Chapter 5 Lyrix #2
He almost tripped on the sidewalk laughing. “You? Nah, you don’t look like a rose girl.”
“I absolutely am,” I said proudly. “She does her job. Honestly, she eats better than a lot of men ever could.”
Maison stopped walking, staring at me. Then he started laughing again. “You are… different.”
“I prefer refreshed,” I said, sipping my water.
He shook his head, still grinning. “How long are you in town, Miss Refreshed?”
I checked my phone. “It’s February 7th. I leave the day after Valentine’s Day. So… a week.”
He nodded once. “Noted.”
I raised a brow. “And what exactly does that mean?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s finish our day and see.”
The rest of the afternoon felt like a movie I didn’t want to end.
Maison turned into the kind of tour guide you don’t get on the internet.
No maps, no schedules, just instinct. He walked me through the Quarter, pointing out murals and balconies older than most people’s family trees. Every corner had a story.
He took me to a small museum tucked between two townhouses. A place that celebrated Black artistry and the birth of jazz. Inside, the air smelled like history and dust and brass.
“This,” he said, stopping in front of an old trumpet encased in glass, “belonged to my uncle’s friend. He used to play at a club back in the day. Said the music saved him more times than church did.”
I smiled, watching him. There was something about the way he spoke that made you feel the city through him.
From there, he led me into Treme. The streets felt alive in a different way. Maison slowed his pace, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the block like he belonged to it.
“This is the oldest Black neighborhood in America,” he said quietly. “Still holds the most stories. You can feel them if you listen close enough.”
I did. The sound of a drum floated from somewhere nearby, faint but rhythmic. The wind carried the smell of home-cooked food and blooming magnolias.
We walked for a while without talking, just soaking it all in.
“You really love it here,” I said finally.
He looked over at me, that easy smile returning. “It’s in my blood. This city teaches you how to survive and celebrate at the same time. Every block’s got pain, but it still dances. You feel that?”
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s… grounding. Beautiful and heavy at the same time.”
“Exactly.” He looked around again. “It reminds you that even broken things can sing.”
Something about that hit deeper than I expected. I tucked my hair behind my ear and glanced at him. “You sound like you’ve said that before.”
He chuckled. “Nah. Just living long enough to believe it.”
We kept walking. Every detail of this place told a story about endurance. I found myself smiling for no reason. Not because he said something funny or the weather was perfect, but because the moment felt right.
When we reached the corner, he stopped, looking at me like he was trying to read my thoughts.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Better than good.”
He smiled. “Then I’m doing this right.”
It was later that night, and we were back on Bourbon Street. People danced like they were being paid for it, strangers hugged like they’d known each other since childhood, and the pavement gleamed under neon lights.
Maison and I blended right in. Two more souls looking for a good time.
“You still standing after all that walking today?” he asked, shouting over the music.
“Barely,” I said, laughing. “My feet hate me, but my spirit is thriving.”
He grinned. “That’s the NOLA effect.”
We slid into a club pulsing with bounce music. The bass hit deep enough to rattle my ribs.
Maison handed me a plastic cup filled to the brim. “Round two.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t even survive round one.”
“Then we practice till we do.”
We clinked cups and downed the shots. It burned like regret but tasted like freedom.
When the next song dropped, the crowd erupted. Hands went up, hips found rhythm, and the floor turned into one big celebration. Maison’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me toward the middle of the dance floor.
At first, I fought the urge to move, testing the water. Then, I forgot every excuse I ever made for not letting go. I threw my hands up and started moving, laughing, dancing like my body had its own agenda. Maison moved behind me, close enough for me to feel his heat.
Somebody nearby shouted, “Ayyyeee!” and I laughed so hard my drink almost spilled.
Louisiana had some big booties, but I knew for a fact he hadn’t had one that was born and raised in Antionette.
I looked back at him, grinning. “You keeping up?”
He chuckled, low and deep. “You trying to test me?”
“Just seeing if that local stamina matches the hype.”
“Oh, it does,” he said, moving closer, his breath brushing my ear.
The crowd cheered as the song switched, the DJ blending one beat into the next. My hair stuck to my neck, my skin glowed with sweat and laughter, and all I could think was how good it felt to be really alive.
The DJ switched tracks again, the beat slowing just enough to pull the room into a sway instead of a bounce.
Maison leaned closer, his hand brushing the back of my arm, sending a chill up my spine. “You good?” he asked, voice soft now, cutting through the noise.
“I am,” I said, catching my breath.
He watched me for a long second, like he was asking a question without saying it.
I tilted my head slightly. “What?”
He smiled, slow. “You look like trouble.”
