Ayida #2
'Fuuuckkk" He breathed out loud pulling out of my mouth letting me catch my breath quick before he stuffed his dick back In my throat.
I moaned clinching my throat muscles around him making him moan out.
He pulled back but he was too late. I felt him release in my throat.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand before shifting my movements.
I leaned forward, brushing my lips across his as a shiver ran through me.
I kissed him again, slower this time, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, my heart beating too fast. His hands roamed up my back, pulling me down against his chest until I melted there, breathing him in.
"I thought you was gon' leave me sleep," he mumbled against my mouth.
"I wasn't," I whispered. "I told you I missed you. "
He lifted his head to kiss me deeper, fingers curling into my waist, guiding me closer until our breaths tangled. He kissed me like he was remembering every night he lost, every dream I held him through, every moment we refused to name out loud. My spirit trembled. My body answered.
"Yiyi" he murmured, voice dropping, heavy with want and something else, relief, maybe. Gratitude. A need he hadn't learned to say out loud. I cupped his face in my hands, pressing my forehead to his. His eyes closed slowly, like he was letting something inside him loosen.
The room thickened with heat. His hands guided my movements, slow at first, then deeper, my breath catching against his shoulder.
The world blurred, softened, dissolved around the edges.
The lamp flickered. My skin warmed. My chest tightened.
My spirit felt like it was floating out of my body and settling somewhere on top of his heartbeat.
He whispered my name like a promise. I whispered his like a plea.
My fingers tangled in the sheets as we moved together, slow at first, then urgent in the way only love can be urgent.
His grip tightened at my waist. My breath stuttered.
His lips brushed my throat, my shoulder, my collarbone.
A quiet moan escaped me small, involuntary, honest.
And just when the moment swelled into something that felt too big for the room, too heavy for language, too sacred for breath.
He flipped me gently beneath him, his movements deliberate, his eyes locked on mine like he needed me anchored to the earth while he let himself unravel as he slid in and out of me making me bite my bottom lip. "Look at me," he murmured.
_______
The ride over had been quiet . the air in the car felt tight.
Not uneasy, just... heavy with thoughts neither of us had found the courage to say yet.
Outside, the sun was dipping, leaving streaks of lavender and gold across the sky, making the big white event building look damn near holy in the distance.
But my spirit wasn't calm. Not even a little.
It had been stirring since I got dressed, whispering at the back of my thoughts like someone tugging on my sleeve.
I'd prayed through it. I'd breathed through it. I'd ignored it. Nothing settled it.
When we pulled into the parking lot, my stomach clenched tight, a quiet ache blooming beneath my ribs.
I didn't know why. Just that the ancestors had their eyes wide open tonight.
Noles guided me into the event with his hand on the small of my back'.
That was the thing about him. He didn't have to do too much in public.
Just one touch from him, and I knew where I belonged.
We were almost thirty minutes late, so we didn't arrive with everybody else.
The room was already full. a chandelier glittering above us, the air thick with money, and perfume.
These weren't regular people. These were elite families.
Old names. Old money. Politicians. The type of folks who carried power in their posture and sin in their smiles.
A world far from the one I grew up in. A world I'd stepped into because I loved a man whose last name carried weight and shadow both.
The closer we got to the main table, the more my chest tightened.
I spotted the rest of the family across the room gathered around a round table .
Juste standing tall in the center, Jules off to the side with a drink, Nia beside him but not touching him, Pierre laughing with Amina and Chiana.
Their energies were tangled. Off. my spirit felt it before my eyes saw it .
"Y'all late, Noles." Juste didn't even try to hide the irritation in his voice as we walked up. "Damn, I didn't even realize that" Noles said, nonchalant. I cut my eyes at him and smacked my lips. He glanced down at me and grinned like he knew he was gon' hear about that later.
I slipped away from him, moving toward Chiana and Amina.
I picked up a glass of champagne from the tray on the table, letting the cold stem settle into my palms as I sipped.
Amina didn't waste time. "I don't care what you say, Chi.
somethin' goin' on with Nia," she muttered, eyes locked across the room.
