Where We Found Our Home by Natasha Bishop
PREVIEW OF WHERE WE FOUND OUR HEART
Nina
Ilook around the wedding venue and I feel a sense of calm for the first time in months. Everything has come together beautifully. The color theme is white and gold. It’s both whimsical and regal at the same time. White draping across the entire ceiling makes the venue seem endless. Centerpieces of hydrangeas at each table stand tall and command attention. The gold accents are subtle, not ostentatious at all, yet emit power all the same.
The bride, my best friend Ciara, is wearing a gorgeous A-line floor-length gown. The V-neck bodice fits her like a glove while the bottom flares out a bit to give a princess vibe. The whole dress is covered in stunning gold lace. The intricate details of her bright red phoenix tattoo, spanning the entire length of her arm, accentuate her beauty and make her dress pop against her almond-colored skin.
I remember being with her, her mom, and our friends when she found the dress. We all cried at how beautiful she looked. Until today, that was the last time I cried tears of joy. The tears I cried that day were beautiful. I was proud to let them fall and give them over to Ciara’s happiness. The tears I cried mere weeks later and every day after were ugly and angry. Full of pain and loss. If I could go back to Ciara’s wedding dress shopping day, I’d appreciate those tears a hell of a lot more. We knew her soon to be husband, Lincoln, would lose his shit when he saw her in it, and he did. The look on his face when he saw her walking toward him was enough to bring anyone to their knees. The look of the man behind him, watching his brother with pride, is one I tried and failed to ignore.
I’m staring out at the dessert table when I feel a tiny hand tap on my shoulder. I turn around and look at my sister, Jada. She looks adorable in her light pink floor-length dress. She insisted on getting a long dress to match me. She’s tripped over it four times tonight, but she’s so damn cute. She looks so much like our mom—it’s why I call her Mini—it almost hurts to look at her.
“Nina, ShaSha said CiCi and Linc are going on a honeymoon. What’s that?” I laugh every time she calls my other best friend, Sasha, “ShaSha” because she can’t seem to pronounce Sasha.
“A honeymoon is a trip that couples take to celebrate their wedding alone.” Her face drops at the word “trip” and I curse myself.
“Are they going to take a train?” she asks, frantic.
“No, Mini. They’re going to take a plane, but they’ll be okay, I promise.” It’s a tricky thing. Because I can’t actually promise that. I shouldn’t say that. But I have to give this innocent little girl some peace of mind.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I look up at my brother, Logan, and though he’s looking down at his lap I know it pains him to listen to our conversation right now. It’s been four months, and I still don’t know how to properly explain to her that a vacation doesn’t mean a death sentence.
Our parents were on their way to New Orleans for an anniversary trip when their train derailed, and they were killed in the crash. Now I’m the sole guardian to my fourteen-year-old brother and six-year-old sister, and I have no idea what I’m doing. I used to babysit my siblings a lot because my parents often acted like they didn’t have minors to raise and took off on vacations frequently. But babysitting for a few days and being completely responsible for shaping them into well-rounded people ready to enter the world are two completely different things. And let’s face it, I have an uphill battle here. I’m left trying to undo the damage our parents have caused while trying not to fuck them up any more. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I hope you’re having a great permanent vacation wherever the fuck you are. Ugh. I don’t want to be mad at them. That’s not fair or right.
I’m pulled back to reality when Ciara approaches our table.
“Hey, gorgeous.” I turn around and give her a huge hug. She asks Logan and Jada if they’d be okay if I step outside with her for a minute. Jada looks nervous at the thought of me being out of her sight. She’s become a permanent attachment at my side since our parents passed. I know it’s not healthy, but honestly I think the only reason I haven’t had a mental breakdown yet is because she’s always with me. Logan just nods, and I drown in his silence. I miss my brother. He’s always been quiet, but he’s always had a charming personality to the people he loves the most. That boy is nowhere to be found right now.
I follow Ciara out to the venue’s patio, and she wastes no time diving in. “How are you doing?”
Nope. Not going there. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever. “Uh-uh. No, you don’t. Today is your day—you don’t need to check on me.”
She levels me with a hard stare. “You are my sister, Nina. I don’t just push you to the side.” And this is why I love her. We’ve only known each other for a year and a half but I’ve never met anyone as selfless as her. She’s always putting everyone above herself, but she’s done enough of that for a lifetime. She’s earned the right to be blissed out of her mind with happiness today. I’m not going to drag her down with me. My misery does not want company.
“I’m fine, really.”
“Okay, sure. But I have a surprise for you anyway.” Who gets someone else a surprise on their wedding day? I don’t respond, but just raise my brows in question. “Sasha is going to keep Logan and Jada for the weekend so that you can have some time to decompress.”
