Chapter 13
Julien
The smell of sausage filled the room.
Not the pre-cooked kind. The real stuff—the kind you roll and shape by hand. There’s something about food that makes you slow down. Teaching you to touch what you’re making.
I stood at the stove, bare-chested, one hand on the pan, the other braced against the counter. Half-focused on the sizzle. Half-listening for any sound from down the hall.
Nothing yet, she must still be asleep.
Good. She needed rest. She’d fallen asleep wrapped in my sheets like she belonged there. And somehow, it didn’t feel unfamiliar. It felt… easy. Like her body had always known where it needed to be.
I placed eggs in a serving dish, and poured the water for her tea. Started lining up the grits, pancakes, sausage, eggs, possibly too much food for two people, but I didn’t care. I just wanted her to have choices.
Behind me, the door opened.
“You got company or catering?” Marquis’s voice cut in, full of that usual bullshit grin.
I didn’t look up. “What are you doing here?”
“Was gonna see if you wanted to ride out to the city, but now I see you’re entertaining. All this for just two people?”
His question is more to me, nosy. This guy stays in my business. He stepped closer, already reaching for a fork.
“Let me fix a plate for me and my baby—”
“No.”
Marquis paused, fork hovering midair. “No? All that food-”
“No. Take her out. Now. Before you wake my lady up.”
The words left before I could catch them. But once they were out, I didn’t take them back.
Marquis raised a brow, grin sliding wider. “Oh damn. She’s your lady now?”
I cut him a look. “Go.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender and backed toward the door, muttered something under his breath about love and whipped men, and shut the door behind him. Silence.
But the word still echoed in the room.
My lady…
It wasn’t a title I took lightly; it was a fact.
I thought about how she looked last night, laid out in my bed like she belonged there.
Not just her body.
Her energy.
The way she took up space without asking.
But what stuck with me most…was how she made me feel.
Like a man.
Not because of the sex. It was in the way she looked at me, like she saw the weight I carry and didn’t flinch.
Maybe, even admired it.
Her eyes see the cracks in my foundation…
and she doesn’t see them as flaws.
She sees them as doorways.
And now I want to tear the whole damn thing down,
to prove her right.
I didn’t want anyone else waking her up.
Not today.
Not while I was still trying to figure out what last night meant, what she meant.
I sat by the window, scrolling through my phone, pretending not to listen for her footsteps down the hall.
But I was.
When I finally heard those quiet, cautious steps, I didn’t look up right away.
Didn’t trust what might show on my face.
But eventually… I did.
There she was.
Wearing my shirt. No makeup. Hair a little messy. Legs bare. Eyes soft.
That well-fucked, still-sleepy look suits her in the morning.
Hair a little tousled, but somehow even sexier.
Her smooth, deep brown skin caught the light spilling through my kitchen windows like it was made for her.
She wore my shirt like it was made for her, drowning her up top, showing off everything else.
Especially those legs. I’ll never forget the sight of her.
Looking like a memory I haven’t even lived long enough to miss.
“You know, it’s impolite to stare,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me, her voice still thick with sleep and something sweeter.
“Admiring beauty isn’t staring,” I said, letting my eyes linger anyway. “It’s appreciation.”
“That’s what a stalker would say.”
She scanned the table, and I watched her reaction hit…subtle, but there.
I’d pulled out my grandmother’s old china, the good kind with the gold trim and delicate floral pattern she only used on Sunday dinners.
The table looked like something out of a hotel suite.
She raised an eyebrow, half-amused. I just shrugged.
“My grandmother used to say, ‘The way you present something tells people how much you value it.’”
I nodded toward the spread.
“Eat.” I said, lifting a glass dome off one of the serving dishes. “Have some protein.”
She shot me a look. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Then, without missing a beat, she picked up the tongs and grabbed a sausage.
I smiled.
“I was always going to,” she muttered, quickly loading her plate. “Still don’t like being told, though.”
She glanced at the table, like she couldn’t decide if it was breakfast or some kind of trap.
Sausage, grits, pancakes, eggs, juice—too much, maybe.
But not for her.
She sat in front of me, looking at the table like she didn’t know if it was breakfast or a trap, with sausage, grits, pancakes, eggs, and juice laid out perfectly for her.
“Where did all this come from?” She asked as she grabbed a couple of sausages and eggs.
“I made it.” Now she was the one staring. I brought my mug to my lips and took a sip.
“You made all this?” She looked around the kitchen as if looking for something. “No way, kitchens to clean.”
“I was taught to clean as I go. And before your ask. I’ve been up, you were in bed snoring, I figured this was a good way for you to wake up.”
She was halfway to a retort then she changed her mind and decided to stuff her face with eggs instead. She loaded pancakes on her plate and dug in, completely unashamed, a sexy moan leaving her lips.
