She sat up, and he kneeled between her legs, coming up to kiss her lips, then pulling back to look in her eyes.
“If you knew me, Ali, you’d know better. I ain’t going nowhere,” Isa said. “I’m tired of waiting, though, baby. Let me just put the tip on it. I won’t even put it in. I just want to touch it. Let a nigga feel something wet on it.” His face was back between her legs, and he kissed it again. He was chipping away at her resolve because he was making her feel so good and she wanted to be bad for him.
“I can’t, Isa. It’s important…”
“Just the tip, Ali, I promise,” he whispered. He took his fingers and opened her wider, pulling back the hood of her womanhood and taking a flat tongue to it. His lips pulled it into his mouth, and she melted. The robe was nonexistent, pooled in luxury at her feet, which were pointed against the floor because she was tense from the pleasure Isa was causing.
“Yo, Ali, I swear to God, you’re pretty than a mu’fucka. Your skin is the shit,” he groaned.
He pulled off his shirt. He was a skinny-ass nigga, but Isa had never gotten complaints because his trigger finger was buff. His body was like a museum … a wall of art decorated every inch of his upper body. A sleeve covered each arm, murals covered his stomach and chest, and a boxing glove with the word Ali covered the left side of his chest, over his heart. Aria was his heart. He had never told her, but she’d known it. No man of Isa’s caliber put up with the amount of stress she caused without love being a factor. Aria set rules that he complained about, but followed. She slapped hoes behind him, popped shit under comments of girls’ pictures who tried to claim him. Aria stayed kicking up dust with the women he rotated. His jump-offs. She disrespected them every chance she got. It was on sight with them until they got the point: Isa wasn’t worth the trouble. She caused his love life havoc, and he loved that shit. He claimed to be single, so women kept chasing him, but he clearly had something with Aria. A situation … a celibate-ass situation … until now. He pulled a condom from his pocket, then shed his jeans. He peeled out of his boxers and rolled the rubber onto his need. Aria eyed the ripped wrapper. Magnum. The word terrified her. Aria’s body instantly tensed as he positioned himself at her doorway. He pinched her chin.
“Yo,” he whispered. She brought timid eyes to his.
“You’re going to break me, Isa,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond. He kissed her so deeply that she didn’t have time to take a breath, and then he pushed into her, slow, inch by inch by inch by …
All that can’t fit in me.
Aria’s body was wound so tightly as she put hands to his stomach to try to stop him. How a man this skinny could carry so much weight between his thighs was beyond her. Aria was terrified. She anticipated pain.
He’s going to knock my fucking cervix out, she thought.
“Wait, Isa, I can’t take it all,” she said in alarm.
“Damn, I know, baby, but how a nigga supposed to stop now? You’re dripping, baby,” he groaned. He pulled out and then pulled the condom right off. She was a virgin. There was no need for it. He got tested every month like clockwork because he knew he was a hoe and he strapped up with every woman he had ever hit, but not tonight … not with Aria. With pussy this pretty, he had to feel it without limits, without a barrier. He wanted to feel her. Her clit peeked between her lips. He focused there, smearing the mess she was making, her own damn wetness. Spreading it around with the tip of his peanut butter–colored tip. The sight of his light skin against her darkness made Isa suck in air. She had the prettiest sex he had ever seen. If it were a beauty pageant—scratch that, a pussy pageant—Aria would be crowned the motherfucking queen because it was exquisite. It was rich and dark, like every other part of her skin, but when he opened it, the pinkest center he’d ever seen awaited him. Isa already wanted to kill niggas behind her. No-motherfucking-body could have this shit after him. He would kill every man that tried. Period. Hell yeah, he was marrying her ass.
“Isaaaa,” she moaned as he pressed on her button, turning her on.
He applied pressure to it, sliding his girth up and down, letting her southern lips clench him, gripping him as the tip of his dick mashed her clit. It was fucking amazing, and he hadn’t even entered her yet. White teeth broke through dark lips, and her chocolate cheekbones rose as she moaned in bliss. She was soaking wet … leaking everywhere. His lips wrapped around her nipple, and one hand pulled her into him as he inched into her. She gasped, gripping his back so tightly that her nails dug lines in his skin.
