Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

  “Why doesn’t what hurt?” he asked.

  “Your presence,” she said.

  “It’s not supposed to, Mo,” he answered. “The day it starts to hurt you, leave it alone, and that’s with whatever. Men, friends, whoever. The moment it hurts, you cancel niggas. You hear me?”

  She nodded, placing a hand to the side of his face. “I can’t breathe around you,” she admitted. “I just want to fuck you, Meek. I just want to suck your dick, scream your name, and then roll over in your shirt and go to sleep.”

  “I swear that mouth is so damn pretty, but it’s dirty as fuck, Mo,” he said, chuckling.

  “You’re laughing, but I’m not joking, Ahmeek. I want to wake up and go get my kids and put their cribs in the second bedroom because I don’t think you mind having them around.”

  “They are you, Mo. Why would a nigga mind that?” he whispered. His eyes were closed now too. Hustling was a full-time job, an exhausting shift, especially after a late-night flex at the club. This conversation wouldn’t last long. He could barely keep his eyes open. “You making big plans, love.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she whispered. “I’d make this entire loft my home. I’d get rid of the white furniture because white and babies don’t mix, and I’d peel off that hideous fucking wallpaper in the foyer and paint it heather gray. Heather gray with white trim.”

  They shared another laugh.

  “I’m serious. When I’m around you, my heart”—she inhaled a deep breath—“it just aches, but in a good way. It’s so exposed. It’s almost orgasmic. You make my heart cum, Ahmeek,” she whispered. “I don’t even know what I was doing before this. Like this feels different. It feels…”

  “Right,” he finished.

  Morgan climbed on top of him, mounting him. His shirt rode up her thighs, showing the black boy shorts she wore beneath. She moved her body, grinding slowly as she leaned into his neck.

  “Mo, you killing me, love,” he groaned.

  “I know,” she whispered. Her lips to his neck, her tongue to the lobe of his ear. His dick firmed beneath her, and Mo moaned. “God, Ahmeek. This is so wrong, but it feels so good. You feel so good.” He joined the party when he took a handful of ass.

  Baby, if I break down, will you catch my tears before they hit the ground

  He fisted her hair and pulled her inches from his lips. They stared at each other. He was a breath away, eye to eye, as she rolled her hips. This was fucking. Through clothes, Morgan could cum just like this.

  “I thought you said no, Mo.” Every word came out escorted by a moan.

  “Now I’m saying yes,” she whispered. Morgan reached down and dipped her finger inside herself before tracing it across his lips.

  Ahmeek licked his lips. “Damn.”

  His eyes scanned every inch of her face, taking his time to process her beauty. Morgan kissed him, and her tongue infiltrated his mouth, bullying, devouring him as she kept riding him. She just wanted the fabric of their clothes to disappear, but she was too afraid to reach for his zipper. Somehow kissing felt acceptable, tasting him, tasting herself on his lips felt okay … at least that’s what her guilty conscience was screaming. Ahmeek flipped her and laid Morgan on her back, then he took her lips again, but this time his hand slid inside her panties.

  “That nigga don’t know how to make you nut, do he, Mo?” he asked as he found her clit, thumb pressed to it, and slid three fingers inside her. Morgan tensed, reaching down to grab his hand as her mouth fell open. Before she could close it, his tongue was there, and he kissed her with so much longing that Morgan couldn’t breathe.

  “Agh!” she cried out as his thumb pressed, then circled right.

  “I want to fuck, Mo, but I can’t. I just can’t, love, but I’ma give you this nut cuz I know that nigga ain’t hitting this shit right. Damn, Mo. I just want to bust this shit open,” he groaned. “You want me to take care of that for you?”

  “Yes!” Morgan shouted. Round and round, in then out, Morgan hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. Her clit was so sensitive and swollen that she thought it would burst. Round and round. How were his hands so skilled? In and out. How were his fingers better than dick? He was a mechanic with those hands, screwing the shit out of her body, tuning it up, making it work, fixing what she thought was broken.

  “Agh!” she moaned. “Agh!” Spasms. Heavy breathing.

  Is that a fucking tear? she thought. She knew it was when she felt his lips meet it. One kiss to her cheek made Morgan’s heart explode.

