YAYA
I was still tasting him when I opened my eyes. Ezra kissed like he talked; slow, intentional, and heavy with meaning like his mouth knew how to hold more than words. Like his lips had something to prove, but they weren’t in a rush to do it. That kiss didn’t just curl my toes. It rearranged something in me.
I wasn’t used to that nor was I expecting it. But there I was, on a blanket in a public park, heart thudding like a drum line in my chest with his hand still cupping my jaw, and all I could do was breathe.
The sun had long dipped behind the trees, leaving us in that soft purple part of the evening where everything felt sacred. Streetlights flickered in the distance, the cicadas were humming low and lazy, and the wine bottle sat empty beside us like it had witnessed something holy.
We didn’t talk for a few seconds after the kiss. Just… existed in it, letting it stretch and settle. His thumb was still brushing my skin, and I leaned into his hand, eyes closed, memorizing the feel. Eventually, I pulled back and reached for the lip gloss in my tote bag just to do something with my hands.
“Can’t believe you brought wine and poetry to a damn picnic,” I said, voice teasing but breathless.
He smirked. “That a compliment?”
“It’s a problem,” I murmured, reapplying the gloss to my lips. “A dangerous one.”
Ezra leaned back on one hand with legs stretched out, watching me like he was already thinking of what he’d write tonight. “You hungry?” he asked like he was reading my mind.
I looked at him, tilting my head. “You heard my stomach, huh?”
“Nah,” he grinned. “But I’m in the mood for some wings.”
I burst out laughing. “What’s your favorite flavor?”
“Strawberry.”
And I knew he was talking about my lip gloss. My eyes trailed over Ezra as he stood and reached out his hand. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should’ve gone home, taken a shower, and journaled about it like a sane woman. But instead, I slipped my hand into his and let him pull me to my feet.
“Where we going?”
“Low-key jazz spot on River Ave. Bomb wings. Chill vibe.”
I liked the sound of that.
We packed up the blanket and tossed the scraps of whatever remained before walking toward my car. His hand brushed mine every so often, not holding it, just… being there. Teasing. Reminding.
“I drive,” I offered once we reached the car. “You navigate.”
“Cool,” he said.
The drive to River Ave was smooth, the city quieting down for the night but still buzzing in its corners. Heat still existing. My playlist played low with old school Jill Scott and some Erykah Badu, setting the mood without doing too much. Ezra gave calm and confident directions like he knew the city as if it lived under his skin.
“Right here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the corner just past a barber shop and a nail salon. A small, unassuming building with fogged windows and a glowing red OPEN sign in cursive sat tucked in the middle.
I parked and raised an eyebrow. “This is it?”
He nodded. “Don’t let the outside fool you. Inside? It’s a vibe.”
We walked in, and he was right. The air changed the second the door shut behind us., AC blowing. There were velvet booths and a narrow stage where a saxophone player swayed in the middle of a solo that curled into your bones. Laughter and soft clinking glasses. The scent of hot oil and seasoning hit my nose, and I damn near moaned.
“Okay,” I said under my breath. “You got that.”
“I know.”
The hostess gave Ezra a familiar nod and led us to a booth in the back, tucked in a corner that felt damn near romantic even though we hadn’t asked for anything special.
The second we sat down, I leaned toward him across the table. “You come here a lot?”
“Used to.”
“What made you bring me here?”
He looked at me like the answer was obvious. “'Cause you deserve softness and this place is that.”
My breath caught a little. I looked down at my napkin and tried not to melt. A young waitress came by with a curly fro and glossy lips and grinned wide when she saw Ezra.
“I knew that was you,” she said, smacking his shoulder playfully. “Where you been, E?”
“Layin’ low,” he chuckled. “This is Yavanni.”
She looked at me and smiled, eyes knowing. “She’s beautiful. You like her. I can tell.”
I laughed into my hand, eyes wide. “Damn, gettin’ straight to it, huh?” Ezra just looked at me and smirked.
We ordered wings—half lemon pepper, half honey sriracha—and two drinks. I requested an expresso martini while he chose Hennessy straight. From there, the conversation just kept flowing about his next open mic night, my last clinical and about the things we loved that nobody ever asked us about.
