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Between Want and Need Ch. 01

By: sugareola



Cheyanne frowned but didn't open her eyes. No dumb dog was going to disturb her rest with its maniacal barking. It seemed she had found time, at last, to catch up on her sleep. A miracle in itself.

Ugh, but why was her bed full of crumbs? It was her biggest pet peeve in the world! Surely she hadn't brought a sandwich to bed?

But no. She couldn't recall making a sandwich. Come to think of it, she had no recollection of going to bed at all. Odd.

A sudden gust of wind rushed over her supine form. Her frown deepened. She shifted her legs to burrow deeper into the blankets only to encounter more of the same intolerable graininess against her bare calves.

The dog's barking seemed closer. What on earth... Cheyanne slid her palms over her sandpapery sheets. Irritation gave way to alarm as she realized that this was too hard to be her bed. She was lying on a cold surface, not unlike asphalt.

She lifted her head, or tried to. A red hot shaft of pain exploded in her head, swift as lightning and blinding in its extremity. Her mouth opened and a piercing scream rent the air.

Cheyanne lay gritting her teeth as the agony took its sweet time to abate. She heard the sound of feet hurrying towards her but was far too incapacitated to care whether it was friend or foe; she was beyond caring, beyond fear.

"It's alright, miss, I already called 911," said a man's anxious voice. "They sent out an ambulance, it's on its way."

"What happened to me?" Cheyanne asked in a weak voice.

"You took a nasty spill. The way I found you, I didn't expect you to be breathing much less talking," the man replied, a heavy note of relief in his voice.

Cheyanne tried to open her eyes, shut them again when the bright sunlight stabbed at her retinas. "Where am I?"

"Don't you know? You're in an alley, between-"

"An alley?!"

She forced her eyes to open but this time she was protected from the harsh light. Now she could focus, make out a dark-skinned face, a concerned frown between light brown eyes. By far the kindest eyes she had ever seen in her life.

"Who are you?" Cheyanne asked, forgetting her previous question.

For a second, the angel eyes went blank as though stunned. "Um, Jerome, miss. Jerome Carver, and I- I just happened to see you on the ground, now, I had nothing to do with that. I don't mean any harm."

Why was he being so defensive? He looked as though he expected to get maced any second now. Which was comically absurd, since she wasn't in a position to so much as wag her finger at him.

"I hit my head, huh?" Cheyanne asked with a demonstrative wince.

"Yeah." The concern was back in his voice, and in his eyes as they examined her hair. "You're bleeding quite a bit. How much does it hurt?" His hand lifted to the light brown waves.

"Not so much, if I stay still. That dog, though..."

The deranged mutt couldn't have been more than five feet away from them. The constant barking was going to drive her crazy.

She was then aware of being covered in a pleasantly warm cocoon, blocking out a chill she hadn't been aware of feeling.

"I'll scare him off," Jerome said, moving out of her line vision and getting up.

"What am I doing here?" Cheyanne queried abruptly and she saw him look down at her in wary incredulity. She returned his stare, feeling the alarm return, creeping ever closer even as the barking dog was doing.

"How did I get here," she repeated, her mind leaping in one direction then the next in search of information that wasn't there.

"Where is this place, and what am I doing here?" Cheyanne demanded, feeling more and more agitated. "Why-"

"Alright, alright, just calm down," Jerome said, hunkering down next to her. From his eyes, however, she could tell he was as far from calm as she was. That couldn't be good.

"Jerome, what's happening to me?!"

"Just calm down, miss, don't work yourself up, now. Um... where were you going, are you almost there?"

Cheyanne didn't speak for a second as a horrible empty feeling spread behind her ribs. The force of her heartbeat seemed violent enough to break her into pieces. "I don't know," she whispered in horror.

"Is there somebody waiting for you that you can call or something?"

"I don't know, I can't... I can't remember." Her voice was a hoarse whisper but he seemed to have heard her loud and clear.

"Lord almighty," Jerome muttered, wiping a hand over his face. "Look, can you remember your family, your friends, anyone? 'Cause I really have to get going, miss, please."

"I don't... know," Cheyanne turned saucer-wide eyes to him as panic threatened to overwhelm her. "I don't know my family."

She felt faint with worry but nonetheless forced herself to take stock of the extent of her memory loss. "I don't know how I got to be here... where I was coming from, where I was headed. I don't know where I work, where I live... It's all gone."

"Okay." Jerome took a deep albeit shaky breath. "Do you at least know your name?"

"Ch-Chey," she stammered. The name came naturally, automatically, but the rest of her mind was a terrifying blank.

"Shy?" He looked at her like he feared she had taken leave of her senses.

"Cheyanne. Cheyanne Dale." That sounded about right, she felt she recognized the name. Another name also came to mind. Annie. An unaccountable aversion seized her in reaction to that diminutive of her name. Her rejection of it was immediate, visceral.

"Okay, Cheyanne, the ambulance is almost here. Don't worry."

She wasn't worried just now, she was trying to focus. If she could remember her name, what else could she recall? Her place of work? Her favorite food? The answers were a mere breath away, a faint, dancing glimmer in the darkness shrouding her memory, but-

"That damn dog!" Cheyanne shouted with an irate gesture. Jerome sprang to his feet then there was a sound of fleeing paws. Close upon it, came another rushed noise.

"Hold it right there!" yelled a harsh new voice.

"Whoa, easy now, there's no need for that," came Jerome's tense reply.

"You lunge one more time-"

"Not- not lunging, officer, I was just scaring the dog away. This girl right here, she had an accident, she needs help."

"Is that blood on your hand?"

Cheyanne had an idea of what was going on and chose that moment to speak up. "Officer-" Defying the sickening throb of her head, she got up on one elbow. Beside her, she could see Jerome standing stock still, his hands raised in the air. Facing him at the end of the alley was a dark silhouette, blurry to Cheyanne's eyes, but it was clear the newcomer was aiming a gun at Jerome.

"Officer, please put down the gun," she called to him. "This man hasn't done anything wrong. He was just chasing the dog away because the noise was hurting my head."

"She's in bad shape, officer, let's not upset her any more than she already is," Jerome suggested hesitantly. "Listen, why don't you put away the gun-"

"Don't tell me what to do!" The officer's shout made Cheyanne start. "Ma'am, is this man robbing you?"

"What?" Jerome's voice sounded hoarse with anguished disbelief.

It seemed a fair question to ask. As far as the policeman could see, she was a bleeding woman on the ground and there was a man towering over her with blood on one of his hands. And yet... hadn't she just said Jerome had done nothing wrong?

"No, this isn't a mugging. I've had an accident," Cheyanne stated, forcing her voice to be loud and firm. "This man was just checking to see if I'm alright. He's the one who called 911!"

There was a distant blaring of sirens now, which she hoped would lend credibility to her words. She couldn't stand the sight of that gun. That it was pointed at Jerome could not cause her more dread than if it were her own head in its sights.

Fortunately, the policeman seemed to be weighing their words. His stance remained the same but his growing indecision was clear.

"Officer, please," Cheyanne pleaded. "You're scaring me. This man's name is Jerome and he's not a criminal. He's..."

Her voice trailed off as she carefully turned her head to Jerome, who still stood with his hands in the air. He turned as well and their gazes, mirroring each other's numb desperation, locked.

"He's my friend," she finished, her voice cracking on the last word.

Something flickered over Jerome's face and Cheyanne suddenly had the impression that he wished she hadn't said that. Her confusion deepened, and with it her alarm. Had she done something wrong? Wasn't this what he needed to be let off the hook? Would he become angry with her now and leave her?

"Alright," the relenting officer said as he lowered his weapon. "Sounds like the ambulance is about here. You need help getting up, ma'am?"

"I think I can manage," Cheyanne replied as she looked down at her body. Somebody had covered her with a brown leather jacket far too big to be her own.

Then she heard Jerome, his voice far more relaxed now but still uneasy. "I think I'd better be going now." Her head snapped in his direction at once, an unwise move that sent pain stabbing through her brain.

"No," Cheyanne moaned. The world rocked in a nauseating cadence all around her. As if to steady her, a firm hand pressed against her back, holding her upright.

"Cheyanne, girl, just breathe."

She looked at Jerome beside her on one knee. Just his nearness comforted her. And the naked concern for her in his eyes seemed to nourish something deep within her, something long neglected and left for dead.

"Don't leave me, please," Cheyanne managed to whisper. Tears of desperation welled up as she looked up at him.

"Hey, it's okay," Jerome soothed, rubbing her back. "It's gonna be alright, the ambulance is here-"

"No-" Her fingers reached out from beneath the oversize jacket and curled into his shirtfront like talons.

"And they're gonna take real good care of you-"

"No! Jerome, please! You- you're all I have."

"Sweet girl," Jerome breathed, his hand coming up to cradle her wet cheek. His own expression was pained even as he shook his head to deny her. "I can't."

