Unrequited Page 8

  I hooked my legs around his waist and pulled him towards me, devouring him with a kiss. My hands roamed his entire torso, shamelessly dragging my nails along the ridges of muscle. I sucked on his tongue and almost bit it when a long finger penetrated me, and then another. It was sensory overload. Two fingers pumping inside of me, his thumb circling clit, and his other hand around my throat like a collar. And all while we kissed recklessly and desperately like we'd been waiting for this moment for years.

  I was close. So close. I never had an orgasm with a guy before. All my previous orgasms had been self-induced. When Quentin and I first had sex, it hurt too bad. And the two guys after him—what were their names? Oh yeah, Kevin and Brent. Right.—never took my body to climax with their clumsy hands, rough mouths, and mediocre cocks.

  "Lay back," Quentin commanded.

  I happily obliged. Quentin removed his fingers from my pussy and pushed my legs apart with both his hands. "You have a perfect cunt." Cunt. I used to think that word was disgusting, but it sounded fuck hot coming from him.

  Quentin spread my folds with his fingers, caressing my flesh, and examining my pussy with the critical and detached eye of a gynecologist. I felt dirty and objectified, which shouldn't have turned me on as much as it did.

  "I need you inside of me."

  "In a minute," he said, his voice detached.

  He pressed a firm hand on my abdomen, pinning me in place. I cried out when two long fingers penetrated me at the same time, and his hot mouth latched on to my clit. My budding orgasm crashed immediately. Oh. My. Lucky. Stars. I wanted him to do that again. And again. And again. Nothing could ever feel this good. But I was wrong. Quentin did something to me that I hadn't had done before. He thrust his tongue inside of pussy, causing me to gasp in shock. His tongue filled me, and I marveled at how his tongue could scorch places inside of me that I didn't think a tongue could do.

  "Need you inside of me," I managed to say, as I tugged on his hair. Was I really begging for the dick? Yep. And at that moment, I felt zero shame.

  "Greedy girl," he softly admonished as he kissed the insides of my thighs.

  I sat up on my forearms, watching him as he retrieved a condom from his back pocket. My eyes widened as he unfastened his pants and lowered them just enough to pull out his straining cock. I don't remember it being so big. But then again, I was much too nervous to stare at it that first time. And I'm glad I didn't because I wouldn’t have let that thing come anywhere near me.

  I stared unabashedly, my eyes widening in wonder and excitement. Of course, it was perfect, just like him. Golden, long, thick, and smooth, with one prominent vein that I wanted to lick. The thought surprised me because I'd never put one in my mouth before. Watching him sheath himself, I resigned to the fact that he was right about one thing. He was going to ruin me for all others.

  With effortless ease, Quentin lifted me off the counter and directly onto his cock, filling me to the brim with one thrust. I gritted out obscenities. The intrusion of him stung, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist as I tried to relax my muscles around his size.

  He didn't move inside of me right away. "Fuck," he gritted through clenched teeth. "You're so tight." I felt him shudder before he backed me against the door.

  He began to move inside of me with slow thrusts and picked up speed as my body accommodated to him. He was good at this. Really, really good at this. I started to move with him, meeting his thrusts, causing a guttural moan to escape his throat. It was the most perfect sound I'd ever heard.

  Quentin plowed into me, now savagely fucking me against the door. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, while my brain and body desperately tried to make sense of the indescribable pleasure that I felt. When my second orgasm hit me like a freight train, he followed me at full speed off the track. "Fuck," he growled as he slammed the palm of his hand against the door behind me.

  We swallowed our moans with kisses as we explored each other's mouths. Our bodies trembled as he slowed his movements and drained himself into the thin latex barrier. I tightened my legs around him, part dizzy and part delirious with all kinds of feels that my heart dared not process. For a while, we didn't move. Quentin kept me hoisted up, still inside of me, my legs still wrapped around him. The sounds from the world around us began to awaken as we steadied our breaths. Fall Out Boy sang about how we're going down, and the rowdy sounds of our peers resounded through the walls and window. I could feel Quentin's heartbeat pounding against his chest, but it nowhere rivaled the beating of my own.

