My legs shook uncontrollably, thighs quaking against his hips; my chest tightened like I couldn’t hold air, and if this bliss wasn’t tearing me apart in the sweetest way, I might’ve thought I was being called home to glory.
“Roo…. Husband… Right… Yes…” I chanted, as he sped up his pace.
Within seconds, I felt his manhood pulse inside my walls. His milky cum coating my womb. “I ain’t never leavin’ you empty, Star. Even when I’m gone, I’m still inside you. Always.” He stated, just as he began to remove his body from mine. Ro pulled my body into his just as my eyes fluttered closed.
“I love you, Ro Zore.” I cooed.
“I love you, Nova Zore. Forever.”
I didn’t realize I’d fallen half asleep. My breath still carried his, our rhythm not yet broken even in dreams. Ro’s chest rose steady under my cheek, his arm heavy around me like a lock that dared the world to test it.
But the world was bold.
Through the cracked window, the city hummed different tonight. Sirens farther off. A holler that wasn’t drunk laughter but warning. My skin prickled, though his warmth should’ve kept me calm.
I whispered Psalm 23 against his skin, barely moving my lips: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”
It was my habit when fear stirred inside me. He began to stir awake. “Nova Star,” but right now I felt more like Nova flicker—bright, yes, but trembling.
Because even wrapped in this love, even with the ache between my thighs marking me his in the holiest way I knew, something outside was shifting.
I heard the low growl of engines in the distance. Not cars—bikes. Too many to be friendly.
The fan spun lazy overhead, but the sound under it grew sharper, closer, like a hundred metal wolves circling.
I gripped his arm. “Ro… you hear it too?”
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as the glow of unfamiliar headlights cut across the blinds.
I wanted to sink back into the afterglow, into being his new bride in a quiet room.
Ro slid out of bed and threw on his clothes and I followed suit. He peered through the slit while I stood behind him ready for whatever came next. Across the street, under the pharmacy sign that only flickered on S’s and A’s, a Ducati Panigale idled like arrogance. Gloss white gleamed even in alley light, gold detailing catching a thin line of neon. The rider straddled it easy—clean bomber jacket, jeans with not a single scuff, white gloves that had never known a scrape. Helmet visor up just enough to flash an entitled smile. The city seal sat stamped on a ring when he lifted his hand to flick ash from a cigarette he wasn’t even really smoking. Two other boys posted nearby, one tagging over somebody’s LOVE with a fat black LOYALTY, the other laughing like he owned a laugh track.
“That him?” I breathed, the warning already climbing my throat.
“Mayor’s boy,” Ro rasped, not blinking. “Little lie in a white suit. He been sniffin’ around spots he ain’t gotta bleed for.”
The Ducati blipped—quick, sharp, a flex. The rider’s eyes lifted right to our window like he’d been aiming this moment since noon, and he tipped two fingers off his temple in a salute that felt like a trespass. Ro didn’t move. He just lifted his chin a fraction and let his mouth crook.
“Keep fishin’, bleach boy,” he murmured, voice smooth as a snipe. “You gon’ catch a shark.”
White Lie’s smirk didn’t crack, but his shoulders did that small shift men do when they get seen the wrong way. Apatrol car oozed onto the block right then, casual as a cousin at a cookout, spotlight grazing the curb, not looking hard enough to be real police work. The Ducati rolled its throttle like punctuation. The cruiser never even slowed.
“You peep that?” Ro muttered, disgust flicking across his face. “Handshake with the badge you don’t gotta earn.”
My hand found the Bible on the counter, and I pressed my palm down, whispering without thinking, “No weapon formed…”
He glanced over his shoulder, softened, and reached to tug the blind shut. “Don’t waste scripture on mannequins.”
“He’s still flesh,” I countered, gentler. “Flesh bleed. Flesh bow.”
He breathed a short, appreciative laugh. “You gon’ have me churchy and dangerous.”
“I prefer dangerous and covered,” I teased, easing back toward the mattress.
He hovered at the window a second longer, scanning street sounds the way animals read wind. The Ducati’s idle dropped, then rose, then finally slid away slow, kid performing a smooth exit in front of men who wouldn’t clap. The patrol car drifted along after it like a bored chaperone.
Ro let the blind fall, sat on the edge of the mattress, and scrubbed both hands down his face. “We just got married in a strip-mall chapel,” he muttered toward the floor, voice a low rumble of wonder and threat. “And the first thing the night does is send me a homework assignment.”