“I used to dance,” I admitted after my second drink. “Like, seriously.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. Modern. Afro-contemporary. Did a summer at Alvin Ailey once.”
He blinked. “You just casually droppin' Alvin Ailey like that ain’t legendary shit?”
I shrugged, biting a wing. “My family expected me to do something… different.”
“And now?”
“I’m still learning how to do things for me.”
He nodded slowly, eyes locked on me like I was unraveling in front of him. “You so fuckin’ dope, Yavanni.”
I felt that in my chest. “So are you,” I whispered.
By the time the wings were damn near bones and our second round of drinks was halfway gone, I felt good. Warm. Loose in the shoulders. My face was flushed and not from the liquor but from him. The way he looked at me, slow and sure, like he was painting me with his eyes and every glance was another brushstroke.
We’d shifted to the same side of the booth somewhere between talking about his former hustling days and me admitting I had a lowkey obsession with old medical journals. By this point, my leg was draped over his a little, and neither of us moved to fix it.
Ezra smelled like spice and wood. He talked with his hands sometimes, and when he laughed? It started low and rumbled all the way out like he meant it. It didn’t matter what we talked about; our different upbringings, past relationships or what music we liked… everything felt connected.
The band onstage shifted into something slower. The second the notes rolled out, my whole body recognized it. Free Mind by Tems. On the dance floor, an older couple had stood and moved into a slow sway with the woman’s head on the man’s chest. I watched their bodies rock like they’d done this every Friday night for the last thirty years.
They held my attention for a few moments. Then, I looked at Ezra and without thinking or asking for permission, I grabbed his hand and whispered, “Come dance with me.”
He blinked. “What?”
I stood and tugged his hand again, smiling like I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “You heard me.”
He groaned, but he was smiling. “I got two left feet. You sure 'bout this?”
“Positive,” I said, already pulling him toward the dance floor. “I’ll lead if I have to.”
“I bet you say that to all the poets you seduce.”
I looked back over my shoulder, lips curled. We stepped onto the floor, and the song washed over us like silk. Ezra hesitated for half a second before sliding one arm around my waist, the other holding my hand. His touch was warm, steady, and familiar even though this was new.
“I’m really not good at this shit,” he muttered near my ear.
“You’re doing fine,” I whispered. “Just feel it.”
So he did. And so did I. We moved slowly, my cheek against his chest now, his chin grazing the top of my head. His hand slid a little lower on my back, and I let it. Our bodies lined up like we’d done this before in another life like our souls knew the steps even if our feet didn’t.
“So you never dance like this?” I asked softly.
“Not since my cousin’s wedding in Maryland when I was like… ten.”
I chuckled against his chest and felt his own chest shake as he chuckled. “You’re doing great.” I looked up at him, our faces inches apart now. His lips were parted just a little like he was about to say something else but I beat him to it. I kissed him again.
This time, it wasn’t playful or curious and he kissed me back like he already knew what I was thinking. Like his body had already decided. His hand slid up into my locs, cradling the back of my head, his other arm locking me against him like he didn’t want to let me go.
The kiss lingered, melted, and deepened until I had to break it just to breathe. Neither of us said anything for a moment because we didn’t need to. Then I looked at him and into that one steady eye that saw me clearer than anyone had in a long time and I said it.
“You wanna get outta here?”
He pulled back slightly and studied me with a soft smile. “Only if you ready for that.”
And just like that, the rest of the night was ours.
T h e r i d e b a c k to my place was soaked in silence but not the kind that made you reach for filler words. It was heavy, warm and electric. Ezra sat beside me in the passenger seat with his hand resting on my thigh, thumb tracing slow circles that made my breath catch more than once. I drove with one hand on the wheel with the other inching closer to his without realizing it.
He didn’t say a word and neither did I but the air between us buzzed. It buzzed all the way down River Avenue, past the quiet intersections, past the corner boys dapping up under streetlights and arrived on my side of town. I could feel Ezra's eyes on me, studying me like he was already writing the next line about how I looked with the city casting gold over my skin.
