Stay with Me (Strickland Sisters Book 1) Page 8

  So I did. After showering and downing a glass of juice, I applied lotion, pulled on a matching black bra and panty set, did my make-up, and slipped into a cream-colored halter dress that plunged in the back and stopped just above my knees, a little something I’d purchased a couple of years earlier when I pretended to myself that I was going to fly to LA for some vlogger awards ceremony. I was fastening the ankle strap on my open-toe cream heels when he rang my doorbell. Grabbing my clutch and my cell phone, I opened the door and swallowed hard. He looked outrageously gorgeous in a pair of navy blue slacks and a white dress shirt open at the neck and upper chest. His navy sport coat fit like it had been tailor made.

  He smiled as he offered me his arm. “You look gorgeous. You ready?”

  I nodded, found my voice, and said, “Yes.”

  He took me to Coda, said they were having a special guest for R&B night. I was delighted when Guordan Banks took the stage. Keep You in Mind was my jam!

  We had a great view of the stage from our corner booth, and I rocked in my seat to the music, grinning at Ryan from time to time, always finding his eyes on me. When he looked at me the way he looked at me, it felt like his eyes were seeing through my clothes and my skin, to my soul. It was an oddly pleasing feeling. It made me wonder what it would feel like for his eyes to actually roam my naked body.

  After Guordan Banks’ set was over, we ordered appetizers and drinks and got to the “getting to know each other” part of the night. He shared that he was the youngest of two children and that his brother, Cedric, was incarcerated in Louisiana for “doing some stupid shit.” His mother was deceased, and he didn’t keep in touch with his father. He’d never been married or even in a long-term relationship. Had no kids, loved his job, and could see himself moving to a tropical island after he retired.

  I told him there were three Strickland girls and that I was the middle child.

  “Which makes you the normal one.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “How so?”

  “Well, the oldest usually shoulders the most responsibility, so they end up with all these issues where they think they have to take care of folks, get attached to people, and can’t let go. The youngest is always spoiled, gotta have their way. The middle is usually level-headed, normal, because they’re able to avoid all the bullshit the other two have to endure.”

  “So, by your own definition, you’re spoiled and have to get your way.”

  He flashed me a smile. “Absolutely.”

  “That’s why you hung up on me?”

  He shrugged. “You hurt my feelings. Wasn’t the most mature way to handle things, and I’m sorry about that.”

  I smiled. “Say that again.”

  “Say what again?”

  “Sorr’ ‘bout ‘dat.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, daaaamn. You’re making fun of my accent? I thought you liked it.”

  “I do. That’s why I asked you to repeat yourself. Say it again.”

  “Hell, naw.”

  I laughed. “What’s your deal, Ryan? What do you really want from me?”

  “Your time. That’s it. I know a little bit about what makes you scream. I also want to know what makes you smile, laugh, cry. I wanna know you.”

  I adjusted in my seat and averted my eyes from his.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable by bringing that up?”

  I met his gaze. “Yes.”

  “Why does it make you uncomfortable?”

  “Because…”

  “Because you never felt like that before?”

  “Maybe…”

  “And my bringing it up makes you want to feel it again?”

  I cleared my throat. “Um…”

  He stared at me for a moment. “Come here. Move closer.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. Trust me.”

  I sighed and scooted closer to him in the booth. He grabbed his napkin and dropped it in my lap, spread it over my knees, and then eased his hand under my dress. My mouth gaped open when I felt him slide his hand between my thighs.

  “Ryan, you can’t…” I spoke the words as my thighs involuntarily parted.

  He eased his hand inside my panties, found my clit, and gently squeezed it.

  I clamped my mouth shut and bit down on my tongue to keep from shouting. He dragged his finger over my clit, pinching and tugging on it as I gripped the table. “Oh. My. Gahhhhh,” I whispered.

  He leaned in and kissed my neck. “What was that?”

