Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
NAJI
T he bedroom was dim and still, with only the soft hum of the ceiling fan breaking the silence. I lay curled on my side, arms tucked close to my chest, my eyes wide open despite the late hour. An hour ago, I had woken up to find that Imanio was gone.
No note, no whispered goodbye—just the empty space beside me, still faintly warm.
My gut told me Imanio was out doing something he couldn’t talk about—something wrapped in a silence we never acknowledged in the daylight.
I hadn’t really slept; I had just floated somewhere between rest and dread.
There was a dull ache in my chest—the kind that came when my brain replayed the same thing over and over, even when my body was too tired to react anymore.
I knew he’d come home. I also feared he wouldn’t come back the same.
When the alarm beeped, signaling that the front door had opened, my heart skipped a beat. I turned onto my side and played asleep, hoping that if I stayed still enough, the worry wouldn’t notice me.
The bedroom door creaked open, but no lights flicked on. Imanio’s footsteps were slow and heavy, dragging across the wooden floor. He didn’t say anything or glance my way; he just walked straight into the bathroom. The sound of the shower started almost instantly.
I sat up slowly. My nose twitching at the faint, metallic smell in the air—one I didn’t want to name. I knew that smell, and it didn’t belong in a bedroom.
Without a word, I slid out of bed and my body moved on instinct.
Shirt off. Shorts down. Skin bare. No hesitation.
The bathroom was thick with steam—the mirror fogged, the light above the sink barely cutting through it.
I saw Imanio under the water with his head bowed, shoulders tense and forearm braced against the wall like he was holding up the world.
The water mixed with streaks of something darker as it spiraled down the drain.
I didn’t cringe or ask—I didn’t need to.
I stepped in behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. Pressed my cheek to the wet heat of his back, my lips grazing the scar near his spine like I was trying to remind him of something soft in all the violence.
Imanio didn’t say anything at first; he just stood there and let the water run. Then his voice broke through the silence.
“You shouldn’t ever have to explain who you are to anybody… not ever again.”
Pressure gathered at the corners of my eyes; a silent buildup of everything I hadn’t said or let go of, pressed harder with every heartbeat.
Imanio turned slowly to face me.
His hands—wet, strong, shaking just a little—came up to cup my face like I was something fragile trying to survive in a brutal world.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that shit today,” he said, his voice low—not soft, but real. “I feel like I came into your life and made it worse. I didn’t plan for any of this… to fall for you.”
The world muted itself.
No movement, no sound—just the echo of his words ringing louder than anything else ever had.
And hearing Imanio say that— him —felt like something I wasn’t prepared for but had always wanted.
He kept going, eyes locked on mine, no longer hiding his true feelings.
“I didn’t think I had space for anything real; not with the shit I’m tied to and not in the world I move through. But you’re here now. I don’t know what the future looks like for us… but I know I’m not letting you go. You got me, Naji—in ways I ain’t even used to admitting.”
My tics were surprisingly quiet, considering the moment.
The water still ran hot, steam curling around us like a veil. My body pressed to his—skin to skin, heart pounding so loud it felt like it echoed in both of us. I didn’t move. My arms stayed locked around him, holding him like I wasn’t ready to let the world back in just yet.
Then, my wet, slightly trembling hands traveled down his abdomen—slowly, deliberately. My fingers traced along the ridges of muscle, every inch of him solid like he’d been carved out of tension and heat.
That wasn’t just a bonding moment beneath the steam or even about comfort anymore; it was the way his breath hitched when I touched lower and the way my body leaned into his like it already knew the rhythm we hadn’t found yet.
I wasn’t thinking about safety or even love; I was thinking about how much I wanted him.
All of him. Right here. Right now.
Imanio’s eyes roamed my face, drinking in every flicker of emotion I couldn’t hide. He saw it—the hesitation, the nerves. But deeper than that, he saw the want .
“Look at me,” he charmingly instructed.
I did. God, I did.
“I’m ready,” I sheepishly admitted.
A knowing, teasing grin crossed his features.
“You sure? Right now? With everything I am and everything I’ve done, you’re sure about this?”
My throat bobbed and my lips parted.
“Meatloaf missionary—don’t judge me!”
I winced so hard I almost crumbled.
“Naji, I ain’t perfect, and I damn sure ain’t gentle with the things I want. So I need to know… are you really sure you want this?”
