Page 23 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

Sitting down in the guest bedroom with laminate flooring, I blew out a breath of frustration.

I’d been working on the grand jeté, a very important move that was required in the solo for the upcoming performance of Giselle.

The few times I’d done it didn’t feel or look right at all, making me take a break and try to ponder deeply on what the hell I was doing wrong.

I then began to wonder if Nikita was doing it right.

If I lost the solo to her ass, I would never hear the end of it.

Just as I began to think self-deprecating and murderous thoughts, my phone rang. Leaning over some to peer at the screen, I didn’t miss the backflips, leaps, and grand jetés my stomach did upon seeing Low’s name there.

Scooping my phone up and in need of a distraction, I answered.

“Wow, I didn’t expect this.” I lay back on my mat, simpering.

“I know. I was thinking about you and figured the only way to cure that was to reach out.”

“I see.” I inwardly squealed before calming my ass down. As hot and cold as Low could be, I needed to relax. I hated that I understood his plights and hesitation though. Low-key, it was endearing how careful he wanted to be with me.

“You told my baby bro you would shoot him?”

I froze, opening and closing my mouth before replying, “I did. He came in the diner talking shit like he was running things, and I had to keep him in line.”

“I’m not mad. I actually found the shit hilarious, and I should let you know it worked. I offered to get the nigga a day off, and he told me no.”

We chuckled in unison.

“Well good. He doesn’t need a day off because idle hands are the devil’s workshop, and that’s especially so when it comes to Wyatt. He wants to sell drugs because he is bored. But he won’t even think about that shit if he is dog tired from working and school.”

“You right.” He got quiet. “You wise as hell, Peep.”

“Thank you.”

“I forget you twenty-two. I wasn’t on even half the shit you were at that age.”

“Women will always be light-years ahead, my love.” He snickered cutely before I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Just got back to the crib, showered, brushed my teeth, and shit, now I’m chilling. You?”

“Doing a little dance work. Wanna keep me company?” I offered, and when he was silent for too long, I said, “As a friend, relax. I’m not gonna force you on the bed, pull your dick out, and suck it, Low.”

“Shit, why not?” he retorted, sending us both into a fit of cackles. I wasn’t expecting that reply. “But aight. I can’t lie, a nigga miss you.”

“I know. See you soon.” I hung up.

I got back to practicing, and about fifteen minutes into it, I got a notification that Low had arrived. Rising from the mat I’d been breathing heavily on, I padded out of the guest room I’d turned into a makeshift ballet studio and made my way to my front door.

“How are you always fucking pretty?” Low took me in, shaking his head at my tiny gym shorts, bra, and socks.

“Get it from my mama,” I jested.

“Oh, I know.” He nodded, eyes raking across my living room as his hands sank into the pockets of his joggers.

He was wearing a wife beater, socks, and corduroy slippers. An icy watch and subtle gold chain complemented the look. Low was so sexy to me, and he didn’t even try. His cologne peppered the air as he trailed me back to my ballet room, scouring it as he’d done the living room moments ago.

“I just need like twenty more minutes of practice, and then we can kick it. Do you mind?” I stood, hands fisted on my hips.

“I don’t.” He descended onto the shiny floor, back against the wall as he pulled one of his knees up to allow one arm to dangle over.

He licked his lips at me through the mirror as I turned my back to him in order to stretch.

“Can you help me stretch? I almost caught a cramp last time,” I said, wondering if that was it. Carolyn always said if we didn’t take the proper time to stretch—which we rarely did—it would show in our dancing.

“Uh, . . . I guess. Fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Have you never stretched before?” I tried to ignore the somersaults my stomach was doing as Low rose to his feet, tall, stocky, intimidating stature causing electricity to sear through my limbs like a current.

“I stretch all the time. It be pussy though, not this.” A grin split through his face as my jaw dropped in astonishment.

“Well, that’s not what is about to happen here, so let your friend know.” I bobbed my head in the direction of his crotch as he removed his slippers and ambled toward me.

“No point. Long as you in the room, he gon’ be standing at fucking attention.” His voice lowered to a salacious octave as he came behind me, looking at me through the mirror.

“Just follow my directions.” I ignored his statement and the warmth bubbling between my legs.

Low nodded to say he understood, and I began bossing him around, having him pull on my arms first. We moved on to him helping me balance as I stretched the muscles in my back, then we lowered onto the floor where my mat was.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said when I instructed him to grab my ankles and tug.