  “Ryan, please…”

  “You want me to stop, Angela?”

  “Yes—no…”

  He continued stroking me, flicked his tongue across my earlobe, and whispered, “Yes or no? Do you want me to stop?” His voice was forceful, commanding.

  As he slid a finger inside my heated moistness, I managed to rasp, “I don’t want you to stop.”

  His mouth still on my ear, he murmured, “Good, I won’t.”

  “Shhhhhhit,” I whispered, trying not to lose all control. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder as I grabbed his shirt. “Ryan…”

  “Hmm, that feel good, Angela?”

  I nodded against his shoulder, whispered, “Yes.”

  “Anyone ever made you feel this good before?”

  “N-no…”

  He used his free hand to lift my chin and then he claimed my mouth, slipping his tongue inside it, the taste of his whiskey battling the fruitiness of my mixed drink. I wondered if anyone was looking at us or could tell what was happening under the table, but the club was dimly lit, and besides, I really didn’t care. It felt too good to care.

  His mouth left mine and I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the booth, feeling almost euphoric as he continued sliding his finger in and out of me, grazing my clit with each stroke. My chest heaved; my breathing was ragged. I was at the precipice of an orgasm when I heard a voice say, “Is there anything I can get you all? Refills?”

  I opened my eyes to see our waiter standing over us. Ryan gave him a smile as he continued to fondle me and I continued to silently unravel.

  “Yes, can I see a dessert menu?” Ryan asked.

  I bit my bottom lip as the waves of an orgasm hit me, grabbed Ryan’s shirt again, buried my face in his neck, and released a high-pitched moan as the waiter handed him the menu. The waiter must have been looking at me wondering what was going on, because I heard Ryan say, “She really loves dessert.”

  After the waiter left, I struggled to catch my breath as Ryan slid his fingers from me, lifted them to his mouth, and slipped them between his lips, tasting them. He winked at me, and said, “You know what? I think I’ll skip dessert after all. I don’t know what could be any sweeter than this.”

  “Hello?” she answered the phone in a sing-song voice.

  “Hey, you wanna hang out today?” It was the Sunday morning after our date at Coda.

  “Well, what do you have in mind?”

  “I thought we could go out for breakfast, catch an early movie, grab lunch, take a walk in the park, find a secluded bench where I can get you off again…”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “See you in twenty minutes. I’m hungry.”

  We had a good breakfast, and when she picked an action movie for us to see, I think I started seeing hearts and shit. I was too damn glad I didn’t have to watch some chick flick, but I would’ve watched one for her. After the movie, we headed to some smoothie place she swore had the best salads in the world for lunch.

  “So what park you wanna go to?” I asked, as we finished our lunch.

  She shook her head and smiled at me. “We’re not going to a park, Ryan.”

  “Why not? You don’t want me to make you—”

  “I want to talk to you, and I want you to talk to me.”

  “We talked at breakfast.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You got something against me pleasing you?”

  “No, but that’s not all there i
s to you. I want to know the side that doesn’t flash the irresistible smile. The side that doesn’t ooze southern charm. If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to get to know each other, I want to know the real you.”

  I sighed and leaned forward, my eyes on her. “This is the real me. The real me likes you, Angela, a lot. The real me has never had to beg a woman for anything, but I basically had to beg you to give me a chance. The real me doesn’t get all messed up in the head over women, but you’ve had my head jacked up almost since the day we met. I have rules I’ve broken just for you. So this is the real me, a new real me, and all he thinks about, is obsessed with, is pleasing you.”

  “Obsessed?” she asked, her head tilted to the left. “Why? Why do you like pleasing me so much? You barely know me.”

  I reclined in my seat. “I do know you, Angela.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “How? How can you know me when I’ve barely told you anything about myself?”

