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Cuba smiles. “My room is the last door on the right, I left some clothes out for you, get comfortable.” He turns and heads to the kitchen.
He won’t admit it, but he is totally jealous. I make my way up the stairs and remember why India and I passed on a townhouse; we would kill ourselves with stairs. My thighs are already burning; I’m so out of shape. There are three doors when I reach the top, two are open, and the one on the left is closed. The middle room is a small laundry room, a basket of clothes is in front of the washer, other than that it’s clean. I pass it and go through the last door on the right, his room.
It’s dark with only the light from the flat screen that’s mounted on the wall. It’s just enough that I can see the large bed in middle of the room, black plush covers in a tangled mess and pillows stacked where he was probably lying. Across from the bed sits a sleek black dresser below the T.V. There are bottles of cologne lined up with a few trophies. The walls are bare except for the one on the right, it’s literally filled from top to bottom with baseball caps that sit on black shelves. Did he rob the MLB? There are even hats that look like limited editions.
Turning back to bed, I see where he laid out a pair of his grey briefs and a plain black tee. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I undo the straps of heels, pulling them off, next I pull my top over my head, keeping my black cami on, unhooking my bra, I pull the straps over my arms and pull it from the bottom on my cami. Standing up, I shimmy out of my leggings and pull his briefs over my pink thong. I have to roll them up so much that they now look like boy shorts on me.
I hear Cuba coming up the steps when I settle in on the left side of his bed, my phone in hand. I send a quick text to my dad letting him know I’m safe, he doesn’t need to know that I’m not home. I also send a text to India letting her know I probably won’t be home tonight, something I rarely do, even with my ex.
“So, I guess I ran out of water, but I do have Gatorade and soda.” He holds up a red bottle and a can of Sprite. “I need to go to the store sooner rather than later.”
He makes his way to the bed, and I can’t help but wonder how this happened, I mean I know how it happened, but if someone would have told me I’d be sitting on Cuba’s bed two weeks ago, I would have laughed in their face. But here I am, sitting on his bed, in his briefs, hot and ready for him to have his way with me.
“Gatorade,” I say, he hands it to me as he sits next to me, his long legs stretched out.
Cuba grabs the remote and starts the movie from where it was paused. His arm snakes around my shoulder and pulls me into his chest. Is it crazy that it feels so normal?
“Thanks for my new shorts,” I tell him cracking open the cap on the bottle and take a sip.
His other hand reaches over and moves up my bare legs. “They look good on you.”
I look at the screen and laugh. “I love this movie!”
“Step-Brothers?”
“Hell yeah, it’s one of my go to movies when I’m-“ I stop talking. I don’t want him to know I’m kind of a pothead. Of course, I have to calm that down when I become a teacher, at least until my newbie years are over.
Cuba shifts and grabs something out of his nightstand, me being nosey tries to tilt my head to see what he’s getting. Is it a condom?
He sits back up, a joint hanging from his mouth, his thumb flicking a lighter, bringing the flame to the paper. Tossing the lighter on his nightstand, he inhales, his fingers pulling the joint from his mouth.
He holds it out for me. “You want a hit?” Thick smoke escapes between his lips.
He’s so sexy it hurts.
I take the joint from him, bringing it to my lips and inhaling deeply, I try to re-inhale sexy, but I start choking on the smoke, Cuba rubs my back as I cough.
“Take it easy, Arrow,” he says in my ear taking the joint away. “What do you usually do? Edibles?”
Catching my breath, I take a big gulp of my drink, my throat is on fire. “I use the vape, apparently it doesn’t hit as strong as a joint.”
“Apparently,” he says, taking another two hits of the joint before passing it back to me.
We pass the joint back and forth, watching the movie. I find out that while high I am laughing at every part of the movie, Cuba is relaxed, his eyes red and low. My ex and I never smoked together, I don’t even think he knew I smoked.
The credits start playing and he presses a button, the Netflix logo appears on the black screen.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks when the menu appears.
I don’t even think about it. “The Tudors.”
Cuba doesn’t say anything as he searches for the show and plays the first season. He doesn’t say anything as he moves between my legs, leaning over, he places an arm on either side me. He still doesn’t say anything as his mouth presses against mine and I melt into him. My high has taken over all my senses and his every touch feels magnified. Every trail of his fingers against my leg sends shivers shooting through my body and my body freezes until his mouth moves down to my neck, his tongue sets me on fire.
He lifts, pulling on my cami and lifting it over my head, making my breasts fall freely, my nipples harden as his warm mouth sucks one in as his fingers pinch and pull my other one.
A moan escapes my mouth and my head falls back. My knees bend, my back arches, pushing my nipple deeper in his mouth.
“Oh, my God,” I grit out, his other hand is trailing up my inner thigh until his fingers glide over my covered slit, chills run up my body. I’m going crazy, his mouth leaving my now cold nipple, he makes his way down my body, his tongue swirling, Cuba’s fingers tease me, trailing back and forth against my throbbing wet lips.
