Chapter 9
NINE
The smell of her sweetness lingered on my lips. As I rolled my tastebuds across the roof of my mouth, extracting whatever was left of her, my thoughts escaped me.
Honey.
Her pot was overflowing with the sweet thickness. Her hive had been neglected over the years. As her keeper, I made a personal promise to drain her combs and keep her producing the richest, finest honey in all of the land.
So beautiful.
So beautiful.
So beautiful.
I whistled along to the lyrics of Beautiful as the base from the track filled the whip. My sentiments had been bottled in a chorus. Royce embodied the description effortlessly.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Conflict plagued me. My condominium had become my source of comfort. However, the condo Royce called home while in Berkeley, was closest. Still, the idea of taking her to either was loathsome.
A glance in her direction put my mind at ease. She simplified everything in my world. Exhaustion was slowly defeating her. She was the prettiest when rest was within reach.
The city’s lights danced across her skin. A sly smile spread across her lips as she stared back at me. Her safety was the only thing that reminded me to keep my eyes on the road. I wanted her alive and well to experience her in every fashion.
I squeezed her thigh.
“Mmm.” A groan tumbled from her lips before a yawn disrupted it.
“Almost home, my baby,” I murmured. “Almost home.”
Her exit approached and disappeared. A decision had been made and I’d hardly made it myself. The moment had. Her eyes had. The feel of her fabric underneath my hand had. The night had. It wasn’t my decision to make. Neither was it hers.
Royce didn’t protest. She turned toward me, knees against the center console. Both hands surrounded mine. One wrapped around my wrist. The other never changed position. She held me closely. Tightly. As if I’d vanish.
I’m not going anywhere, Royce. Cross my heart, hope to die.
I continued down the expressway, applying pressure to the gas pedal. My baby was ready for our night to end. And, my baby would get exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed.
The gates of my Colonial-style home. The seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms were fit for a large family.
I didn’t have one. My plans weren’t to create one either.
In addition to the bedrooms and bathrooms, there was a game room, a basketball court, a gym, a theater room, a family room, and a tactical room.
It was in the tactical room where I found most peace. But, as Royce and I walked through the front door, I realized I’d find peace anywhere in my home. As long as she was there.
“The restroom, please,” she announced with urgency.
“This way.”
I rounded the corner and made two rights, showing Royce to the guest restroom right underneath the back staircase. It was the fourth and final set in my home.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like to drink?” I asked as she stepped inside of the restroom.
Already, I was missing her and she hadn’t disappeared behind the door yet.
“Wine. Your finest bottle of red.”
“I’ll have that for you when you come out.”
“Thanks.”
Her voice was light, low, and gentle. Pulling away from the door to give her privacy proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Silently, we gazed at each other. A soft smile tugged at her lips. I took a deep breath, understanding I would hardly be any good without Royce.
Not just for the moment but for the future.
I closed the door, giving her the space she needed to handle her business. I busied myself in the cellar, searching for the finest wine amongst my small collection. I wasn’t home much and it was evident. Still, I located a well-aged red that I hoped she loved before heading back to her.
She had emerged, yet she was nowhere in sight. I turned to my right, wondering where she’d gone. My heart pumped loudly in my chest. It settled the moment my eyes witnessed her glory again. She descended the stairs with bright, curious eyes.
I held the red wine in my hand, trying to make sense of Royce’s perfection. I couldn’t. But, I knew that it wasn’t the bottle I wanted to drink from. It was her fountain.
“You have a gorgeous home,” she complimented.
She settled in front of me. Her beauty was taunting me. Controlling me. Demanding things of me I shouldn’t have been agreeing to.
Breathlessly, I shook my head from one side to the other. I was struggling to place my feelings, thoughts, and words. Everything was misaligned. She was destroying me and piecing me back together at the same fucking time.
“What if–” I huffed, short of breath.
“What if what?”
“What if I don’t want to pretend anymore, Royce? What if this is no longer a game for me? What if this is real? What if we are real? What if it was never a hoax and simply the path that would lead us to each other? Not until this election ends, but forever.”
Royce stood twenty-five feet away from me, soundless. I waited for her words. Her smile. Her movement. Something. Anything. There was nothing.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
“Then how do you proceed, Ishmael?”