His eyes gravitated to his dick, and so did mine.
“Yes!” I answered, sharp and sure—no hesitation, no second-guessing.
Imanio’s eyes searched mine like he needed to see it written in my soul.
“Say you want this,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over my jaw, slow and reverent—like he was tracing something he didn’t think he deserved but wasn’t willing to let go of.
“I… I want it,” I said, voice cracking on the first word—then stronger, steadier. “I want you .”
Imanio nodded slowly, his dark eyes locked onto mine, and then he kissed me—slow and possessive, as if he were sealing a pact.
It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission; it declared a promise of protection and belonging.
The warmth of his lips sent a thrilling shiver through me.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless and slightly dazed.
“You’re mine now, Naji, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you feel safe and cherished.”
I could barely muster the courage to respond.
Imanio’s gaze locked on me, sharp, unflinching.
“You ever had sex?”
My voice came out as a hushed whisper, the weight of vulnerability heavy in the air.
“Y-Yes…” My words trailed off, my heart pounding in my chest like a frantic drumbeat. “But just once… well, with one person.”
Imanio’s brows furrowed, a storm gathering in his expression, like he expected me to say he’d be my first. Truth was, I wished he had been—because the guy who took my virginity sure as hell didn’t deserve it.
“Who’s the nigga?” he pressed, voice hard. “And when?”
I swallowed, fumbling with my fingers. “Back when I was modeling. Nothing t-too serious.”
His head tilted, eyes narrowing. “So let me get this straight—you haven’t been fucked in over three years?”
“No.”
He leaned closer, lips curving into something dark and wicked.
“Good. That means I get to break you in properly; it’ll be like your first time for real. I’ll fuck the memory of that nigga clean out of you and replace it with mine. That nigga just borrowed you; I’m ’bout to own it.”
Suddenly, a tic caught me off guard, my body jerking involuntarily, small but sharp, as if a live wire had been triggered.
“Can’t ride what you ain’t never mounted—holy hamster! I’m sorry!”
The words spilled from my lips before I could rein in my outburst, leaving me mortified.
My cheeks flamed a deep crimson, the heat radiating as I looked away, embarrassment clawing at me.
But Imanio was undeterred. He gently but firmly caught my chin, tilting my face back toward his, grounding me with his steady gaze.
“As of today,” he declared, steady as a vow, “I don’t want to hear you apologizing for being you ever again… not to me, at least.”
Something inside of me loosened—a soft release.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Imanio turned off the water, then reached for my hand.
“Come with me,” he instructed, lowly.
I followed without question, heart pounding loud enough to drown out every other sound.
When we stepped into the bedroom, Imanio grabbed a towel and dried me off—slow, steady, almost too gentle for a man like him. Then he laid me down on the edge of the bed—not rushing, not climbing on top of me.
Not yet.
Imanio just stood there for a moment, towering and still, eyes tracing the rise and fall of my chest like he was giving me space to breathe... or deciding what part of me to unravel first.
And then—he knelt.
Slow and certain, his hands parted my thighs. A soft kiss… then another; each one closer, warmer, and more purposeful. A sound slipped from me—half moan, half gasp—and my leg twitched.
“Please don’t sneeze on my pussy—ha! Dammit!”
I covered my face. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it. Imanio hadn’t even touched me where I needed him most, and I was already coming undone beneath the weight of his restraint.
“Baby,” he called out to me, gripping my thighs tighter. “Look at me.”
I peeked between my fingers.
“Relax,” he said, the word low—commanding but wrapped in care. Then he buried his mouth in me.
A loud cry tore from my lips as my body jerked involuntarily; my hips bucking against his face.
He didn’t stop or rush.
Imanio studied me like he had all night—learning, reading every reaction like a map he was determined to memorize. Whenever I tensed too hard, he paused. And when he did, he kissed me somewhere else—soft, slow.
My hipbone. My stomach. The inside of my thigh.
Each time, coaxing me back from the edge of overwhelm, teaching my body that pleasure could be trusted.
By the time Imanio rose over me, I could barely keep my legs from trembling and eyes open — they were glazed and heavy with want.
He lined himself up, rubbing the tip against her slick heat, but didn’t push in yet.
“This might hurt,” he warned. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
“I won’t,” I repeated, my voice fierce through the tremble. “I want this… with you.”