  "You're so fucking beautiful," he said as his fingers traced the features of my face—my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, and my lips.

  I pressed my forehead to his, still too stunned to speak, and buried my fingers in his damp hair. I knew that I should let him go, unwrap my arms and legs from around him, and stand on my own two feet.

  "I can't let you go," Quentin said in a low rasp as if he read my mind.

  "You have to," I said, even as I still clung to him.

  "We are so fucked." The still small voice in my head materialized into a whisper.

  "Royally," he agreed.

  Chapter 10

  FATIMA

  Quentin, 11:42 a.m.

  She Hates Me

  I stared down at my lap, cradling my cell phone in my hands. She Hates Me. That was an easy one.

  Fatima, 11:43 a.m.

  Puddle of Mudd

  Fatima, 11:43 a.m.

  Two Wrongs

  I watched the dots swim across my screen. This was a silly game we sometimes played to pass the time when we were bored in class or not together. Our musical taste differed drastically, and over the past couple of weeks, we vowed to expand our musical horizons and explore each other's favorite genres of music. One of us would text a song title by an artist or a group we liked, and the other person would respond with the name of the artist or group. If you didn't know the answer, you would simply text back a question mark and would be expected to download the song to your iPod.

  Quentin, 11:44 a.m.

  Wyclef Jean

  Fatima, 11:45a.m.

  Very good. And…

  Quentin, 11:45 a.m.

  And…?

  Fatima, 11:45 a.m.

  Come on. I played it for you THREE days ago. In your truck. Remember?

  Quentin, 11:46 a.m.

  Was it playing when you were riding my dick? If so, I don't have a fucking clue.

  I snorted out a chuckle. Aunt Helena halted the conversation she was having with a friend that had visited our table for a chat. They both shot me a disapproving glance before resuming their conversation.

  Fatima, 11:47 a.m.

  Claudette Ortiz. And no. It was after that. On our way to the gym.

  Quentin, 11:48 a.m.

  I don't remember. I think we need to reenact that entire day, preferably the riding my dick part.

  Aunt Helena cleared her throat."Who's the guy?"

  Her friend had left our table, and now Aunt Helena eyed me inquisitively as she took a sip of her tea.

  I smoothed my hands down the skirt of my floral-print dress and gave a faint smile. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's no guy."

  Honey-colored eyes identical to mine narrowed to slits, and a smirk played across her nude-glossed lips.

  I fired a quick text to Quentin while responding to her. "Kevin and I broke up. Remember?"

  Fatima, 11:50 a.m.

  Auntie's sweating me. Ttyl

  "How could I forget? His mother is my soror and soon to be yours."

  I sighed, averting my gaze to the cherry blossom trees that surrounded the atrium we sat underneath.

  "She said you broke her boy's heart."

  I reached for a scone from the top tier of the three-tier serving platter. "I never meant to hurt him. You know that."

  "I know, Babygirl." She smiled at me softly. "But you know good and well I'm not talking about Kevin."

  My secret was bubbling in me, threateni
ng to spill over. Quentin and I were closer and better than ever, and I wanted everyone to know. But did I want the drama that would inevitably follow? She didn't have to know his name, I reasoned. And I was dying to tell her something. "Okay, there is someone."

  Her smile rivaled mine, and her dimples, identical to mine, pierced her cheeks. "I knew it. Tell me everything."

  "He's…he's my best friend. He's layered and interesting. And he's way too good looking." I rolled my eyes, exasperatedly. "We understand each other, you know? And we have so much fun together, like we're in our own world."

  Aunt Helena pressed her hand to her chest and smiled at me adoringly. "Awww. Young love. Tell me more."

  "He's tall, really tall. He's lean but has muscles everywhere." I bit my bottom lip, just thinking about him naked. "His jaw could cut glass. And he has the perfect lips and a cute straight nose. His eyes are so pretty, auntie. They're hazel and bright, with lashes that most girls would kill for. And his hair," I fanned myself, and we both chuckled.

