GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (30 page)

“Oh… shit…” she muttered as she felt the damn thing even more so now…hard and stiff, rotating into her zone.

“…And no, that’s not what I think of women and yeah, I do like black women with big asses…”

She went hot in a flash, a flush of embarrassment rushing through her.

“You were listening in!” she tried to chastise between kisses. “I was using the bathroom and you were listening!”

“No, I wasn’t. I came because I heard talking, wanted to make sure you were alright and not calling for me.”

“I’m alright…”

Kiss.

Kiss.

Kiss.

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not, I promise I can make it better.” The heat from his mouth made her damn stomach cave as she vibrated against his form. She could almost feel her damn clit swell to his slow gyrations… firm and leisurely, timely and drawn to perfection. Gripping the sides of his face, she dug her nails in and planted a hard kiss on his mouth. She cocked her head to the side and slid her tongue between his lips, then gripped the back of his head, tugging at his thick, soft hair until she possessively held a fistful of the stuff. He moaned deep and loudly, dropped his hands to her thighs, and hoisted her into his arms. In a dizzying, swift spin, he turned her around and dragged her away.

Thud.

He’d kicked his damn bedroom door open and ushered her inside…

…several seconds later

S
ilver was astonished
at how dark it was, especially in the middle of the afternoon. Yet, she could still make out key details from of the sliver of light filtering through two of the windows, and a series of small nightlights near a corner baseboard. She took note of the walls painted gray, glistening in the dimness. They seemed to have been freshly done. Quite large, exquisitely gold-framed art depicting silver and ivory drums lined the walls, and a potted plant with unlit incense sticks jammed inside of the soil sat to her right.

He placed her down onto the bed, atop thick black sheets with cream trim. She felt their softness. If she were a betting woman, she’d put her money on them being a fairly high thread count.

Hmmm, he likes nice bedding… Interesting.

Zenith flicked on a nightstand lamp, and the room suddenly glowed with a soft red light, bathing them, as if they’d landed in some strange, serene passion pit. She looked up at him as she went to work on her shirt, moving like mad to get the damn thing off. He labored just as diligently on his own attire, snatching his thick, leather belt out from the loops of his jeans. Before she could ask questions and demand answers, he covered her with his body, his pants around his ankles, and kissed her hard. He snaked his tongue inside her mouth and let it dance around, dueling with hers.

His hand roved along the mounds of her black and white checkered bra as his pelvis began to gyrate and push against her, becoming reacquainted. Ecstasy flooded her with every touch, every caress; she couldn’t believe how close she was to having an orgasm already. She pressed her eyes shut tight and resisted, trying to keep the damn thing at bay, but he just kept on and on, harder and harder until she sighed and rocked against him.

Locking her legs around his waist, she gasped and vibrated against his form, coming undone. Her body went berserk, shivering, as she cried out and fell to pieces. Her panties filled up with liquid warmth, leaving a slight stickiness between her thighs. Her pent up lust had burst forward, exposing her for the person that she was—a woman who’d fallen madly in love. When she opened her eyes, he was doing nothing much, but simply looking at her. He wore such a beautiful smile on his face, delicate and free. His long hair tossed over his broad, tattooed shoulder, he leaned in and gently caressed the side of her face.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he whispered, slowly rising. She reached for her bra strap, and he disappeared out the room. She heard the bathroom door close and the sink turn on. Gingerly getting to her feet, she removed her soaked underwear and tossed it to the floor, then took off her bra. She ran her fingers over her coarse curls, cupping them back into place.

As she continued to wait for the man, she took the time to survey his room once more. It truly was small, but well decorated. Even his window treatments blended well, comprised of sheer black and white curtains paired with black, glossy blinds. His headboard was a gold rectangle framed in black wood, and in the corner of the room sat a small dark wood desk, reminding her of something from Ikea. On it sat a MacBook laptop and a coffee mug next to it. The décor didn’t fit his appearance, in the day, or even at night during a gig. He’d truly made this place his home, his tiny abode, a retreat away from chaos. It was masculine in décor, but had a few soft touches, too.

Matter of fact, his entire home was this way, almost as if he’d been taught how to be a husband, whether he liked it or not. He knew how to warm up metals and warm rhythm, and deliver the latter to anticipatory ears. He knew how to warm her body and her heart, too… Everything she saw made it clearer that Zenith was more than met the eye, and she liked that. She liked that a whole lot.

“Hey,” he said real easy like upon re-entering the room and making his way to a dresser.

Her damn heart stopped, her breath hitched as the motherfucker moved about butt fucking naked. No underwear, or even a towel! No covering at all, except his hair flowing around his body. His long, thick dick bounced about, slapping each thigh with every step. It came across as a bit comical, but the damn thing looked so thick and juicy, all she wanted to do was taste it, and feel it inside her.

This is it. This is the right time.

I want you, Zenith Taylor.

