Chapter 25 #3
He looked down at his hands. “I used to be way lighter than I am now. Back then, my mama made me wear sunscreen like religion. She’d tell me I had to protect my ‘features’… said I was blessed. But it never felt like a blessing; it felt like I was being dressed up to be someone else—something else.”
Imanio exhaled slowly, rolling his neck as if the pressure of those old days still clung to his shoulders.
“I wanted to be darker, though. So what did I do? I’d tan, hoop in the sun… everything. The shit ain’t really last, but I tried.”
I smiled faintly at that, but stayed quiet, letting him unload.
“I thought if I looked more like the kids who didn’t flinch around me, I could blend in… fit in, perhaps. But nah. Light skin, white daddy, new money? I was already on a pedestal I never asked to stand on. I was wishing for more melanin just so I wouldn’t get all the fake love. The shit was crazy.”
I touched his hand, feeling a soft squeeze in return.
“I don’t want none of this shit without being the Imanio I was before I left the hood,” he admitted. “That’s who I really am. Not this... corset version Giselle tries to lace me up into every time there’s a dinner guest or board meeting. I hate who she’s become.”
I reached over, brushing my hand against his. “You’re still him.”
Imanio glanced at me sideways, lips twitching just a little.
“Yeah? I don’t always feel like it.” There was a pause before he added, “Dess feels the same. That’s why we’re so close. She saw the shift too. But her? She made peace with it in her own way. I think that damn chair of hers is her rebellion.”
We both laughed softly, then he brightened just a touch.
“You know… my grandma wants to meet you.”
“Sh-Sh-she does?” I asked, pushing through a rapid stutter, but he continued, completely ignoring my tics, and I was starting to love that about him.
“Yeah. I told her about you. She lives in the same neighborhood where we grew up. Still there—stubborn as hell. She’s nothing like my mama.
Trust me. Everybody calls her Mama Rose, but don’t let the name fool you.
She’s wild, loud, and says whatever she wants.
And somehow, everybody in the hood still got respect for her like she a damn queen. ”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She is. You’d love her.”
I smiled. “I’m sure I would.” I raised my wine glass. “To… to meeting the ones who make us better… even when the ones who made us don’t.”
He clinked my glass. “Hell yeah to that.”
“Seriously, Imanio… thank you. Thank you for sharing all this with me.”
He nodded. “Likewise.” Then scooted closer.
“Naji, I’m telling you all this because I want you to know I’m not pretending to be some perfect man who had it easy.
I’m still that kid who had to sleep with roaches in the corners and noise through the walls.
I’m just older, wear better clothes, and got a lil’, well… a lot more money.”
We shared a laugh.
“Imanio, I don’t need perfect; I just need r-real.”
“You got him,” he said. “Right here… no edits.”
This wasn’t the life I thought I’d end up in. But for the first time… it didn’t feel so far from home.
An hour later, I was a bit tipsy—just warm enough to giggle at nothing and talk a little too freely. Imanio, on the other hand, had definitely gone drink for drink with the ocean breeze. He was relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before, his sharp edges softened but not dulled.
We’d shared more stories of our childhood—the good, the bad, and the kind a person only tells when they know the other person won’t judge them. But we kept the heavy stuff light. That night was supposed to be memorable, not a therapy session.
The soft hum of jazz floated through the hidden speakers around us, blending seamlessly with the gentle rocking of the yacht and the quiet hush of the waves.
I took another sip of wine and caught him staring at me again—that lazy, heavy-lidded stare that made my skin warm in places untouched.
"You keep staring like that, I’ma start thinking dessert’s not the only thing on your mind,” he said, voice low and thick with flirtation.
I didn’t respond; I just blinked slowly, my tongue wetting my bottom lip.
That was all it took.
Imanio stood, circled behind me, and then slid my chair back just enough for his hands to graze my shoulders. I felt them trail slowly down my arms, his breath brushing my ear.
“I was trying to be a gentleman tonight,” he murmured against my ear, his breath hot. “But you’re making that shit hard as hell.”
“T-then stop trying,” I said—bravely… stupidly.
Then—tic.
“Bite the pillow, Brenda!”
Imanio’s brows lifted, and a slow, devilish grin curved his lips.
“I don’t know who Brenda is, but she might be onto something.”
“I tic when I’m turned on too,” I admitted with a shy laugh. “It’s not always cute. But it’s… me.”
He leaned closer. “Then let me learn all of you. No filters. No apologies.”
A single command came next, low and husky.
“Come with me.”
I stood, legs shaky from the wine and want.