At that moment, Cheyanne was aware of the tears dribbling down her cheeks, the wind rustling the parts of her hair not matted in blood, but inside, all feeling shut down. All emotion was extinguished like a candle as she gave up.

Closing her eyes, she sank into the waiting oblivion that took away the blinding daylight, the noise of the sirens and kind Jerome, leaving her in cold, lonely unconsciousness.

* * *

The last thing Jerome wanted or needed in his life was drama. He was on his way back to the straight and narrow, back to the respectability he'd scorned throughout his tough, independent youth; he would allow nothing to jeopardize his hard-won progress.

Except his own idiocy, that is. He'd clambered into an ambulance to accompany a stranger to the hospital. A stranger he could do nothing for. A stranger he might have gotten shot over. A stranger who could not remember a single thing about her lovely self.

Oh no, he wasn't looking for drama. Not him, no way. What a chump.

Shrugging into his jacket as he left the hospital, Jerome realized he would have to hurry now if he was going to make it. He had been consistent and his probation officer was generally a chill dude but he didn't dare imagine he could play fast and loose with him.

Of course that meant babysitting his nephews was out. Damn, he hated to let them down like this. He had broken a promise to them, as his sister had just reminded him when she'd called to ask where he was.

Vita had relayed how excited the twins were, that they had dressed up in their best outfits so their uncle could take them out for ice-cream. They were still waiting, making excuses for his tardiness.

His voice roughened with embarrassment, shame, Jerome had explained that it would not be possible to take them out today at all. Maybe some other time?

Vita's short sigh was all too familiar, as was the robotic acceptance of her noncommittal reply.

"Sure. Next time." She had hung up before he could apologize again.

Jaw clenching, Jerome recognized that he was back again in the category he had sworn up and down to leave for good: that of the undependable no-good man.

He couldn't blame his sister. She was just trying to protect her toddlers, as well as herself. And now, because of him, she was forced to have a painful conversation with them, to turn their excitement and anticipation into tantrums and tears.

Dammit, those were the tears he should have thought about while he was playing nursemaid. But no, he'd felt his heart contract in his chest for the wrong pair eyes. Drowning, frightened dove-gray eyes.

He'd had to go with her. How could he not when she had looked at him like he was her whole world, then fainted dead away when he had said he couldn't stay? Even if the cop had not looked at him then with acid disgust, as if he'd regretted not putting a bullet into him after all, Jerome's decision had been clear and immediate.

But she was not his problem any longer. He had left her in the hands of her (very large) family. He wished he'd gotten a chance to say bye but that hadn't been possible. She was still unconscious.

As it turned out, it was his probation officer who had to apologize for keeping him waiting. "Caseload feels like murder these days," he said with a grimace.

Jerome gave a long-suffering shrug but was understanding itself otherwise. "These things happen," he commiserated.

The brief meeting ended on a particularly high note today.

"The next time we meet is gonna be the last," the P.O. said flashing a grin. "You gonna miss me?"

Jerome chuckled. "No offense, but I prefer the probation I impose on myself every Sunday at church."

"Hey, now, that's great! Congratulations, man," the other man enthused, approval lighting his warm blue eyes. "I'm glad you're taking this direction in your life. It doesn't disappoint, you know. Stay strong in your walk, brother."

Jerome stood and pumped the man's hand with more vigor than usual. "Thanks, man. I'll see you next month."

His improved mood led him to Vita's house an hour later, armed with two gallons of butter pecan ice-cream. An impulse purchase, and a foolish one, given his strained finances but he didn't care. The riotous delight of his nephews upon seeing him made it impossible to regret it.

"One gallon for each," Vita drawled, lifting an eyebrow. "You want me dead of exhaustion before I'm 30?"

"Nah, I'm just doing for them what Santa never did for us when we were little." Jerome gave her a small, serious smile. "Remember?"

His sister nodded then lowered her eyes for a moment before raising it back to his with more warmth in their light brown depths. "Thanks Jerome." Her smile was wide and sincere. "This means a lot to them."

Vita looked back at her sons laughing at the dinner table, then turned back to him. "And to me," she added.

"You're welcome, sis. Thank you."

A nasty setback that had been straightened out just fine, the latest in a series of them this past week. He'd had his eye on a small body shop that was for sale in the Bronx, but the price had been prohibitive and the owner had not wanted to come down. Then abruptly he'd called on Tuesday night.

They'd haggled a bit then settled on a price in almost no time. His savings would be wiped clean out, but it felt like the right decision. He'd always figured self-employment was the best bet for someone with his rap sheet.

The next morning, Jerome had had the good fortune to be in the vicinity when a racy Beamer had sputtered to an undignified stop on the curb. Its owner, who talked a thousand a words a minute, had been so grateful he wouldn't be late for his meeting after all, that he'd reached into his back seat and tossed at Jerome "a little something for your time" before zooming off.

The money had amounted to a little over a thousand dollars. All for fixing a relatively minor problem and prescribing the necessary parts to be replaced.

That same evening, Ebony had come over to his place, her PlayStation 3 in tow. She'd said it had been acting up and she wanted him to take a look at it. Interestingly, it had started up just fine and when Jerome had asked if she wanted to play, the girl he'd been pursuing for ages considered then shyly said yes.

Ebony was everything sweet and classy he admired in a female. But whenever she beat him, it was with such a fascinating catalogue of smack talk that he'd just let her win from midnight onwards. With his fridge full for once, feeding her had not been a problem.

Neither of them had been in the mood to walk her home once she'd gotten sleepy. Jerome had gamely given up his bed for her, and spent the rest of the night marveling at the fact that the gorgeous, elusive Ebony Walker was in his bed. Before that, the tension from all their flirting had been palpable; he'd been hiding his hard-on from her all night.

The next morning, she had told him, quite needlessly, not to go running his mouth to his friends. "Or that'll be the last time I spend the night," she'd threatened softly, looking deep into his eyes as they stood at his doorway. "Promise you won't?"

"Cross my heart," he'd murmured, drinking in the smiling dark chocolate beauty of her face. "You wanna tell your girls you whooped my ass on NBA Live, though, I won't mind."

Reviewing his week, Jerome couldn't hold back a smile now as he unlocked his front door. A short while later, he was lying back on his couch, a cold bottle of beer balanced on his flat stomach. Yeah, things had been going pretty damn great lately. Shit, he might even step into a church for the first time in twenty years to give thanks.

Jerome grinned and took a swig of his beer. Okay, so maybe he wasn't ready to turn it that far around. But he was grateful. He wanted to share his good fortune, spread it round while it lasted. But how?

" Cheyanne," he whispered to himself.

Yes, that had been her name. Poor thing didn't even know who she was, did she? She had turned to him with all the helpless trust of a child and told the police officer he was her friend. And he had been her only friend, as far as she knew. Well, at least he hadn't just abandoned her.

He would go see her tomorrow. If he was the only person in the world that she knew, it wouldn't be right to just disappear. Besides, he was on a roll. He took another sip. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Cheyanne decided that she'd never tasted anything as delicious as the passionfruit juice her parents had dropped off. It was just too bad she hadn't known them. She had tried to make them understand the depth of her gratitude for coming to see her, but she could see they were shaken by her amnesia.

She hadn't recognized the rest of her family either. There had just been a sea of expectant faces looking at her and all she could do was gaze blankly at them. She had felt rude for failing to remember them, then panicky, at which point her nurse had politely but firmly asked them to leave.

Cheyanne sighed, back to feeling like a little bitch for disappointing her family. And after they had brought her so much in the way of flowers, treats, cards and balloons. Oh well, time enough to make things right when she was back to normal.

Which, the doctor had warned her out of necessity, may be never. It was no likelihood, however. Already some things had come back to her.

"You've got a guest, Cheyanne," her nurse announced from the door. "He brought you in yesterday. Remember him?"

Cheyanne looked up and right past the nurse to the black man behind her. He stepped forward and gave her a sheepish wave.

"I could never forget those eyes," Cheyanne murmured, hardly aware she had spoken. Then she beckoned to him with both hands. "Come here, please! Tell me where you went, Jerome."



Between Want and Need Ch. 01



He seemed a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm of her welcome. "I- I just came by to see if you were doing okay, Cheyanne."

"And then what? Leave?! I can't allow you to do that, you're my hero!"

"Hero," Jerome scoffed, looking both amused and skeptical of the designation.

"You bet," the nurse chimed in as she walked past him to check on Cheyanne's head bandage. "You covered her with your jacket before the paramedics showed up, right?"

He nodded at her. "Right."

"Nice touch. She might have gone into shock if you hadn't." The woman sent him an oblique, enjoy-your-moment smile.

"See? I told you," Cheyanne said, her eyes sparkling. "Now come here and get your reward or I'll jump out of this bed to where you are!"

