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.
