Imani
Dragging myself out of my funk and coming here was the best decision.
Daymir is exactly what I needed. The way he just made me forget all about that stupid ass hospital was everything.
He’s everything and his dick, oh my God, it’s in a category of its glorious own.
I’m content as hell laying right here on his chest but I know the moment I move, I’m going to still feel him.
“You good?” he asks as his big hands caress my back.
“I am now,” I honestly admit.
“Now? When I come back, you can tell me why you wasn’t good before,” he says as he slightly lifts up. Then, he leans in and kisses me before climbing out of his big ass bed with that big ass dick swinging.
Where did this man come from?
Alone in the bed, I capitalize on the moment and stretch out my arms then try to stretch out my legs. They are less cooperative than my arms but I manage. Then, I inch up in the bed, resting my back on his extra-cushioned high headboard.
His room is very much him, big, masculine, simple, and sexy.
Everything is black and grey. This large bed serves as the centerpiece of the room.
A massive TV is on the wall opposite of the headboard.
On the right wall by his ensuite bathroom door is a large armoire and the left wall has built-in bookshelves and the shelves are filled with books.
When he walks out of the bathroom, he has a hand towel in his hand. He steps to the bed and places the warm towel on my thigh. Gently, he wipes my thighs and then between my legs.
Again, where did he come from?
Daymir is a fine-ass gentle giant.
I can get used to this-to him.
“Thank you,” I utter, still reeling from his thoughtfulness. I’ve been offered a towel in my past but never had I experienced this, big strong hands taking care of me with such tenderness.
Leaving me in awe, he takes the towel back into his bathroom. When he returns, he climbs back in bed and I climb back on him. My head lays on his chest, my arm drapes across his waist, and my leg grazes his third one.
“Don’t wake the beast,” he teases.
“That’s the perfect name,” I admit and he chuckles.
His big hand palms my ass and his other caresses my back. “Shit, then, Beauty and the Beast,” he utters and I smile.
“I like that.”
“Now, tell me what’s up with you,” he says.
I debate giving him the long version of my trying morning or just keeping it simple for a minute and simple wins. “I got fired,” I admit.
“Fired. For what?”
“Some bullshit,” I begin. I know my severance agreement says that I can’t discuss what happened in that OR but I disregard that.
Something tells me that my secrets are safe with Daymir.
My comfortability level with him is surprisingly through the roof.
I guess saving my life affords him that so I continue without any regard, “A doctor left a sponge in a patient and she’s suing.
The hospital needs somebody to blame. So, they blamed me, the scrub tech. ”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Very.”
“What’s the doctor’s name?” he asks.
“Why?”
“Just curious. I might want to pay homeboy a visit,” he says seriously, almost too serious.
“You don’t have to do that. I already fucked him up before I left the hospital today,” I say and he erupts in a low deep chuckle. “Don’t laugh. I’m dead ass. I beat his ass; they had to help him off the floor.”
His hand caresses my chin then he lifts my head up. When our eyes meet, he says, “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“A surgical genius, lady driver, and a fighter?”
“All of that,” I assure him then my other words just flow out.
“I loved that job. It was my dream job. When you’re a scrub tech you look for your right specialty and the right facility.
I had worked in other areas back home in Diamond Cove but once I got into trauma and emergency, I loved it and everyone knows that Mount Sinai has the best trauma surgery department.
So, for me to end up there was everything.
It was the something good I needed in my life but now it’s gone.
I felt like shit and I just wanted to feel better.
You were the first thing that came to mind so, I texted. ”
“And came here looking like that. You seduced and used a nigga,” he says but I can hear the lightness in his baritone.
“I did and while I should say I’m sorry; I’m not though. I was a hot, mad, sad mess this morning and you were exactly what I needed. I’ve been smiling since you opened the door so thank you.”
“Nah. Thank you.” He squeezes my ass then slaps it lightly. “I’m a man and I love pussy. I love it even more when it belongs to a beauty who patches niggas up, drives a hellcat, and lays niggas down.” He flips us over on the bed and he’s looming over me. “You fed me; now let me feed you.”