Jerome laughed and walked to her at last. "Alright, alright, no jumping. I'm here." He accepted the glass of passionfruit juice from her.

"Thanks."

"That's the best I can do," Cheyanne dismissed then gave him a cheeky grin. "For now, that is."

"Okay, I hate to have to tell you this but visiting hours are over in five minutes," the nurse informed them as she headed to the door. Then she turned around and smiled at Jerome. "But since you're the first person to visit that she recognizes, I'll give you another five minutes."

"That is so cool. Thank you," Cheyanne answered for him. The nurse smilingly lifted a shoulder and walked out of the room.

"Where'd you go, Jerome? I woke up yesterday and they told me you'd gone."

Jerome shrugged. "I saw your family arrive and figured you were in good hands."

"You'd be surprised," Cheyanne replied, her voice dull. "I woke up to a mob of people staring at me and I didn't know a single one of them."

"Not one?"

She shook her head. "They spent all afternoon keeping me company. I felt so bad I couldn't remember. I found myself wishing it was you spending the afternoon with me." Her smile brightened her face. "And here you are."

The welcoming light in her eyes left him off balance. His voice gruff, he began, "Yeah, well, I can't stay too long-"

"You can't leave when the nurse gave you extra time. Plus, I haven't even told you the most interesting part - I think the doctor was coming on to me. I may still have some amnesia but I'm pretty sure I've never had to sit naked to the waist for a doctor to listen to my heartbeat!"

Jerome gave her a laughing look. "Aren't we reaching here just a little?"

"That's exactly what I said!" Her indignant expression melted away and she burst out laughing.

"But the good news is, my memory's starting to come back. I remember I live in Brooklyn, I have a cat named Yorrick, and I work as an occupational therapist! I remember my patients, my neighbors and my colleagues!" She gave him an excited smile. "That's great, right?"

"It is," Jerome agreed, nodding. "Looks like you'll be back to normal in no time."

"Yeah, well, I'm still glad you came back, Jerome." Her expression grew a bit more serious. "You know, your face was the only one I knew for a while. I kept referring to it in my mind, over and over, so I wouldn't forget you too. I felt like if I knew your name and your face, then at least my brain wasn't broken beyond repair."

Jerome set his juice on the overbed table and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "There is nothing wrong with your brain," he told her firmly.

"I know," Cheyanne whispered. "I know, but at some point I thought that... you'll think I'm so silly, but I thought that you might be an angel."

He raised his eyebrows and she smiled again. "Oh, come on. Don't act like you haven't had your eyes described that way before."

"I haven't, actually. You're the first," Jerome murmured. He leaned his forehead against hers and smiled back. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Cheyanne placed a small hand on the front of his shirt but when Jerome didn't move, she realized that she was waiting for him to kiss her. That she wanted him to kiss her.

Her hand slid up round the nape of his neck and pulled ever so slightly. He bent. Closing her eyes, she tilted up her face and kissed him.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sweetness of the kiss. It was so perfect, she was afraid he would break it off if she moved. But she found she could kiss him again, then again, thrice more. His lips molded to hers and returned her kisses, to her gratification.

Cheyanne ran her tongue along his bottom lip, inviting his own tongue to join the party. Jerome did not hesitate to part his lips for her and soon she was moaning in deep pleasure as he took over the kiss. She wound her arms around his neck and increased the pressure of his lips on hers.

They drew back at the same moment, both rather short of breath, and stared into each other's eyes. Cheyanne searched for an encouraging sign in his face but his expression was arrested. Like he thought what he was doing was wrong.

"It's okay, Jerome," she whispered. At the same time, her hand caught his and pulled it up to cover her breast. "It's alright."

She liked him kissing her, welcomed his touch. It felt so right, so natural.

With an indistinct whisper, Jerome let her pull him down for another kiss. He tried to tell himself he was just comforting her. That anyone seeing them would understand.

All the same, it felt too much like he was taking advantage of her. He hastily moved back, ending their kiss.

"We gotta stop now, Cheyanne," he rasped.

"Why?"

He ignored her hand over his giving her breast a squeeze. "You know we can't do this."

"I don't see a ring on my finger," Cheyanne pointed out.

Jerome pulled back a little to see her face. "And did it cross your mind to check for a ring on my finger?"

She smiled and lifted a coy shoulder. A soft laugh left him as he shook his head. "I'm no angel - but I think we've established who the devil is here."

"Guilty," she giggled. Her lips brushed over his in soft encouragement. "But I still think you can take me to heaven-"

"No."

Jerome pulled his reluctant hand away and regarded her with a serious look. "You're hurt, sweet pea, you need your rest."

His fingers brushed the bandage at her temple. "How's your injury?" he asked, his voice as soft as his touch.

Cheyanne shrugged and eased her head sideways, letting him look. "Better. Apparently, I cut myself on some glass or something, it was a pretty nasty gash. I had to get some stitches and they thought I might need a transfusion at some point. Even took some of my blood to check the type."

Jerome was now frowning as his gaze met hers again. "I'm O negative, universal donor," he informed her gravely. "I can donate."

She gave him a melting smile and palmed his smooth cheek. "And I just got a visit from all seven of my siblings," she reminded him.

"Oh." Jerome gave a rueful grimace and nodded. "Right, right."

"It's alright," she whispered, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. "You make me absent-minded, too, Jerome."

Their noses were touching again. After a second's hesitation, he closed the narrow distance and kissed her again.

The blood raced in her veins. This man was going to drive her crazy. He must know what he was doing to her; certainly, she knew she was too overwhelmed to hide her reaction from him.

Jerome broke off the kiss with a breathless apology, then took a second to get his bearings.

"I should get going now," he whispered.

"When can I see you again?" Cheyanne queried, searching his shut-in expression.

He sighed and shook his head. "I... Look, Cheyanne-"

"Chey," she corrected huskily.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment before the quiet slide of the door announced the nurse's return.

"You're gonna have to wrap it up now," she said with a kindly smile.

"Okay," Cheyanne said, in such wistful tones that the nurse chuckled.

"There's always tomorrow," the older woman pointed out.

Jerome cleared his throat before he spoke. "Yeah, I don't think I can make it."

Cheyanne turned to him with an anxious look and he gave her a difficult smile. "I'm sorry," he said, the strain evident in his voice.

"You'll be even sorrier when you go home and think about what kind of condition you left me in," she pouted. She knew she was guilting him, but she couldn't stop herself. She just wanted to know that he'd be back.

"I know everything you've been through, sweet pea," Jerome pleaded, but she cut him short.

"Not everything!" Cheyanne sent the nurse a pointed glance. "Tell him!"

She waited for her to give him a detailed rundown of the procedures she'd been bombarded with since she'd been admitted. With luck, the nurse would add the odd tiny but alarming embellishment here and there.

"My pleasure," the nurse agreed with a laugh. With a look of feigned sympathy towards the sole, cornered male, she drawled, "Congratulations, hun. Y'all are pregnant."

* * *

Jerome lay awake in his bed, unable for an hour now to get to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt Cheyanne's soft lips beneath his own. He could still hear her gasps of pleasure, and those impatient little sounds were just as bad for his self-control now as they had been yesterday. When he'd almost climbed into an amnesiac's bed and exploited her gratitude to the fullest.

Christ, had he really been all over her like that? Yeah, but she'd been all over him, too. It wasn't exactly an excuse. Jerome couldn't remember the last time a woman had come on to him so strong. He'd always enjoyed the chase, but Cheyanne was a small predator in her own right, gentle but wholly effective.

She had turned up the heat from the second he'd walked into the room. Her every look, every smile, every touch had screamed out her interest in him.

She had shown no trepidation regarding the dramatic difference in their sizes; while he was of average height, Cheyanne was a doll at just under five feet. Oh no, she wasn't about to let that, or other more dramatic differences between them, slow her down.

A corner of Jerome's mouth jerked upward. It was kind of nice to have a female lose it like that. Maybe he should stop feeling guilty and start wondering how in the hell he'd escaped her feminine clutches at all.

His fingers twitched as he recalled how her braless breast had felt through her thin hospital gown. It had taken her less than ten minutes to get him to that point. Just what would that little bitty thing have accomplished if he'd arrived an hour earlier? A subtle tide of heat swept his body at the possibilities.

Moving that overbed table out of the way would be no trouble at all... And there was that curtain that went all the way round her bed, so...

No, no, no! Jerome firmly took control of his thoughts. The lady was pregnant. From the shocked look on her face, he could tell she'd forgotten about that too. And the father, he imagined. She'd thought she was available.

So he could totally have nailed her with no condom.

Alright, so Cheyanne had clearly gotten to him. She was damn good and he was only human. There was nothing wrong with reacting to her like the attractive woman she was. So she was someone else's woman - neither of them had known.

And all she'd had done was call him her hero, compliment his eyes, shower him with her gratitude. It was his own damn responsibility if that's all it took to make him putty in her hands.

