Chapter 14
Iknew Tariq would come the minute I asked. Still, when I saw him step out of his car—jaw set, shoulders high with restraint—I felt something coil in my chest. Not fear. Not quite worry. Something more intimate than both. A recognition of what it meant for him to be here. For me.
Smoke hadn’t asked. He told me. Said it was time Tariq heard the truth with his own ears—that the middleman dance was done, that too many people were catching heat for what only a few had lit.
I didn’t argue. I never do when Smoke speaks like that.
But I knew what I was walking into, and I knew what it would cost.
Tariq was clean. Straight-edge, always coloring inside the lines except when he had me bent over them.
He took the job seriously—his job, his name, his principles.
And I admired that. Loved it, even. But me—I’ve always known the world was blurrier than that.
I toe the line, maybe lean too close sometimes, but I don’t cross it. Not really.
Still, this—bringing him here—this was different. I was asking him to step into the murk with me. He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at the building, then at me.
“Sanaa.”
He said my name as a question and a warning not to get him mixed up in some mess.
“I know,” I murmured. “But if you want real answers about that fire, this is where you’ll get them.”
He took another beat. His eyes never left mine. “This ain’t the kind of place I’d normally walk into without my gun.”
“I know.” I stepped closer. “But you’ve got me.”
His mouth twitched like he might smile, but didn’t. He just exhaled through his nose and followed me through the heavy steel door.
The Strip District felt colder at night. Even with all the developments, there were still pockets of old Pittsburgh here—warehouses with rusted scaffolding, cobblestone underfoot, secrets sealed into brick. Smoke Enterprises was one of those secrets, and tonight it cracked open.
Inside, the air was warmer but not by much. Dim lighting. The faint echo of our boots on concrete. And standing there waiting—broad, bald, and damn near unmissable—was Butch.
My heart ached for him and his wife because I knew how much their belongings meant to them. How much she meant to him.
“Evenin’,” he said, deep voice rumbling like an engine. “Miss Ellison.”
“Butch.” I nodded, feeling Tariq shift beside me. “Thanks for waiting.”
He glanced once at Tariq, something measured in the look, before giving a short nod. “This way.”
We followed him past rows of empty desks and closed doors. I’d been here before, but never at this hour. Never with Tariq in tow. Never for something that felt this close to tipping into something unreturnable.
We reached the office.
Eliaj Lewis, the man the underworld knew as Smoke, sat behind a massive desk, haloed in a cloud of cigar smoke that curled around his silver-haired head like a crown.
The scent of spice and fire laced the air, pungent but not overwhelming.
His eyes cut to mine first, then to Tariq, who hadn’t taken a seat yet.
“Sit,” Smoke said simply. “Ain’t got time to waste tonight.”
Tariq stayed standing for a beat too long before lowering himself into the chair beside me.
“Elijah,” I said softly.
He nodded once. “Sanaa.”
Then his eyes sharpened as they found Tariq again. “Thanks for coming. I know this ain’t exactly regulation.”
Tariq’s voice was level. “No, it’s not.”
“But necessary,” Elijah said. “That’s why you’re here. Not to risk your job. To save your life.”
That caught him. I saw it in the way his spine straightened.
Elijah leaned forward, cigar perched between two thick fingers.
“I’ve recently learned I have enemies. The kind that don’t knock before they come for you.
I plan to handle it—but in the meantime, I’m moving pieces.
Sanaa here has worked with a few of my associates.
They’ll trust her when she tells them to get their valuables out of their homes. That’s what I’m asking her to do.”
He looked at me, and I nodded, though I felt Tariq’s gaze on the side of my face.
Smoke turned back to him. “And you. You’ve been sniffing too close to things that don’t concern you. Let me be clear—I don’t need protection from the law. But you keep poking around these fires, and they’re gonna notice you. Mark you. I don’t want that for you.”
Tariq’s voice came slow. “You don’t want it for me?”
“No,” Elijah said. “Because I’ve been watching you with her.”