  "Wow. I've never seen you like this." She leaned forward and eyed me worriedly. "Please tell me you two are being safe."

  "We're not having sex," I lied. "But it's not like I can get pregnant anyway." I inwardly cringed, hating that I brought up my infertility.

  Aunt Helena's smile faltered ever so slightly, and her walnut complexion paled.

  "I'm sorry, auntie."

  "Hey. It's okay, Babygirl. You'll have other options when the time is right," she assured me before absentmindedly rubbing her flat abdomen. A new life grew inside of her. And I prayed that this time, her unborn child would survive.

  "I wouldn't sleep with him, or anyone, without a condom. You know that."

  "Good." Aunt Helena reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Does this boyfriend of yours go to Covington?" I heard the hope in her voice. The tuition at Covington alone made it likely that he came from a wealthy family, like me.

  "He does," I answered reluctantly. "And he's not my boyfriend. Besides, he's heading to Brown in August, and I'm heading to UCLA. And I don't believe in long-distance relationships."

  She nodded knowingly. "What's his name?"

  I hesitated. This was a bad idea, bringing him up. Of course she would want to know his name. What was I thinking? "I'd rather not say."

  She scrunched her nose. "Why not?"

  I bit into the scone and started talking with my mouth full, on purpose. "It's just that—"

  "Don't talk with your mouth full, dear," she scolded, as I expected.

  I swallowed the remaining bites of the scone and dabbed the corners of my mouth with a napkin.

  "Hold that thought," Aunt Helena murmured through a thin smile, as Amy and her mother approached. Oh, joy. "Carolyn. Amy. How are you?" Aunt Helena beamed like a beauty pageant contestant. She mastered her faux smile perfectly, as she was a beauty pageant winner back in her day.

  Carolyn Manchester was the principal of the Manchester Preparatory Academy for Girls and was one of the wealthiest women in the state of Texas. She was also a repeat patient at Aunt Helena's private practice. Amy told Novalee and me that her mother could credit her boob job, nose job, and brow lift to my aunt.

  "Helena. How are you?" Carolyn leaned over gracefully in her pastel sundress and air-kissed Aunt Helena's cheeks. Both mother and daughter were blond with bright blue eyes and willowy figures. Like my aunt, they both adorned wide-brimmed tea hats.

  "Fa-tee-mah, right?"

  Mrs. Manchester and I went way back, all the way back to freshman year at Manchester Prep. Dad had once explored the option of me living with Aunt Helena and Uncle Norris full time and wanted to enroll me at Manchester Prep. Unfortunately, my long dreadlocks violated the school's dress code, and Principal Manchester informed my dad that I needed to cut them at least eight inches if I wanted to enroll in her family's private school. Yeah…no. My dad wasn't having that.

  I blinked at Mrs. Manchester a few times, plastering a fake smile on my face. "Right," I drawled. "Fatima McKay." Like I've told you the other five times we've met.

  "Carolyn," Aunt Helena interjected, "I didn't know you knew Estelle Monroe."

  Aunt Helena and Mrs. Manchester began to converse about how they both knew the host of the tea party.

  Amy took a seat beside me. "Where's Novalee?"

  "I have no idea." Cotillion practice.

  She slowly nodded, seeming suspicious about my lack of Novalee's whereabouts. "Your hair looks nice."

  "Thanks." My locs were twisted into an intricate bun on top of my head.

  "They always look so neat and clean. Not dirty like everyone else's I've seen." Amy wrinkled her nose.

  I cocked my head to the side, biting my tongue to keep from responding.

  "What? What did I say?" Amy feigned innocence.

  I chuckled humorlessly and took a sip of my tea. "Girl, bye."

  Her sincere expression quickly changed to one of contempt. "Whatever," she clipped and flipped her hair, turning away from me.

  "Goodbye, Mrs. Dumont." Amy smiled prettily, as my aunt and her mother said their goodbyes.

  "Goodbye, sweetie."

  "Mrs. Dumont, I tried calling Novalee this morning, but she didn't answer. I thought she would be here today." Amy looked downright crestfallen.

