Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
IMANIO “GATEZ”
N aji was fiddling with her fingers and rocking softly in the passenger seat of the Maybach, her knees bouncing against the leather.
Her breathing was mostly steady, but every few seconds, her jaw flexed like it had something to say she wasn’t ready to release, and her knuckles rolled over each other in a repetitive, anxious rhythm.
On some real shit… Naji looked dangerous that night. Not in a bad way—but in a way that made me want to risk everything. Naji was so damn sexy that night, she didn’t even realize she could ruin a man just by crossing her legs slowly .
Her makeup was soft, but it hit hard—like the light followed her on purpose. Her lashes curled up like they were trying to seduce me on their own. And them lips? Glossed, juicy, that kind of perfect nude that made me wanna smear it with my thumb… or my dick.
Yeah, I said it.
And her hair? All those thick curls? I had a vision, clear as day—her between my legs, curls brushing my thighs while she looked up at me with those big-ass eyes, lips parted, a little drool at the corner of her mouth as I gripped the back of her head and taught her how I liked my dick sucked.
I envisioned her on her knees, eyes glossy, voice shaky, and when she finally looked up at me with that fucked-out expression? That’s when I’ll whisper, “Now you know who you married.”
That soft silk in Naji’s dress dipped just enough to tease the tops of her breasts. It took everything in me not to lean over and suck one into my mouth just to see if she would gasp or curse.
Naji had no clue what she was doing to me.
Or maybe she did.
I thought about pulling Naji into my lap, grabbing her by the throat—not hard, just enough to make her stop fidgeting—and whispering exactly how I was gonna fuck her when she earned it.
I imagined eating Naji’s pussy until her voice broke and letting her ride my face until she begged me to let her come. Then, flipping her over, whispering, “We’re not done yet.” Because when I finally stopped holding back—when I really touch her? It wasn’t going to be soft.
I wanted messy, raw, headboard-cracking, fist-in-the-sheets, can’t-walk-in-the-morning nasty.
I wanted Naji moaning my name until she cried, breath catching while I made her feel things no man ever came close to.
I wanted her legs shaking, throat raw, saying she can’t take it—while I prove she can.
I wanted her to remember who the fuck owned that body every time she sat down after.
So yeah… that night? That was the moment I realized our marriage might’ve started off messy, but it was about to get dangerous in the best kind of way. Because if she ever gave me the green light? God help her. Because I wouldn’t stop at love… I’d devour her.
When Naji let out a breathy sigh and shifted again, I gripped my thigh, hard.
“You good?” I asked, glancing over.
“I’m f-fine,” she replied quickly. “Just trying not to tic my way through your mom’s fancy dinner.”
“She’s not that bad. Then again, she is. She once threw her pearls at a girl who tried to flirt with me.”
Naji gave me the slowest, deadest side-eye.
“You’re not making this any better. I didn’t apply for Earth!” she snapped suddenly, her head giving a quick tic to the right as she flinched at her own words.
I smirked and nodded once. “Yeah… I’m with you when you’re right on that last part.”
“Ugh—God! Ignore that!”
I bit back a grin, then let a low chuckle slip.
“Aight. My bad, though.”
Naji rolled her eyes, but her shoulders eased a little, and she smoothed her palms over her thighs.
“Are… are you sure it’ll just be your parents and your sister?”
“Yeah… usually, it’s just us four. Unless she got something planned that she didn’t tell me,” I replied.
Knowing Giselle? That wouldn’t surprise me.
She was dramatic as hell and lived for an audience… but I hated surprises. And with Naji already on edge, that dinner couldn’t afford to go sideways.
Naji exhaled. “Okay... cool.”
Except it wasn’t cool.
When we pulled up, there was a car in the driveway I didn’t recognize—which meant somebody extra was inside. I almost told my driver to back the hell out—no questions asked. But maybe, just maybe , they’d gotten a new car or something.
Still, I knew better.
My gut was already tight. My mood shifted before I even stepped out.
Something wasn’t right.
If that night played out how I started to suspect, there were about to be fireworks—and not the pretty kind.
I helped Naji out of the car, steadying her hand. She glanced up at the massive house like she was preparing to walk into court instead of dinner.
As she shifted to balance herself, my hand slipped—accidentally brushing her ass. Her breath hitched… mine did too. Our eyes met. And that look? It wasn’t confusion; it was curiosity.
Maybe even permission.
My fingers twitched with instinct.