The truth was, being treated like some kind of superhero had messed with his head. And after Cheyanne posturing herself the breathless, starry-eyed damsel - or more exactly, groupie! - he feared it would be a while before his head returned to normal size.

The sleepless hours stretched out before him. His lonesome mind turned the memory of Cheyanne into a full-blown fantasy, in which she seduces him thoroughly after he arrives at the start of visiting hours.

Jerome shook his head clear of the provocative image and made a resolution there and then: he would not go back to see Cheyanne. After the hospital discharged her, their paths would never cross again. He was back on the straight and narrow, and there he would stay. And if he happened to misbehave in the occasional dream or fantasy, well, at least no one would get hurt.

* * *

Cheyanne couldn't figure out what it was: while visits from friends and neighbors could move her to tears, visits from her family left her cold. Not hostile or antagonistic or anything like that. Just unresponsive.

They were faithful in coming every day, a pair or trio showing up with a stuffed animal or flowers. But the conversation was conventional, shallow, tepid. Cheyanne began to get the idea that her relatives did not know her very much more than she knew them.

It appeared she had bonded with her unborn child more successfully than with them. The minute the nurse had revealed her pregnancy, she'd remembered every step of her long, painstaking journey to the right man. It had taken a lot of time, research and dedication but eventually she had found Mr. Right.

More specifically, she had found Mr. Right's sperm and got herself fertilized with it. It had felt like the right move, given her age and career stability. It still felt like the right choice.

Being an occupational therapist had exposed her to a world in which children met with serious obstacles. She oversaw the education of dozens of young ones who suffered from one learning disability or another and if they could succeed in obtaining what they needed, why couldn't she?

Cheyanne had always planned on being a young mother. Yet her twenty-seventh birthday loomed ever closer without a single peal of wedding bells to be heard. So she had taken the initiative, started her family regardless of her dismal love life.

A tender smile touched her lips as her hand palmed her still-flat belly. They'd be alright. She had no doubt she'd have all the love and energy necessary for single parenting. As a matter of fact, a steady relationship with a man would just get in her way. She couldn't possibly make time for one in between prenatal clinic, work and the parenting classes she intended to attend.

Cheyanne felt her breast tingle as the memory of Jerome's hand upon it bloomed in her mind. Okay, so maybe she still had an appetite for a man, if not the time. That was natural. But did he feel the same way about her?

She sipped her herbal tea and curled up even tighter on the couch. She was forced to concede that he very well might not want to entangle himself in her affairs. And after he'd had a gun pulled on him because of her, she couldn't blame him.

Besides, now that she was expecting, she was hardly an irresistible catch.

Cheyanne just wished there was a way to repay him for his troubles. But she didn't know where he lived, where he worked, where he might be found. Jerome had left her life as abruptly as he'd entered it. She may as well rest up and prepare for her return to work next week.

Her soft sigh was interrupted by the tinkling of her phone. Setting her tea on the low coffee table, she picked up the cellphone beside it.

"I'm not going anywhere, Annie."

Cheyanne frowned at the text for a long time, the words rousing distant echoes in her mind. There was that name that she hated for some reason. But who called her Annie? And why did she feel so negatively about it? What could fill her with such aversion and dread?

She jumped when the phone in her hand started to ring. But she saw her best friend's name on the caller ID and groaned. What a wuss, getting twitchy over nothing.

"Hey Trish," Cheyanne greeted, striving for a bright tone."How's it going?"

"A little hairy, but I think I've almost mastered this poverty thing."

"Oh, sweetie," Cheyanne commiserated. "Look, why don't I just wire you some-"

"No!" Trish barked, sounding mortified. "No, I did not call to borrow money and please God, don't associate my calls with that. Ever! This is about Dad."

Oh boy. Cheyanne sat up as she asked carefully, "How is he?"

"He's back in the ICU." Trish's voice was suspiciously quiet.

"I'm sure it won't be for very long this time," Cheyanne encouraged after a beat. "Didn't they say he's in remission? They'll have him back in the general ward in no time."

"He's in a coma, Chey," her best friend whispered, tears lending a tremor to her words.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. You wanna go see him?"

"No... I know you just came out of a hospital, I'm not trying to drag you back inside one. But I do need to fetch some of his stuff from the old shop..."

Trish gave a wandering explanation that seemed to go round in circles until Cheyanne jumped in. "Do you want me to take you?"

"Chey, you're supposed to be resting. I shouldn't be bothering you."

"It's just picking up some stuff, Trish. No biggie."

"But you're pregnant-"

"I don't see extra pounds stopping you." Cheyanne laughed at the indignant sputtering at the other end. "Just sit tight. I'll be at your place in twenty."

At their destination, Cheyanne opened her car door and gingerly stepped out into some smashed glass. She swung the door shut and glanced round their surroundings. "So," she mused, for lack of something better to say. "The Bronx, huh?"

Trish glanced at her over the roof of the car and arched a challenging eyebrow. "Something wrong, Dale?"

Cheyanne's eyes widened in innocent query."Wrong? Why do you ask, Patricia?"

"Oh Trish, hey." A familiar voice drifted out of the body shop Cheyanne had parked in front of. Cheyanne looked towards the speaker just as Jerome Carver came out into the sunlight to shake Trish's hand.

"I didn't recognize the car," he said with an easy smile.

"I had to sell mine," Trish grimaced. "This is my best friend's, she drove me. Cheyanne, this is the man who bought my dad's shop, Jerome."

Cheyanne gaped as he walked over to her. "Afternoon, miss," Jerome said pleasantly, proffering his hand.

She clasped it, still staring before she blurted out, "Pleasure!"

He turned to Trish, leaving her to gawk at the perspiration-dewed mahogany skin revealed by his wife-beater. In the sweltering heat, that and a pair of jeans was all he wore.

"I put all your stuff in the corner, so it's just a matter of carrying it to the car," Jerome said. "Right here, let me show you."

Cheyanne tagged along after them. "Um, what can I do to help?" she queried. Trish turned around, aghast to find her following them into the shop.

"What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked. "Get back in the car. You're wearing heels for Pete's sake!"

"So are you!"

"Um, wedges," Trish corrected, as though that didn't make them four inches high.

"Here," Jerome said, swinging a white plastic chair in front of her. "Just have a seat, we've got this."

Cheyanne crossed her arms in front of her, scowling. "So now you're ganging up against me?"

"Nobody's against you," he amended in gentle amusement. "We're just thinking of the baby. Surely you got no problem with that."

Looking into his smiling eyes offset much of her grievance but she couldn't help snatching the chair from him, slamming it down and plonking herself down on it, arms crossed.

As they loaded up her trunk, Cheyanne racked her brains for a way to talk to Jerome alone. He treated her like a stranger - which kinda stung, actually - but now that she had found him, this was too serendipitous an opportunity to ignore.

"Trish, I'm nauseous," she bleated presently. "Do you think you can run to Dunkin' Donuts for me?"

Trish stared at her with a slight frown as she dusted off her hands. "You want donuts for your nausea," she repeated slowly.

"Come on, we passed a handful of them coming here."

"Okay... we can grab some on the way home."

"No, now!" Cheyanne snapped. "I'm really nauseous- craving!"

Trish lifted her hands in acceptance of that disjointed explanation. "Back in a flash," she said on a gusty sigh. Cheyanne felt rotten for adding to her stress. But then Jerome walked back into the shed and she forgot everything else.




Between Want and Need Ch. 01



He stood before her, wiping his hands on a worn orange rag. He showed no outward sign of exertion, despite having just lugged quite a bit of heavy equipment into her trunk. Still, her first instinct was to offer him some kind of relief.

"Trish is bringing back donuts," Cheyanne remarked, rising from her chair. "I hope you like donuts."

Jerome shook his head, his eyes on his soiled hands. "Finger food's not really an option for me," he said, holding up the grease-stained rag.

She almost kicked herself. "Of course. Sorry." She hesitated then continued, "We can go get something else."

Jerome whistled through his teeth as he walked to the end of the shop. She couldn't help noticing the wide berth he gave her. "I just had lunch, thanks."

Cheyanne walked straight up to him with determined strides. He looked up and she held his gaze. She instantly noticed the wariness therein. "Then let me take you to dinner," she persisted.

Recognizing that she wasn't really asking, Jerome's expression turned grim. "Look here, Cheyanne-"

"No, you look, Jerome," she interrupted with enough heat to startle him. "I don't know what you think I'm trying to do here, but I just want a chance to thank you properly."

"That's not necessary," he rejoined swiftly.

He was maddening! "I say it is," Cheyanne growled through clenched teeth.

To her complete astonishment, Jerome began to laugh. Disarmed by the abrupt change, she stared at him, dumbfounded. He was always good-looking, but when he laughed he was... well, he simply took her breath away.

