Page 44 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

STORM

W aking up with Shae’s citrus scent filling my nose is an experience I didn’t know I needed until I opened my eyes this morning.

Coming into full consciousness as her alarm blares on her nightstand, Shae sleeps through it for a solid thirty seconds before I lean over her and silence the device.

She doesn’t move at all, and I’m grateful that both of her roommates are gone for the holiday. Yennifer invited Ezra to spend the holiday with her family, rather than him going back home to save money.

As it’s apparent Shae’s dead to the world, I explore her features. Her pillowy, full lips that tip up at the cupid’s bow. The slight upward slant of her eyes. Her heart-shaped face that ends in a kissable dimple at the chin.

Everything about this woman draws me in. There’s nothing about her I don’t like.

Well, maybe except for the fact that she’s so hard on herself. That I could do without.

Resting back into the pillows, I face her and use my index finger to push a stray strand of hair inside her black bonnet.

Goddamn, I love seeing her like this.

Watching last night as she ran a brush through her hair with careful strokes, slicking oil over the strands and wrapping them around her head before securing her hair in the satin…it’s a level of closeness I’m not sure makes sense with anyone except Shae.

Shae releases a delicate snore, which causes me to smile.

Now that I’m here, it’s impossible to imagine being anywhere else. And sure, I’m young, and so is she, but is it so unreasonable to think about forever with her?

And no, that’s not just the fact that Shae has the most perfect cunt known to man.

It’s the fact that Shae and I are a match intellectually, spiritually, physically, and morally—even though she might have doubts about that.

…And maybe she should have doubts about that, but not for the obvious reason, which is my wealth, but because while she’s as pure a soul as I’ve ever met, the black mark of death mars mine.

At that thought, I roll over to my back, staring up at the ceiling as a rush of fears and stressors cloud my field of vision.

Lakeland. Dad. What the hell am I going to do about Dad? Axel’s presentation of my options floats to the surface, and I accept that I’ve chosen the path of blissful ignorance.

And I guess…I guess I’m okay with that.

Inhale deep. Exhale long.

I repeat the mantra and slide my lids closed. There isn’t any use stressing over the mess. My singular focus is on Shae—keeping her safe and away from anything that could harm her.

I need her to stay untouched by all this shit.

So the stuff with my dad and Stratos? I’m sure he’ll come out just fine.

He always does.

Should he, though?

I can’t set aside what I saw at Axel’s place those weeks ago. The images haunt my dreams.

So I keep my eyes shut and focus on my breathing to bring myself to the happy little bubble that’s just for Shae and me…until her soft, tiny hand lands on my chest.

“Storm?” she says, her voice gravelly with sleep. “You okay?”

“Me?” I ask, rolling back to my side to face her, propping my head on my hand. “I’m fucking fantastic, baby.”

She gets an embarrassed look before burrowing beneath the comforter with just her eyes peeking out.

“Why you running away from me?” I ask, teasing her and trying to pull at the blanket, which she has in an iron grip.

“This is a lot, Storm!” she says, her voice muffled by the layers of fabric.

“What is?” I reply, chuckling at her as she tries to wrap herself in the covers. She wrenches the material from my palms, leaving me cold in my boxers while she’s trussed up like a burrito.

“I’ve never done a sleepover before, okay? First of all, my dad would freak ? — ”

“I beg you not to mention your father when my dick is so close to you, okay?”

“—and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I kinda like my space.”

I look around her tidy room. It’s filled with everything she could possibly want.

In the far corner, novels and a few textbooks nearly overflow her tall bookshelf.

Interesting contemporary art pieces cover the walls, and there’s what looks like a plant feature opposite a large bank of windows.

A flat-screen TV hangs on the wall, and I’m pretty sure I saw a Roku remote nestled in the bed when we pulled everything back to go to sleep after round number three in Shae’s private shower.

“Ask for what you want, Shae,” I say, waiting for her to settle and tell me what’s on her mind.

“I want to take a shower again because your, um, mess is making an appearance this morning.”

While that idea might be gross to some, the idea of my cum leaking out of Shae’s well-loved pussy has me?—

“Nope! Get that look off your face, Storm Sandoval. You ain’t getting at this again. I’ll be showering alone. ”

I poke out my bottom lip.

“Laaame,” I drawl, grinning.

“Before I hop in, there’s a new toothbrush and toothpaste if you wanna use it.” She dives deeper into the bedding.

“Are you trying to say I got hot breath, babe?” I tilt my head and give her a sideways glance.