When we pulled into the underground garage of my building, I didn’t even look at him. Just cut the engine, unbuckled, and whispered, “Come on.”
We took the elevator up in silence but it wasn’t awkward. It was full of everything we weren’t saying. His hand hovered behind my back, not touching but close. The tension was so thick it felt like it had hands of its own. When we reached my floor, I walked to my door without turning around but I knew he was behind me. I could feel the heat of him like a sun trying not to burn.
I opened the door, stepped inside, and barely got it closed before Ezra was on me. His hands grabbed my waist, and pulled me back into him so hard I gasped. My purse slid off my shoulder and hit the floor. I turned in his arms and we kissed like we were starved like every second we spent apart before this moment had built into a need that refused to be gentle now.
I pulled him deeper into me, backing into the wall by the door as his tongue locked into mine and his fingers dug into the curve of my waist. My head tilted back when his lips slid down my jaw to the base of my neck. I whimpered, and he moaned all deep and low like my sound fed something in him.
“Damn,” he breathed against my collarbone. “You smell so fuckin’ good.”
We stumbled down the hallway, knocking into the wall once, laughing in between kisses that kept getting deeper, and hungrier. I reached for his shirt and tugged it up, my hands roaming over his chest, and his shoulders, the tattoos inked into his skin like poetry written in pain.
He let me take it off. Let me see him fully. And then he stood there, just breathing, looking at me. “I ever tell you,” he said, voice rough, “that you scare me a lil’ bit?”
I blinked, breathless. “Why?”
“’Cause I don’t let people get close.”
“And... I’m close now?”
He nodded. “Too close. And yet, not close enough.”
I stepped back and peeled off my top slowly and let my skirt fall to the floor, never breaking eye contact. Ezra’s gaze dropped to my chest, my stomach and the slow sway of my hips as I walked toward him again.
“Then fix that.”
He met me in the middle of the living room, his hands sliding up my arms, cupping my face. He kissed me softer this time, slower like he wanted to memorize me with his mouth. “You sure?” he whispered against my lips.
I nodded. “I don’t invite men here. Ever.”
He kissed me again. “And I don’t usually let myself feel this much.”
“Then maybe we’re both overdue.”
Ezra picked me up with a quiet growl, his hands under my thighs, my arms locking around his shoulders. I kissed his neck as he carried me through the space and past the candles, the plants, the soft light, and into my bedroom. He laid me down on the bed like I was breakable.
“You look like a fuckin’ dream,” he muttered, eyes raking down my body.
I reached for him again, desperate now, aching. His clothes disappeared piece by piece. First, his jeans, and then everything between us got lost but it wasn’t rushed. It was slow, intentional and drawn out in touches and grazes and sighs. Ezra took his time.
His hands mapped me like he was discovering new land. He kissed the inside of my thighs, my stomach, between my breasts, and everywhere else. I moaned his name when he slid two fingers into me and watched the way I unraveled.
“You so damn wet,” he whispered, mouth hovering over my core.
“Please,” I breathed, shaking.
He lowered his head and kissed me there, slowly and deep, tongue soft and purposeful, like he was praying with it. I cried out, gripping the sheets as his mouth worked me open, coaxing wave after wave until I was arching, trembling, begging.
“Ezra… oh my God…” He didn’t stop until my legs shook and I pushed at his head, breath ragged. And when he finally slid up my body, kissing my lips again, I could taste myself on him. “I want you,” I whispered against his mouth. “Now.”
“You got me,” he said.
And when he slid into me, slowly, thick, and deep, it wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, damn near spiritual, like two people who had been cracked open finally found shelter in each other.
We moved in rhythm with his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths tangled, our bodies speaking where words couldn’t. He grunted my name, whispered curses into my ear, and kissed my shoulder when I trembled under him. And I held his face in my hands as I came again, locking my legs around him like I never wanted him to leave. He followed right after with a loud and raw groan. A sound like surrender.
When it was over, he stayed on top of me for a long time just breathing and holding me. His face buried in my neck while still deep inside me. And I whispered something I didn’t even mean to say out loud.
“I don’t know what this is yet… but it feels like everything.” He didn’t flinch. He just kissed me again and held me tighter.