"And I don't get any say in it?" Jerome asked, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"Well... of course, you do," she muttered in bemusement. "It's just that I thought we'd never meet again and now... here you are."

"And you're not gonna let me get away?"

He seemed to find this amusing but Cheyanne answered in all seriousness, "No, I'm not. Not after all the trouble you've gone to for me. It wouldn't be right."

"You sure that's all it is, Chey?" She fought an idiotic elation that he'd shortened her name for the first time, in that low, suggestive tone. "Because I could've sworn you thanked me already, when I visited you in hospital."

She met his gaze directly. Her voice just as soft as his, she replied, "That didn't begin to cover my gratitude."

"Uh huh." He knew as well as she did that they were discussing nothing so innocent as "gratitude". "Well, I can't let you wallow in your appreciation, sweet pea. That's exactly the kind of thing that gets a lady taken advantage of."

"Then I suppose I'm completely at your mercy," Cheyanne murmured, leaning her body close to his. Her breasts made light contact with his chest. Her eyes searched his face for a moment, and then her hand lifted to his jaw. "You've got a little-"

Before she could wipe the black stain, his fingers circled her wrist in a painless but unbreakable clasp. "You need to stop this, Chey," he said, the laughter in his eyes extinguished.

"No. I don't want to."

"Well, you have to! Think about your baby, his father-"

"His 'father'," she cut in impatiently, "is for all intents and purposes, a test tube!"

"What?!"

Cheyanne smiled at the naked hope that suddenly shone in his eyes. "You heard. I'm single, Jerome, and very, very grateful."

Before he could get away, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him right on the lips. The contact was charged with electricity, leaving her whole body atingle. Slowly, Jerome released her wrist and his hands descended to her hips. His lips slanted across hers with growing passion, teasing them apart before reaching within with his tongue. He tasted her with bold skill, making her moan for more.

Abruptly, Jerome lifted his head. Cheyanne opened her eyes to find his glare upon her.

"What do you want from me?" he growled. He seemed almost angry with her, was even shaking her a little. "Huh? This what you want? To get banged in a chop shop?"

Cheyanne flushed, feeling the first belated bite of self-consciousness. "What I remember asking is if I could take you out to dinner," she pointed out. "And all I did was kiss you right now-"

"Which you shouldn't have done!"

In stark contrast to his stentorian tones, her voice was soft and timid. "Why?"

He seemed to hesitate, then went on in a calmer voice, "Because... you've got your own life, a baby on the way... I'm not gonna fit into all that."

"Then don't. I'm not asking."

"Oh no?" Jerome challenged, and the edge in his voice made her wonder if she had not offended him. "You do realize I got a life of my own to live; you think I'm trying to shove it aside just to be your blue-collar crush?"

"I'm not asking that either," Cheyanne said hastily.

"Look, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered. But look at these hands, Chey! Another reason I shouldn't be touching you-"

"I don't care. Get me dirty." All at once, the heat flared up between them again. She leaned in and nibbled his throat, making him gasp.

His restless hands ran up down her hips and thighs before mashing her body tight against his. His erection was a blunt statement of his carnal needs against her belly. She couldn't resist rocking her hips against it, earning a subtle tremor in his hard body.

"And for the record," she breathed, still tasting his throat, "you're not my blue-collar crush."

She eased her head back to give him a mischievous smirk. "You're my black crush."

Jerome made a sound between a laugh and a scoff. "Is that a fact?"

"Second, it's not a crush. I'm not sixteen, Jerome, I'm a grown woman!" Her stern lecture ended in a breathy whisper in his ear. "So we can bang here, or anyplace you like."

Before she knew what was happening, Cheyanne was stumbling after the man who was now gripping her hand. He led her to a nook in the corner that might have been a storage space, but was now empty. More important, it offered them some modicum of privacy.

Jerome more or less threw her against the wall. Her gasp was muffled by his blistering kiss. His hands hiked her skirt up and, palming the backs of her thighs, lifted her up. Instantly, her legs went round his hips.

As their kisses grew feral, Cheyanne felt as though her limbs were melting. Her sex, even more so. When Jerome ripped his mouth away, it felt like a devastating deprivation.

Shushing her sobbing protests, he worked the buttons on her blouse free with nimble fingers. The garment hung open, revealing her round breasts. Not too large, they were just right for her petite frame. He yanked down the cups to reveal the soft mounds, crowned with erect, pink nipples.

"Oh yeah," Jerome said, his voice deepening in sexual appreciation. His head dipped to her heaving chest, taking a taut nipple between his teeth. He flicked his tongue over it again and again, making her arch into his mouth with a tortured whimper.

"More," Cheyanne implored.

He gave a dark laugh then began to suckle hungrily. She went mad against him, but he easily overpowered her bucking body with a single thrust of his hips. Thus pinned against the wall, she was forced to endure every skillful lick, suck and nip on both her breasts till her nipples glistened.

"Keep it quiet, now," he whispered, lifting his head as her moans became cries.

"Don't stop, Jerome. Please," Cheyanne choked out, her hands running over his short, curly hair. "I'm wet."

Her hips thrust once against his. The bulge in his jeans tantalized her beyond endurance. But he was still holding back.

"I wanna fuck," she whispered, shocking herself with her own blatant horniness.

With a low growl, Jerome straightened and reached for his belt. In seconds, his jeans hung loose around his thighs. All that shielded that hot, hard cock from her was his tight black boxers. And her panties, too; they were soaked to transparency, the wet white silk revealed more of her pink, swollen slit than it hid.

The slick fabric exaggerated the slightest movement into ecstatic friction against her clit. As a result, Cheyanne already felt incredibly tense, her nerves too taut, overstretched in anticipation.

"Jerome. Please-"

His kiss might have silenced her if it had not been accompanied by the jolting impact of his cock against her clit. Cheyanne screamed her shocked pleasure against his lips as she climaxed, but that did not stop him, didn't even slow him down.

Growling his lusty enjoyment, Jerome rubbed himself hard against her mound. His groin went up and down, grinding into her in hard, demanding friction. It was less than she had asked for, but astonishingly satisfying all the same. She hadn't finished recovering from her orgasm before the next one pulled her into its inexorable orbit.

Cheyanne shoved her hands underneath his damp vest. Her hands explored the tactile scenery, loving everything she found: the rippling shoulder blades, the smooth, long back, the lean waist, the jerking hips and when her hands slipped beneath his underwear, the round, flexing buttocks. Trembling, Jerome moaned at her touch.

The impassioned sound just excited her more. Taking firm hold of his thrusting tongue between her lips, Cheyanne began to suck. His entire body shuddered in response but she held on. Her suction broke, however, when he humped her silk-covered clit for the umpteenth time.

Her head fell back against the wall with a loud cry. Her small body shook with the force of her orgasm, convulsing as the paroxysms of ecstasy took over. Jerome's grip on the backs of her thighs bruised the soft skin there. His breath came in steamy puffs against her shoulder as he abruptly went rigid and still.

Cheyanne felt the unmistakable jerks of his cock as he came into their soggy underwear. She purred her contentment. Oh, he'd earned it. That was better than she had believed possible. She stroked his hair as he rested his head on her shoulder.

He'd made her come twice! From dry humping! He had not even used his hands, caring more than she about sullying her. What would it be like if they had sex for real?

At the thought, her hips made a slight involuntary thrust against his. That seemed to snap him out of their sensual daze.

"Jesus, Chey, let's get you back in your clothes," Jerome panted, scooping her breasts back into her bra cups. Then he lowered her feet to the floor.

Cheyanne eyed him with naked intent as she buttoned her blouse. He took one look into her eyes then whirled around and began pulling up his jeans.

"Trish will be back soon," he muttered.

"So will I." There seemed no point being coy about it. "That was amazing. You were amazing."

"Thanks," Jerome said absently. "But this was a... a heat-of-the-moment thing, Cheyanne. It probably won't happen again."

"I'm pretty sure you don't want to stop after this, Jerome," she argued with gentle conviction. "And I already know I'll want you again."

"Maybe. But this still can't happen."

"Well, why not?!" Cheyanne smoothed her skirt back into place, but nothing could be done about the accordion pleats now across her lap. "Why are you being like this? You don't do white girls?"

"Yeah! That's exactly what the problem is! It don't faze me being fuck buddies with a pregnant lady, but the white thing is just weird!"

She narrowed her eyes as she watched him tighten his belt. "Don't get sarcastic with me," she warned.

"Sorry," Jerome said, still avoiding her gaze as he pulled at his belt. "I wouldn't want to upset you - you know, on account of you being pregnant?"

"Oh, come off it," Cheyanne snapped in annoyance. "I never said I wanted you to be involved with my pregnancy, did I? I am a grown woman and pregnant or not, I can have any type of relationship I want! But you obviously don't see it that way, do you? Well, I won't convince you to change your mind, so why don't you just sit here and congratulate yourself for dodging a bullet!"