Naji’s ass was round, and felt soft, warm… and way too damn tempting. I wanted to grip it… just for a second. Not rough, just enough to feel her press into my palm. But I stopped myself—barely.
For a moment, neither of us said a word. It was the kind of moment that made a man forget timing, boundaries, and just made him want to act . I didn’t want to move my hand; I wanted to pull her close, whisper something reckless, and let her feel what she was doing to me.
Then, like always, Naji broke it with a mumble.
“Here goes no-no-nothing,” she muttered, trying to smooth her dress and nerves at the same time, pushing through what I knew was a tic.
Or something, I almost said again, but swallowed it.
Just as I raised my hand to knock, the heavy wooden door swung open abruptly, as if inviting trouble rather than guests.
“Imanio! Hello!” Dolores—my mama’s longtime maid—greeted me with an energetic wave.
She stood there, framed in the doorway, like a gatekeeper to hell.
Of course, she was white; Giselle wouldn’t have it any other way, preferring to maintain her world of carefully curated appearances.
Despite her position, Dolores was harmless—endearingly sweet, really—so I decided to give her grace.
“Good evening, Dolores,” I replied coolly, trying to maintain my composure.
Her eyes flicked curiously to Naji, taking in the scene before her.
“Oh! And who do we have here?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and genuine interest.
“This is my wife Naji,” I acknowledged, in a polite but blunt tone—just enough to shut down the follow-up questions I knew were bubbling behind her smile.
“Oh! Well, nice to meet you, dear.”
Naji took a breath to respond, but a tic beat her to it.
Her hand flew up, gently tapping the side of my jaw—not hard, just a quick, playful swat like she was booping a cartoon character.
“Don’t feed me no laced casserole! I ain’t ready to meet Jesus yet!”
Dolores’s mouth parted slightly, trying to piece together if she’d just witnessed what she did.
Naji’s eyes widened, and she cringed.
“Oh my God! I-I’m sorry! Tourette’s!” Then she faced me again. “I—I didn’t mean to touch you like that,” she whispered to me, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly embarrassed.
I dipped my head low and murmured back, “You can touch me like that anytime.”
Naji blinked up at me, flustered, clearly unsure if I was serious.
I was.
Turning back to Dolores—who still looked halfway between concern and confusion—I threw on a cool smirk.
“Don’t worry, Dolores; she means well. Naji just likes to test people’s grace the first time she meets them.”
Dolores gave a nervous little chuckle, eyes still darting between us.
Clearly, she’d never been around someone with Tourette’s—or maybe just not someone like Naji. But she kept it respectful.
“O-Of course,” she replied quickly, stepping aside. “Well, come… come in. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
“I’m sure,” I grumbled.
We walked into Giselle’s picture-perfect trap —white marble floors that didn’t dare hold dust, cream-and-gold everything like it was torn out of a showroom, and the faint scent of lavender floating in the air.
Then I heard it— voices .
Laughing. Multiple. Not just family.
My jaw flexed.
We turned the corner into the dining room… and there they were.
Giselle, my father and Dessign —just as expected.
And then I saw her—Paris. She was sitting pretty in a muted green dress with a wine glass in hand. And beside her was her mom and father, dressed like they were attending a damn award show.
My hands curled into fists.
Everyone was smiling… until they saw me. Then every laugh died in mid-air.
Naji stiffened next to me.
Giselle stood. “Oh, there’s my son! Always fashionably?—”
Her voice trailed off the moment I pulled Naji closer to me, bringing her into view, my hand resting on the small of her back like a declaration.
“—late,” she finished; her words clipped, her smile tight, and her expression caught somewhere between confusion and rage.
“Daddy, can you pass me the lemonade? You know my arms are short,” Dessign said, acting completely unfazed.
“Sure, baby,” Pops replied casually, as if the tension in the room wasn’t hanging over in the air like thunder.
Those two were way too calm; which meant they already knew what was about to go down, and they were just waiting for that moment.
Giselle turned toward us, her smile reloaded with that slow blink women give right before they throw verbal hands.
“ And who might this be?” she asked, her voice dipped in silk and disdain.
Her eyes dragged across Naji like she was a scuff mark on high-gloss marble—unwelcome, offensive, and out of place.
Naji took a soft breath and opened her mouth to answer, but?—
“ Heaven ain’t got no chill, ma’am!” she blurted, her shoulder jerking with a sudden tic that pulled her posture off center for a second.
The silence dropped like a brick.