Page 28 of Hooked on Loving Him

The instant change in Ashari’s tone and the tightness surrounding her eyes has a slow smirk upturning my lips at effectively shifting the atmosphere.

“Mind enlightening me on why you call that girl cat lady,” I say, smirking.

“Three days after I moved into the community, I saw her trying to walk three cats with tutus and tiaras on their little heads. It was the strangest thing I’ve seen in my life, and it led to the name.”

“Wow. That shit is funny as fuck. To answer your question… nah, I’m cool on her. After being in the presence of a woman like you, a nigga could never go back to subpar pussy.”

Honesty and I weren’t a thing, so leaving her alone to pursue Ashari had been a no-brainer for me.

“Then why ask the question?” Ashari asks, her lip curling while staring intently at me.

“I’m trying to determine if the nigga I saw at your spot is gonna end up on a T-shirt or a milk carton.”

“What ni—oh. Are you stalking me, Kayshon?” she asks as if remembering the nigga I’m referencing without answering my inquiry while waving her hand dismissively.

“At the time… yeah, but that’s not the point, and you ain’t answer my question.”

“We weren’t together back then, so it doesn’t matter who I?—”

“You have been mine since you had me wanting to not only remix an old-school but sing the shit to the top of my lungs. Instead, I settled on letting you in on our future.”

“Wait… what? What song are you talking about?” Ashari asks, laughing like this shit is a game.

“The Rain,” I say deadpan as my chest pinches at the sappy ass song that enters my mind at this moment.

“Who sings that?” Her face, brows, and mouth twist cutely as my heart rate picks up, and a warm feeling spreads across my chest.

Pretty ass Ashari.

“The one and only… Oran Juice Jones.”

“Who?”

“Aw, how do you not know the song, man? What kind of music do you be listening to?”

“Gospel… preferably old school gospel because the new school stuff ain’t a lick of Jesus in it,” she says matter-of-factly, causing me to stare at her blankly because I didn’t see her responding with this genre for an answer.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Uh, no. Don’t be dissing gospel music. I’m a heathen, but gospel makes me feel like everything is gonna be all right, already all right, and will continue to be all right.”

“Let’s change the subject before you have my ass in here Milly rocking with Kirk Franklin to prove how hard gospel goes.”

“Ewe, no. I’m not a Kirk Franklin fan. You totally missed the fact that I said old-school gospel. I’m more of a Kathy Taylor,Luther Barnes, James Cleveland, Mississippi Mass Choir type of girl. Damn, who raised you?” she asks, throwing her hands up. A perturbed expression fills her face.

“Here comes the heathen in you. How are you gonna talk about your favorite gospel singers and then cuss at me a millisecond later?” I ask as a low chuckle slips, and I shake my head at the cute expression she’s wearing like I’ve failed her.

“Oh Lorddd, I’ve sinned, but you’re still calling myyy nameeee. Ohh—,” she starts singing, causing my head to snap back from the assault to my ear canal.

“Whoa. Whoa, Shari. Please stop, and don’t ever do that again,” I say, frowning.

“Forget you. You and your brother are some haters,” she says, laughing hysterically, bringing a cheery feeling to the room as I shake my head at her.

“Whatever. You got Sassy’s ears burning, and she ain’t even here. Damn, your tone-deaf ass wouldn’t fit in a pageant choir sounding like that. Man. Despite this shortcoming, I’m gonna have to figure out how to love you.”

“Unh. Unh. That’s it, Shari. Take this dick like a good girl.” Slapping Ashari’s ass cheeks, I thrust into her warm, sopping pussy from behind, trying not to cum too soon.

It’s crazy because one minute, we’re chilling inside the tent in my backyard with Ashari in the nook of my underarms. The next, I’m undressing her, then myself, and positioning her on all fours before entering her inviting walls. I blame Love Belvin and that dining room scene inLove Unchartedfor writing such sexual content that Ashari’s arousal hit my nose like a fucking speed bump. I dare not blame Ms. Aretha for the bookrecommendation when I told her my idea for how Ashari and I would end our first date. Trying to give Ashari a new experience, I had a tent with lights around the opening. Campers' lanterns were strategically placed in front of the tent to provide lighting on the outside. Inside the tent was an air mattress, a small table with another lantern, and the temporary bed that had been made with my reading device lying in wait.

---