Love and hate live easily in the minds and heart of any human. And hate, like love can grow. David “Ice” Bryson has seen his share of both, moreover he has lived it. When everything he wants for his life falls apart David rebuilds but it is a sketchy, unhealthy replica of his real desires and he’ll never let anyone forget it.
Naera Girard learned early to keep things simple. Privileges were for the weak. Lies were for the frivolous. Dreams were for bedtime. Her only complexity came in the form of a man who never let her forget, at her core she was a woman filled with passion, and worst of all, hope.
This tumultuous love story spans almost three decades.
*This unedited excerpt is for mature readers. You know who you are.*
The morning of the attack that changed everything Naera woke up first, with David’s hand between her legs, cupping her inner thigh. His other arm rested underneath her neck, his other hand tangled in her hair. Her body was twisted and drawn away from his. As always, she’d tried to run from him and their bed in her sleep. Lately he’d taken to holding on to her in some way while they slept. If she were honest, the proprietary nature of the caress was comforting. She always liked it when David touched her but especially that way.
Squeezing her thighs together, ready to start something, Naera had a fleeting thought that took her back several hours. It had been a long day working at the church. She’d taken the job as their secretary to earn extra money but there were added benefits. Father Mark liked her and had always let her bring the baby with her to work. It was increasingly exhausting though. Fully engaged in answering phones, while amending the church’s haphazard financial ledgers, and keeping an eye on a very energetic early walker was really two jobs, maybe three. And David would be the first to say so.
Having fed and put Danae down in her crib for the night, Naera was dozing heavily on the couch when he got home. He was late again, after a full day of classes and his own job. She hadn’t woken up but clearly David had carried her to bed and undressed her. Opening her legs slightly she reached for his hand adjusting it and her body so it was even closer to the warmest, most humid part of her. A Santana song playing in her mind she let her hips dance slowly against David’s open hand. It didn’t take long.
“You starting something girl?”
Naera smiled. Even wide-awake, David was a gritty baritone. When he spoke, his deep and sultry voice sent impulses arching through her that weren’t always easy to control. Luckily, for once they were both awake, naked in bed together — not out in public or with the baby.
Opening her legs wider, she felt cool air against what was now her drenched and needy labia. Writhing she stretched her arms above her head, her nipples hardening in reply. Let him see for himself what sleeping so close did to her.
David sent his fingers on an investigative excursion of Naera’s heat. Sliding through, then pushing his way into her, they sighed in unison. Again, it was David who spoke aloud.
“I think you started without me girl.” He said, feigned hurt in his voice.
Naera laughed.
Turning slowly so they could stay connected, she faced him in the dark.
“Mon cheri, I could never start without you.” Naera said letting her hand roam down along his waist and hip. “I am only the match.” Her hand roamed lower, clasping his rigidness intimately. “You are the flame.”
David growled low in his throat and leaned in. Finding each other’s lips in the dark was easy. Wetly, sensuously their mouths plundered each other, offering no quarter, no respite until he climbed onto her. Pulling his lips away was difficult but first light had started seeping through the windows and he wanted a peek . . . a glimpse of her eyes before . . .
They were breathing deeply and he had just thrust himself inside her when they both smelled the smoke. It couldn’t be anything else. It was coming from underneath the door of their bedroom, which meant whatever was on fire was in the front of the apartment.
“Danae!” Naera screamed, her nails digging into his shoulder.
*Image courtesy of xedos4 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net*
Lily Java 