A huge smile spreads across my face. “Your cheesesteak?” I ask.
“Yea and my secret recipe fries.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“I know something that tastes better but they’re pretty good. Get comfortable while I cook.”
He leans in, kissing the hell out of me, then climbs off the bed.
He places my clothes and mini tote on the bed, scoops his clothes off the floor, then walks into his bathroom.
When his door closes, I scoot over and grab my bag.
I need to let Draya know that I’m fine and not in jail so I shoot her a quick text.
She doesn’t respond; she’s probably in court.
I send a group message next to Aubree and Breezy.
Me: They fired me.
Aubree: Fuck them!
Breezy: Oh no. Are u okay?
Me: I am now.
Aubree: Come home ?
Me: CF is my home now
Breezy: But we’re here if you need us. For anything.
Me: I know but I’m fine frfr.
They both heart my last text and I smile.
I can always count on my Hellcat Barbies when I need them.
When I place my phone back into my bag, I grab a band and put my locks up into a high bun.
Then, I ease out of his bed and gingerly amble to his wall to be nosey.
I’m truly curious about his massive selection of books.
My eyes scan and my fingers trace many of the spines and I see that his collection is diverse: fiction, non-fiction, financial, autobiographies, history, and motivational.
I recognize a few authors, Donald Goines, E.
Jerome Dickey, Iceberg Slim, Percival Everett, and Blake Karrington.
There are two shelves dedicated to one author, Dr. Trey Evans.
I pull one of his books, Reclaiming the Throne.
“You’ve read Dr. Evans?” His baritone startles me and I turn to see him walking out of the bathroom. Thank God there’s a towel covering his lower half I’m trying to focus on these books and I don’t need a distraction.
“No, I haven’t. Have you read all of these?’ I ask because the Reclaiming the Throne looks like at least an eight-book series.
“On the shelf? Or all of his?”
“Both actually,” I admit because his collection is extensive.
“All of them,” he says when he’s standing behind me. “I had a lot of free time for forty-two months.”
“Months?” I question then turn to face him. “Who counts time in..,” I begin but then it hits me. Months…time…prison. I’m not new to this and I’m definitely not green. “Federal or state?” I ask and his eyes squint like he wasn’t expecting my question.
“Fed in Philly. I jumped two years ago and paroled here.”
“Are you still on papers?”
“No. I paid my retribution and fees off early and my P.O. recommended release. They only care about the money anyway.”
“Let me guess, pharmaceuticals?” I ask then smirk and I notice a slight grin on his face.
“Yea but not organized like now. I’m not into no street shit.”
“Is that what these books are about?”
“Nah. Dr. Evans is legit. His books focus on Black men and us reclaiming our thrones as Black Kings. It’s some real deep shit that makes you think.
” He steps closer to me and places his hand under my chin.
While cupping it, he stares down into my eyes and asks, “You don’t have any more questions about my bid? ”
“No, no questions.”
“Good but if you have any, just ask.”
“I will.” I lift up on the balls of my feet then kiss him. “Can I take a shower?”
“Of course. We could have taken one together though,” he says before tapping my ass. “Would have been much better.” He lightly licks his bottom lip.
“To shower with you, I’m going to need food. A girls got to eat to keep up with you.”
“I got you. Go shower; everything you need is inside.”
He walks towards his armoire and after placing the book back on the shelf, I journey to his bathroom.
Just like his bedroom, its massive and everything is black, grey, and white.
The tub, toilet, sink cabinets, and surfaces are black.
The floor tiles and shower wall tiles are grey and white and there’s a beautiful black-painted shiplap wall behind the sink.
The linens are located on built-in shelves between the shower. The top shelves are stocked with toiletries and the towels fill the lower ones. I grab a hand towel and a bath one before stepping into the open shower. Taking my time, I enjoy the multiple streams of water from his wall-based shower.