The air went still.
“She softens you,” he continued. “But you still walk like a man who’s ready to fight anybody who threatens her. You love this woman. I know it. Don’t bother denying it.”
Tariq didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t.”
My heart squeezed.
We didn’t look at each other right away. It was too much. Too raw. But I felt the weight of his words settle between us like a vow.
Elijah leaned back, exhaled a plume of smoke. “Good. I respect that.”
Then he smiled—dry, not unkind. “I once asked her to marry my son.”
Tariq’s nostrils flared.
I held up a hand, trying not to smile. “That was years ago.”
Elijah chuckled. “Don’t worry. My boy’s married now. Two kids. Whole other world. My point is, I liked her then. Still do. And I want her safe. I trust you do too.”
Tariq didn’t speak, but I saw the flicker in his eyes. The unspoken always.
There was silence then. Butch shifted by the door, arms folded. The smoke thickened. Tariq’s fingers curled on his thigh like he was counting seconds, breaths, options. I touched his knee, light but certain, and his body calmed beneath the contact.
Elijah stood, signifying the meeting was over. “She’ll reach out in the morning. I’ll handle the rest.”
Butch opened the door, leading us out. We walked past the offices again, tension still alive in the air.
Just before we reached the door, I asked quietly, “How’s your wife?”
Butch slowed. Looked at me.
“She’s... not good. Lost so much on that lower level. Artifacts she’d been collectin’ since we met.”
My chest ached. “If she has any photos or lists, tell her to send them. I’ll keep my eyes open. Might be able to help replace some of it.”
His brow softened. “You always been kind. She’ll appreciate that.”
Tariq opened the door, letting me out first. The night air hit like a slap.
I turned to him as he locked eyes with me.
“I’ll follow you home,” he said.
I nodded.
We didn’t need to say more.
In the car, my hoodie dress clung to the back of my thighs, and I shifted, uncomfortable with the way I could still feel the press of his palm on my lower back from earlier.
Tariq had touched me like a man who still claimed me.
Not just physically, but with that heat in his eyes—mad, wild, full of questions.
And love. So much fucking love it made my chest tighten.
He was still behind me. I watched the headlights in the rearview mirror and didn’t exhale until I pulled into my parking garage and saw him follow.
He parked beside me, taking his time getting out.
When I stepped out, the night air caught my legs and reminded me how bare I was beneath this soft cotton.
No bra. Just a tiny thong. I hadn’t been thinking about him when I got dressed—at least, not on the surface.
But maybe I was always thinking about him.
Tariq didn’t speak. Just walked around the hood of his truck like he had every right to follow me inside. And I didn’t stop him because he did. Here is where I wanted him.
I unlocked the door to my condo and stepped inside. He closed the door behind us with a slow, quiet click, like he was sealing something in. Or out.
The silence throbbed.
I turned to speak—to say something stupid, maybe mean, to keep distance between us—but he was already in front of me.
All 6'3 of him, thick and broad and beautiful, and all that pain and fire swirling in his dark eyes. He looked down at me like I broke something in him… but he wasn’t willing to let me go.
Tariq didn’t say a word. Just wrapped his arms around my waist, lifted me onto my toes, and kissed me.
My fingers clutched his jacket, my mouth already open for him, the kiss slow and deep and devastating. I could taste the ache in him. His hands were everywhere—cupping the back of my head, sliding down to squeeze my ass, holding me like I might run.
When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
“I’m mad at you,” he whispered. “Fucking furious, Sanaa.”
“I know.”
“You deal with people who don’t deserve your loyalty.”
“I know that too.”
He looked at me like he wanted to shake sense into me—and then kissed my brow.
“I want you safe. That’s it. I just want you here. Breathing. Whole.”
“I’m here,” I whispered.
His hands flexed on my hips.
“I love you,” he said it low, rough, barely controlled.
I closed my eyes and exhaled.
“I love you too.”
“I need you always.”
“I’m yours,” I whispered, looking up at him, meaning every single syllable.