“Careful, I might turn you into breakfast.”
She didn’t flinch. “Is that a promise?”
I set my mug down, unable to stop the smile on my lips. This woman does something to me.
“Soooo,” she said taking a sip of juice, she just poured herself. “I’m your lady?”
So she heard…
“You’re mine.” My answer was immediate, I don’t even have to think about.
“You always this possessive with a fling.”
“This isn’t a fling.”
“What?”
“I don’t repeat myself.” She was testing my patience, ready to bring out the beast.
“Are you always this possessive with women.”
“No.” I said, growing irritated. “Just the ones that spent the night coming on my dick.”
She was stunned silent. Last night, she gave herself to me in ways that told me this was no fling. Watching how she staked her claim over me in front of the model turned me on more than just physically.
But I want more of her.
Last night wasn’t enough.
I’m not sure I’ll ever have enough of this woman.
“That was rude,” she said, eyes locked on mine, one pink-painted nail pointed like a threat.
I shrugged, unbothered. Watching the way my words made her squirm was too damn satisfying.
Just being honest,” I said, voice low. “I filled you up last night. Marked you like mine.”
She flinched—barely—but I saw it.
The kind of reaction you try to cover with stillness.
Her gaze dropped to her plate, but she didn’t touch a thing.
Like she was trying to disappear behind the food, or under it.
“I’m clean,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And I’m on the pill.”
I didn’t respond right away.
Just watched her.
Watched the way her shoulders rose a little too high, the way her fingers pressed into the edge of the table like she needed something to hold onto.
She didn’t need to be embarrassed.
Not with me.
But I knew shame when I saw it—quiet, tight-lipped, and too proud to admit it.
“That’s not something that happens,” she added, eyes still locked on the plate. “It’s not like me.”
Silence fell between us.
Not awkward. Not empty.
Just… thick.
The kind of silence you don’t rush.
I leaned back in my chair, let it stretch. Let her have that moment.
Then I gave her what she didn’t ask for but clearly needed.
“I’m clean too.”
I watched her closely.
“We just… got caught up.”
She still didn’t look at me.
Not until I said—
“You’re not the only one.”
Her eyes flicked up then, unsure. Like she wanted to believe me but hadn’t decided yet.
“That’s never happened for me either,” I said, letting the words settle between us. “You’re the first.”
She blinked slowly.
Her jaw shifted like she was chewing on that.
Maybe on what it meant.
“Now I’ve got two of your firsts…” I paused, waited for her to meet me there.
“And you’ve got one of mine.”
She finally looked at me.
And damn if that didn’t do something to my chest.
I leaned in, just slightly. Kept my voice low—close enough for her, and her only.
“And I’m not ashamed of any of it. So don’t you be.”
That got her.
I saw it in the way her throat moved when she swallowed.
The way her fingers relaxed on the table, just a little.
But her eyes dropped again, softer now.
And I couldn’t let her sit there thinking this was all on her.
“This isn’t all on you,” I added, gentler now. “Last time I checked… I was there too.”
She huffed a breath—almost a laugh.
“And this?” I said, motioning between us, to the silence, the shift in her. “This isn’t the girl who was busting my balls on our first date.”
That got a smile. Small. But real.
“That wasn’t a date,” she said, reaching for her fork like she hadn’t just cracked open in front of me.
The moment stretched, and I watched her. Let the warmth settle again.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I watched her shoulders, still tight, her fork swirling on the plate, moving around her eggs.
“Look, it was reckless, and. Now that we are able to work out this tension. We can…” She struggled to find the words. “We can move forward without things being complicated.
I watched her; she somehow believed what she was saying.
I took a bite of my food and stared at her.
“I’ll call it whatever you want.”
She nodded like that meant something. Like that was control slipping back into her hands.
“I just want to make sure this doesn’t get messy,” she added. “Especially with Guilty Pleasures.”
Business.
That was her parachute.
Her way out of the feeling still lingering in the air between us.
You know what?” I said, shaking my head, my chair scraping against the floor.
“Maybe I will take you up on that. Keep things clean. Neat. Professional.”
I started for the door.
She didn’t stop me.
But right before I hit the threshold, I turned back. Stepped into her space.
My hands closed around the back of her chair.
The wood groaned under my grip. I turned it toward me, my touch rough and direct.
There was no warning or hesitation.
It was just a need, dressed up as control.
She lifted her chin, eyes steady, like she’d seen this coming before I knew I was turning around.
I dropped to my knees. Right in front of her, her legs between mine. Nowhere for her to go.
Nowhere I wanted her to.
I planted my hands on either side of the chair, locking her in.
Not to trap her but, to hold the moment still.
To keep from doing the one thing I shouldn’t do yet.