  “Hmm. Well…I know you’re a vlogger, and a successful one, so that means you work hard. You’re serious about business, a straight-shooter, and you don’t believe in doing anything to jeopardize your brand or your coins. You’re kind, you love your family, but you’ve been hurt. That’s why you’re being cautious with me. Oh, and you’ve dealt with some unskilled, non-fucking niggas who didn’t give a damn if their sex left you satisfied or not. Hell, they probably had no clue how to please you. You’re not a virgin, but you’ve probably had, what? Two partners? Two and a half? Stop me when I get something wrong.”

  She scoffed. “You are one arrogant man. So what about you, Ryan? You think I can’t read you?”

  “Go ahead and try.”

  She leaned forward and clasped her hands on the table. “Okay…like I said earlier, you’re spoiled and accustomed to getting your way. You already said you usually don’t have to beg women or chase them, so you’re used to them falling all over themselves for you. You’ve had a lot of partners. A LOT. And you know how to make a woman feel good physically, but you wreck them emotionally. You’ve used women, lied to them, probably have left a bunch of broken hearts in your wake. And although you might be a little calmer and more settled now for some reason, and you’ve most definitely pleased me physically, I’m wondering when you’re going to wreck me emotionally.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “It’s not my intention to hurt you, Angela.”

  “What is your intention then, Ryan?”

  “To spend some time with you, to please you as often as you let me, and ultimately, for you to please me in return.”

  “You believe I can please you?”

  I smiled at her. “You already do.”

  16

  The text message alert on my phone tore my attention away from my laptop. I was supposed to be editing another “Outfit of the Day” or “OOTD” video I’d recorded in my backyard, adding music to it, but my eyes were tired, and my mind was on the kiss Ryan laid on me at the end of our marathon date on Sunday.

  The message was from him, and I couldn’t help but smile as I read it.

  Him: Hey, what u up to?

  Me: Working. What u up to?

  Him: Lying in this bed over here thinking about u.

  Me: Ur still in bed? It’s 1pm. Shouldn’t u be at work?

  Him: I took off today because u wore me out yesterday.

  Me: All we did was talk.

  Him: U talk a lot.

  Me: Whatever!

  Him: It’s true. Hey, I want to see u.

  Me: When?

  Him: Now. Let’s go grab something to eat.

  Me: I’m tired of texting. Come on over.

  Him: OMW

  Me: Brush ur teeth and wash ur ass first. U just got up. Don’t come over here funky.

  Him: I ain’t been funky a day in my life!

  Me: Negro, please. Wash ur ass, Mr. Boyé!

  Thirty minutes later, he stepped through my front door smelling so good, it kind of knocked me off balance.

  He lowered his head and brushed a soft kiss across my lips after I closed my door. “What was that about me being funky?”

  “I see you took my advice and handled that problem.”

  “I don’t get funky, Angela.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He followed me to my studio/bedroom, and said, “You still working?”

  I nodded. “Almost done, though.”

  “Damn, I thought we could go grab a bite to eat. I’m hungry as a hostage.”

  I giggled.

  “What?”

  “I haven’t heard that expression in a long time. Years.”

  He shrugged. “That’s how hungry I am.”

  I saved my progress on the laptop and turned to face him. “Okay, look, I need to check on my mom, so if you don’t mind, I need to go by to see her while we’re out.”

  “Not a problem. We can grab something for her, too, if you want. What’s up? She sick or something?”

  I sighed, figured I may as well tell him the truth. “No, but she kicked my dad out in front of me and my sisters at their fortieth anniversary party last Friday night.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Man, I’m sorry to hear that. But, yeah, we can check on her. Wish I still had a mom to check on…”

  “She passed when you were young?”

  “Yeah, I was eight. She’d been sick my whole life. I’m glad she’s not suffering anymore, but I still miss her, always will.”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

  “It’s all right. Hey, you wearing that?”

  I looked down at my t-shirt and jeans. “Why? Is something wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  “Nah, just asking.”