“Good,” I said, stepping closer. “I promised myself I’d find some.”
The corners of his mouth lifted just before he kissed me. It started soft, testing the space between us, then deepened. The kind of kiss that made the rest of the room blur. My pulse jumped, the taste of tequila and heat tangling on my tongue.
He pulled back a little, resting his forehead against mine. “You sure this is just for your vision board?”
I laughed, still catching my breath. “Ask me tomorrow.”
He grinned. “Fair enough.”
I looked up at him again, feeling that dizzy rush I hadn’t felt in a year.. the kind that reminded me I still had a pulse and I still had wants.
“Come on,” I said, my voice lower than I meant for it to be. “Let’s get out of here before I forget this is public.”
He didn’t argue. Just reached for my hand like he’d been waiting for me to say it.
When his fingers tightened around mine, my heart did that wild, stupid thing again. I didn’t know what would happen next, but I wanted to find out.
We didn’t rush. We strolled, letting the air cool our skin. My lips still tingled from the kiss, and every time I looked at him, I thought about how it felt. Like damn.
By the time we made it up to my hotel room, I had forgotten what air conditioning felt like. I was burning up from the inside out.
I fumbled with the key card, my fingers suddenly clumsy. He stood behind me, close enough that I could feel his cucumber poking my ass. “You good?” he asked.
“Mhmm.” I finally got the door open, and we stepped in.
He didn’t touch me right away, which made it worse. He looked around like he was checking the space out. “Nice room,” he said, nodding. Then he turned to me with a small smirk. “So… this part of the vision board too?”
I shrugged, kicking off my sneakers. “Might be.”
He stepped closer. “What if I told you I’ve never been part of someone’s vision board before?”
I looked up at him. “Then I’d say you’re doing amazing so far.”
He let out a quiet laugh and lifted my chin with his fingers, his eyes dropping to my mouth again. “Lyrix…”
That’s all he said.
I didn’t even know what I expected, but Maison kissed me like he knew what I needed.
Not just wanted. Needed. Like he could feel how long it had been since I’d been held and touched.
He didn’t kiss me like he was trying to get something out of it.
He kissed me like he was trying to put something back.
His hands found my waist, slid up slowly, then down again, anchoring me. I felt his grip tighten. And I melted.
My knees didn’t just go weak, they gave out a little. He looked at me with those eyes that made me want to smile, laugh, and climb him like a tree all at the same time.
And I realized, I loved the heaux phase. Loved the freedom. The energy. The yes of it all.
I hadn’t even touched the surface of what was possible yet, but in that moment, with Maison’s hands on my waist, my body was fully awake for the first time in forever.
He stood in front of me like he was memorizing me.
Like he was committing every curve, every freckle, every soft part of my skin to memory, just in case he never got the chance again.
His hands were warm and slow as he peeled off my bodysuit, inch by inch.
And every time another part of my skin was exposed, he kissed it.
A soft kiss to my shoulder. A warm one to my hip. A lingering one just above my navel.
“You’re really something,” he said, eyes heavy with heat as he traced his fingertips down my sides.
I started to speak, but he shook his head and said, “Shh… don’t say anything yet.”
He pulled back just a little, his hands resting on my thighs now. “You ever been touched in a way that made you remember who you are? Like, really are?”
I didn’t answer.
He leaned in, kissed the inside of my thigh, and then looked up.
“Tonight,” he whispered, “you don’t have to think. Or perform. Or hold back. Just be. Be selfish. Be free. Let go.”
He kept talking. “Let a man you just met… make you feel good. No pressure. No expectations. Just feeling.”
I swallowed hard.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
And I did.
“Now tell me,” his voice was a little raspier, warmer, as he ran his hands up and down my thighs. “Tell me everything you’ve ever wanted to experience with a man. No matter how soft, dirty, or wild it is. I’m listening.”
I opened my eyes slowly.
“Stop talkin’… and show me you can eat better than my rose.”
He let out a deep, sexy laugh and said, “Say less.”
And then I felt the swipe of his tongue. The kind of swipe that said he didn’t just know what he was doing, but he loved doing it.
I gasped, my hand automatically grabbing the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his hair.
Warmth. Pressure. Moans.
Everything that damn rose couldn’t give me. That rubber rose had tried her best for the last year, but she ain’t have nothing on the heat and texture of a living, breathing tongue that knew exactly where to go and how to stay there.
It wasn’t just the sensation, it was the intimacy. The way he looked up at me with his mouth still on me like he was trying to read my mind through my body. Like he wanted to hear me moan his name and then wear it as a badge of honor.
Every flick. Every suck. Every swirl made my body remember what it had been missing.