Cheyanne stormed out of the shed without a backward glance, leaving Jerome staring after her in the sudden, oppressive silence. After a brief moment of indecision, he sighed and followed her outside.

He found her sitting behind the wheel of her small plum-colored car, her door dangling open. He walked over and placing his forearm along the roof, bent down to speak to her.

"Listen, Cheyanne, I didn't mean to-"

Cheyanne seized his hand and pressed a square of paper into his palm. Jerome looked down and saw the phone number hurriedly scribbled on it.

"Call me," she urged, an earnest appeal in her eyes. She looked past him and deliberately brightened her expression as she saw a returning Trish.

"Oh, there you are," Cheyanne called. "Where'd you go? I've been sitting here for ages waiting for you, I'm starving! Let's go grab some donuts!"



Between Want and Need Ch. 02



Jerome couldn't tell which side of consciousness he was on, dreaming or waking. Not that he cared. It was enough to have Cheyanne's willing softness in his arms again. She didn't resist when he pulled her closer. He sighed; she was so soft. His arms tightened around her. He groaned as her thighs bumped his erection. But she didn't seem to have done that on purpose.

Jerome remembered how she had been on fire for him just three days ago and dimly wondered why she was holding back. But they were in bed now, and perhaps their intimate position made it clear how much bigger than her he was.

He pushed her back onto the mattress, taking care to be extra gentle so she wouldn't be scared. She seemed to relax in this position: her arms encircled his neck and her lips began to return his kisses with the fervor he'd come to expect. So she liked it when he was on top, did she, he thought in sudden amusement. He'd never have guessed.

She let him run his hands slowly over her body. She felt so good in his arms, toned and tight but with a definite jiggle in all the right places. He squeezed her ass with a groan then slid a hand up her front. His hand closed over a lush breast - a breast a deal fuller than he expected.

Jerome's mind jolted to complete wakefulness and he broke the kiss. He opened his eyes and looked down right into Ebony's hooded eyes.

"What is it?" she whispered, her voice a little thick.

"Nothing," he replied, while his mind raced to connect the events that had led him to this point - in bed with the freakin' girl of his dreams!

"You're just so beautiful," he muttered as he let his disbelieving eyes roam over her face. Ebony lowered her eyelids and even in the gloom of the bedroom, he could tell she was blushing. The second time this week he'd made a lovely woman blush from his kisses.

The thought was sobering. He hadn't juggled girlfriends since high school, after the girls had found out about each other then given him very good reason not to repeat it. Between that situation and the present one, there were fewer differences than he cared to admit; was he reverting back to the rat he'd been back in the day?

"Jerome...?"

Giving himself a mental shake, Jerome summoned his most boyish smile to allay the uncertainty he heard in Ebony's voice.

"It's alright, baby girl," he whispered back. "I'm just trying to remember where the condoms are at."

"Condoms?" she repeated with a hard edge in her voice. Oh fuck.

"Not for right now," he rushed to placate her.

"Then why mention it?" Ebony demanded. He recognized the trace of hurt behind the outrage. "To let me know what's expected of me in the near future?"

"Of course not! Come on, girl. I'm not trying to put the pressure on you or anything. The condoms, that's just... I'm telling you what you can expect of me, not the other way around," he explained. His obvious agitation must have made his words believable because he felt the stiff tension go out of her body.

"Alright," Ebony murmured, restoring his hope then dashing it in the next breath. "But I want to go home now."

Fixing him with her big gorgeous eyes, she awaited his answer. Pushing down a callous groan, Jerome nodded and released her breast.

"Alright. I'll take you."

At her doorstep, he was given a chaste peck on the cheek before Ebony hurried in and closed the door. On the walk back, Jerome imagined all the comforting things he could have said to ease Ebony's mind. By the time he got home and kicked off his sneakers, however, he was glad he hadn't been smoother.

Just how hypocritical would it have been, making love to her when he'd believed her to be another woman? If he'd managed to persuade her into staying the night, the guilt the next morning might have been hideous. Or worse, he might not feel any at all.

No, it was better this way, his imposed celibacy was good for him, for his integrity.

So he told himself three nights later. It was late. Going to midnight, and Jerome lay in bed resisting sleep. He couldn't close his eyes without Cheyanne's orgasm face appearing behind his eyelids. She pervaded his thoughts, turning his most innocent reverie into steamy, pornographic scenes. Especially when he was in bed.

This was getting ridiculous. Here he was, a grown man, experienced, comfortable with his sexuality, and right now, damn near afraid of his own hard-on. What the fuck?!

It was clear what the problem was. He was hard for the wrong woman. It was Ebony who should be occupying his mind, he'd been committed in his pursuit of her forever. There was a time he'd thought she was perfect for him. He still did. She was just his type, and more. She had been through enough shit to give her a permanent aversion to drama, just like him. Something he could say of very few women in his life.

Nonetheless, it was Cheyanne's bouncing titties running on loop in his memory, her hungry moans, the fragrance of her aroused pussy that he obsessed over.

Jerome recognized a vague resentment beginning to form in him. He dismissed it at once as irrational, or tried to. Cheyanne was affecting him like this against his will. And the thought kept recurring that she should be more demure, like Ebony. It would be easier to put her out of mind if she was.

But Ebony had her own reasons for keeping to herself. With her sweet smile and voluptuous body, she was the wet dream of every slavering male in a twelve block radius - and they never let her forget it. Whenever they took walks together, Jerome invariably ended up checking some moron who yelled across the street his opinion of her body, for his friends' entertainment and Ebony's humiliation.

The poor girl had also learned to be wary of the fork-tongued Lotharios she was beset with. She knew full well that a seemingly kind gesture could turn into a nightmare; even if she resisted all the pressure and lustful urgings that followed, she could yet find herself the subject of much uncouth bragging and false rumors.

It was a horrible situation for any woman to find herself in. Ebony's reserve was the obvious result of that, so he really had no business wishing it on anybody else.

Not even the carefree Cheyannes of this world. He still couldn't shake the sense that something wasn't quite right with all that aggressive sexuality in a woman - and a pregnant woman, at that.

But he'd gladly slam her into the next wall in a semi-public place and dry hump that sleepy-startled look back on her face. It might be vulgar and adolescent, but hell, he was a guy - what was her excuse?

Jerome grit his teeth and a rumble of malcontent sounded from his throat. He hated that he could be such a hypocrite. On the one hand, Cheyanne was too forward. On the other hand, he was bemused by Ebony's continued aloofness with him. They were cool, yes, but she still kept him at arm's length and truth be told, it was starting to chip at his confidence.

So what the fuck did he want?!

Jerome threw the covers off him with an abrupt motion. He swung his feet to the floor and reached for his cellphone. He scrolled past the numbers of his old jumpoffs; they would be game, yeah, but they were also Ebony's girlfriends. He had no intention of having his dirty laundry aired in some salon in Ebony's hearing. So he stopped at a number he had saved against his better judgement.

Not letting himself think it over, Jerome dialed then waited. At the very least, there was no chance of Ebony learning of this tryst and possibly writing him out of her good graces for good.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice mumbled.

"Cheyanne." That was all the greeting he would give. "It's Jerome."

"Oh!" Her voice sharpened. "Hi!"

"I wanna come over," Jerome said as he got up to flip the light switch on. "Is that alright with you?"

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'd love-"

"Give me your address." He located a pen and scribbled what she said. "I'll be there in a half hour," he said before hanging up.

Jerome followed her directions until he pulled up in front of a cozy-looking home with the lights shining on in welcome. His perfunctory knock was answered almost immediately by a smiling Cheyanne.

"Hi. Come on in," she invited. A touch of breathlessness was evident in her voice, but Jerome didn't think it was calculated. If anything, he was struck by the lack of garter belts, leopard print and the usual hallmarks of the try-hard temptress.

She wore a satin top which showed off her slender midriff, coupled with loose satin pants, all the same gentle gray as her eyes. The matching negligee she had donned as an afterthought was the only see-through garment in sight.

She didn't even appear to be wearing any make-up and her brown hair fell in soft, tousled waves to her shoulders as though she'd just got out of bed. Her expression was so thrilled, it was almost enough to make him feel at ease with being here.

"You actually took almost an hour to get here," she was saying as she pushed the door shut behind him. "But since I've been waiting a week for you to call, I guess it's-"

He halted her progress to the living room by hooking his arm around her waist and yanking her back to him. "Where's the bedroom?" he whispered in her ear.

"Right this way."

Cheyanne tried to take a step but he did not loosen his hold of her. She half-turned toward him.

"Jerome?"

"Take this off for me, first." He snapped one thin shoulder strap and gave her the necessary room as she moved to take off the top. Then with her back still to him, Jerome cupped the silky undersides of her breasts and began to massage their enticing softness in his hands. He was just enjoying feeling her body once more, but her husky moan let him know he wasn't the only one.