“What? No. No. I can’t do that. Jada will freak out.”
She shakes her head adamantly. “We talked it through with her earlier today, and she’s excited to hang out with Nevaeh. Reggie and Michael are gonna bring Malcolm and Niecy by too, so I think she’ll be distracted enough. If it gets to be too much for her, you can cut your weekend short, but you deserve to try. We are going to get you all through this. Together. Take the break, Nina.” Nevaeh is Sasha’s daughter. She’s Jada’s age, and they always have a good time whenever they hang out. Reggie is Sasha’s sister. Her and Michael’s kids, Malcolm and Niecy, are older than Jada and Nevaeh. Niecy is thirteen and Malcolm is ten, so they’ll probably spend most of their time with Logan, if he doesn’t crawl deep inside a book and shut out the world.
The idea of having a weekend to myself sounds nice. I’m a speeding car headed straight for a brick wall. I just need someone to hit the brakes for a moment. But can I do that? What would I even do with a weekend to myself? I’ve been part of a trio every day for four months. I don’t understand the meaning of privacy anymore.
I feel him before I see him. I look up and there he is. Isaiah Cole. He’s the guy I want nothing to do with and yet I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. He also happens to be Ciara’s brother-in-law now. He’s looking right at me, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking but I don’t have time to decipher his mood today. He’s so hot and cold, I can’t get comfortable. But part of me just wants to take a bite out of him. Jesus.
I realize too late that Ciara has seen the exchange between him and me. I’m not stepping on that landmine yet, so I give her the answer she’s looking for instead. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. Thank you, Ci. Really.” I squeeze her shoulder and head back inside.
* * *
Long after the wedding is over and the kids are with Sasha and Carter, I’m sitting on my couch wondering what the fuck I’m going to do with this weekend of newfound freedom. I’ve been forbidden from seeing the kids—unless Jada can’t cope—and from going to the bar I manage, Neon Nights. Who the fuck am I if I’m not watching the kids or running that bar?
You’re a woman with needs that haven’t been met in quite some time.
I feel like that meme of Kermit with the hoodie on.
The non-hoodie version of me is saying, “Spend the weekend coping with your feelings. There’s plenty of housework you can do. There are a lot of healthy ways you can spend your time.”
While the hoodie version of me is screaming, “Sex is healthy. Go to Isaiah’s place in this sexy-ass bridesmaid dress and fuck his brains out like you’ve wanted to do for over a year.”
I look myself over in the mirror. This dress really is beautiful. It’s gold and looks amazing against my chestnut skin. It’s mermaid style and hugs to my round hips like a second skin. I know I saw Isaiah checking out my ass at least once tonight. And he looked like a damn GQ model in his suit. Part of me knew I was going to do this. It’s why I haven’t taken the dress off yet. Yeah, okay. Decision made. I strap my heels back on and head out before rational thought can take over.
The whole ride over to Isaiah’s is a hot mess. I debate turning around three different times, but the hoodie version of me keeps her foot firmly planted on the gas. I’ve been to Isaiah’s house exactly three times before. I dropped Sasha off there once after we’d gone to brunch because she didn’t want Carter to see how drunk she’d gotten and tease her. He hosted Nevaeh’s birthday party last year. It was not adorable at all. My ovaries did not almost explode. Nope, not at all. And Ciara and Lincoln’s engagement party was held at Isaiah’s house. I never understood why a single man in his twenties chose to buy a single-family home in the burbs. To each his own, I guess. I loved my apartment in the city, but now that I’ve got two kids to raise, I’m a fellow suburbanite.
I spend an embarrassing amount of time outside his door debating how many knocks makes me look casual and not like I’m desperate for sex. Even though I’m very desperate for sex. Three knocks then silence. That’s my limit. I won’t knock again. It seems three is the magic number because it doesn’t take long to hear the lock to the door clicking.
This man has the audacity to answer the door in the men’s equivalent of lingerie—grey sweatpants and no shirt. I do what I hope to God is a subtle drool check, because I am Nina Fucking Williams and I’ll be damned if I let a man see me drooling over him. Even if he is too sexy to be real.
He leans against his door with a knowing smirk, and I make it my mission to wipe it right off his face. “How you doing, Nina?”
Okay, we’re off to a good start. Since I met Isaiah he’s given me whiplash. One minute he flirts with me and gives me all his attention, the next he barely acknowledges my existence. And having a serious conversation without him defaulting to flirtation or jokes is like pulling teeth. I have no time for games, which is why I said I’d never date him, but I’m not exactly here to date him, now am I? He’s starting off by addressing me like Joey from Friends, so I’m guessing he’s in a flirty mood.
“Am I Rachel or Phoebe?” He just smiles and steps aside so I can come in.
“Definitely Phoebe. That fits you. Kind of like how that dress fits you.”
