Chapter 13 #2
“Good, and remember, I’ll make sure Niya gets to school in the morning. Quintus doesn’t have to rush back here.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“I already did, sweetheart,” she says and I swear I hear her laugh before she ends the call. Shuga is a trip.
I toss my phone onto my plush, extra-large ottoman and examine myself in the mirror again. I like this mahogany crochet polo skirt set but I think it’s trying too hard with the small crotchet holes but it’s not giving an in-the-house-outfit. My thighs are thigh-ing though but it’s still a no.
“Shit!” I scoff because I need to change yet again.
After scanning my closet again and flipping through hangers, I decide on my super cute and sexy floral mesh maxi skirt set.
It’s mesh but fully lined with nude material, creating an illusion of being see through, and the top is a tank lined in lace around the bodice.
“I should have tried this on first,” I admit as I take one final look at myself.
Pleased, I slide my feet into my comfy, black, furry slippers, grab my phone, then leave my closet.
I’ve already moisturized every inch of my body with my newest obsession, the Friends to Lovers body oil from Elle Vie, and my face has a very light beat.
However, for good measure, I spray a few pumps of perfume in the air and walk through it.
I journey to the living room, start my surround sound, then enter my kitchen.
From my wine fridge, I take out a bottle of wine then uncork it.
I pour myself a half-glass then down it expeditiously.
I need the fermented grapes fully incorporated into my bloodstream before he arrives so my damn nerves can relax.
Thirty minutes later, security informs me that Quintus is heading up and five minutes after that he’s ringing my doorbell. The wine didn’t do shit, because as soon as the chimes fill the air, the tiny hairs on my arms stand. Why does his presence do this to me?
After drawing my breath in and slowly releasing it to calm my anxiousness, I walk to the door and open it. Standing on the other side, looking too damn sexy and with that smile on his handsome face is my husband. This deep cobalt blue suit adorning his fine body has to be my new favorite.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“Yeah…Of course,” I tell him, then reach for one of the bags in his hand but he doesn’t release either. Instead, he leans in softly and kisses my lips.
“I got it,” he says before stepping around me. As I watch him walk through my living room and into my kitchen, I notice a small designer duffle bag hanging on his side.
He assumed he’s staying?
Before I can question him about the bag, he places the food on my island then asks, “Do you mind if I use your guest room and bath? I need to shower and get out of this suit. I brought all my own shit; I won’t disrupt yours.”
“Of course, you can shower and you can use anything I have. We’re married, what’s mine is yours,” I say playfully.
He steps over to me then wraps his arm around me. His neck cranes and I hear him inhale my scent. I do the same with his intoxicating aroma, just less obvious. When his eyes lock with mine, he smiles.
“What’s yours is mine? Huh?” he asks and I nod. “You look good as hell right now. I hope your words are actually true,” he says before pecking my lips. “We’ll see after I shower and we eat,” he adds and something about those words feels and sounds different.
“Follow me,” I tell him, then walk off. I stroll right by my guest room and lead him to my room. A crucial part of my plan involves my bed anyway. “You can place your stuff in the closet and use my bathroom. There are towels, soap, body oils, and sponges in the linen closet in there.”
“This is you all day,” he comments as he looks around.
“What do you mean?” I ask, curiosity alerted.
“It’s very soft, feminine, and beautiful just like you.”
“Hmm. Thank you.”
He nods toward the portrait on the wall near my seating area in the back corner of my room. “Is that your grandparents?” he asks.
“Yeah. That’s my ma and papa,” I answer and he steps over to it.
“That was their sixtieth anniversary dinner. My ma was so happy. For her present, my papa replaced and upgraded her original wedding ring. I commissioned the oil painting from the original picture. I’m glad I did because the picture and the ring are missing.
After they passed, I had the bulk of their things donated and the rest packed for me.
Somehow during that process, a box went missing.
I lost her ring, that picture, and a few other items. Insurance paid the claim but I would rather have the items, especially the ring.
It meant so much to her and him. He worked hard to save for it, you know? ” I say somberly.
“Damn. I’m sure you would. I’m sorry that happened.”
“Thanks.”
“Your grandmother was beautiful. You look like her,” he says and I smile.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. A lot like her.”
“I’ve been told that a time or three.” He turns to face me then smiles. “Let me let you shower and I’ll see what you brought and fix our plates. We have a lot to discuss and I don’t want to spend all night talking, husband,” I say, then wink.
I also get my ass out of my room in a hurry before I say fuck the food and the talking and just jump him. The way his eyes dipped and his tongue slid across his bottom lip when I spoke sent a chill down my spine that traveled all the way down to between my legs. Gotdamn.
After entering my kitchen, I wash my hands then pull the food containers from the two bags.
I love Nawlins and the delicious aromas from these containers reaffirms why I do.
I don’t care what’s in them because whoever is in the kitchen there can do no wrong.
To my delight, he chose a few of my favorites.
We have their signature seafood hush puppies, house salad, delicious dirty rice, and crawfish and shrimp étouffée.
All the food is still hot. So while he showers, I remove plates from my dining ware cabinet, grab a few condiments, and pour two glasses of wine.
I set everything on the small dining table in my kitchen and wait for him.
I don’t want to be too presumptuous and prepare his plate.
I’m on my second glass of wine when he walks into the kitchen looking like a fine ass model on the cover of a special, too-damn-fine edition Black man magazine.
“So, that’s what you changed into? Sweats and no shirt,” I say as my eyes take in his beautifully sculpted upper body. My fingers itch to pad down his muscular, tatted arms, broad chest, and firm abs.
“After a long day in a suit, I like to get home, showered, and comfortable. I’m with my wife, so why not?” he counters.
“Trust me, I have no complaints. I was just making an observation.”
“I think you like what you see,” he says with his usual playful arrogance that I absolutely love.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because my eyes are up here,” he says with an amused chuckle. Because my eyes are definitely not looking at his. I’m focused on his chest, abs, and that V leading to what’s in those baggy sweats.
“And?” I question unapologetically. “My words from earlier still apply. Yours equals mine.”
“You better have that same energy after we finish eating,” he says.
“Oh, I definitely will,” I assure him and he smiles.
He fully steps into the kitchen, rounds the island, then steps behind me. Both of his tatted arms wrap around me and he rests his chin on my left shoulder.
“You trying to seduce me, Mrs. Bako?” he whispers.
“The way you’re all up on me, I don’t think a seduction is needed. You appear already seduced.”
“I’m for sure that. You got me seduced, hooked, intrigued, and right where I want to be.”
“I was thinking,” I begin and get immediately distracted when his lips graze the side of my neck.
“What were you thinking?” he asks before peppering kisses up my neck to my earlobe.
“Umm… that… I’m not hungry anymore,” I stammer as his kisses disrupt my train of thought.
“Well, I am. I just don’t want what’s on that table,” he whispers and damn.
Please want what I want to give you, I think as I allow my body to melt back into his.