Chapter Six Eason Storm
The rhythmic thud of my fists slamming into the heavy bag echoed through the gym, but my head wasn’t on the bag. My mind was on Xalori fucking Carson.
That stubborn, complicated, sexy-ass woman who had no idea what the fuck she started. She thought she could fight me. Thought she could shut me out, keep control, and keep me at arm’s length. Cute, but I don’t do distance, and I don’t do rejection.
And I damn sure wasn’t gonna keep pretending like I’m not already deep in her life. She belonged to me. She just ain’t caught up to the truth yet.
Even if we died tomorrow, I’d find her ass in the next life. That’s how deep this shit ran.
“Daaaaddy!”
Ginger’s high-pitched squeal cut through my thoughts, just in time for her little body to barrel toward me.
I barely dropped my gloves before scooping her up.
“What’s up, baby girl?” I grinned, kissing her chubby cheeks while she giggled and tugged on the chain around my neck like she owned me.
She did. She was the only girl that had that kind of power.
“She got bored at the house,” my mother’s voice called from the doorway.
Charlotte Storm stood there, arms crossed, watching me like she could read the war behind my eyes.
“Figured she could keep you company while you worked through whatever the hell has got you acting crazy.”
I smirked, bouncing Ginger in my arms. She tugged harder on my chain, laughing like she had me wrapped and she did.
I pulled off my gloves and walked to the bench, grabbing the sleek black box that had been sitting there all morning.
The dress. I’d had that shit picked out the second I saw it. Deep navy-blue silk, fitted cut, elegant as fuck, and it screamed her.
And since she was mine, it was only right she looked the part.
“This what’s got you in a mood?” my mother asked, eyeing the box in my hand.
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Nah. Just tryna make sure my woman understands what the fuck is happening here.”
Charlotte sighed, rubbing her temples. “Lord, have mercy. You sound crazy as hell.”
I shrugged. Crazy was an understatement. I hadn’t even been inside her yet and I was already gone off her. She could keep fighting it. Keep pretending like she had a choice, but she didn’t. Not anymore.
The second she stepped into that emergency room, I claimed her. When she stood in that graveyard, drowning in grief, I marked her. And when she let my son curl up in my arms like he belonged there, she sealed her fate.
Now it was time she understood that.
“I don’t know who the fuck she thinks she’s running from,” I muttered, voice low, “but it ain’t me.”
My mother folded her arms, giving me a hard look. “You forcing her?”
I let out a dark chuckle, dragging my tongue across my bottom lip. “Something like that.”
She sighed, walking over and brushing her fingers through Ginger’s curls. “You sound just like your father,” she muttered.
I arched a brow. “That supposed to be an insult?”
“More like a warning.” She kissed Ginger’s forehead, then shot me that look again. “You can’t force a woman into submission, Eason.”
I smirked. “I ain’t forcing her into nothing. She’s already mine. She just don’t know it yet.”
My mother sighed again, shaking her head. “Lord, have mercy. You look like a man on a mission.”
I smirked, grabbing Ginger’s bag as I pecked my mother on the forehead. My baby girl yawned, resting her tiny head against my chest, completely unfazed by the storm brewing inside me.
“Ain’t no ‘mission,’” I muttered, kissing the top of her curls. “I’m just making sure my woman gets with the program.”
I didn’t say shit else. Just grabbed the box and started moving toward the exit.
I wasn’t explaining myself no more. I was done playing nice.
Xalori was coming to that charity event with me tonight—on my arm, in the dress I picked, with my name damn near stamped on her forehead.
She wanted to act like she had choices, cool. I’d show her she didn’t.
Pulling up to her duplex, my jaw clenched just remembering the last time I was here. But at least this time, no clown-ass nigga was posted on her porch. I wasn’t about to act a fool with my daughter in my arms, but don’t get it twisted. I would’ve.
I cut the engine, grabbed the box, unbuckled Ginger, and cradled her close as I made my way to the door. She stirred but didn’t wake, nestling deeper into my chest.
I reached for the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked. But it wasn’t. Bad fucking move, Muffin.