There was pain, a burning, like Isa was stretching her too far, and she panicked. “Isa…” He steeled, but didn’t withdraw.
“Ali … fuck.” Her name on his lips jarred her attention. He was always hard, never vulnerable, always strapped, never unarmed mentally, emotionally, or physically. She had caught him slipping. She could hear it in the sound of his voice. He had disarmed himself for her … for this moment. He arrested Aria as his eyes lightened, going from light brown to auburn. She wondered if they did that when he was in the throes of passion. When he was with other girls. Or was he letting her glimpse into his soul? Was he letting her in?
He lowered to kiss the tear that pooled at the corner of her eye, then pulled back and stared at her. “Trust me.” She nodded and wrapped her arms around his back.
He grinded into her, deeper, and deeper, and deeper, pushing her limit further and further until she felt the door to her womanhood break. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, and Isa rested there. He didn’t move, he just lay on top of her, inside of her, elbows propped around her head as he rubbed the top of her crown.
“You okay?” he asked.
Aria nodded as one tear fell from her eye and rolled down the side of her face, pooling in her ear. He pulled out, and insecurity filled her.
“What are you doing? Why’d you stop?” she whispered, a little frantic, thinking she’d done something wrong.
“Your first time got to feel good, Ali. It ain’t about me. The door is open. I’ll walk through it later. I got the key now, so a nigga gon’ come and go as he please. Tonight, I just want to make you feel good,” he said before sliding down her body and disappearing between her thighs. Aria’s stomach tensed because she was unsure of what came next, but then she felt his mouth on her.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. He sucked her clit like he was eating something sour. Aria talked a big game, but no one had ever touched her there. The only attention her sex had been given was from her own fingers, but this … this euphoria that Isa had her wrapped up in was different from anything she had ever experienced. She was insecure about his face being buried in her intimacy, but the way he groaned in satisfaction eased her troubled mind. He ate her like she was his last meal, savoring her, getting comfortable between her thighs while she lost it beneath him. Aria bit into her lip, trying to keep her cool, but her stomach kept collapsing as new waves of pleasure washed over her. It was the best form of torture.
“Okay, okay, Isa, I can’t … I can’t … it’s too…”
But he wouldn’t stop … couldn’t stop. It was like someone had poured Hershey’s chocolate all over her and Isa was cleaning up the mess. Her flavor was rich, the most potent cocoa he’d ever had. She was the sweetest he had ever tasted—the only kind he’d ever tasted, in fact, because Isa didn’t do this for just anybody … in fact, he hadn’t ever done it at all. He might have been the first one to pop her cherry, but she was the first to feed him hers. Fair exchange wasn’t robbery.
Aria reached for the pillows above her head and covered her face with one as her thighs parted more.
Aria lifted her entire ass off the bed, pressing herself into his face. Isa applied more pressure, sucking her soul dry as she screamed his name. She heaved, spent, as she removed the pillow from her face and hit him over the head with it.
“What did you do to my body?” she asked, groaning, bewildered and confused as aftershocks made her quiver. She couldn’t understand why she stil
l felt the sensations long after he’d stopped.
“Made it mine, Ali,” he said. He planted his fists around her head, denting the bed as he hovered over her. “And I don’t share well with others.”
“Yeah, well, neither do I,” she said. Worry lived in her eyes. “Isa, be for real about me … about this. The other women, they can’t exist. They just can’t.”
“I’m done with all that. Everybody before this is no longer an option. I need this shit, Ali. You…” He reached between her legs and palmed the face of her sex like he owned it, like he was the owner of that storefront and he needed to put padlocks on it to keep it closed until he was ready to open it. “This. I only want this.”
“You promise.”
“On my mama,” he answered.