“With intention. With devotion. With dedication. With determination. With resilience. I run your race just as I am this race. I conquer your heart and win the election. We spend our lives debating about the temperature of our home, this home, instead of what time we’ll meet to stage more images of a life I want to create instead of imitate. ”
“Sounds like a fairytale. I’ve learned that those aren’t real.”
She was jaded. I wasn’t sure who hurt her but it wasn’t me. And, I wasn’t going to allow their mistakes to hinder our progress.
“You’re right, my baby. This is no fairytale, because I am no hero.
I am a killer. And, the moment those dirty lies were spread about you, I wanted blood.
I wanted everyone who indulged, shared, liked, or believed that bullshit to bleed.
I wake up every morning suppressing my urges to turn Berkeley into a cemetery.
“You’re no angel, Royce. You’re not a damsel in distress. You’re a natural-born leader with a Glock bigger than most niggas attached to your thigh. You can’t sleep without it. You can’t eat without it. And, you won’t hesitate to empty that motherfucking clip.
“You’re stubborn and hardheaded, sure to get some niggas hurt, because you love the reward risk brings. It makes your pussy leak. It hardens your nipples. It turns your faucet on.
“So, again, this is no fairytale and I’m not interested in one. I want something real. Something solid. Something impenetrable. Something to last a lifetime.”
I demolished the space between us, hammering away at it with each step I took.
“Everything about you assures me I can have that with you.”
I was no longer holding the wine. It was Royce between my fingers.
“And, I want it.”
I cupped her chin.
“No pretend.”
I pulled her closer while lowering my lips to hers.
“No make-believe.”
She gasped.
“No games.”
I took her into my mouth. She was as sweet as I remembered. Her body collided with mine. As if I was her favorite tree, she began to climb me. I placed both hands underneath her, deepening our connection.
She was soft. Supple. So fucking sweet.
I ran my tongue across her mouth, sure to touch every surface. I was leaving my mark. But, simultaneously, I was learning parts of her with every part of me. My senses were active. Every one of them.
Royce accepted her fate. Her ability to do so revealed another layer to her. One I wanted to peel back with time. With care. With caution. With my bare hands. Or tongue. Or dick. They were all hers to have.
As a classic iconoclast, her submission was invigorating.
Opposition was comforting. Disagreeing. Disobeying.
Royce was rebellious by nature. That very nature kept her employed.
She wasn’t afraid to do or say what others were.
She fought for sport. Taking on big names, brands, and companies didn’t intimidate her.
It stimulated her. Aroused her. Kept her hands and her head busy, because deep down inside, she’d rather be in the boardroom than the bedroom alone. Solitude was not her safe space. Companionship was.
The cool countertop pressed against the back of my hand as I lowered Royce’s body onto the custom marble slab. My insatiable appetite determined each movement of my spine. I wasn’t in control of my limbs. Hunger was.
The soft fabric trailed up Royce’s skin under the influence of my fingertips. Her perfectly smooth seventh layer was riddled with small bumps. Her pantiless, hairless pussy appeared from underneath the threads.
So pretty, my baby.
I slid a bartop chair backward and planted myself on the beige fabric. With ease, Royce’s legs parted. A rich, rosy pink connected to the darkness of her thick lips. Her pearl was swollen, confirmation of her sexual inclination.
The contrasting, partially translucent cream seeped from her center. Royce was demanding so much without saying a fucking thing. My tongue ran across my lips as I prepared to grace the meal in front of me.
I drove two fingers inside of her wetness. Royce’s body lifted from the counter.
“Dear God, keep me from killing a nigga ‘bout my shit,” I whispered.
“Issssssshhhhhm–”
“Help my baby understand that I’m not the nigga to play silly games with.”
“Uhhhhh.”
“Her search ends here. I’m everything she needs and if I’m not yet, I’ll become whatever she’s missing.”
“Uh– Fuuu–”
“Amen.”
I placed my mouth on her most sensitive parts. Her legs drew inward, attempting to join. I removed my fingers and sat back in the chair. Royce’s chest rose and fell as she tried catching the breaths that were running away from her.
“Please.”
“Open your legs, Royce.”
She obliged. Simultaneously, her right hand met her center. Jealousy crept up my spine.
“Don’t do that, Royce.”
“Ishmae–”
I observed as she disobeyed my order. Her fingers glided across her center. Disappointment subsided. It was swiftly replaced with curiosity. And calm. And fascination.