Unrequited Page 9

"And how do you feel about that?"

  "Is it crazy that I'm entertaining the idea?" Quentin unlaced our fingers, and I turned to face him. I blinked at him, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. We shared the same satin-covered pillow, and I enjoyed the close-up view of his face. "I didn't plan on it, but it felt good, telling her. You know?"

  "I know." He gave a slight smile. "It felt good telling my stepmom about us."

  "Does she know about my mom?"

  "She does."

  "And did she tell your father about us?"

  "No. But he already knew."

  "From his Chief of Staff?"

  "Yeah."

  "And how's he taking it?"

  Quentin winced, and my heart dropped. "He pulled some strings at the last minute and scored me a summer internship at the White House. I'll be working directly for the President. And from there, I'm heading straight to Brown."

  "Wow. That's an amazing opportunity, Q." I hoped I didn't sound how I felt. "How long have you known this?"

  "He told me today. I think he wants my ass out of Texas as soon as possible."

  "Away from me," I said softly.

  Neither one of us said anything for a moment. "When do you leave?"

  Silence. "A week after graduation."

  "That's in two weeks."

  "I don’t have to go."

  "Yes, you do. You can't pass that up."

  "I'm not ready for this to be over," he said solemnly.

  I caressed his cheek with the palm of my hand. His eyes slid shut, and he let out a heavy sigh before resting his forehead against mine. "We've always had an expiration date, Q."

  Our breaths mimicked each other's, as our mouths and noses were a fraction apart. At that moment, it was as if we could read each other's thoughts. We wasted so much time.

  "You'll go to D.C. and rock the shit out of that internship. Then you'll go to Brown and rock that shit too." I felt the twitch of his smile against my lips. "You'll join a fraternity, and all the sorority girls will throw themselves at you." My heart cracked a little bit, but I continued. "You'll be the fucking all-star Crew king, rowing the shit out of some canoes." We both chuckled a little. "You'll breeze through undergrad and law school. You'll become a hotshot attorney who wears fuck-me suits to work. You'll meet a pretty and compatible girl, one with big tits and long blond hair." I felt the slight shake of his head against mine, but I kept my eyes firmly closed. "There will be a wedding, and then lots of babies…" I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You'll take America by storm. You'll run for office, and you'll win. Everyone will love you." I kept my voice as steady as possible, ignoring the ache in my chest. "And sometimes, when you're all alone, you'll think of all this sweet chocolate you once had and all the good times we shared."

  "And what happens to you in your delusive prediction?" The palm of his hand cradled my cheek. But I still couldn't open my eyes to look at him.

  "I'll go to UCLA and major in Business to keep dad happy. I'll pledge, to keep my aunt happy. After graduation, I'll finally pursue my dream of getting my cosmetology license, and I'll open one of the baddest hair salons this side of Texas. Everyone will know my name. And sometimes at night, when I'm all alone in my bed, I'll touch myself and think of you."

  He groaned and brushed his nose against mine. "No husband hand-picked by daddy with 2.5 kids?"

  "Like I'd ever date a guy who my dad likes. That's so boring."

  "He liked Kevin."

  I finally opened my eyes and pulled back slightly, looking at him. I could tell it bothered him. The fact that my father loved Kevin and would never approve of Quentin. "Exactly. You see how that worked out," I joked. We both smiled at that, finding some humor in a screwed-up future where we were apart.

  His eyes were assessing me, drinking me in and stripping me bare.

  "If you want me to meet your aunt, I'm all in. I'll meet whoever you want me to meet. Fuck it."

  "Fuck it." A slow smile spread across my face, but it slowly disappeared. "I can't believe you're leaving in two weeks."

  "Guess we better make it count then."

  In spite of myself, I smiled through tears that pooled in my eyelids.

  Two more weeks.

  I pressed my mouth to his and kissed him long and slow, savoring his taste. But it wasn't enough. I needed more. So, breaking apart from our kiss, I straddled him.

  Quentin ripped apart my nightshirt, sending buttons scattering in my bed. I tilted my head back and enjoyed the heat from his hands as he caressed my breasts. Sitting up to meet me, he grazed his hot tongue along the column of my throat, before joining me in a languid, sensual kiss.