  "Fatima dropped her off at Cotillion practice this morning."

  "Oh, how lovely," Mrs. Manchester said. "Helena, we'll have to catch up again real soon. But we must get to our table now."

  "Awww. What a shame," I pouted.

  Aunt Helena smirked as soon as they walked away.

  "What, Auntie?" I looked at her with an innocent expression on my face.

  She sighed dramatically before flipping her long hair over one shoulder.

  "About this mystery boy. When can I meet him?"

  "Ummm, soon. Maybe. I mean, he's really busy. So, I'm not sure."

  "Invite him to your graduation party."

  "I'm not having a graduation party. Remember?"

  "There's been a change of plans. We're having a get to together at my place to celebrate your graduation and Novalee's first trip to Paris."

  "I told my dad that I didn’t want to celebrate with a party. It's not a big deal." I dreaded graduation, which signified the near end for Quentin and me.

  "It's been decided, because it is a big deal. But don't worry. It'll just be an intimate group of family and close friends."

  My stomach was in knots. "I don't know. I'm sure he already has plans with his own family."

  "He can stop by after his plans."

  "I'll see if he's available."

  "Make sure he's available. I want to meet the boy who has my niece's nose wide open."

  Chapter 11

  FATIMA

  TAP. TAP. TAP. I stirred under my covers and pulled the satin eye mask off my face. I turned my head towards my window. Tap. Tap. Tap. I clumsily crawled out of bed and padded across my carpeted floor to my window. I pulled the string to the mini blinds, drawing them up, only to find Quentin's crouching silhouette on my sloped roof. He must have climbed the trellis along the side of my house. He also had a death wish because he knew my dad was home.

  I opened my window and pursed my lips. "What are you doing here, Q?" I tried and failed to hide my smile.

  His lips pulled into a crooked smile. "I couldn't sleep." He leaned his head through my window and tugged me by the collar of my silk nightshirt, kissing me sweetly.

  "My dad came home today. Did you forget?"

  He slowly shook his head, his cocky smile making my heart skip a beat.

  "If he finds you in here, you are so dead."

  "There are worse ways to go out," he said as I stepped aside and let him in. "Just so I know my chances, how many guns does your dad have?"

  "Does it matter? All he needs is one bullet, and your ass is toast."

  Quentin wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against him. "I missed you."

  I wrapped my arms around his neck. "
I saw you six hours ago." I pretended like he was a nuisance, but I loved every bit of this new Quentin. He was a far cry from the boy who once warned me that he was the worst possible person for me. It now felt like his heart beat for me like mine did for him. He was open, attentive, caring, and affectionate. We spent every free moment together. At school, around town, and at parties. We no longer hid our affection from our friends, or from strangers…only from our families, and even then, we were getting careless. My conversation with Aunt Helena proved that to be true. And he recently told his stepmom about us, after she found one of my dreadlock cuffs in his pants pocket while doing the laundry.

  "You want me to go?" I felt his smile against my lips.

  I'd missed him too. On most nights, when my dad was away, he would spend the night, sneaking out of his house after his family went to sleep.

  "You have to leave by 5. My dad's an early riser."

  "Deal." He smacked my ass before heading over to my king size bed. After taking his tennis shoes and socks off, he stretched out under my covers, fully dressed in his pajama bottoms and an undershirt tank top.

  I took the extra precaution and locked my door, even though my dad was asleep, and he never entered my room without knocking. After loosening my high ponytail a bit, I climbed back into bed and pressed my back against the hard ridges of Quentin's stomach. "You should probably leave your shoes by the window," I suggested. "For a quick escape."

  He nuzzled his face into the nape of my neck. "You worry too much."

  "And you don’t worry enough."

  His breathing was starting to slow, and I could tell he was dozing. "Nope. Not when I'm with you," he said sleepily.

  I sighed heavily and laced my fingers through his, resting our joined hands against my stomach.

  "What's wrong?" The vibration of his voice tickled my neck.

  "I told my aunt that I was seeing someone. I didn't give her your name, but now she wants to meet you."