Imanio led me through the yacht and we past the main lounge to a private room toward the back. It was dim, elegant, draped in black silk and soft shadows, and a low bed sat near the window.
Once the door was closed, Imanio pulled me close and cupped the side of my face like he needed to make sure I was real. When he kissed me, it was like the last time—not rushed.
When his mouth dropped to my neck, then lower, a sound caught in my throat—half gasp, half tremor. My hand jerked slightly, tapping twice against my thigh before my head tipped back on instinct.
“Mmm… shiny mailbox!” I whimpered through the haze.
Imanio paused just long enough to look up with heat in his eyes, then grinned—dark and tipsy, but focused.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “Let all that crazy shit out. I got you… every inch of you.”
There were no sudden movements, no rough tugs; just slow, intentional touches. Imanio’s fingers skimmed my dress with a kind of patience I wasn’t used to—like he was unwrapping something valuable, something rare… me .
He slid fabric away from my skin piece by piece, following every exposed inch with his mouth—hot, wet, purposeful. His stubble scratched softly against me, grounding me. My tics softened, then flared again, that time from anticipation.
I could barely breathe. I’d never had a man look at me like that.
Not like I was broken. Not like I was fragile. But like I was wanted — flaws, tremors, outbursts, and all.
Imanio grinned against my collarbone. “Lay down, baby.”
I obeyed.
Imanio loomed over me. His eyes searched mine, slow and sharp—like he was etching me into memory, hunting for the slightest crack of hesitation.
“You sure about this?” he asked. “There’s no going back after this. You know that, right?”
It wasn’t a question; it was a warning.
I nodded, throat dry, but my voice pushed through anyway.
“I… I trust you.”
Imanio leaned down and pressed his lips to my cheek first, then my temple. Next, my shoulder. Each kiss felt like a silent promise. And each pause gave me time to breathe… time to feel.
My fingers curled against his shirt as his palm flattened against my stomach, anchoring me. I could feel the tension humming under his skin, the restraint.
“You’re so beautiful, Naji,” he murmured, lips against the slope of my neck. “Not just how you look, but all of it… the shit you hide.”
My eyes stung. “E-Even the tics.”
Imanio looked me in my eyes with so much sincerity. “ Especially the tics.”
Then he dropped to his knees between my legs and hooked one over his shoulder, eyes dark, mouth already parted like he was starving.
Imanio didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, and when his tongue met my clit, my head fell back with a helpless moan. Imanio licked me like he was fluent in every hidden language of my body.
Long strokes, deep pressure and gentle sucks that turned savage when I tried to hold back.
My tics kicked in—a stuttered groan, a breathless laugh, a muttered, “Ooooh—fold the jellybeans, fold ‘em!”—and I felt him smile into me.
Imanio didn’t stop; he just grinned like he was devouring every sound I gave him.
“Mmm. Keep saying whatever the hell that was. I like the way you sound when you lose control.”
His tongue flicked faster. Then he locked both my thighs in place like I was something sacred and wild at once. My whole body shook.
“I-Imanioooooo!” I bucked, shuddered, his name tumbling from my lips like a prayer and a curse.
He moaned when I came—a deep, vibrating sound that made it worse in the best way.
Imanio briefly glanced up at me.
His mouth was glistening with the proof of what he’d done—of what he took. His eyes were locked on mine… dark and hungry, but steady.
And then, one word slipped from his lips like a vow, deep and raw:
“ Mine .”
He smiled against my skin, groaned low, and kept going.
I felt Imanio everywhere—his hands spreading warmth, his mouth dragging heat, and his voice, low and reverent, whispering things I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear.
He kissed up my body, slow and steady, until he was hovering above me again.
Our foreheads touched and our breaths mingled.
“You still with me?” he asked.
Barely.
But I nodded, trembling, blinking back something that wasn’t just from pleasure.
“I’ve never felt… anything like this,” I sheepishly admitted.
“I know. Me neither.”
Then he kissed me again—slow, deep, and unhurried. And in that moment, nothing else existed.
We didn’t have sex that night.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Not because he didn’t want to.
He just… held me; like protecting me meant more than possessing me.
We laid tangled together on that yacht, wrapped in silence and warmth. His fingers traced lazy patterns down my back. I listened to his breathing slow... and mine followed. And for once—maybe for the first time in my life—I felt chosen.
Maybe even... loved.
I didn’t need backshots that shook the yacht or orgasms stacked like trophies to remember that night, because what we shared was louder than sex. It was trust, restraint, and the beginning of something real. And damn if that wasn’t just as good.