Chapter Twelve. Ember
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ember
I open the bathroom door and steam billows out into the bedroom as if heralding my arrival.
Tightening the belt of my black silk robe, I glance at the sleigh bed and the twisted sheets hanging halfway off the mattress like they’re white-girl wasted.
The heavy musk of sex still lingers in the room—unlike the man who delivered teeth-jarring back shots to me a half hour earlier.
Our fluids, a mixture of sweat and cum, form haphazard puddles on the light blue, five-hundred-count Egyptian cotton, marking the spots we fucked like X’s on a treasure map.
I don’t know where he went after into the bathroom, but either he’s going to change the sheets in here or I’m getting appointed another room.
But one thing’s for certain, two things for sure, I’m not sleeping in nobody’s wet spot. His or mine.
Trekking over to one of the suitcases I packed, I remove several smaller bags.
One contains my hygiene products. Perching on the cream-colored chaise lounge, I take my time smoothing shea body butter over my skin.
Am I using my normal moisturizing routine to stall facing Asad again after letting him lick and suck on every part of me between my forehead, ass, and toes?
Yes. Is it foolish to want to avoid facing him after he’s seen, touched, and been inside just about every hole in my body?
Definitely. But embarrassment and forced proximity isn’t a good enough reason for neglected, dry-ass skin.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom once more, skin hydrated, hair tucked into a messy bun, teeth brushed.
A sweep of the area reveals he still hasn’t returned from wherever he disappeared to when I escaped to the bathroom for a shower.
And I do mean escape. I swear to God, that man tried to assassinate me with the dick.
No lie, I damn near had to crawl out of that bed, and if Asad had reached for me again, I would’ve killed him in self-defense.
It would’ve held up in any court, too. Even now my muscles gripe at being bent and contorted into positions that my nut-dizzy pussy might’ve consented to, but not me.
Sighing, I pick up the second bag I removed from my suitcase and head for the balcony.
I push open the French doors, allowing the night air, stamped with the salty, fresh scent of the ocean, inside the room.
Inhaling deeply, I head for the small love seat and glass coffee table, the stone cool underneath my bare feet.
“Took you long enough. I was beginning to think I’d have to come in there and get you.”
“Shit.” I jerk around, heart slap-boxing my ribs.
Splaying my fingers over my chest, I glare at Asad—or rather his shadowed, long, big body reclining on the oversized club chair sitting in a dark corner of the balcony.
“Goddamn. Was that necessary?” I snap, breath still breaking in short bursts over my parted lips.
“Your head should always be on the swivel, ma.”
A second later, soft, golden light floods the contained area, beaming from the small, elegant sconce above his head. I notice a wall switch just above his head and shake mine. He couldn’t have done that when he first came out here? I suck my teeth. Dramatic ass.
He shifts in the chair, and like the tide responds to the lure of the moon, my gaze follows the motion, taking in his wide, bare chest, brutally sculpted abs, the black-and-gray basketball shorts hanging indecently low and exposing the tops of carved hips and long, powerful legs.
Shit, even his feet are big, masculine, and pretty.
I return my scrutiny to his face and find his low-lidded eyes on me, his face relaxed.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him … relaxed.
It’s a good, delicious look on him, though it doesn’t dampen the danger that sits on him like the lotion I just rubbed on my body.
God. The man is perfect in every way, and like the dickmatized bitch that I am, I fell for that perfection. Fell for that beauty and damned myself.
Eve would be proud as fuck.
Turning away from him, I continue to the love seat and sink down to the cushions.
Ignoring Asad, I pull out the contents of my bag and set them on the table—my rolling tray, grinder, flavored rolling papers, lighter, a jar of my favorite hybrid blend of weed.
The routine of preparing my blunt lends a calm that seeps into me, and for a moment, I’m able to tune out Asad’s magnetic presence.
Lie.
I’m able to dampen the intensity of it. But him rising from the chair, crossing the space, and dropping right next to me, his thick thigh brushing mine, dials it back up until I’m vibrating with tension and nerves.
Still, even with that penetrating, weighty stare on me, my fingers don’t falter, nor do my movements slow.
This is straight muscle memory, and the monotony of it, soothing.
Within minutes, I have the blunt lit and am lifting it to my lips, pulling from it.