His thumbs curled up to pluck her nipples until they grew hard and erect. Then he lowered his hands to the waistband of her trousers and pushed them down with Cheyanne's assistance, so she was now dressed in just a gray silk thong. 

"Like this," Jerome whispered, skimming his hands over her shivering nakedness. "This is the way I want you when I come over."

"What?" she laughed. "How in the world am I supposed to answer the door like this?"

"You'll figure it out," he murmured as he nuzzled her cheek. "If you want this dick on the regular, you will."

Cheyanne groaned in protest as he turned around in his arms. "Jerome-"

His kiss cut her off and in seconds she was returning his kisses with that potent blend of sweetness and boldness that was all her own. Whatever else he might think of it, he couldn't deny that it was fucking hot. If she kept this up she'd have him breaking down her door every other night. He could definitely get used to this.

Her hands were at his shoulders, pushing his jacket off. But for all her impatience, his own needs were more immediate. He groaned from the insistent throb between his legs and broke off the kiss.

"Get on the couch," he rasped.

Cheyanne complied, leading the way so he admired the sultry swish of her hips as she walked. But right now, it was her pretty face that interested him most.

When she'd sat down, Jerome stood in front of her and unfastened his trousers. His engorged dick spilled out. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of it and he actually found this first sign of trepidation gratifying.

"Jerome, you're-"

"Don't talk. Suck," he ordered softly.

Licking her lips, Cheyanne leaned closer and opened her mouth over his waiting cock. He watched the length of his cock disappear into her parted lips, then slowly reappear, then get swallowed once more. As she got more comfortable with his size, her pace got faster. She planted her hands on his buttocks and suckled his erection with firm, massaging movements of her mouth.

"Yeah... Oh yeah," Jerome gasped as he frowned down at the erotic view. "Don't stop. Fuck."

Cheyanne was frowning, too, as she sucked him off. Every now and then, she released a tortured whimper and glanced up at him with begging eyes. A brief flicker of a smile broke the grimness of his countenance as he recognized her problem. Fellating him made her hot. Too hot. She was ready to get fucked right now.

"It's alright, Chey," Jerome murmured, trailing his fingers through her hair. "You know I'll fuck you real good. I'll fuck you as hard as you can take it."

Her muffled cry came in quick response, and assured him that that was exactly what she wanted. He watched her bobbing head move on his black cock in a blur for the next few seconds. As he felt his knees weakening, he then gripped her hair and began fucking her face with barely leashed violence.

She made a surprised sound, or perhaps it was a pained one. The incredible vibration it produced along his sensitive flesh made it hard to care. He cursed and thrust harder and faster down her throat, wild with lust.

Cheyanne soon started making sounds again, and these were definitely heated, horny whimpers.

"I like it, too, baby," Jerome panted as he face-fucked her. She was barely doing anything to him, just holding on as he rammed in and out of her mouth. She was making him crazy!

He needed to know he did the same to her. Goddammit, he would make her crazy for him, just as he was for her.

Abruptly, he halted his rutting motions and pulled all the way out of her mouth. Cheyanne looked up at him, her surprise (and disappointment) evident.

"Beg," Jerome ordered softly. It suddenly occurred to him that it might have been the wrong thing to say, the wrong approach to use. But then her eyelids grew heavy once more and she made a soft whimpering sound that had nothing to do with refusal.

"Please," Cheyanne breathed. "Let me suck you off."

Her hand slowly stroked his cock as she spoke, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from erupting on her fingers.

"I'm so thirsty for your come," she complained softly. "Please Jerome. Gimme a taste. Just a sip."

Jerome would have loved to draw this out even longer and made a mental note to do so in a subsequent encounter. But right now, his needs were more immediate.

He parted her swollen lips with the head of his cock and slid back into her mouth. He picked up his frantic pace, grabbing her hair and fucking her face with a vengeance. Before he could warn her or even acknowledge it to himself, his orgasm hit, making his cock spurt repeatedly into her mouth, coating her tongue and throat with his hot seed.

He stood on trembling knees as he ejaculated endlessly, his head lolling back on his shoulders in mindless ecstasy. When he was done, he stood panting in the silence, too overcome to open his eyes just yet. He wanted to luxuriate in the incredible pleasure he'd just experienced, that Cheyanne had given him. He couldn't even bring himself to let her go; she still had her nose to his pubes, her hair clasped in his fist.

Jerome became aware of a strange texture among the soft locks. He uncurled his fingers and ran his thumb over it. It was fabric. Opening his eyes again, he looked down and saw that it was indeed the fabric of a bandage on her left temple. Much smaller than the one she'd sported in hospital, but if she still had one...

Sanity returned in a cold wave, and with it, a stab of guilt as he remembered how rough he'd been with her. Jerome stroked the small white patch, his chest expanding in a quiet sigh of regret. He'd forgotten she'd been injured, as well as pregnant.

But looking down into her face, it became clear her mind was very far from her hurt or expectant condition. She had an irresistibly impish smile that had his own lips curving in answer. Looking further down, he saw her hand inside her gray undies, which now bore a large wet patch. His smile deepened into a grin.

"That was so hot," Cheyanne said, her voice a tad croaky now. "Gimme a sec, I just gotta...finish...up..."

Jerome could see her fingers moving beneath the wet silk. She was pleasuring herself. Before he knew what he was doing, he had sunk to his knees before her, his hands reaching to tug off her thong. Like a man in a trance, he got the last of her clothing off her then placed her ankles on his shoulders and leaned in to sniff her damp heat.

He was somewhat surprised to find she waxed her pussy completely bald - why, exactly, had he expected an untamed wild bush? - but he had no complaints. All he wanted was her taste on his tongue, nothing in his way. She smelled sweet and powdery, a warm welcoming scent.

Jerome heard her startled gasp as he tongue-kissed her clit once. Then he focused on the swollen wetness surrounding it. He heard a muttered through clenched teeth. He ignored it. Cheyanne was going to have to learn to beg prettily for every little thing she wanted him to do. It was primeval and incredibly egotistical of him, but he would not have it otherwise.

Cheyanne had never felt so ready for a man, so swollen and tensed up. On the other hand, she had never had a man who was a bigger tease. Jerome mocked her obscene lust, flung it in her face at every turn - a chaste peck on her erect clit, an almost clinical brush of his fingers along her engorged labia, a fleeting penetration with his tongue before quickly retreating.

She heard herself in faint disbelief as she issued explicit pleas to him. But he made it necessary, because he would not act without her instruction, detailed and graphic. She wanted him to lick her clit up and down, and had to put it in just that way to get it done.

"Don't stop," Cheyanne now gasped, holding his head so he wouldn't get away. His tongue was warm and tireless on her oversensitive flesh. As he went on pleasuring her, he began to show signs of initiative at last, when he licked a downward trail to her taint.

Her eyelids flew upward when that agile tongue snaked over her anus. As if to confirm it had not been accidental, the caress was repeated at an audaciously languid pace. A violent tremor ran through her body as Jerome began to gently nibble at her sphincter.

It felt strange, wrong...and utterly delicious. Her hips lifted up in reflex, offering him full access. She hooked her arms under both knees and held steady so her puckered hole would be upraised to his mouth.

A long, incoherent groan left her parted lips as he went on eating her ass. Her eyelids fluttered shut and a line appeared between her winged brows. God, she was going to lose her mind if he kept this up. Her thighs already were trembling in anticipation of it.

Jerome had his eyes closed and seemed focused on eating her ass. She had not expected the caress his callused thumb gave her clit.

Cheyanne wailed in utter bliss when she climaxed, spraying his face as she shuddered. She lay shivering in the aftermath, allowing her arms to slip through her bent knees so her feet came thudding on the floor.

She found Jerome looking down at her with a satisfied smirk. He knelt before her surveying her body's reaction. Something like calculation lurked in the hooded depths of his eyes.

She arched a questioning eyebrow but he was already on his feet, surging to his full height before reaching down to swing up into his arms. Ignoring her startled exclamation, he bent and gave her a long, leisurely kiss that restored her surrendered languor.

"Where's the bedroom?" Jerome whispered into her bemused eyes. Her voice thick, Cheyanne directed him. He made his way there with short steps, impeded by his jeans around his ankles. His belt buckle dragged on the floor with every step, making scraping metallic sounds.

For some reason, the act of him gently laying her on her back made her blush wildly. It seemed such a romantic gesture, bridal even, when the truth was, there was nothing even approaching romance on either side. She wanted him and he wanted her back, and that's all there was to it.

Nonetheless, Jerome watched the blooming color on her cheeks with a slow smile. Then holding her gaze, he smoothed her wild hair back from her face in a tender motion.




Between Want and Need Ch. 02



Cheyanne's breath left her in a soft sigh. Her eyelids lowered slightly and an answering smile hovered over the corners of her own mouth. As though at a signal, Jerome bent and gave her a slow, meltingly sweet kiss.

