Chapter nine
Day Seven
Sky
Fuck, fuck! I was cursing everybody out in my head. I had called Zio ass so many times my screen wouldn’t even scroll anymore. It was just his name over and over. Call. Call. Call again.
It went straight to voicemail every time.
I was standing outside that damn restaurant in heels that weren’t made for standing. My toes were numb, my arms were crossed, and that orange-colored wench at the front kept flipping her hair and telling me—sweetly but fake as hell—that I wasn’t on the list.
“But I’m meeting someone who works here,” I said again. “He’s the chef. Zio Baptiste.”
She blinked slowly, then gave me a thorough appraisal. I was wearing a sweater dress, a trench, and the Hermès boots I had spent a month of book profit on.
“Right,” she said, like she really didn’t believe me. “But you’re not on the VIP list,” she repeated, like I was stupid. “You’re welcome to wait in the regular line.”
I looked back at the regular line. It was around the corner and down the damn street. I was not waiting. It was February in Florida, but that night it felt like the cold had been saving itself just for me. “But—” I started, but she didn't even let me finish.
“But nothing, You aren’t on the list.” She snapped loudly.
People from the regular sniggered. My blood boiled.
I was embarrassed. I was cold. I was mad as hell. And the longer I waited, the more those feelings started curling into something mean. I just walked away before I did something stupid.
By the time Zio knocked on my front door an hour later, I was already undressed and wrapped in a robe, hair tied up. I was done. I didn’t even want to see him, but I opened the door and walked away without saying a word.
He followed me inside, shut the door behind him, and just stood there for a second. He smelled like the kitchen—spice and smoke and lemon oil—and he still had his apron tucked into the back of his chef pants.
“Why you put the top lock on?” I could hear the annoyance in his voice. I had done it on purpose.
“I tried to call you all night,” I snapped, not even turning around, ignoring his question. “You had me outside begging to get in. Do you know how humiliating that was?”
His voice was calm, too calm for my liking.
“I was working. It was slammed. I didn’t have my phone—”
“You didn’t have your phone?” I turned to face him, heat rushing to my face. “I wasn’t on the list, Zio. The woman at the door acted like I was lying just to get in.”
He exhaled through his nose, already rubbing a hand over his beard, which meant he was getting aggravated. I didn’t care. “I didn’t see the list beforehand. That’s the manager. I told her to put you on. I would’ve—”
“You should’ve made sure,” I cut in. “You said this was your last week there, that you wanted me to be part of it. But when it mattered, you left me outside. You didn’t answer.
You didn’t look for me. You keep saying you want us to be together, but you didn’t even take time to make sure I was alright. ”
His jaw tightened. “Here you go. You’re just looking for something to be mad about.”
I snapped. “I’m mad because I was left out like I didn’t matter. Before, I didn’t have to deal with this. This is what I didn’t want. To be—”
He exhaled again cutting through my rant and just stared at me as he ran his hand over his head.
I continued even though I wanted to shut up. “This right here makes it hard to trust you,” I spat. “One minute you’re all in, the next I’m standing outside a building like a damn extra in your life.”
Silence. He continued to stare. I noticed his hand twitching at his side like he was holding something back. Then he stepped forward.
I took a step back, thinking he had had enough. He reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into him. Then he kissed me. My pulse slammed into my neck. His hands slid into my robe, pushed it open without asking. My body instantly went from coiled and hostile to sensitive and achy.
Without warning, he sank to his knees in front of me, parting my thighs with hands that trembled like he was fighting himself.
My right leg ended up over his shoulder.
His mouth found my clit and sucked softly.
My back nearly bowed. He kissed lower, then trailed kisses along my inner thighs, sucked the meat part into his mouth, leaving a mark before he went back to my pearl. .
I tried to say his name, but I couldn’t. There was intent in the way his mouth moved, like he was trying to suck the fight out of me.
“Ooh” I moaned dropping my head back on my neck.
My hand gripped his head trying to shove my whole pussy in his mouth.
I felt like I was about to fly clean out of my body.
He moaned low, like he was hungry for me, like he was proud of himself for making my pussy as messy as it was, I could feel my juices and his warm saliva dripping down my thigh.
. I tried to tell him to slow down or stop or something, make it last, but it was too late—I was coming hard, hips jerking, heart running wild, body giving into him all at once.
He didn’t move until he had taken everything from me.
I gripped the back of the sofa, nails digging into the fabric, my head falling back as heat flooded through me, I enjoyed the after shocks. I wanted to feel his dick in my but I knew he would say no. Acting like withholding dick would give him control over me. It did, but I wouldn’t let him know.
When he stood, he didn’t speak. He just stripped off his clothes, then scooped me up like I hadn't been cursing him out just five minutes ago. I didn’t say anything, just melted into him—tired, boneless, damn near purring.
He carried me to the bathroom, set me down on the tub’s edge, and started the water.
I sat there quietly, robe open, still breathing heavily.
When he looked at me, sitting there all calm and cum drunk, he laughed in my face—deep and smug like. “Now look at you,” he said, shaking his head. “Was ready to kill me, now you sitting’ here like a good girl.”
I wanted to tell him to hush but I ended up nodding.