The sweet, fruity yet herbal flavor fills my mouth and lungs, and I close my eyes, leaning against the back of the couch.
Hard, long fingers pluck the blunt from mine as I exhale, and I turn my head to watch Asad take a hit off it.
The end glows red, the fragrant smoke curling from his parted lips a gut punch of lust. I’ve never seen him in this environment—in the security of his own home, half-naked, smoking and relaxed.
Well, relaxed for him. It’s unfamiliar. Disconcerting.
Sexy as fuck.
And … nice.
Jesus. I need to be more lit than I am if I’m having those thoughts.
“Puff, puff, pass, muthafucka,” I say, flicking my fingers in a “gimme” motion. “Greedy ass.”
One moment, I’m waiting to get my blunt back, and in the next, I’m straddling Asad’s lap, my pussy high-fiving his dick again through his shorts and the thin panties I’m wearing under my robe.
A wave of heat barrels through me at the contact, and I manage to catch my gasp before it escapes.
I wish I could say the same for my body.
That traitorous bitch hums as if happy I’ve made him my personal throne.
I’m strung tight, which is sacrilegious considering this perfect blend of weed.
But the intimacy of this position, with us face-to-face, body to body, dick to pussy.
I’m out of my realm, unprepared, and … unsettled.
One of his big hands cups my hip, and the weight of it grounds me, ordering me not to flee.
Because God knows, I’m considering it. Jumping off him and hightailing it back to the guest room with my drugs and little bit of guard left.
“Here.” He passes me the spliff, and I accept it, puffing on it and exhaling. “You created that blend yourself?”
“Mm-hmm.” I squint at him, taking another hit, letting it spread through me and loosen my muscles.
“It’s good. I usually don’t care for the flavored shit—especially anything sweet. But that”—he nods at me—“it’s good.”
“I know.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“When I was in your apartment, I noticed you got a whole-ass collection. If it was anyone else, I’d think they were—”
He tilts his head, studies me. When he lifts a hand toward my face, I expect him to cup it or my chin, touch my mouth, or even slide his thumb in between my lips as he’s done several times tonight.
But this is Asad; he doesn’t do the expected.
Instead, he traces a gentle path over my forehead, down the slope of my nose, and then under my eye.
Thank God I’m sitting. This caress, which smacks of a tenderness I didn’t know he was capable of—particularly toward me—has my knees weak, my stomach twisting.
A part of me, that scared, uncertain part of me that fears his newfound control of my body, longs to rear back and crawl away from him in horror.
But the other part … that other part … fuck.
As if he senses the conflict brewing deep inside me, Asad shifts his hand from my face to the back of my neck, gripping it, holding me in place. Preventing me from retreating, from running.
“Snooping is beneath you.” I squint at him, teasing but also—not. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you if go looking for shit, you’ll find it? Oh wait.” I pop up a finger. “This is Michelle we’re talking about. Never mind. She wasn’t into parenting or lessons.”
“Nah, baby girl. Distractions won’t work on me.
” He squeezes my neck, sending a blast of heat soaring straight to my middle.
It’s a damn shame how much I enjoy this man’s hands on me.
Lust flares in his eyes, telegraphing he doesn’t miss my reaction to him.
“When did all that start? I knew you smoked, but what you got in your house? It looks like a fucking dispensary.”
I mug him. “I know the drug lord isn’t coming for me over some weed. The audacity.”
His hand slaps the curve of my ass, and the sharp sting radiates from the spot and down between my legs. Arousal flares like an SOS to my brain and heart. Get the fuck up and out.
I remain perched on his thighs, pussy wetting up his basketball shorts.
“Answer me. Why the fascination with weed?”
Shrugging, I lift the blunt to my lips once more and after a moment, release smoke along with my answer.
“It … helps.” I stare into his unwavering silver eyes, and though it is madness and a betrayal of every sense of self-preservation I possess, I let him in.
And pray he doesn’t wield this against me later.
Here, in the dark, with his big, hard body under me like a foundation I’ve always secretly yearned for, I take a chance.
A risk. “I stopped taking the meds for my IED.”
He frowns, both hands cupping my hips and squeezing. Hard.
“The fuck, Ember? Why?”