  Okay, so maybe I was a little wrinkled. And with him looking the way he was looking in his jeans and plaid, button-down shirt, I figured I’d better step my game up. “Let me go change.”

  As I left the room, he said to my back, “I mean, you don’t have to…”

  “Shut up, Ryan,” I called back.

  *****

  “This is a nice house,” Ryan said, as we stepped out of his SUV in my mother’s driveway. “I mean, really nice.”

  “Courtesy of Strickland Motors,” I said, as I unlocked the front door. “Your Tennessee car center.”

  “I’ve heard those commercials on the radio. Your folks own that car lot?”

  “Car lots. Ten locations across the state.”

  “Damn! Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

  “I’m not. My dad is.”

  We stepped into the foyer, and I called for my mother. First met with silence, I told Ryan to stay downstairs while I headed upstairs to see if Mama was up there. I called her name again, still receiving no answer, and then a panic hit me. Her car was in the driveway. What if something had happened to her? What if she’d done something to herself?

  I knocked on her closed bedroom door, waited for a second, and then opened it. Mama sprung up in bed, and so did he, whoever he was.

  “Angela! What are you doing here?!” Mama shrieked.

  I backed away from the door. “Uh-um-ch-ch-checking on you. But I see you’re okay so…oh, Lord…I’ma just go,” I rambled, adding “Shit,” under my breath.

  “Wait!” the man said, as he climbed out of bed, covering his private parts with a sheet but leaving his chocolaty sculpted abs exposed. He was tall, fine, and much younger than my mother. Where the hell did she find this man?!

  “Huh?” I managed to say.

  “Don’t go,” he said to me. “Give us a second to get dressed. I’d like to meet you properly.”

  I nodded as my eyes shifted to my mother, who was clutching the comforter under her chin with her eyes downcast. Her medium brown skin was reddening more and more by the second. “Uh, okay,” I said. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

  Ryan was still in the foyer when I returned, and all I could do was stare at him wide-eyed.

  “Wh
at’s wrong?” he asked. “Your mom okay?”

  In a hushed voice, I said, “I just caught her screwing a man who looks like he might be younger than me.”

  “Shit, really?”

  I nodded.

  “Damn, you wanna leave? What you wanna do?”

  “Uh, he wants me to hang around so we can have a proper introduction.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know.”

  Just then, the mystery guy and Mama descended the stairs and joined us in the foyer. Mama stared at Ryan, and it took me a moment to realize she had no idea who he was, so I said, “Mama, this is Ryan Boyé, my, well…we just started dating. Ryan, this is my mother, Lisa Strickland.”

  Ryan took her hand and kissed it. “Mother? I don’t believe it. Nevertheless, it’s great to meet you.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely her mother. You from Louisiana?”

  Ryan grinned. “The accent, huh? Can’t get away from it.”

  “You shouldn’t want to,” Mama said. “It’s nice. Hmm, you’re Creole?”

  Ryan nodded. “Yes, ma’am. On my father’s side.”

  Was my mother flirting with Ryan? Seriously? When did she get so hot in the ass?

  “Well,” she began, resting a hand on the mystery guy’s arm. “This is Lamar Anderson. Lamar, this is my daughter, Angela.”

  He reached for my hand and gripped it in his. “You’re the middle daughter, right? Heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you.”

  “Yeah, same here,” I said, and then turned to my mother with raised eyebrows.

  “Um, would you gentleman excuse me and Angela? We’re going to step into the kitchen for a moment,” she said.

  I sat at the table across from her and waited for an explanation. She offered none. So I said, “Mama, how long’ve you been seeing him?”

  She shrugged. “Five or six months.”

  “What?! Does Nicky know about him?”

  “No. She’s barely ever home, out running her wild behind around with any and every man she meets. I fault your father for her being the way she is. She’s so much like him…”

  I leaned forward. “Okay…okay, Daddy’s wrong for the way he treated you. But, um…you’re still married to him. How is what you’re doing any better than what he’s doing?”