Aria didn’t know how she’d gotten sucked up in this type of man, with his hood colloquialisms and his gun-toting, multiple-women-having, aggressive, leave-a-nigga-leaking mentality, but she was all in. She was stuck. She only hoped he didn’t leave her with a broken heart in the end.
9
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The heavy pounding on the door caused Morgan’s eyes to flutter as she fought against the fog of the heavy sleep. She frowned as her lids lifted, giving her a view of her bedroom. She closed her eyes.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Popping her eyes back open, she lifted her upper body from the mattress, saying goodbye to dreamland for good.
“Mmm,” she groaned as she swept messy hair from her face. How did I get in here? She remembered falling asleep on her love seat. She had tried her hardest to keep her eyes open as she and Meek made it through episode six of her favorite show. A fucking soap opera. She smiled without even opening her eyes because it had been like pulling teeth to get him to watch more than one episode. She had opened a bottle of wine to accompany the popcorn she had made, and they had made it through the entire bottle before passing out. Her stomach churned, and the light hurt her eyes as she attempted to open them once more. Hungover. A result of last night’s escapades. She climbed from her bed, gingerly placing her feet on the carpet. She grimaced as she stumbled toward the front door. Every single step made it feel like an earthquake was destroying her brain.
She noticed that Meek had folded the blanket he’d slept with, and the mess they had made was cleaned up. She hurried to the door and glanced out the peephole. A white man carrying a plastic bag came into view.
“Can I help you?” she called through the door.
“I have your Uber eats,” he answered.
Morgan frowned and pulled open the door. “What?”
“Your food. A lobster roll, sweet potato fries, with a side or ranch, side of barbecue sauce, and a seltzer water?” The man held up the bag for Morgan, who accepted it in shock.
“Who ordered this?” she called after him.
“Ahmeek Harris!” the man shouted over his shoulder without stopping.
Morgan smiled, scoffing at the accuracy of her order, and then took the food inside, locking her door before heading to her room. She snatched her phone off the charger and did something she’d never done before … call Ahmeek.
“What up, Mo?” he answered as if he’d been expecting her to call.
“So that’s what you do? Show a girl a good time and then leave before she can tease you about crying during Grey’s Anatomy?”
“Get the fuck out of here.” He chuckled. “That was your ass boo-hooing every time a patient died and siding with O’Malley’s whiney ass.”
“George is my fav and Alex is an asshole,” Morgan defended.
She heard the amusement in Ahmeek’s voice as he said, “I’m team Alex. Alex is a real nigga.”
Morgan laughed as she popped open the Styrofoam container. “Thank you for the food. My stomach is appreciative. I’m a picky eater. How’d you know what I like?”
“I pay attention, Mo. I’ve known you for years. I know not to serve the queen no bullshit.”
“What’s up with you and this queen stuff?”
“Rule number one … know who you’re addressing, Ms. Atkins,” he answered.
“What are you doing today? You didn’t have to rush out,” she said.
“Unfortunately, I did, Mo. The money don’t wait, love,” he replied.
“Neither does the queen,” she shot back as she lifted the lobster roll to her mouth.
“My bad. Playa fuck up. The queen comes first,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind from now on. The queen requires undivided attention.”
“Now you’re learning, Ahmeek.” She snickered.
Morgan smiled. This felt a lot like flirting, and she knew she was walking a fine line, but she would be lying if she said it didn’t feel good. Meek was easy to talk to, and she could hear the smile on his face through the phone. He was hard, but not hardened, thuggish, but not damaged, and motherfucking fine. He was foine. He was foine foine, and Morgan felt giddy when he looked at her. That smile and those eyes. God had done his very best when creating that man. He was beautiful, and the way she’d seen him charm his way into the hearts of random women, she knew that he knew it. Meek didn’t play fair.
“I don’t mean to rush you, Mo—”
“Then don’t,” she said.
“I swear if I could, I would partake in all things Morgan Atkins right now, but—”
“You’re busy,” she finished. “It’s cool, Meek. Thanks for the food.” She hung up the phone. She didn’t know why her feelings were hurt. He didn’t belong to her. Of course he wouldn’t stop his entire world to cater to her. She had been selfish to expect him to.