That was the undoing.
Tariq’s body tensed—like he’d been waiting years to hear me say that—and something wild broke loose in his eyes. He reached down, lifted the hem of my hoodie dress with both hands, and pulled it up over my head.
“No bra,” he murmured, voice gone dark with hunger. “Of course not.”
His mouth was on my nipples before I could answer. Hot, wet, greedy. He pulled one into his mouth, sucking hard while he rolled the other between his fingers, and I moaned, grinding down on his thigh. My body reacted like it had been waiting—tight and wet and ready to melt.
He undressed yo his boxers and dropped into the oversized chair near my window, dragging me with him until I straddled his lap. My thighs framed his, my body arching into his mouth as he sucked and licked and bit.
“Tariq—” I gasped, but it came out broken.
He looked up at me and slid his hand between us, tugging the thong aside with two fingers.
“Already wet,” he said with a growl. “You are always ready for me, baby. Always.”
“Then fuck me,” I whispered.
He didn’t need more.
He freed himself, thick and hot against my thigh, then grabbed my waist and helped me sink onto him. The stretch made my whole body shiver. My hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging in as I took him slow, inch by inch, until he was buried deep and I couldn’t breathe.
“Shit,” he hissed. “Sanaa…”
I rolled my hips and clenched, taking every inch of him all at once.
Tariq bit his bottom lip to stifle the noise that came from his throat—but he couldn’t hold it in for long. He grunted, low and guttural, and his hands flew to my ass, gripping me like I was the only thing holding him to earth.
I rode him slow at first—hips grinding, clenching on every stroke—but when I saw his jaw flex and those eyes darken, I did that trick I knew he loved. The one that made his head fall back. I clenched just at the tip, held it, then dropped to the base fast.
“Fuck!” he growled, teeth clenched.
“Yeah,” I whispered, doing it again. “Give me all that.”
“Sanaa—shit, I’m gonna—”
“No, you’re not.”
He growled and stood, still inside me, holding me like I weighed nothing. My arms wrapped around his neck, breath hitched, pussy gripping him the whole walk to the dining room table. He laid me flat on the surface, pulling my legs over his shoulders.
And then he started to fuck me for real.
No finesse. Just thick, hard strokes that filled me up and cracked me open at the same time. My back arched off the wood, nails scraping the table, thighs trembling.
He held me by the waist and slammed into me over and over—his name leaving my lips like prayer, my body folding into that sacred rhythm. Tariq moved like he was trying to stay inside my soul, not just my body.
And when I came, I shattered—legs shaking, mouth open in a scream that echoed off the walls.
He didn’t stop. Just pulled out and dropped to his knees like a man worshipping at an altar. He grabbed my thighs, spread me wide, and licked straight into the mess he made.
“Tariq—Tariq—fuck—!”
He lapped at me like he hadn’t eaten in days, like this was the only meal that mattered. I felt him groan against me, tongue sliding through every fold, sucking and licking and circling my clit until I shattered again, crying out his name as my body trembled.
My hand hit the table, searching for something to hold onto. Nothing felt real but his mouth and the burn of release.
And still, he didn’t stop.
Only when I twitched hard—back arching, hands shoving at his head, legs no longer under my control—did he finally pull back.
He stood, sweat running down his chest, stroking his dick as he looked down at me.
“I’m about to cum—” he growled, and that was all I needed to hear.
I slid off the table, knees hitting the floor with purpose.
Tariq’s hand left his dick the moment I touched it. I stroked him once, twice, then took him into my mouth.
“Sanaa—fuck—baby—”
I sucked him deep, tongue working the head, hand stroking what my mouth couldn’t take. His hips jerked, thighs flexing, jaw clenched.
He came with a shout, hot cum hitting my tongue as I swallowed him down—every drop—moaning around him like he tasted like forever.
When I pulled back, he looked wrecked. Breathless. In love. And I knew—no matter what this life tried to steal from us—we belonged to each other. Always.