  We took my nightshirt off and pulled his undershirt over his head, revealing a perfectly sculpted body. His hard chest pressed into my supple breasts as he sucked on my neck, marking me. My fingernails bit into his shoulders, digging into his flesh until he bled. A groan escaped from his lips as I marked his flesh with new temporary wounds. Lowering my mouth to one of his shoulders, I trailed my tongue along his wounds and licked his salty, metallic blood. His hard cock twitched beneath me, and his fingers bit into my sides as our tongues met in a hot, bloody kiss.

  I moaned as his teeth sunk into my bottom lip, biting it until it bled, then sucking the blood into his mouth before I greedily sucked on his tongue. This is what we did. We bled for each other. We marked each other. We scarred each other. Some wounds were temporary, and some were for a lifetime.

  "I want to suck your cock," I moaned, for the first time, to anyone. Heat filled his eyes, and he let me push him back onto the bed. I lowered myself down his body, kissing and licking him everywhere—his throat, his chest, his abs, and those sexy-as-sin V muscles. I took his hard cock into my hands and stroked his smooth shaft slowly, before flicking my tongue over his tip and down his vein. He hissed at my touch.

  I trailed one hand across his abs, because...how could I not, they were right there. My other hand gripped him, but I was unable to close my hand around his thickness. Making a circular motion with my wrist, I stroked him up and down. Masculine, guttural sounds escaped his chest as I took as much of his length into my mouth as I could. He laced his fingers through my hair as I sucked him off.

  I felt wicked. I felt dirty. I felt sexy. I felt powerful. I was addicted to this. I was addicted to him.

  I removed my hand from his cock and took him all the way to the back of my throat.

  "No gag reflex? Fuck," he gritted through clenched teeth, as he began to fuck my mouth viciously, thrusting his hips upward while fisting my dreads and bobbing my head up and down. I allowed him to use my mouth, just like I'd used his so many times before. "Shit, baby. I'm about to cum."

  "Mmhmm," I managed to say. He came, alright. And I swallowed every drop.

  Chapter 12

  FATIMA

  DAD AND I ATE breakfast at the long dining table fit for twelve. He sat at the head of the table, and I sat two seats down from him. I studied him for a moment, his café ole hands gripping the edges of the newspaper. The fresh floral arrangement that our neighbor, Karen Sylvester, picked from her garden, made my nostrils itch, causing me to sneeze. "Achoo!"

  "Bless you," dad said behind his newspaper.

  "Thanks."

  Karen Sylvester was a divorcee with a sizable settlement. She was one of the many women who had vied to become the next Mrs. McKay after my mom died. Dad never remarried and rarely introduced me to his lady friends.

  I pushed around the scrambled eggs on my plate. They were a bit runny, but dad never complained about my cooking and always did his best to eat every bite.

  He lowered his newspaper. "You okay?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking."

  His brows knitted together, and he set his newspaper aside. "Is this about your new boyfriend? Helena told me. She says it seems serious." He arched a brow.

  "He's not my boyfriend, dad. We're friends." That didn't feel right. Quentin and I were so much more.

  "Is he gay?"

  "What
? No."

  "So, the friends idea was yours. Not his." He took a sip of his coffee and eyed me over the steaming mug.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Uh-huh," was all he said before eating a forkful of his runny eggs. "Helena told me he goes to Covington. Do I know his folks?"

  "Not sure," I lied, knowing that he'd soon know the truth. In a few hours, to be exact. I scarfed down the rest of my eggs, which were barely edible. "Gotta go, dad. I have to head to the auditorium early for rehearsal." I rose from my chair and kissed him on the cheek.

  Dad picked up the paper and snapped it open. "Love you, Babygirl. See you soon."

  "Love you too, dad."

  ∞∞∞

  WE GRADUATED. OUR HIGH school years were officially over. Quentin gave a captivating valedictorian speech and had the entire audience on their feet. After the ceremony, he and I were separated by a sea of people.

  On my way to Aunt Helena's, I sent him a text.

  Fatima, 4:oo p.m.

  I'll see you in a few. Not too late to back out. Lol.

  Quentin, 4:00 p.m.

  Wouldn't miss it, Princess. We're heading out to eat now. Though I'd rather eat you out.