"You right, Mina," Chiana said softly. "But that's married folks’ business.
If she wanted us to know, she would tell us.
" I glanced toward Nia and Jules. Nia's shoulders were tight, jaw clenched.
Jules' hands kept running over his beard like he was trying to keep himself together.
"Nia been off for a lil minute now," I murmured, spirit stirring.
"What's going on?" Amina nodded her head toward them now standing across the ballroom.
Sure enough , Nia and Jules were standing close, too close not to be arguing, but far enough apart to show it wasn't no playful back-and-forth.
Their mouths were moving quick. Their bodies were rigid.
Whatever it was, it wasn't small. "That right there," Amina whispered.
"It's way too much of that goin' on lately. "
"I think we should stay out of it," Chiana said, voice serious. "Nobody's husband gon' be happy if they find out we meddlin'."
"Well, I think we should get all up in it," Amina said, rolling her eyes. "Ayida, you gotta read her."
"Ayida, no you don't," Chiana snapped quick. It was quick enough to make me blink.
Her reaction told me what her mouth wasn't saying. She knew something. I opened my mouth to respond, but Juste's voice carried across the table. "P, go get Ju. It's time for us to have a seat so they can speak and we can get the hell outta here."
We shifted around the table, finding our assigned seats.
The air was cool from the AC, but the tension was warm, almost sticky on my skin.
Noles slid my chair closer to his, like he always did, kissing my cheek before leaning back in his seat.
That small gesture made my heart dip in my chest, even through the unease rolling through me.
The speech portion started. organizers thanking the donors, acknowledging the St. Jean family by name, talking about the new charter schools opening next year.
It should've felt like a celebration. It didn't. The whole time, I could feel eyes on us.
Not watchers , observers. Folks who had their own whispers.
Their own judgments. Their own reasons to linger.
I could feel the ancestors humming in my bones, energy shifting like smoke.
A chill ran over my skin and the room started to smell of mil dew.
When the speeches finished, I was hoping it was time to go.
Instead, different staff members and board members started circling the tables, shaking hands, thanking donors personally, smiling just a little too hard.
I saw Nash on the other side of the event. He didn't just walk in, he arrived sure to bring attention to himself. Tall.
Posture straight like he carried a crown nobody gave him.
Eyes sharp and cold, the type that didn't skim a room, they cut through it.
The woman beside him was breathtaking in that glossy, polished way people with old money often were, posture perfect, smile trained, hair laid with purpose. She moved with him like she'd been doing it her whole life. Together, they walked the room like the air had been handcrafted for them.
Like the space bent a little to let them pass.
The moment they entered, the energy around me shifted so fast my spirit lurched.
Nia's shoulders locked tight. Jules stopped mid-sip Pierre froze for half a breath.
I felt Noles tense beside me, muscles tightening before his arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer in that silent, instinctive way he had when he sensed danger.
He didn't look at me. he looked out, scanning, reading, preparing.
When Nash's eyes met Jules', the air snapped sharp. The woman reached us first. "I don't think I've met you before," she said, her smile soft, warm even. "I'm Filesha." She offered her hand. I didn't think. I just reached out and touched her.
And the moment our palms met, Her world exploded into mine. Not soft. Not subtle. Not like visions usually come, rolling in gentle like fog. This came like the ancestors ripped the veil open with both hands.
Sudden.
Hard.
Violent.
Images slammed into me:
Children laughing in green yards. Christmas lights blinking on big brick houses. Hands stirring gumbo in a bright kitchen. A woman singing off-key while cleaning. Fidel Baptiste's loud voice echoing in a hallway. His wife brushing Filesha's hair. Family portraits hanging straight as soldiers.
Then Faces sharpened. Undeniable.
Fidel.
His wife.
Their children.
And then My mama. Her crying. Her begging. Her being pushed away. Her sitting alone on the edge of a bed. Her clutching her stomach. Her praying. Her running. Her cursing. Her breaking. My chest tightened violently.
The curse.
My curse.
Their doing.