  “Mo, you gon’ make a nigga go against everything he love. I swear to God, Mo. You got to give a nigga space because shit gon’ get ugly. If I hit this shit, it’s gon’ get real fucking ugly,” he whispered in her ear. “Wet ass,” he groaned. “So fucking wet, Mo. Pussy don’t even get wet like this. Goddamn.”

  “Oh my God … wait … stop … yes … Ahmeeeeek,” she moaned. He removed his fingers and flattened his palm against her V and pressed hard, kneading everywhere, her lips, her clit, her pelvis, rubbing all over her, teasing her body so good that she couldn’t form a complete thought, let alone speak.

  “Ugh!” she groaned as her ass left the mattress, pressing up into his hand, grinding, eyes closed, mouth open. This wasn’t even a finger fuck. This was masturbation. He was assisting her self-pleasure because her body didn’t even belong to her in this moment. It was his. He touched her like he had been discovering new ways to make her cum for years. How he knew her body better than she knew it herself, she didn’t know. Her mind was blown.

  “You a good girl, Mo. You don’t want shit to get ugly. So just take this nut and let it be, love, because if I fuck you, I’ma love you too, and then you’re trapped. Then you’re mine, and we both know you ain’t mine, love.” His words in her ear. His hand on her sex. Morgan gasped, she lost air, her vision went white.

  “Ohhh my fucking God. Ahmeek!”

  She came, and then she covered her face in embarrassment with both hands as her chest quaked and her stomach collapsed.

  “Let’s see how well you keep that secret, love,” he whispered in her ear. She couldn’t stop the spasms that took over her body. She felt his lips kiss the side of her head and then felt his body weight rise from the bed.

  “Go to sleep, Morgan Atkins.”

  She didn’t lower her hands until she heard the click of the bedroom door as he pulled it shut. Everything was wet. Her eyes, her panties, her soul. He had rained an orgasm over her entire essence, he had stolen a piece of her and warned her to stay away, but Morgan was stubborn. She wanted what she wanted. In this moment, she couldn’t foresee the future without him in her life, even if it were only for one purpose … to make her heart cum.

  14

  Morgan awoke the next morning to the sound of laughter coming from the living room. She climbed out of bed and walked to the bedroom door, placing her ear close to it. A woman’s voice filtered through the wood.

  “I don’t know who you think you are trying to cancel Sunday breakfast. We’ve done this every week for years,” the voice said. “Whatever little floozy you spent time with last night done kept you up all night, got you canceling on your mama.”

  “She’s not a floozy, Ma,” Ahmeek said, chuckling. “And she’s still here. She’s standing at the bedroom door listening.”

  Morgan grimaced.

  “Come on out, Mo,” Ahmeek called.

  Morgan’s forehead tensed as she pulled open the door and waved in embarrassment. Ahmeek held up the iPad in his hand. “Security cameras, love.” He snickered. He winked at her, and Morgan shook her head as a smile broke out on her face.

  “Morgan, this is my mother, Marilyn. Ma, this is Morgan Atkins,” he said. Morgan pulled at the shirt’s hem, wishing she had opted to put on yesterday’s clothes, but they were stage clothes—those might have been worse.

  Morgan waved politely. “It’s very nice to meet you,” Morgan said.

  Marilyn pulled a carton of eggs from a paper grocery bag. “Nice to mee
t you,” Marilyn answered. She lifted brows of intrigue at Ahmeek as if she were impressed. “Morgan Atkins, huh? You say that like you saying Queen Elizabeth, boy. First and last. Like she’s important.” Marilyn laughed, and Morgan blushed as Ahmeek shook his head.

  “Here you go.” He chuckled.

  “What? I’m just saying. I’ve never met a girl of yours before. I’m just observing.”

  “Oh, we’re not … we’re just friends,” Morgan said.

  “Okay, friend. Are you hungry, baby?” Marilyn asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Starving, actually,” Morgan answered.