When I emerge from the bathroom, clean and moisturized from his cocoa butter Vaseline and Jergen’s lotion, he’s no longer in his bedroom. So, I seize the opportunity and raid his armoire. I find a Hurts number one, Eagles jersey. I slip it on and it swallows me, fitting like an oversized dress.
I head out of his room, following the sound of R it’s much thicker than mine.”
“I love my jersey on you.”
“Me too. It’s comfortable.”
“You ready to eat? I’m bout ready to start grilling.”
I break our embrace. “Grilling?”
“Yes, one side of my stove is a grill.”
“Let me help.”
“Nah. I’m cooking for you.”
“You can still cook; I just want to help. At least cut the onion and those bell peppers. I’m pretty fast at it.” He sighs then deflates his broad shoulders. “Please, the veggies. That’s all; you are doing all the cooking.”
“A’ight,” he concedes then steps aside so I can fully enter the kitchen.
After washing and drying my hands, I grab a more suitable size knife from his rack and sliced the whole onion, one yellow bell pepper, and one green.
He uses the large knife to thinly slice the beautifully marbled steaks.
As promised, when I’m done, I leave him in the kitchen and plant my ass on the stool at the counter to watch this fine ass man cook for me.
He pours two glasses of bourbon on the rocks, places my glass on the counter, then starts on the Phillies.
The deep fryer is heating for the fries.
On one side of the grill pan, he’s toasting the butter rolls and on the other he’s grilling the steak, onions, and peppers.
The delicious aromas have my stomach rumbling. I’m too ready to eat.
“What kind of cheese do you use?” I ask.
“I’m a purist. I use Whiz,” he proclaims. “I have provolone if you want but an authentic, Daymir Philly has cheese whiz.”
“I want it the Daymir way,” I say and he glances back at me over his shoulder.
“Shit, you can have everything the Daymir way.”
If what we just did in that bedroom is the Daymir way, I’ll take that for a thousand.
I decide to keep my thoughts to myself because I can’t have him thinking I’m sprung off my first time with his dick. Instead, I ask, “But what about those secret recipe French fries? Are they the Daymir way?”
“Close your eyes. I can’t reveal this secret.”
“Seriously?”
“Dead ass. Close them,” he insists so I comply but when I hear him moving, I peak and see him pulling a bag of crinkle cut fries from the freezer. After he drops them in the fryer, he quickly places the bag back in the freezer. “You can open now,” he says.
I open my eyes and smile. His secret is safe with me.
Ten minutes later, I’m eating the most seasoned, most tender, and most delicious cheesesteak I’ve ever had. Even his special recipe fries are delicious. The season mixture he put on them is everything, the right amount of salt and spice.
“Okay. You’ve sold me. Cheese Whiz is definitely the best and this steak tastes like butter. You have to tell me your spice blend.”
“Thanks. I’ll teach you the next time we cook them.”
“Next time?” I question because his words are so absolute and assured.
“Yea, next time. You fed me. I tasted yo’ sweet pussy. You rode this dick and now, I’m feeding you. We go together,” he says and I can’t stop laughing.
“What grown ass man says go together!” I exclaim.
“Shit, me. Who’s going to check me.”
“What if I check you?” I ask, knowing damn well I won’t.
Maybe it’s the instant connection I felt with him after the store.
Maybe it’s the fact that he just cooked this delicious cheesesteak for me.
It may even be the way he looks at me like I’m his favorite meal.
Hell, it most definitely may be the way he just sexed my body like he owned it.
I don’t know but whatever it is is working. We go together, real bad.
“Do you want to check me?”
“As good as this is, no.”
He turns to face me then with a serious look on his face, he asks, “So, just my food is good?”
After placing the half of my Philly back on my plate, I give him the same curtesy of eye contact and turn to face him.
“No. Everything since you let me in has been good, especially you. You really turned my shitty day to sweet and I’m not ready to go back home yet.
After we eat and clean up this kitchen, I want to go back into room, climb into that big ass bed, crawl on you and just rest. Hell, maybe take a nap. ”
“Trust, we can do all of that.”