“I was protective of Darius, I didn’t think I’d ever write his story. But Malia had other ideas. She wanted it told, and let me tell you, with the frenzied tapping I did at my computer, so immersed in their epic tale of love I barely had a reaction until I typed “The End” and I completely broke down, like loud, obnoxious, shoulder shaking tears broke down, Malia was right.” —Kristen Ashley
A brand new story in Kristen Ashley’s Rock Chick series is out this week, and I have a little sneak peek for you. This is Darius and Malia’s story.
“What jobs you want me to see to, Malia?”
“How long you got?” I asked. “Because I have a list and you might want to take notes.” His voice got warm, sexy…lewd. “Like you said, baby, I’m right here. What you need?” And now he was trying to be an a-hole.
I wasn’t buying that either.
But he wanted to play with fire, we’d see who’d get burned.
“I haven’t had a man touch me since I was sixteen, you could take care of that.” Another flare in his eyes, surprise.
And something else.
It was me about to be burned.
It would turn out I was right. I just had no idea how much I would love dancing in that fire.
His arms closed around me, and his mouth slammed down on mine, and I should have stopped it. If he was going to hang around, we had so much more to talk about.
I didn’t stop it.
He kissed me, and more fool me, I kissed him back.
Three years since we kissed.
Even longer since we took it further, but he was in my life, in my business, in my heart, I couldn’t stop it.
This time, I wasn’t going to tear myself away.
I needed it.
I needed Darius.
I tried to pull him down on the couch.
He resisted, and fear took hold of my soul, because one thing I’d learned these last few years, when Darius was done, he was gone.
But he said, “No, baby, not on the couch. Not this time, not our first since…will he wake up?”
“He’s a sound sleeper.”
That was all I said, all he needed.
He let me go but took my hand and we were up the stairs before I could blink.
We were in my dark bedroom before I could get my head straight.
And then he was kissing me again, so I wasn’t thinking about anything but that.
He might be hungry, but I was starving.
Starving for his warm skin and the touch of his hands.
Starving for his mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth, dancing with mine. His lips on my neck. The crush of his arms around me.
Then my shirt was off. His shirt was off. He went after my jeans. I went after his.
Both of us only in underwear, he leaned into me, and I fell to my back on my bed, Darius on top of me.
Oh man, he felt good.
Even so, I rolled him to get more of him.
He rolled me to get more of me.
I squirmed under him to push down my panties.
He took over and whoosh! they were gone.
I pushed at his boxers. “Now you.”
“Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmured, hand at my breast, thumb and finger teasing my nipple, the sensations he created firing their way all over my skin, his mouth was in my neck.
“Slow isn’t an option, Darius,” I told him.
His fingers stilled, his head came up, and he looked down at me through the dark.
“You sure?” he asked, and I closed my eyes.
There he was.
That tender sweetness.
There was my Darius.
I knew it.
I knew he was in there.
I opened my eyes and put my hand to his cheek. “I’m sure, honey.”
“I don’t have any condoms.” I nearly started weeping.
I got an imagination.
A man who was getting some somewhere else, or open to it should it happen, would carry condoms.
It was me for him.
And it was him for me.
I knew then, just like me, there was no one else.