  Marilyn nodded at the seat beside Ahmeek, and Morgan crossed the room. Her bare, pink-painted toes took ten steps before she was at his side. She sat, and he turned her swivel stool toward him, lifting one of her feet into his lap. He rubbed it as he probed her. “You okay?” he asked. She knew what he meant. Last night. Was she okay with what happened last night? She smiled with her eyes, then nodded as she felt her face warm. He was looking at her like she was the sun. Like he had waited up all night just to make sure he didn’t miss the sunrise. Marilyn moved around the chef’s kitchen a few feet away. Ahmeek leaned into her, hand to her cheek, four fingers behind her neck as he planted a quick kiss to the top of her head.

  “I’ll take you home after you eat,” he said.

  “Oh, it’s not necessary. I can catch an Uber. Your mom is here. I don’t want to interrupt,” Morgan stated.

  “Never will I fucking ever put Morgan Atkins in an Uber. Did you not hear the threat Ethic gave me? Walk light.” Ahmeek smirked. “A nigga like his life.” He lifted her foot to his mouth and kissed her big toe. Morgan smiled. The smell of bacon filled the kitchen.

  “So tell me, Morgan. How long have you two been…” Marilyn paused and smirked at her son. “Friends?”

  “A few years now. I’ve known Ahmeek for a while. Since I was younger. I used to see him around the way.” Morgan didn’t want to mention Messiah. Hurt would creep into her heart if she said his name, so she left him out of the story. “We lost touch for a while. I went away to school in London.”

  “Oh, so that’s why you went to London?” Marilyn asked.

  Ahmeek ran a hand down his waves but didn’t respond, and Morgan giggled.

  “We reconnected a few weeks ago,” Morgan finished. “I’ve seen him a lot since then.” She smiled at Ahmeek, a big grin, like they shared a secret. He shook his head and bit his lower lip.

  “So, you’re in college?” Marilyn asked.

  “I graduate soon. I cut down four years’ worth of undergrad in two, so I’m walking early. Supposed to go to medical school in the fall,” Morgan said.

  “She’s smart!” Marilyn exclaimed. “Are you sure we can’t reevaluate this just-friends thing?” Marilyn asked as she whipped a bowlful of eggs.

  Morgan laughed.

  “We’re friends, Ma. Morgan’s too good for me,” he said. He met her eye, and Morgan lowered her gaze, twiddling her fingers.

  “I should call and check on the twins,” Morgan said.

  “You have kids?” Marilyn asked.

  Morgan nodded. “I do. Two-year-old twins. A boy and a girl.”

  “Oh, you’re so young!” Marilyn said.

  “Yes, ma’am. I went through a lot growing up. It feels like I’ve lived two lifetimes already, and I’m not even twenty-one yet, but those babies are the best thing that ever happened to me.” She lowered her gaze, but Ahmeek’s finger was there, beneath her chin, lifting it. She met his eyes, and something unspoken lived there.

  Pick your fucking head up, love.

  She deciphered the stare with ease, and she gave him a weak smile.

  “Kids will do that to you. There’s nothing casual about having them. Nothing immature about it. They make you grow up, and anyone around you has to grow up as well. A man has to be ready for a lot of responsibility, a lot of weight on his shoulders when dating a woman with children,” Marilyn said, eyes boring into her son.

  Morgan’s eyes burned him too, marked him. Their gaze was saying something. Exposing that secret that they had created last night. She thought of the way he had been at the zoo. “Ahmeek does okay,” Morgan whispered.

  “For a friend, right?” Marilyn baited.

  Morgan wanted to be respectful and look his mother in the eyes, but she was held prisoner by Ahmeek’s stare.

  “Not by choice, but I get in where I fit in,” he answered. Morgan blushed.

  Marilyn chuckled. “Boy, you’re in a world of trouble,” she said, smiling.

  Morgan laughed and turned toward the island. Marilyn had whipped up a full spread in no time, laying it out before them family-style. “Meekie, baby, bless the food,” Marilyn directed.

  “Meekie?” Morgan teased.

  “Since he was running around in diapers,” Marilyn said, eyes glowing from the memories. “He was my baby. Still is. He gives the best kind of love. Always has. I remember he would come into my room when he was about five just to say, ‘Mommy, I love you,’ ‘Mommy, are you okay?’ always checking to make sure I was okay. I suppose he’s spreading that around a little these days.”

  Morgan smiled at him.

  She could tell he was thoroughly uncomfortable with going down memory lane. He hiked an eyebrow and ran a hand down the back of his head. “Man, we eating or what?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Meekie, we’re eating,” Morgan said. She giggled in delight as his mother joined in the laughter.