“Just do it, and gently, please.” I nodded, and he fell in line. “Now . . .” I lay back. “Push my legs toward me, and don’t be gentle.”

Low stood to his knees with trepidation before clumsily moving closer to me as I held my legs to my chest. I nodded for him to do as I’d asked, and he slowly but surely began to press my thighs into my chest, causing my toes to brush the floor space above my head.

“You aight?” he asked, an underlying nervousness in his tone as he hovered above me.

“I am. More.”

He licked his lips, pressing harder so that he was between my legs, privates to privates.

Our eyes locked as I bit my lip due to the pleasurable pain in my hamstrings, unable to ignore the hardness of his dick pressing against my pussy.

And every time he moved, his bulge sweeping across my clit, I bit down on my lip in effort not to moan.

“Banks,” he moaned softly, his eyes never leaving mine as he pushed harder, making me yelp lowly as my hand fled to his strong forearm.

He moved again, grazing my clit that had swollen up now.

Every time he nudged my legs back more, locking them back in place, his dick glided across my sensitive clit.

I couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not, but my shorts had become damp since I wasn’t wearing any panties.

My nipples stiffened, protruding through my top as my skin began to dampen with sweat.

Nudge, brush, nudge, brush, nudge, then another brush, eyes never leaving mine, and before I knew it, a beautiful sensation crept up my abdomen before a soft coo burst through my lips.

This nigga had made me cum. I’d played with myself occasionally, sans penetration, so I knew the feeling well.

“You’re about to tear my shorts, Low,” I whimpered softly, feeling his hard dick threaten the seat of my thin, now wet bottoms.

“My bad.” He removed his big palms from the underside of my thighs, allowing my legs down.

For a moment, no words were exchanged, because I was embarrassed yet feeling relieved from just having had an orgasm.

“Help me up, please.” I reached my hand out, figuring I could get away and to the bathroom before he saw what he’d caused.

“This friend shit gon’ be an issue, huh?” he asked, bringing me to my feet and standing way too close to me. “It’s gon’ be hard .” He nodded down for me to see the big tent in his sweats.

We both shared a laugh, and I wondered if he knew what he’d done to me. Hurrying out, I went to clean myself up then returned in order to get two practice dances in.

Low had migrated back to where he’d been against the wall, watching me intently as I began to perform the sequence.

I tried to tune him out, but it was hard.

He smelled so fucking good, and seeing him through the mirror plus remembering what he’d done to me only moments ago had him fighting my attempt to push him to the recesses of my mind.

As I leapt to do the grand jeté, I hit it perfectly, shocking myself so that I stumbled a bit once my feet were back on the ground.

“That was dope,” he murmured, eyes widened like his mouth as if he were in awe of me.

“That was the first time I got it tonight. You might be good luck, Low-Low.”

“That would be the first.” He smirked, tucking his lips in to watch me with a determined expression as I prepared to do the choreography once more.

Like the last time, when it came to the grand jeté, I executed it perfectly, even landing without a stumble. After a few seconds of being frozen in time, I darted my attention to Low who clapped slowly for me.

“I think you are good luck for real. You’re gonna have to come to some of my practices and especially the show.” I wiped my forehead.

“I would love to.” He nodded, eyes soaking me up with so much awe that it made me simper.

“I’m gonna shower and then meet you in my bedroom.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go to the bathroom right quick.” He held the door open for me, and we split up as I sniggered.

I showered in the en suite of my bedroom, spreading on body butter and mist afterward. And once I was done brushing, flossing, and using mouthwash, I stepped out to find Low at the edge of my bed, typing away.

“Tell your hos you’re in the middle of something,” I joked, making him smirk.

“Def wouldn’t be texting no hos while I’m with you.”

“I legit saw them texting you when you took me out, Low-Low.” I started toward him after turning on some low music.

He shook his head in obvious wonderment as his eyes drifted all over my body in the short nightie with a high split. I had several and lived in them when at home.

“Saw them texting me. I said I wouldn’t be texting no hos while I’m with you, and that’s real shit. I can’t control who hits me.”

“True.” I sidled up beside him, making him lie back. “You have weed on you?”

“I do. Why?”

“Because I wanna eat it. Why else?” I sat up to stare down at him in my dimly lit bedroom.