Just the thought of some motherfucker sitting on her couch, breathing her air, making her laugh, and thinking he had a shot, had me seeing red. I could picture it—him standing too close, looking at her like she was his.
It made my hands twitch and my pulse hammer. I had to breathe, force myself to chill. Because what I really wanted to do, was kick the damn door down and drag her ass out.
Instead, I adjusted Ginger in my arms and twisted the knob. Heart pounding, I eased the door open. And just like that, I was hit with the faint aroma of vanilla and warm cinnamon. That smell sunk into my skin like it knew me, like it already belonged to me. Just like her.
The first thing I noticed was how neat and put together her tiny apartment was. It was small, but cozy, soft, comfortable, and real.
I could fit four of these inside my bedroom alone. But something about being in her space made my chest tighten with something unfamiliar. It felt like home.
The sound of running water, followed by some of the worst off-key singing I’d ever heard, broke me from my thoughts.
“Ain’t no way in hell a nigga in here with that bad-ass singing.” I muttered, gently closing the door behind me and locking it before making my way down the hall.
A smile tugged at my lips as I followed the sound, shaking my head. Her ass was so damn stubborn. So damn tough. But in here alone, she was just a woman. My woman.
The closer I got, the louder she sang completely unaware she had an audience. I stepped into her bedroom, taking it all in.
It wasn’t what I expected. For someone as guarded as Xalori, I thought her room would reflect that—cold, minimal, and untouched. But it wasn’t, it was soft, feminine, and warm. The kind of space that made a man wanna stay.
I eased the black box onto her bed, then carefully laid Ginger beside it. She stirred, then melted deeper into sleep, her tiny fingers curling into her blanket.
I smirked and made my way to the bathroom, sat right on the toilet and patiently waited. She had no idea what was coming.
A few minutes later, the water cut off. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, just as the curtain was yanked open.
“Ahh! What the fuck!” she screamed, grabbing the curtain and yanking it to her chest. “Eason, what the hell are you doing here?! And how the hell did you get in my house?!”
Her curls stuck to her face, water trailing down her shoulders, and steam curling around her like some damn goddess fresh out of a dream.
I smirked. “Is that any way to greet your man?”
“You are not my man, you deranged lunatic! You’re a—”
“Stalker? Maniac?” I shrugged. “Yeah, baby. Whatever gets you wet.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sick.”
“And you still ain’t kicked me out.”
Her mouth opened—no doubt for some smart-ass retort—but I cut her off.
“Why was your door unlocked?”
My voice dropped, sharp and heavy.
“You expecting company?”
Her expression shifted. “What? No—”
“Answer the question, Xalori.”
She rolled her eyes, voice tight. “I must’ve left it unlocked after dropping Nasir off at school. And as far as niggas coming over? I don’t play that shit. I don’t know why the hell my stupid-ass baby daddy showed up, just like I don’t know why you’re here.”
I lifted a brow, gaze drilling into hers. “So, you didn’t call that nigga to come over?”
She jerked her head back like I’d just insulted her bloodline. “No. Why the hell would I call that bastard over here? I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a year!”
I nodded slowly, her words sinking deep while I made a mental note to find out everything about her baby daddy. He showed up uninvited, lied on her, and was a deadbeat so that made him a threat. Which meant he needed to be handled.
And I had a few tricks up my sleeve like Halloween, but without the treat.
“Bet.”
My voice was calm, too calm. I didn’t say shit else. Just watched her, studied her, and made mental notes.
She huffed. “You’re crazy.”
I stood slowly, walked over with my eyes locked on hers.
“Only for you.”
She clutched the curtain tighter to her chest. “Get out so I can get dressed.”
“No.”
“Eason.”
I raised a brow. “Xalori.”
“What happened to Muffin?” she muttered under her breath, probably thinking I wouldn’t hear it.
But I did. Loud and fucking clear. And I smirked, because she exposed herself without even realizing it.
She cared. She fucking cared.
I opened my mouth to respond, to tease her about it, but all thoughts vanished the second she let go of the shower curtain and stepped out, completely fucking exposed.
