All You Can Handle (Moments In Maplesville Book 5) by Farrah Rochon Page B
Authors: Farrah Rochon
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more box. My old college roommate had been holding some stuff for me at her house in Baton Rouge. We met each other halfway in Hammond this afternoon.”
“Why didn’t you park in the driveway?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to block you out.”
“It’s your driveway, too, Sonny. You pay rent here, remember?”
“Well, it’s a moot point. This is the last of it,” she said, gesturing to the car.
Ian hadn’t prepared himself for the wave of erotic memories that pummeled him when he peered inside the VW Bug. He would never be able to look at this car without his mind immediately recalling the intense pleasure he’d experienced while crammed into its tiny space. He looked over at Sonny and knew she was thinking about last time they had been in the car together, too. Recalling the things they’d done to each other in the passenger seat.
Ian caught her gaze and held it, refusing to look away.
He deserved just this much, didn’t he? To stand here and remember it. Every sound, every smell, every sensual slide of his body inside of hers. If all he’d ever have from that night were the memories, let him have them standing there next to the car where those memories were made. Standing there with the woman who’d provided his body with such bone-deep pleasure.
Sonny was the first to look away, but Ian didn’t miss the way her chest expanded with the deep breath she inhaled. Yeah, thinking about that night left him breathless, too.
“We should get these inside,” she said.
She grabbed a backpack from the backseat and hoisted it over her shoulder. Then she lifted a plastic milk crate filled with honest-to-goodness vinyl albums from the floor of the passenger side.
Ian motioned for her to go ahead of him up the driveway. He realized his folly once they started up the garage’s wooden steps. By the time they reached the landing he was uncomfortably hard behind his zipper, the effects of staring at her perfectly round ass as she climbed the stairs ahead of him.
There would be no hot, soothing bath in his immediate future. Tonight he was taking the coldest shower ever.
As he set the box on the end table where she directed him, Ian looked around the apartment, shocked at how different it looked in just the two days since she’d been there. The normal sea of browns and beiges were now awash in a brilliant display of warm reds, cool blues and bright yellows. Curtains covered the windows that looked out over the backyard and at least a half-dozen African print pillows cluttered the sofa. Equally colorful throw rugs littered the tiled floors.
He walked over to the far wall that was now decorated with three framed posters from the Brooklyn AfroPunk Music Festival. Ian had no idea what AfroPunk was but based on the images on the posters, it suited Sonny.
“It looks…different in here,” he said.
“I hope you don’t mind. I needed to be comfortable so I added a little bit of me.”
“I don’t mind.” He peered over his shoulder and caught her gaze. “I like little bits of you.”
Once again, she was the first to look away. She picked up the carton of albums and moved them over to the small table in the corner where she’d set up a record player. A real one, with a needle and everything.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of these,” Ian said, walking over to the table.
“I collect old albums—another of those things I find in thrift shops. This turntable only looks old school, though. It’s equipped with a USB port so that I can transfer the albums to my laptop or even to my phone.”
Ian leaned forward, pretending to be interested in the record player when in reality he just wanted to be closer to her. He could smell that hint of spice from whatever scent she wore. He’d noticed it from the moment she walked up to him at The Corral Monday night, and it had haunted him ever since.
“What is that?” Ian asked.
She looked at him over her shoulder. “What?”
“That scent? Your
“Why didn’t you park in the driveway?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to block you out.”
“It’s your driveway, too, Sonny. You pay rent here, remember?”
“Well, it’s a moot point. This is the last of it,” she said, gesturing to the car.
Ian hadn’t prepared himself for the wave of erotic memories that pummeled him when he peered inside the VW Bug. He would never be able to look at this car without his mind immediately recalling the intense pleasure he’d experienced while crammed into its tiny space. He looked over at Sonny and knew she was thinking about last time they had been in the car together, too. Recalling the things they’d done to each other in the passenger seat.
Ian caught her gaze and held it, refusing to look away.
He deserved just this much, didn’t he? To stand here and remember it. Every sound, every smell, every sensual slide of his body inside of hers. If all he’d ever have from that night were the memories, let him have them standing there next to the car where those memories were made. Standing there with the woman who’d provided his body with such bone-deep pleasure.
Sonny was the first to look away, but Ian didn’t miss the way her chest expanded with the deep breath she inhaled. Yeah, thinking about that night left him breathless, too.
“We should get these inside,” she said.
She grabbed a backpack from the backseat and hoisted it over her shoulder. Then she lifted a plastic milk crate filled with honest-to-goodness vinyl albums from the floor of the passenger side.
Ian motioned for her to go ahead of him up the driveway. He realized his folly once they started up the garage’s wooden steps. By the time they reached the landing he was uncomfortably hard behind his zipper, the effects of staring at her perfectly round ass as she climbed the stairs ahead of him.
There would be no hot, soothing bath in his immediate future. Tonight he was taking the coldest shower ever.
As he set the box on the end table where she directed him, Ian looked around the apartment, shocked at how different it looked in just the two days since she’d been there. The normal sea of browns and beiges were now awash in a brilliant display of warm reds, cool blues and bright yellows. Curtains covered the windows that looked out over the backyard and at least a half-dozen African print pillows cluttered the sofa. Equally colorful throw rugs littered the tiled floors.
He walked over to the far wall that was now decorated with three framed posters from the Brooklyn AfroPunk Music Festival. Ian had no idea what AfroPunk was but based on the images on the posters, it suited Sonny.
“It looks…different in here,” he said.
“I hope you don’t mind. I needed to be comfortable so I added a little bit of me.”
“I don’t mind.” He peered over his shoulder and caught her gaze. “I like little bits of you.”
Once again, she was the first to look away. She picked up the carton of albums and moved them over to the small table in the corner where she’d set up a record player. A real one, with a needle and everything.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of these,” Ian said, walking over to the table.
“I collect old albums—another of those things I find in thrift shops. This turntable only looks old school, though. It’s equipped with a USB port so that I can transfer the albums to my laptop or even to my phone.”
Ian leaned forward, pretending to be interested in the record player when in reality he just wanted to be closer to her. He could smell that hint of spice from whatever scent she wore. He’d noticed it from the moment she walked up to him at The Corral Monday night, and it had haunted him ever since.
“What is that?” Ian asked.
She looked at him over her shoulder. “What?”
“That scent? Your
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