Touch her.
The air between us went heavy.
Her breath hitched.
Her pulse kicked at the base of her throat, and I saw it, felt it.
My head dipped, just enough to taste the space between us. Her jasmine scent wrapped around me like a grip.
I didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.
She could feel what was in me.
Same way I felt her.
“The thing is… you love messy.”
Her breath quickened.
“You’re addicted to it,” I said, my voice a low growl, my mouth just inches from hers.
“That’s why you let me mark you last night. Why you took all of me…raw, deep, throbbing for it, like you didn’t even know your own name.”
She didn’t move.
“You wanted the chaos. Wanted it so bad you forgot your own rules.”
I leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“So tell me… when that pussy starts craving me,” I whispered, “you think some little punk with soft hands and a small dick is gonna scratch that itch?”
She shivered.
I smiled.
“Not this greedy little pussy.” My hand ghosted down her hip, not touching, just letting her feel the tension between us. “She’s mine.”
I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.
“And so are you.”
???
The weights hit the floor with a dull thud that echoed like a warning.
Another rep.
Another grunt.
Another reason not to think about her.
Sweat ran down my spine in slow, steady lines. I wasn’t training.
I was trying to forget.
But no matter how many sets I pushed through, her voice still lingered in my head.
That look in her eyes when I told her she was mine.
I dropped the barbell and rolled my shoulders out. My chest heaved.
“Thought you might be in here,” Marquis interrupted from the doorway. He always popping up somewhere.
I grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from my face, and tossed it onto the bench.
“You always work out like you’re mad at God, or is this new?”
I didn’t answer. Ignoring my kid brother is second nature to me.
“Right,” he muttered, stepping inside. “So, this is how you avoid calls now?”
I kept my back to him, reached for the water bottle on the shelf. “I told you I’m not coming back.”
He scoffed. “You say that like we’re not bleeding out back home. Like you didn’t build that empire. The rest of us are just keeping it from falling apart.”
“And doing a shit job of it,” I said, calmly.
His jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it. “You think I don’t know that? We didn’t ask for this, Jules. These are the cards we were dealt.”
“You didn’t fight it either. None of you did.”
Silence.
He sat on the edge of the bench, rubbing his hands together.
“Pop never should’ve handed it over the way he did.”
No argument there.
Our father passed down the family business like it was some consolation prize for guilt. And our baby brother took it with both hands no questions.
“Just answer me this,” Marquis said.
“Why are you still here? You don’t want her company.” He emphasized, her, after all these years, still refusing to refer to her as mom, or even call her by her name.
“You’ve said that. You don’t want to fix what he broke. So what’s keeping you in this city?”
I said nothing.
He stared like he already knew. “Is it her?”
Marquis exhaled like he was tired of guessing. “Then what do you want from us, Julien? He’s already gone now!”
I didn’t answered.
“Because from where I’m standing, you don’t want to come home, don’t want the business, don’t want anything to do with us, but you also act like we owe you something.”
I turned slowly, towel clenched in my hand. “You do owe me.”
His jaw ticked. “For what?”
“You really want to go there?”
I stepped closer, heat rising from my chest straight to my voice.
“For everything. For acting like I was supposed to fix what Pop broke. For looking the other way when he handed over my legacy to someone who didn’t earn a damn thing.”
“Julien—”
“No. Don’t cut me off,” I said, voice low and sharp. “All of you made excuses for him. Called it business. Called it his las wishes. Like I was just supposed to swallow it and keep showing up like the dutiful son.”
“I didn’t know he was going to—”
“But you knew what it meant. You knew what it cost me. And not one of you had my back. Not once.”
Marquis shook his head, like he didn’t want to believe it. “You act like we left you out in the cold—”
“Because you did,” I said, cutting him off this time. “You only call when you need something. You only see me when I’m useful. You never once asked how I was doing. Never checked on me. Just expected me to carry the weight, clean up the mess, hold it all together like I wasn’t breaking too.”
I wiped my hand down my face, breath tight.
“You want to know why I haven’t come back? It’s not just the company. It’s not even him. It’s y’all. I got tired of bleeding for people who only show up to collect.”
Marquis swallowed hard, shoulders stiff. “That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. But it’s the truth.”
Before I could shut it down, a knock hit the wall behind Marquis.
Kameron stood in the doorway, jacket still on, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Hope I’m not interrupting a family therapy session.”
I motioned him in. “You got something?”
He walked in slowly, pulled a folded folder from inside his coat, and held it up.
“Not something,” he said. “A whole damn Pandora’s box.”
I took the file from his hand and felt the weight before I even opened it.
Kameron watched me carefully. “You sure you’re ready to bust it open?”
My grip tightened.
I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
But I flipped it open anyway.