She opened her mouth for his lazy lancing tongue. The sinuous contact with her own tongue made her writhe in pleasure and spread her legs under him. Wrapping her thighs around his waist, she arched her back in naked invitation.

"Now," Cheyanne said, her voice a plaintive whisper.

"Hold up," Jerome whispered back. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the anticipation mounted to unbearable levels. Beyond her labored breathing, she could hear the tear of foil.

"Hurry," she panted, arching upward again. He caught her by her hips and positioned her to receive him.

Cheyanne's eyes snapped open when the throbbing tip of his cock touched her sodden folds. He really was a big guy, a fact that seemed all the more obvious now more than ever.

Her slightly worried gaze met the implacable hazel of his own, and she swallowed the plea for patience that she'd been about to blurt out. He was obviously in no mood to wait.

All the same, Jerome seemed to notice her concern, because he entered her slowly, so slowly but at the same time so very fully, she couldn't restrain an ecstatic cry.

"Alright, sweet pea?"

Her face against his throat, Cheyanne heard the gruff note of concern in his query and nodded quickly. "Don't stop!"

Jerome murmured something she didn't catch; the delight that exploded with his careful thrusts made his words irrelevant. She needed more. Even as she appreciated his cautious regard for her body, she ached for faster, harder friction.

His restraint was a goad, inciting her to madness as eventually she grew comfortable with the sheer size of his cock. She wanted him more than ever, wanted him to drive into her with deep, merciless strokes. He had other ideas though, and when she had pleaded herself hoarse he just chuckled and silenced her with a passionate kiss.

For all her impatient demands, Jerome was very, very effective at making her come. With his undemanding, steady pace, he managed to make her squirt for him again and again. Lights flashed, fireworks exploded behind her closed eyes with every soul-shaking climax. He took her again and again, and in so many positions, her entire body grew slightly sore from their seemingly endless exertions.

Jerome watched her with the same enigmatic smile while she stared up at him in panting astonishment. She was still recovering from her last orgasm when she grew conscious of the hard length jutting against her inner thigh with the heat of a brand.

Gasping, Cheyanne struggled up on her elbow and looked down. Sure enough, it was his erection, still hard and expectant, as if they hadn't been fucking like two wild animals this whole time.

Not quite, she amended ruefully. The only wild animal tonight had been her; Jerome had been the soul of self-control, a fact that was made indubitable by the sight of his cock, still hard and ready to pick up where they'd left off.

Cheyanne considered the composed patience of his face and her teeth chewed her bottom lip. She didn't know how much more she could give.

"What?" Jerome whispered. His hand pushed a damp lock of brown hair off her cheek. "Tired already?"

"No!" The denial was instant. "I just...I'm just-"

"Exhausted," he finished for her, his smile shaded with resignation.

"Catching my breath," Cheyanne corrected forcefully. There was no way she could pass out now, and leave her lover, so incredible, so generous, with an ungratified hard-on. She reached between them and collected his dick with both hands. Latex snapped noisily as she took off the condom.

She was aware of the faint tremor that passed through his body when her unsteady fingers began to stroke him. But it wasn't enough for her. Looking into his eyes, she said, "I want you to come for me again, Jerome."

Satisfaction flickered over his features and he released a deep breath. "Sure thing, Chey," he whispered. "I just need a little favor in return."

"What?"

Jerome looked her straight in the eye. "Give that ass up to me. That's all I ask," he answered, the softness of his voice charged with finality.

Cheyanne froze in anxious uncertainty. For a second, she was tempted to turn him down. Anal sex was not what she had had in mind. She had meant to suck his dick, swallow his come, presuming that that would be enough for him. It seemed she had thought wrong. He wanted a lot more; was she ready to give it?

She'd never had anal sex before. But so what? Hadn't she wanted to please him, reward him for such a magnificent performance? Why then, should she deny him what he had specifically asked for in return?

Cheyanne drew a deep breath then gave him a smile that was sincere but nevertheless quivered slightly at the corners. He smiled back and eased himself up to a kneeling position. He didn't make any move to place her how he wanted her. Clearing her throat, she came up to her knees, giving him her back then lay her head down on the pillow.

Her heart pounded in her breast as she felt him move behind her. She heard the rustle of his clothes and surmised he was removing something from his pockets. Was it a butt plug, she wondered wildly. She now suspected that this was no spontaneous turn of events, that he had come prepared for anal sex, had deliberately put her in a difficult position to deny him when he asked for it.

Cheyanne started when she felt him dribble a generous amount of liquid along her crack. Lube, she thought, and forced herself to relax. Of course he wasn't going to just shove himself into her tightest hole without lubricant. She could trust him, she told herself as she swallowed hard. She could trust Jerome.

She lifted her head and looked behind her and saw his ebony cock, coated with lube and latex, aimed at her virgin ass. She whipped her face forward again and put her head down on the pillow. Another peek like that and she would lose her nerve.

His cock touched her ass with gentle firmness. Cheyanne stiffened at once. A slippery finger made contact with her clit and massaged. Her breath caught and she pushed her hips out into the sensation.

"Oh," she moaned. "Don't stop."

"Just hold still."

The stimulation to her clit didn't let up, even as the pressure on her ass slowly increased. He was entering her now, the thick length of him pushing into her reluctant tightness, one fiery millimeter at a time. Her teeth clenched, her lips curled into a snarl as she made a low sobbing sound in her throat. He paid no heed.

Jerome made progress with a delicate balance between persistence and patience, stopping only once when she cried out for him to. Feeling abashed and selfish, she immediately asked him to go on and after a moment or two, he began again. When he had buried half of his throbbing shaft inside her ass, she had to bite her lip to keep from pleading that he pull out. Tears squeezed out of her tightly shut eyes and she buried her face in her pillow, not daring to breathe.

Mercifully, Jerome stopped at that point and started teasing her clit again. The simultaneous agony and ecstasy left her incoherent in her surrender. She just couldn't take it.

"Fuck me, for God's sake," Cheyanne sobbed. "End it, just fuck me already."

He held himself completely still as he continued to stroke and rub and flick her distended clit. The burning discomfort fast diminished as her enjoyment grew again. Experimentally, she shifted her hips back on his dick. She gasped at the shocking raw pleasure that coursed through her tender canal.

Cheyanne bucked again, and groaned. She was ready to be fucked now. Jerome instantly picked up on it and began to move carefully in and out of her asshole. She couldn't believe it felt so good.

He could.

"Yeah," Jerome growled behind her. "I knew you'd love this dick up your ass."

At another time, she might have asked in some concern what he meant. She couldn't talk and she knew what he meant anyway. He was saying she was a nasty slut, taking it up the ass with so much moaning and obvious enjoyment. That is what he meant. She knew it and wasn't sorry for herself or mad; she didn't need him to take it back, or say something sweeter.

In fact, it excited her no end having his dick in her ass. Maybe she shouldn't like it so much, maybe it did make her a trashy little whore to let him fuck her in the ass. There was something so inherently rude about having her ass stretched wide open like this. And having it stretched for a man to fuck, too. Perhaps it was depraved.

She didn't mind. She truly did not care if he didn't respect her It was the best sex she'd ever had.

"That's it," Jerome went on when she cupped her breasts with a lewd moan. "Play with them titties! Don't fight it!"

Cheyanne ran her thumbs over her erect nipples over and over while he plowed her behind. He had grasped her hips in his hands and settled into a jolting rhythm which stretched her ass deeper open with each stroke. He wasn't rubbing her clit anymore. He didn't need to.

Her voice was climbing to a strident pitch as she called his name over and over. She could hear his harsh breathing, felt his fingertips digging into the damp skin of her hips. Finally, he was losing control, too.

"Don't you dare come," she snarled at him over her shoulder.

He gave her a dark glare. "Witch," he growled.

Jerome fucked her with even greater fury now, his full length gliding in and out of her rectum with ease. Cheyanne wailed as he burrowed deeper and deeper, opening her ass wide open. It felt so fucking good.

Her orgasm appeared without warning. She gave a hoarse shriek and threw her head back as the intense exquisite climax gripped her body. Her nails curled into her pillow like talons, gripping the fragile silk of the pillowcase until it tore.

Jerome let out a savage growl behind her. Cheyanne felt his fist close in her hair then her head was yanked back. His hoarse whisper filled her ear. "Goddammit, I can't get enough!"

Boy, did she know what he meant!

Once it was over, when they had regained their breath, she surprised herself by falling asleep in his arms. It was only when she woke up to bright sunlight late into the next morning that she realized Jerome had spoken for her; it was she who wished she could have him here now, wished they could have shared breakfast or at least parted with a kiss, or a hug.

Jerome clearly did not suffer such a need. Contrary to what he'd said, he could and had had enough. And then he had left her rumpled bed without a word.