Page 22 of Collateral Love
And whether I liked it or not, Kenya was already building that structure.
I didn’t goto Zayden’s house looking for him.
That was the lie I told myself when I turned down his block instead of heading straight home.
Everyone knew where the King brothers lived. They had the biggest parties right at the heart of the Southside of Crestwood.
Showing up unannounced was bold, but I needed to see him. I was drawn to him the way a moth is drawn to a flame.
It was late, but not too late. I knew Zay would be up. Crestwood had a way of staying awake without looking like it was trying. Porch lights on, cars parked crooked. Music low enough to blend into the night instead of announcing itself.
Zayden lived in a two-story brick house that looked like it had stories soaked into the walls. Not flashy. Not hidden. The kind of place men like him chose because it didn’t draw attention and because everybody already knew who stayed there.
I parked across the street and sat for a second longer than necessary, fingers resting on the steering wheel.
I wasn’t nervous but definitely aware.
Aware that this was new territory. This was unfamiliar territory. My best friend, Camilla, and I had been to several King parties, but now Zayden and I had aligned interests. But alignment didn’t mean intimacy.
And intimacy was the thing I refused to give away carelessly.
I walked towards the house, grateful that there were folks on the porch and a kickback happening. It made my intrusion less ballsy.
When I entered the house, I heard it before I saw anything.
A high-pitched sound of laughter coming from the first-floor bedroom next to the bathroom. A woman’s laughter was breathless and high. Then I heard Zay’s voice.
Low, gruff, and sexy as hell. He was commanding in that way that didn’t need volume to be felt.
My chest tightened before I could stop it.
I stood there with my ears pressed to his bedroom door like a fucking creep.
This was the cost of proximity.
Everyone knew Zayden King didn’t belong to anybody. Girls told stories about him slanging dick so good they wanted to make dildo molds from the shape of his shit.
I didn’t want to bewithZayden.
What I wanted was more dangerous.
I wanted to benextto Zayden.
I could hear her screams. She made a crescendo sound as I heard a slapping noise.
She called out, “Zaydeeeennnn.”
I could hear his voice, rough and grunting. “Don’t run now, Shorty. You said you wanted to try this dick, so take this motherfucka.”
She screamed, “Oh fuck, this is good.”
The sound of her panting made my own juices flow.
I shook my head, feeling dumb as fuck. YaYa, get your shit together. You get dick just as much as the next bitch. And that girl is gassing it. No magic stick is that good to be hootin’ and hollerin’ like you ain’t got a lick of fuckin’ sense.
But despite what I told myself, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. I wanted to hear him cum. I didn’t want to imagine how he sounded; I wanted to know, so when I fingered myself later, I could imagine him between my thighs.
When I heard his deep voice let out a growl and say,“Iight back the fuck up now.” I backed away from the door and entered the living room.