In the reddened light, she took notice of the tattoos that covered his chest and back a bit closer. She’d only gotten a good look at the ones on his biceps, but these were even more beautiful. In the center of his chest were a set of drums, the word, ‘Mawmaw’ and musical notes floating about, beautifully drawn. ‘Mohawk’ was scribed beneath them. One of his arms read ‘Iroquois’, with musical notes dancing around the word. The other arm had three simple letters, ‘PAW’, and beneath this, a small, tribal-style drum. Zenith’s body told the story of what he was most proud of, and what and who he loved…

“Where did I put them?” he mumbled.

He passed her across the room to check out a small shifero in the corner, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Throwing his long tresses over one shoulder, he continued to dig around. His shoulder muscles worked beneath his flesh in gracious and masculine movements. His broad back sported a large tattoo of a roaring lion with a tribal symbol beneath it. Something to do with his heritage, most probably. Zenith’s legs were extremely long and muscular, the calves well rounded even when he wasn’t moving. And his ass… well damn. It was small, but tight… looked harder than rock.

He

was

fucking

gorgeous.

“Here it is…”

He plucked something from the far left corner of a drawer, closed it, then made his way back towards her, his gaze on whatever he had in his palms. In one hand, he carried something carefully, as though he held an injured baby bird. In the other appeared to be two blue tea candles and a lighter decorated with a sugar skull motif.

“I couldn’t find my lighter,” he explained, placing a tea candle on each nightstand. “I don’t smoke weed anymore, haven’t in over five years, so I barely use my lighter now, unless it’s for incense on occasion.”

She nodded, beautiful sensations riding her as she lounged back, relishing in the mere sound of his voice. His beauty, his movements. She was happy and… comfortable. The carpet felt so soft and plush beneath her overhanging foot.

“What made you stop?”

The mattress dipped where he sat beside her.

“Smokin’? I just grew out of it. It was never a thing for me, anyway. Never did it a lot in the first place but because of me being in the clubs, around my friends, it was just something we did. I just decided I was fine without it. I didn’t need it, plus, I didn’t want to fail a drug test at work.” He trailed a hand absently along his thigh, looking at her from the corner of his eye, as if he had a secret he was debating on telling. “So, you cool with this?” Before she could answer, he leaned in close and laid a sweet, delicate kiss on the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, I am.”

He smiled and took her hand in his. “Good…” A deep huskiness returned to his tone as he covered her body like the heavens protecting her from the depths of Hell. He wrapped his strong legs around hers, causing her to pause, suck her breath, and forget to exhale. Then, sliding his arms beneath her back, he crisscrossed them and held her tight, his gaze never leaving hers.

Such erotic intensity. She swallowed once she remembered to inhale and exhale once again. She’d forgotten how to live, but right then, a part of her simply wanted to fall apart against him… beneath him, within his heart, swirl and twirl inside his brain and find out what made him move, tick…

She felt so free, yet protected.

Taking one hand from behind her back, he slowly ran his thick index finger down her lips while staring into her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here…”

“I’m glad I’m here, too.” She took the tip of his finger into her mouth, twirled her tongue around the thing, then let him slide more of it inside. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his lips slightly parted; he studied her mouth work, and his thighs tightened impossibly tighter against her hips. His gaze drifted further up, to her hair. Wrapping a gentle cluster of kinky curls around his finger, he held on for a while, then released and repeated.

“I’ve never understood why some black women don’t like their hair. I like it. It’s different, sexy… It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”

Her lips kinked in a loose grin. “Some of us have a love-hate relationship with it as it can be hard to manage sometimes if you’re lazy, like me.” She laughed, a light tinkle of a laugh. “But sometimes it goes deeper than that. Sometimes it’s about the standard of beauty in this country.”

He nodded in understanding. “You’re
my
standard of beauty.”

“Hmmm.” She reached up and traced his ear with the feathery trace of her fingertips.

“Mmmm hmmm.” He leaned into her touch. “I appreciate women, all sorts of women. You all are just too damn beautiful, you know? But you?” He shook his head as his face grew solemn. “You’re even sexier because you don’t care what anybody thinks.” He drew silent for a spell, then kissed the slant of her nose.

She got ready to continue the conversation, delve deeper into his expressed thoughts, but was jerked from her plans. A gasp escaped her when he rotated his hips and showed her what he had to offer, hard and full of pressure. The warmth of his naked body and the softness of the downy black hair across his chest rang a sensual bell she wasn’t certain could be undone or surpassed. He grinded against her, over and over, as if dancing to a drum beat only he could hear.

Zenith didn’t make love, he made music, and he wasn’t even inside her yet…

Layering her face with soft kisses, he navigated further south, traveling his lips from hers, down over her neck, and pausing at her breasts. He gripped one with a steady hand and, before she could make heads or tails of his intentions, a wet, delightful heat consumed her right breast. Drawing her nipple into his mouth, he sucked lightly, then harder, going back and forth in circular motions and increasing speed. She wrapped her thighs firmly around his lower waist and they writhed together, their groins grinding against one another. He moved in such poetic ways, and she followed suit, guessing his rhythm and getting it right each and every time. Zenith’s curtain of hair covered the scene of his delicious crime, enfolding her torso in a world of its own.