“I mean, it doesn’t smell like garbage, but it is morning. Ya know? I had one boyfriend who had the worst halito—ow!”

Shae jumps when I land a smack somewhere in the vicinity of her left butt cheek.

“First, you know that didn’t hurt.” I give her an eye roll, and she gives me one in return. “Second, another rule of people not to talk about when my dick is so close to you: any ex-boyfriends.”

She rolls her eyes again, amping up the drama in the move times ten.

“Operative word being ‘boy.’”

She sighs into the sheets.

“Okay, Storm. After we get cleaned up, I’ll make breakfast for us.”

That has something in my chest warming.

“You’d cook for me? Do you like cooking?”

She smiles, and it’s soft, small.

“I love to cook, Storm. It was one of the ways my mama and I bonded, so I learned to love being in the kitchen. It’s mainly that I don’t have a lot of time to cook here like I want, but I’m sure I can whip something up.”

“I’ll help,” I say, but Shae’s eyes widen.

“No! Um, I mean, no. I want to do this for you. My treat.” She smiles, but it looks a little strained.

“You think I can’t cook, don’t you?”

Shae looks left and right. “Well, it’s not that I don’t think you can— Oh, what the hell. You remember the sides you made when I came over? With the chicken marsala?”

I nod. “Yes,” I reply cautiously. “I thought I did pretty okay with those.”

The mashed potatoes and carrots were easy enough to assemble according to the instructions, but….

“Yes. They were…pretty okay.” Her eyes widen and she gives me the most pitifully fake innocent gaze that I burst out laughing.

“Shae?” I ask, laughing so hard I have to lean back on the pillows. “You’re a terrible liar, baby.”

She goes back to her cocoon.

“Okay, fine, they were terrible. Didn’t you think they were terrible?” she asks, exasperated.

“So the carrots were a little crunchy?—”

“Babe, they were raw. And the glaze wasn’t reduced down. The potatoes were gritty, beloved.”

I’m howling now, tears streaming down my face as I try to catch my breath.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. They were pretty terrible. But you ate all of it, so that has to mean something, right?”

Shae smiles. “Yes. It’s a testament to my affection for you.”

Well, hell, if those words don’t have me wanting to sing an Usher ballad.

After we’ve both freshened up and Shae has some needed ingredients delivered, she dances around the kitchen while Beyoncé plays at max volume on her phone.

I sit at the kitchen island, leaning on an elbow as I watch her work. She’s dressed in an oversized graphic T-shirt with Rugrats on the front, and nothing else besides her fuzzy slippers and a pair of black cotton panties I watched her slip into after her shower.

“ Druuuuuunk in loooooooove! ” she sings into her spatula while the bell peppers and onions sauté, then she jumps into the hip-swinging dance Beyoncé performed in the music video.

Whipping her hair around, her ass and tits jiggle, causing me to drool, and I stare completely mesmerized as joy and happiness radiates off her.

I’m smiling so hard, my fucking cheeks hurt.

When Jay-Z’s verse is about to start, I move behind her where she stirs the food in the skillet. Sliding my arms around her waist and pressing her body close to mine, the lyrics I’ve memorized from the song being on rotation at Bambi’s place flow from me.

And when I get to the part about slipping the panties to the side, Shae lets out a small, rumbling groan that has me wanting to sit her on the island and make her body my breakfast.

“Storm!” she says with a bright laugh. “Sustenance, man. Jeez, you’re like a machine.”

I arch an eyebrow and spin her around, landing a kiss on her swollen lips.

“Fine. But you better hurry up, woman. I’ve gotta be inside you one more time before I leave.”

A strange look crosses her face in a flash before it’s gone. Reaching past me, she lowers the volume on her phone and gives me a small smile. She returns her attention to the stove, tossing the vegetables once again before moving to the large bowl with six whipped eggs.

“I’m sure you have a busy day ahead,” she says, pouring the mixture in the skillet and lowering the flame.

The question hangs in the air, and I press closer to her back, inhaling deep the scent of what I’ve now learned is her leave-in conditioner.

“What’s wrong, Shae?” I murmur close to her ear, kissing the delicate flesh behind her lobe.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” she replies, concentrating hard on flipping the edges of the eggs to fold them over.

“Shae,” I press. “Tell me what thought just had you stressing.” I place my palm over her lower stomach, my pinky resting on the edge of her panty line. For a brief, wild second, I imagine her round with my baby, my seed taking root and forming perfect little Shae replicas.