“Let me go get my babies,” she whispered. She ate her food, finding relief in the ease of her unsettled stomach as she coated it with the meal. She showered, pulled her hair up in a messy bun, and threw on diamond stud earrings, black leggings, and a brown-and-tan Fendi sweatshirt before sliding into vintage Jodeci boots and matching high Fendi socks. She rushed to her apartment door and pulled it open.
“Agh!”
She placed a hand to her heart. “Meek! What are you doing here?” She shouted the words as she placed the hand that curled around her keys to her forehead. “You scared the shit out of me! I thought you had business to handle.”
“I do,” he said. “But the way you hung up the phone told me to get my ass back here before I catch a fade.”
Morgan laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You didn’t have to come back, Meek,” she said.
“That’s what the words mean, but that tone…” He finessed the side of his face as if he wanted no problems. “That mean something different. What is it with pretty girls and their demands? Y’all difficult on purpose? Is it like a secret society where y’all agree to give niggas a hard time?”
Morgan smirked. “So, you think I’m pretty, huh?”
“The world thinks you’re pretty, Mo. Quit fishing for compliments with your difficult ass,” he shot back.
She hollered at that. If only he knew what those compliments did for her self-esteem. Morgan was known for her beauty, but if people could see on the inside of her, they would know she was full of insecurities.
“I have to get the twins. I didn’t know you were coming. I’ve already called Ethic and told him I was on my way,” she said.
“Come on. I’ll take you,” he said. He took a step back so that she could exit and lock her door.
They walked to the car in silence, and he placed a hand to the small of her back before opening the passenger door. The BMW was nice and spotless. She could tell a lot about a man by the way he kept his car. It told her that Meek was meticulous and that he had never had nice things coming up, because once he got them, he never forgot their worth. Morgan, on the other hand, had gum stuck in the bottom of Birkin bags. She had been spoiled all her life, so she tended to take luxury for granted. Not Meek, however. He had earned every dollar he had ever counted, and he coveted his success dearly. He appreciated everything he had, never taking a singl
e thing for granted.
“So, which girlfriend did you spin to come back? What lie did you make up?” she asked.
“I have friends that I keep time with. No girlfriend, though, so explanations aren’t necessary. When I pull up, I show them a good time; when I pull off, it’s over. No promises made, no expectations to maintain,” he said.
“Them? As in more than one?” Mo probed. “You are a whole hoe, Ahmeek.”
Meek pulled out of her parking lot, fisting the steering wheel with one strong hand and rubbed the hair on his chin with the other. “I’m really not. I don’t know where you get that from. I’m a single man. I enjoy women, but I’m not a bad dude. I play my role, they play theirs.”
“And do they know that there are multiple women auditioning for the same part?” she asked.
“I’ve never lied to a woman a day in my life. That’s not my thing,” he added. “Why are we talking about that anyway? You called me back to give me a hard time about women that I’m ignoring for you right now?”
Morgan looked out the window and forced herself to be quiet. She wouldn’t nag him. He wasn’t hers to nag. The car was silent, and Morgan didn’t mind. She had spent a lot of her life in induced silence. She was comfortable there. Most people spoke because the taciturnity was too loud. Saying nothing spoke volumes. Morgan would rather let stillness fill the space between herself and another person to see if they could handle it … to see if it unnerved them. Meek leaned against his door, finessing his lips with his left hand while steering with his right. His phone rang through the Bluetooth, filling the car, and Morgan’s eyes darted to the screen on his dash.
Livi.
She watched him hit Ignore, and she smirked. “Glad you know better,” she said, rolling her eyes out her window as a small smile flirted with her lips.
He snickered, and the silence resumed all the way to Ethic’s house. She leaped out the car when they pulled up. She was halfway up the driveway when she realized Meek was still behind the wheel of the car. She frowned, walking back.
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