Make You Mine. Niobia Bryant

the sounds of her I’m-a-woman-singer-whose-been-done-wrong-by-men music that she always sang along with off-key.

      Or when he was tripping over random piles of those damn Snapples she was always drinking, or other odd items she left about the house.

      Other than that, the actual woman was pretty scarce whenever he got home.

      Funny, it didn’t stop her from staying constant in his dreams at night.

      Oh, he still wanted Caress with an intensity that scared him. That night—their night—was just as fresh in his memory as if it happened last night. All the while in Africa and even upon his return he awakened at night with dreams of her riding him with her small, but beautiful breasts dangling just above his mouth as he held on for the ride.

      How many nights had he awakened in a sweat with his dick as hard as a brick with the memory of her words still clinging to the air.

       Is it good?

      Tonight when she asked him about the ice cream, her words had sent him spiraling right back to their night. To that moment just before he tasted her. To the taste of her on his tongue. Again. And again. And again. Until he tasted her very liquid essence. Suckled on it. Feasted on it.

      His dick stirred to life between his thighs and there was no denying the ache the memory caused. Shit.

      Julius bit his lip and shook his head as he moved about the kitchen preparing a tray. Even as he carried it out of the kitchen and up the stairs his rod still hung heavy between his strong thighs just waiting for one touch, one look, or one other memory to shoot it straight to full hardness and heat.

      Outside her door, Julius held the tray with one hand and knocked briefly with the other.

      “Come in.”

      Julius didn’t know if he was just a horny toad or what but her permission for him to enter sounded more like “coming” instead of “come in.” He shook off the thought and turned the knob to step in the room.

      Seconds later, he wished he had stayed downstairs and never crossed the threshold into what had to be the secret hideout for clothes. It looked like a dryer threw up in the place. That familiar tension that seemed to be with him lately settled on his shoulders and the back of his neck. He forced a smile and tried to rotate his neck and shoulders to shake it off.

      Caress was lying in the middle of the unmade bed on her back with her knees bent and her arms crossed over her shoulders. She shifted her arm just enough to look over at him with one eye. “Is that for me?” she asked.

      Julius was too busy wondering how on earth anyone could be comfortable in a room where there wasn’t one neat spot to sit. He nodded as he fought the urge to treat her like a teenager who needed to be ordered to straighten her room.

      A vision of his baby sitting and waving atop a pile of clothes in the crib flashed before him.

      In order to reach the bed, he kicked a path in the clothes littering the floor. “Caress, listen, I can’t hold my tongue any longer,” he said, using a hand to make enough room on the bed to set down the tray.

      “Yes, Julius?” she said, sitting up to position the tray in front of her.

      He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. And then finally closed it for good. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he said, turning to leave the room with one last shove of a stack of magazines from his path before he closed the bedroom door.