  I grinned into my phone, which caught my dad's eye from his driver's seat. "Just friends, huh?"

  "Dad," I groaned, shielding my phone from his view.

  Quentin, 4:02 p.m.

  I need to taste you. Last night wasn't enough.

  Fatima, 4:02 p.m.

  Last night is going to have to hold you over. At least until tonight.

  Quentin, 4:03 p.m.

  You suck

  Fatima, 4:03 p.m.

  Yes. Yes, I did. Last night in your truck. (Mouth emoji. Eggplant emoji.)

  Quentin, 4:04 p.m.

  I'm going to need more of that. Stat.

  I tucked my phone away, biting back a smile on the remainder of the ride home.

  Chapter 13

  FATIMA

  AUNT HELENA PREPARED AN outdoor feast in her backyard for about two dozen neighbors, family, and close friends. Novalee was flying to Paris with the Manchesters later in the evening. As far as everyone knew, I was going to spend my evening partying with my classmates, before spending the night with Marley. In actuality, Quentin and I had plans to spend the night at his new beach house. As a graduation gift, his mother, Adeline, gave Quentin the deed to her property on Surfside Beach.

  "Auntie, we had this conversation weeks ago. He's not my boyfriend. I don't believe in labels like that." I followed Aunt Helena to our gazebo, eyeing the waiters carrying trays of delectable desserts.

  She gave me a pointed look. "But what in the world does that mean?" She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Was this his idea? Is this some sort of down-low relationship? Does he already have a girlfriend?"

  "No. Nothing like that."

  She arched an eyebrow at me. "And you're not sleeping with this boy?"

  "We are not going there right now, Auntie."

  "So that's a yes. You forget, my lovely, that I practically raised you. I bought you your first training bra. Your first tampons. Taught you all about safe sex." Yes, she did. She stepped up after my mom died.

  "Circle of trust?"

  "Of course, Babygirl."

  "I'm in love with him. But things are complicated."

  "How so?"

  "You'll see." I gave a sad smile as her brow furrowed. "Oh, there's Novalee and Amy." I pointed to my cousin and her BFF.

  Novalee was a bit of a hippy, with an obsession for loose clothing, busy floral patterns, tribal print, and anything with fringes. I dug it, watching her blossom into a young woman with her own sense of style, at the chagrin of my aunt and uncle. Novalee stood out in the crowd of summer cocktail dresses and khakis, wearing a patched babydoll dress with bell sleeves and ankle cowboy boots.

  "Did you know she was going to wear her hair natural today?" Aunt Helena murmured, with a tight smile on her face as she waved them over.

  "This was her idea. I only gave her some pointers on how to do a wash n' go."

  Novalee headed towards us, her soft, springy curls defying gravity. The light breeze outside blew her long strands of hair in all different directions, and in their chaos, they looked flawless.

  I winked at Novalee and gave her a discreet thumbs-up, hoping it would encourage her confidence. I was no stranger to Aunt Helena's critical eye. When my mother loc'd my hair at age six like hers, the McKay clan had a fit, my grandmother being the ringleader of the uproar.

  My thumbs-up seemed to do the trick, as Novalee beamed at me, and straightened her back.

  "Hi, Mrs. Dumont." Amy hugged Aunt Helena. "Fatima." She offered me a thin-lipped smile.

  "Amy," I deadpanned, mimicking her chilly greeting.

  "Well, don't you look lovely," Aunt Helena said to Amy. "That dress, those shoes. On point, my dear."

  "Thank you," Amy beamed, flipping her long blond tresses and smoothing her hands down the front of her fitted summer dress.

  "Novalee, that's a beautiful necklace," Aunt Helena complimented, referring to the leather necklace with a peacock feather. "It's very… chic."

  Novalee's smile brightened. "Thank you, Helena."

  "You do look really beautiful, Novalee," Amy piped up, taking Novalee's hand and squeezing it.

  "You're as pretty as a picture." Aunt Helena air-kissed Novalee and scrunched her hand in Novalee's hair. "I'll leave you ladies to it. Fatima, let me know when your friend arrives. I want to meet him before your father gets his hooks in him."

  Both Amy and Novalee looked at me with raised eyebrows. Novalee beamed. "Are you seeing someone and didn't tell me?" she shrieked in excitement.