  “I like her,” Marilyn said. “Don’t bring none of your little girlfriends around if they not better than her.”

  “Those little girlfriends have been canceled,” Morgan said, smirking. “They won’t be around, Ms. Marilyn.”

  “Mmm-hmm, just friends my ass,” Marilyn countered, then held out her hands for Morgan and Ahmeek. They formed a circle and bowed their heads.

  “God, thank you for waking us up to see another day. We know that it wasn’t guaranteed, and we appreciate the gift of this moment, the gift of those that are present in this moment. We thank you for this meal. May it be nourishing to our bodies, and may the company we keep be nourishing for our souls. Thank you for this company, Big Homie. It’s appreciated. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

  Morgan lifted her eyes, suddenly craving him. Everything about him she wanted. She didn’t know how she had missed it before … how the distraction of Messiah had made her completely ignore the grandness that sat right beside him. Morgan felt so many things. So much guilt about these feelings that had emerged, but she wasn’t guilty enough to deny them, and she suddenly just wanted to touch him. Not sexually, but she craved connection. His fingertips to hers would be enough if it was all she could get in this moment. As if he could read her mind, he closed the space between them. It didn’t even matter that his mother was in the room. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered his lips to her collarbone. A kiss. So intimate that it made her eyes close and her breath go hollow.

  “Let’s eat, love, so I can get you home.”

  She nodded, but this was home. This felt like home. This felt like Benny Atkins had come out of the sky and picked this roof for her himself. Like he had bestowed Ahmeek with the task of taking care of his baby girl because he reminded her so much of her father. Benny Atkins had been stern but kind, powerful yet yielding, and incredibly loving to his three girls. To her sister, Raven. To her mother, Justine. And to Morgan. He had been the perfect mixture of a gentleman and a gangster. Ahmeek was that. Where Messiah reminded her of Ethic, Ahmeek reminded her of her father. She loved them both, would never be able to choose between them. Just like Benny and Ethic. Life had made the choice for her because Benny had been taken away, and she had been left in Ethic’s care. Her heart was much like that. She had been robbed of Messiah, and Ahmeek was there, left to clean up the mess the tragedy had made of her. Her eyes watered as she made the comparisons in her mind. A daddy versus a father. Ethic versus Benny. A zaddy versus a partner. Messiah versus Ahmeek. The thought haunte
d her. He released her and rounded the island to begin to fix her a plate.

  “Ahmeek?” her voice was small—injured, even—and he lifted eyes of concern in her direction. “Can we go now? I should get back.”

  Thoughts of her father always unnerved her. Her lips quivered as he looked at her. Even the way his forehead creased when he was serious and the way his chest swelled with tension reminded her of her father. “Now, please. I need to leave now,” she whispered.

  Marilyn turned and looked at Morgan. “Ahmeek, go get her things, son,” she whispered.

  Morgan drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. My kids … I just…” Morgan stopped talking. “It was really nice to meet you.”

  “Morgan, there is no right or wrong way to move on,” Marilyn said. “No one can tell you how to process your grief but you. No one can tell you what makes it better but you. I know you loved Messiah. I know how conflicted you must feel being here now with Ahmeek.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened in shock.

  “You didn’t think I knew you were with Messiah? I knew that boy a long time. Fed him at my dinner table plenty of nights when no one else would. I know exactly who you are, Morgan. To him and to Ahmeek. You take your time deciding what you want your life to look like, and don’t let anybody make you feel bad about the way you choose to live after someone you gave your all died. You hear me?”

  Morgan swiped the tear that fell from her eyes away and nodded while clearing her throat.

  “Now sit down and get you some food, baby. You don’t let a nigga fuck you without feeding you either.” Marilyn giggled.

  Morgan’s mouth fell open. “We didn’t … we’re just…”

  “Friends, mmm-hmm.” Marilyn cackled. “I hear you, but I don’t think either of you really believe that. If you did, you wouldn’t be here in his shirt with wild hair and eyes that control every beat of my son’s heart. There would be no breakfast in the morning because Ahmeek doesn’t bring women home, especially here. No, neither of you believe that at all.”