All the blood in my body rushed straight to my dick. Her body was flawless, tempting, and fucking perfect. For the first time in my life, I was speechless. Every thought evaporated. Every word dissolved.
All I wanted to do was bend her over that sink and fuck her into remembering who she belonged to.
My fingers flexed, my jaw locked as I forced my gaze away before I lost the last bit of control I had. I reached down, adjusting my growing, throbbing dick before clearing my throat.
“I bought you a gift,” I muttered. My voice low and rough, laced with restraint.
I met her gaze in the mirror, locking in like a man possessed.
Xalori’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Oh yeah? And what kind of gift would that be?”
She turned to face me, arms folding beneath her breasts—pushing them up unintentionally.
My eyes immediately dropped, my tongue swiping across my bottom lip as my mouth watered at the sight of her hardened nipples. Fuck. That perfect body was mine to devour. She just hadn’t accepted it yet.
Her frown deepened. “And how the hell was sending me a vibrator a gift for you?”
I stood from the toilet and moved toward her, slow and deliberate. She didn’t move, but I saw it. The way her breath caught. The way her chest rose and fell a little quicker.
I lifted her onto the counter, spreading her legs open, stepping between them like I’d been born to.
The warmth of her bare pussy kissed the air between us, teasing me, and feeding that ache inside me.
I kept my eyes locked on hers, voice low and controlled.
“I wanted to watch you play with that pussy on camera while you thought about me.” My hands roamed her thighs, taking their time, moving closer.
“Eason,” she groaned, her body already folding into my touch.
My smirk deepened.
“But that’s not the gift I brought you today.”
I leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her collarbone.
“I bought you a dress for tonight’s charity event.”
Her eyes flew open, lips parted. “I never agreed to go—”
“Didn’t ask.”
She stiffened.
“You like control,” I murmured. “I get that. But I’m not some soft, safe-ass nigga who’s gonna let you set the rules.”
She stared at me, swallowing hard. Still holding onto the counter like it could shield her from what we already were.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
“Because you’re mine.”
Her lips parted, but whatever argument she had died the second I applied pressure to her pearl. Her head fell back against the mirror and a moan spilled from her lips.
“Here’s how this gonna go,” I said, calm as ever. “You’re getting dressed. You’re wearing what I brought. You’re walking in with me tonight. Smile if you want to.”
One of her eyes cracked open, glare softer than she meant. “You’re trying to control me, Eason,” she moaned, her body betraying her. “And I don’t like that.”
I leaned in, lips brushing hers, teasingly. “That’s not what I’m trying to do, Muffin,” I whispered. “I’m just trying to spend time with my woman and show her off. Is there a problem with that?”
Her legs spread wider, her walls clenching around nothing.
“Yes, there’s a problem with that considering I’m not your woman.”
That shit triggered something deep inside me. The teasing, the patience, and restraint bullshit was over.
I pulled my hand back and stepped away from her heat, making sure she felt the absence.
Her head jerked up, brows furrowed as she grabbed my wrist. “Hey, what are you doing? Why’d you stop?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re not my woman, right?” I said. “Then you don’t get the privilege of me making you cum. That’s reserved for my woman.”
I winked, watching frustration burn behind her eyes.
“That’s not fair!” she huffed, arms folded like a brat.
“Life’s not fair, Muffin,” I murmured, stepping closer.
I could see it all. The war. The need. The fear.
Her lips parted, like she wanted to speak, but she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. Her chest rose and fell in uneven waves.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Of what this is. Of what you’ll do to me.”
I stepped in again, looked her dead in the eye.
“I’m not here to break you,” I said. “I’m here to rebuild you. Piece by piece. If you let me.”
Silence settled between us. Her guard was still up, but her body already made its choice.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
“No, you don’t.”
I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers.
“But even if you did, I’d still ruin you.”
Then I kissed her. Slow. Deep. And dangerously. The kind of kiss that changed lives.
Because she might’ve been scared. Might’ve been fighting. But she’d already lost the war.