  "Calm down, cousin. Don't go picking out promise rings or anything. He's just a close friend."

  "Just a close friend, huh?" Amy smiled devilishly. "Do I know him? I know everyone at Covington."

  "Who said he went to Covington?" I countered.

  "Wow," Novalee said, breaking my attention from Amy. "Is that him?" She discreetly jerked her head to the side. "That's the guy who dropped you off at my house that night."

  Amy and I discreetly cut our eyes to the side gate. A slow smile spread across my face as I took him in. Decked out in his usual Ralph Lauren preppy attire, he looked good enough to eat.

  "He. Is. Hot." Novalee's jaw went slack. "All the girls sitting near us at your graduation were whispering about him during his valedictorian speech."

  "He is gorgeous," Amy added in agreement. "And he knows it too."

  "Look at that waitress eyeing him like a piece of meat," Novalee said. "So tacky."

  Amy and Novalee started going back and forth about whatever. I tuned myself out of their conversation and took in the sight of Quentin, as the leggy waitress offered him a glass of champagne from her tray, which he declined. Quentin must have said something charming or funny because she giggled and slightly leaned into him. Then he graced her with his signature smile, the one that he gave to strangers, but still made my panties melt. Even from a distance, I saw the deep crimson blush of her cheeks. I rolled my eyes as a smirk twitched my lips. Then our eyes met, and my smirk became a full-on grin. He said goodbye to the waitress, with his eyes still on me.

  "Oh. My. God. You really like him," Amy said accusatorily.

  "Well, duh," Novalee added. "Look at him. She's not blind."

  "We're just friends." I planned to tell Novalee the truth about us when Amy wasn't around. "Now mind ya business," I said just as Quentin approached.

  "Hey, Q." My voice was a little too breathless.

  "Hey." He smiled at me—his real smile—the one that made me swoon. "You look beautiful."

  "Thank you." I smoothed my hands the fabric of my white Neiman Marcus strapless dress. "You don’t look too bad yourself."

  Someone cleared their throat. Oh yeah, Novalee and Amy. I totally forgot about them. "I'm sorry. This is my cousin, Novalee." Novalee offered a shy wave. "And you know Amy."

  "Qu
entin and I go way back." Amy stressed the 'way' part and hugged him.

  Quentin gave her an awkward pat on the back. "Hey, Amy. How's it going?"

  She finally ended the embrace. "Fabulous. Novalee and I are leaving for Paris tonight. We're actually going to have lunch with your mother while we're there."

  I pressed my lips together in a tight smile.

  "Cool," Quentin said nonchalantly.

  Novalee took that moment to interject after surveying my mood. "It's nice to meet you, Quentin. Loved the speech, by the way."

  "You, too. Thanks."

  "How's Wes doing these days?" Amy asked as Novalee slipped her arm around hers, leading her away.

  He shrugged. "He's good."

  "Tell him I asked about him, will ya?"

  "Yeah, sure thing."

  We watched as Novalee pulled Amy along with her. My dear cousin. She only saw the good in people—especially in assholes and bitches. And those types were always drawn to her innate goodness.

  "Our families are close," he explained.

  "Hmmm."

  "Amy and I grew up together. I'm sure you know that she can be a bit much at times."

  "True," I chuckled.

  Quentin slid his arm around me and pulled me close. "Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack in that dress?"

  I shrugged. "I thought you didn't have a heart," I teased.

  "Apparently, you revived the fucker."

  I smiled so hard, my cheeks hurt.

  "Fatima, dear." Aunt Helena called out from behind me.

  I gentle nudged myself out of Quentin's embrace, and turned around, coming face to face with Uncle Norris and Aunt Helena.

  "Quentin James, this is my uncle, Norris Dumont."

  "It very nice to meet you, sir." Quentin and Uncle Norris exchanged a firm handshake.

  "Very nice to meet you, son." Uncle Norris was amicable, and I sighed with relief, not even realizing until that moment that I'd been holding my breath.

  "And this is my aunt, Helena Dumont."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." My aunt extended her hand palm side down—a bit formal for the occasion—but that's how my bougie, yet lovable auntie was at times. Quentin rolled with the punches and clasped her hand, shaking it in a gentlemanly way.