“Perfectly, you mean?”
That gets a real laugh out of him. “I always love your modesty.”
“Modesty is overrated. We both know I look fine as fuck in this dress.” His eyes trail down my body, and I resist the urge to shiver under his gaze. I wait for his eyes to lock with mine and when they do, I hold my stare, daring him to make the next move.
“You do. It would probably look even better on the floor.” Now he’s speaking my language.
“My thoughts exactly.” His eyebrows rise at that. Yeah, I’m not here to play games tonight.
“Shit, I’ve never loved weddings more than I do in this moment.”
“Look, you and I have been doing this dance for too long now. The kids are at Sasha’s for the weekend against my will, so I can do anything I want to do—and I want to do you.” His eyes soften at the mention of my siblings. That’s exactly what I don’t want. I need to lock up the sympathy and get the heat back in his eyes. I mean, Jesus, didn’t he hear the part where I said I wanted to do him? Focus, man. I swish my hips as I get closer to him, and his eyes follow the movement.
Bingo.
“Nina, you don’t have to explain. If you have needs, I’m more than capable of taking care of them for you.”
“Then stop talking and get over here.” He closes the distance between us in a second and pulls me in for a heated kiss. This kiss is full of passion and promises of what’s to come, and I immediately feel the heat in my core. I want to lift my leg up to his waist, but this damn dress is preventing that. I did not think this through well enough. He reads my mind though and spins me around to unzip the dress, following the zipper with his tongue. Holy shit. I step out of the dress and his eyes are hooded with desire, staring at me in nothing but my sheer bra, panties, and garters.
“Fuck. You are gorgeous.”
His words have me feeling bold. “Needy over here, Isaiah. What are you gonna do about it?” He growls and lifts me up with ease.
He follows me down to the bed before lifting my legs over his shoulders and kissing his way from my ankles to the place where I need him most. He blows a breath against my panties, and I’m already about to lose it.
I have dreamed of this moment several times. We’ve been treading the waters of this sexual tension for over a year now, and it’s finally pulling us under its waves. I’ve never wanted to drown more in my life.
“Shit, Isaiah.” He taps my hips, and I instantly lift so he can pull my panties down. He continues kissing my inner thighs. A bite here, a nibble there. He’s teasing me, but never giving me the pressure I need. I’m going to kill him.
“Isaiah?”
“Yes?” He drags out the word.
“If you don’t eat my pussy soon, I’m gonna finish without you.”
He throws his head back in laughter. “Hmm, I’m tempted to keep teasing you until you beg for it.”
Ha! Yeah, okay. That’s not even in my vocabulary. I glide my hand down my chest until I reach my folds. I want him to touch me, but watching him as he watches me touch myself is getting me going all the same. I make a show of pleasuring myself until I hear him curse and slap my hand away.
“That’s what I thought.” I feel vindicated until he finally licks up my center and then all thoughts leave me. His tongue is the stuff dreams are made of. All his teasing is over with. He dips two fingers inside of me, spreading me wider. His free hand squeezes my ass, pulling me closer to his mouth. I moan his name loudly when he thrusts his fingers deeper inside me. He sucks my clit so hard I don’t even have a moment to breathe before my orgasm hits me like a freight train.
What. The. Fuck? I may not have been fully prepared for Isaiah Cole but damn if I’m turning back now.
My legs are shaking, and he caresses them while climbing up my body to reach my lips. He crushes his mouth to mine, and I taste myself on his tongue. I grab the band of his sweatpants and pull him down to completely cover me. He leans back up to pull his pants and briefs down. His erection bobs free…and holy shit.
I should’ve known. I should’ve seen this coming, but I really was not prepared for this man tonight.
That thing is a weapon.
A weapon of mass orgasms.
He has what I like to call “special occasion dick.” A dick so big it’s not meant to be experienced on a regular basis because it will rearrange your fucking organs. I’ve only experienced it once in my lifetime. You don’t find them in the wild, otherwise known as the streets of Austin, often. It’s only meant to be enjoyed for a special occasion like a birthday, or a promotion, or a recovery from a shitty breakup, or your parents dying and your first weekend alone without your siblings. Eew. That’s incredibly morbid. Buck the fuck up, Nina.
I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper and watch as he sheaths himself, never taking his eyes off of me.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment,” he confesses. He leans down and bites my neck, then immediately cools it with his tongue. He continues that trail down to my shoulder, making it impossible to think straight.
“You’re the one who’s been playing games for the last year. You’re so hot and cold I can’t tell which way is up.” He sobers for a moment at that statement but immediately morphs his face back into that schoolboy smirk.
