably never would.

His voice was a breathless whisper. “When?”

She stood, smiling down at him while she adjusted her clothing. “I have to get back to my guests.” She left him scrambling to pull himself together.

Marissa reentered an apartment shrouded in darkness. Once her eyes adjusted, she walked cautiously through the hallway, following the soft glow emanating from the living room. She came to a full stop on the threshold.

They were everywhere.

Bodies sprawled on the floor, couples lounging on the furniture, listening to mellow music, talking in subdued tones, and a few dancing. Someone had set the mood by turning off the lights and lighting several scented candles. The only other illumination came from the open stereo.

Stepping over pairs of legs, she made her way to the chair Darien occupied, flopped down on the chair arm, leaned back, and closed her eyes. “Your idea?”

“What’s with you and Gray,” Darien countered.

From behind half-lowered lids, she glanced at Darien. “Nothing yet. Why, do you want him?”

“Hell no, I like Rick. Besides, Gray has had a thing for you since that first night. Haven’t you forgotten someone?”

“Nope, didn’t forget, and the attraction is mutual. Eventually, we’ll do something about it.”

“Yes!” Darien sounded more excited about the prospect than Marissa.

“Hey, I thought you were a Joel fan.”

“I thought so too. But since the two of you moved in together, he ain’t right. It’s been what, over a year, hell, almost two, and he’s been acting strange lately.” Darien shook her head. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t trust him.”

The perfect opening—an ideal opportunity to reveal the strange things that had happened between her and Joel. To tell Darien would be the same as telling Brad, who treated Marissa like family. Brad would deal with Joel, before word reached Marissa’s cousin Frank and the issue needed gang resolution. On the other hand, considering her relationship with Joel over, the end only needing finalizing, she didn’t tell Darien about the conflict.

“I agree. I don’t trust Joel anymore. It’s been weird.”

“Marissa, get away before it goes bad. Uh-oh.” Darien nudged Marissa and nodded toward Graham as he approached. “Girl, what did you do to him? He’s coming at you with a purpose.”

“Dance, Marissa.”

It wasn’t a question or a request because he jerked her to her feet, not waiting for a response. She giggled when he yanked her into his arms. Body pressed against his, she couldn’t mistake his physical distress.

The soulful sound of “Try Me” by James Brown emanated from the stereo. A slower, more suggestive song, she couldn’t have come up with, or timed better, if she’d planned it. Everything except Graham and the music faded.

Hands caressing her back moved downward, slipping into the back pockets of her dungarees, cupping her ass, and he molded her body more firmly to his. “Marissa.” Warm breath swept across her ear. “Girl, you walked out leaving me like this.” His erection throbbed against her.

“Ouch, poor baby.”

He frowned. “What about Joel?”

“What about him?”

“Enough said.”

Graham wore Levi dungarees and a t-shirt conforming nicely to the well-muscled contours of his physique. She tugged his shirt out of his pants and slipped her hands beneath the soft material, stroking his back, so hot to the touch. Bodies moving intimately together, her hold tightened as an exquisite rush of pleasure surged through her.

“Gray...” His name slipped out just as the song ended. They should have moved apart, but she resisted. Graham threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head and easing it forward. He briefly kissed her mouth before his hand tightened into a fist tugging her away.

“Oh yeah,” he whispered. “Baby, it’s going to happen.”

Her heart tripped, her pelvic muscles convulsed, yet somehow she found the strength to move away.

By two in the morning, except for Graham, Darien, and Richard who stayed to help her clean up, her other guests had departed. With the apartment restored to pre-party conditions, Darien and Rick said goodnight and left together.

Alone with Graham, when he held out his hand, without a moment’s hesitation she placed her hand in his. Conversation was unnecessary. They wanted the same thing. They moved along the hall and into the guest bedroom, not bothering to close the door.

Graham leaned against the doorjamb. With her body silhouetted against the soft glow of a nightlight, and his gaze riveted on her every move, she stripped. Turning her back to him, hands skimming over her curves, the provocative sway of her body kept pace with the rhythm of the music. She’d left the stereo on.

Her nimble fingers unfastened all but two hook-and-eye closures on her bustier. The material slid to her waist as she turned to face him. She unhooked the last fasteners and let the garment drop to the floor. For several seconds she stared into warm hazel eyes before he looked away, his gaze moving down to her exposed flesh, lingering a moment before following the progression of her hands to the waistband of her dungarees. Releasing the snap, she eased the zipper down, shimmied out of her jeans, and stepped back. She stood before him in nothing but panties.

He moved forward and took charge. Grabbing her hands, fingers intertwined, he pressed their hands to her sides. “Let me,” he whispered, smooth lips brushing against her ear, moving along her jaw until he reached her mouth.

The gentle swipe of his tongue, her mouth opened on a sigh, but he didn’t move in. His tongue only teased the tip of her tongue. Nerves vibrating with pulsating pleasure, the simplicity of the act was a new in-depth experience. Teeth capturing the tip of her tongue, bit by bit, he drew it into his mouth, probing, savoring.

He released her hands, hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of her panties, inching them down her thighs. Synchronized with the progression of his hands, he kissed and licked a trail down over her throat to her breasts, pausing for several seconds of exploration before moving on. Tongue blazing a trail across her abs, his hands worked her panties lower. By the time he knelt in front of her, the harsh sound of her breathing escaped in ragged bursts.

Hands, surprisingly soft and gentle, glided up her legs to her hips, cupping and caressing her ass. He held her steady while she stepped out of the underwear puddled at her feet. She started to back away, but he stopped her. Urging her forward, he buried his face in her pubes, inhaling her scent.

She weaved her fingers through the coiled softness of his afro, grip tightening, she squirmed beneath the gentle stroke of his tongue, probing, delving deep. She tried to pull him away, but he wouldn’t budge, pushing her down on the bed instead, his mouth continuing to work its magic.

“Gray, please.” Hell. Please what―stop, continue, more?

Her contradictory actions were no criteria to go by with her raising her hips to move closer to gratification, then tugging his head away from the toe-curling pleasure. Not that her conflicting reactions mattered, because he never paused, his grip unyielding. She climaxed and went limp.

Graham stood, removed something from his pocket, and started discarding his clothes.

Feeling lethargic, she stretched, repositioned herself on the bed, and turned to watch him undress. A predatory look passed between them before she glanced away, her gaze traveling down over defined pecs sparsely covered with hair, taut abs, and curly shorthairs—eyes widening, she sat up.

Clearly anticipating her reaction, he reached her side before she could get off the bed. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

“Uh-uh.” She experienced discomfort with Joel, who was average. “I don’t think so.”

“Shh.” He put his fingers to her lips. “Baby, it’ll be all right. I promise.”

Settling beside her, if he meant to ease her doubts, he went about it the wrong way, grasping her hands, urging her to become familiar with his size. The feel of silky-smooth heat covering a rock-hard erection as he folded her hands around a minimum of nine circumcised inches, hell. Who was she kidding, she wanted him.

“Honey, are you ready?”

She didn’t utter a sound, but she must have given an affirmative sign. Retrieving the package he’d removed from his pocket, he ripped it open with his teeth and rolled the condom over his rigid shaft. He eased into position, while continuing to reassure her.

Closing her eyes, she lay rigid, anticipating pain as he gradually penetrated her, pausing often to give her time to adjust to the pressure.