He starts singing, well it’s more like talking in a slightly higher pitch but I can tell it’s supposed to resemble singing, something. I recognize the lyrics but I can’t quite make out the song. Hot? Cold? Up? Down? What? Wait, is that… “Are…are you singing Katy Perry at me?” That is definitely Katy Perry that I just heard. He’s full of all kinds of surprises.
“I didn’t turn any music on, so I thought I’d set the mood.” I look back down at that fucking python between his legs, and I don’t know if I want to laugh at his dumbass behavior or yelp in anticipation. He kisses me breathless before entering me in one hard thrust, and the yelp wins.
“Are you okay?”
My pussy clenches at his words, and I feel him shudder inside me. “Yes. Move.” He thrusts again and I match his pace.
He continues singing about wrong and right and black and white.
I let out some mix between a laugh and a moan. “Are you seriously still singing that fucking song?”
He seems to come out of a daze in that moment, shaking his head slightly. “It honestly just slipped out. You feel so good, I’m trying to focus on not coming early.”
He lifts one of my legs so he’s stroking me deeper. He’s devouring me with his eyes. My back is arched, my hands tracing my puckered nipples. I take a moment to admire the body of this man. He’s got the body of a swimmer. His shoulders are broad. The veins in his forearms stand out. The abs on his torso are defined, hard-earned. The deep V at his hips is begging for my tongue. There’s a sheen of sweat covering his chest. My eyes follow the path of a bead from the top of his strong pec all the way down to the place where our bodies become one. I never want this to end.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me for another kiss. I push my hips upward and place my hand on his chest until he falls back. Grabbing his shoulders, I force him to sit against his headboard. I straddle his hips, and he lines himself up to my entrance. I slowly sink back down his shaft, and it draws a guttural groan from the both of us.
“Fuuuuuck,” he cries out.
I rock my hips forward, taking what I need from him. His lips are parted, and his breath is shaky. He’s watching me with fire in his eyes. I feel powerful under his gaze. He grips my hips so tight it may leave a bruise, but I don’t care. I need it all. He thrusts forward, hitting me right where I need him. I can’t hold eye contact anymore. I throw my head back and moan. He takes advantage of my exposed throat and licks a trail from the swells of my breasts to the erogenous zone behind my ear.
“Oh fuck, I’m coming,” I announce before I come apart.
“Thank fuck,” he cries out before pumping another two times and spilling his release.
I let out a deep exhale. “Holy shit. S.O.D. for the win.”
His eyes crinkle with amusement and confusion. “What the hell is S.O.D.?” he asks.
“Special Occasion Dick.” I explain to him what the term means, and he lets out a deep bark of laughter that’s like music to my ears. He kisses my forehead before going to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.
I’m on cloud nine right now, but I also have no idea what comes next. I don’t want a perfect night to be ruined by him awkwardly trying to get rid of me when he comes back. I got what I came here for, so it’s time to get the fuck out. Maybe now I can focus on housework.
“Where are you going?” he asks when he sees me snapping my bra back into place.
“Umm…I was just going to—”
He cuts me off. “I don’t think so, Phoebe. That was just a warm-up. Tonight’s still a special occasion, isn’t it?”
Welp. That housework can go fuck itself. I unclasp my bra again.
The next morning, I am deliciously sore. This was exactly what I needed. Isaiah is back in his room getting dressed while I’m in his kitchen making coffee.
Even though most of our hours were spent exploring each other’s bodies, we also spent a lot of time talking and laughing. It’s hard to reconcile the Isaiah who doesn’t take shit seriously with the Isaiah who senses exactly what you need and delivers. I feel like I can finally catch my breath when I’m with him. That’s a dangerous feeling. I don’t want to accept this ventilator I’ve been given, because when I’m forced to breathe on my own I may fail.
The handle on Isaiah’s door turns, and my head snaps in that direction wondering who the hell is about to walk in here. I’m dressed, so I’m not worried about that. Albeit in my bridesmaid dress from last night so there will be no mistaking what went down here. A gorgeous black girl walks in and stares at me like I’ve broken into her home.
She can’t be taller than five feet four inches, and I’m five feet eight inches—six feet with my heels on—but she sizes me up in a way that makes me feel more naked in my dress than I was with Isaiah last night.
“Hi. You’re cute. I guess you’re why Isaiah didn’t answer my call last night. Figures. You done yet?” Her tone is so flippant like she and Isaiah have some sort of open relationship while he has a revolving door of women coming out of his house.
I’m not foolish enough to think that just because we had sex that means we were going to be anything serious, but damn, I just feel cheap now.
I chug the rest of my coffee because I’m not one to waste caffeine. I leave the mug on the counter because fuck him, and I walk toward the woman who brought my fantasy crashing down around me.
“Yeah, I’m beyond done. Have fun.” I walk out with what’s left of my dignity and run home to lick yet another wound.