She shook her head, looking up toward the ceiling hoping for strength. Strength to keep her temper in check, strength to keep her emotions corralled, and strength to not give in to what they both wanted.
She pulled the covers off, and planted her feet firmly on the ground. She found her bra and panties strewn on the floor, and quickly pulled them on before sitting down on the bench at the foot of his bed.
“Masaki, as you've said, I spend three to four nights of every week with you, and you spend the rest with me at my place. Even if I wanted to fuck with someone else, when would I have time? I'm not seeing anyone else. I don't want anyone else. This isn't about you. This is about me and my life. It’s about…”
The muffled ringing of her cellphone interrupted her her. She jumped up to get it, abandoning the conversation to answer the line.
She swiped right on the phone screen, and put it to her ear.
“Speak,” she answered.
“We've got a problem. You're needed.”
With no further response, she ended the call and grabbed her clothing scattered around the room.
“You are not leaving this conversation, Oshun. We are finishing this.”
“It's already finished, Mas. I can't give you what you want. I can be with you, but I can't commit the way you want me to.”
She dressed quickly, and walked down the stairs in her socked feet, grabbing her black low-top sneakers from the hall cupboard she'd placed them in when she'd arrived a few hours ago. She tied them, then turned to watch Masaki as he descended the stairs.
She didn't give him the chance to speak. She didn't have time for all that. By the sound of her partner's voice on the other end of her cellphone, things were about to get messy. But then again, things were always messy in her life.
That call served as a perfect reminder of why she could never commit to a man like Masaki Yamaguchi. Everything from the way he dressed, combed his hair, and even the way he furnished his house, denoted how organized and compartmentalized his life was. She wouldn't wreck his neat and clean life just to smear it with the grimy filth that plagued hers. Even though she knew he probably wouldn't agree, she cared too much to bring this baggage to his doorstep.
She kissed him quickly, then slipped through the door as she called over her shoulder, “I'll call you later today.”
A chill spilled down her spine as she walked to her car, and thoughts of doubt began to plague her. “Hopefully he still answers when I call.”
2
M asaki slammed the front door and ran back up to his bedroom. He paced quickly back and forth across the large room, trying his best to quiet the rage bubbling in his head. He'd tried hard to keep his other life away from Oshun, but Masaki couldn't allow himself to be pushed around by anyone, not even the soulful beauty who'd captivated him these last three months.
He knew he couldn't force Oshun to be with him if she didn't want to be, but he could damn sure get answers as to why. Answers he'd been seeking since he'd first connected with Oshun three months ago.
He could remember that first night so clearly in his mind. He'd seen the vixen with locs or rather he'd seen the treacherous way she'd swayed her hips to the vibrant rhythms of Erykah Badu’s, “Danger,” blasting through the club's speakers. He watched the intricate sensual way she’d danced, and his cock chubbed up at first glance.
He remembered listening to that song, thinking how sexy she was, and how complicated trying to be with a man like him would be for someone so full of life. Three months later, irony had thrown in an unexpected twist. Although he was the one with the “complex occupation,” his waitress lover was the one who seemed to pose the relationship complications.
Masaki had known from the first a relationship between them wouldn’t be wise, or easy. In his line of work, it never was. He’d been in this scenario before, seen a beautiful woman, and wanted her. Usually, that brief blip of interest waned, and he continued with his day as planned. But, Oshun had been different from the start.
Not one to be driven by his physical desires, yet Masaki took notice of Oshun, and set about securing her company for the evening. He'd watched her travel back to her seat at a booth in the VIP section once she'd finished dancing.
He'd stood at the bar, then asked the bartender to send her whatever she was drinking and put it on his tab. When she had the drink in hand, she held the glass up to him in salute, and motioned for him to come join her behind the velvet rope.
Sitting there talking to her had been an exercise in patience. He'd wanted nothing more than to find somewhere they could get naked for a few hours, there he could skeet off a nut or two and then be on his way. But, chatting for just those few minutes with the thirty-two-year-old young woman kept him enchanted long enough to remain seated next to her. Her chocolate brown eyes cued him into her keen wit, something even sexier than her cinnamon brown skin, high round tits, and ample ass.
“I love your dreadlocks,” were the first words he'd spoken to her. She smiled, leaning into him as she ran her fingers through her hair.
“Honey, there’s nothing dreadful about my locs. They’re locs, not dreadlocks. And they’re beautiful, just like me.”
The fire he’d felt when she’d educated him about the state of her hair, made him burn with need. Her confidence wasn’t an act or a game. It was refreshing, just one more thing about her entire package that kept him seated next to her.
They'd both known from that first drink, hell, from the first few words they’d spoken, that they would end up fucking before the night was through. She'd been game with his plan, made no qualms about it, asked for no pretenses to be offered. She wanted to fuck, and she was all-in for allowing him to spend the night pleasing her. When they'd arrived at the hotel, she'd made it clear she wasn't looking for anything but some fun. She didn't want to exchange numbers, didn't want to know anything about him other than if he had enough condoms to last the night. Hearing her stipulations, he'd been certain he'd found the perfect companion for the evening.
It wasn't until the morning when he'd awoken to an empty bed, his dick damn-near raw from all the fucking they'd done, that he realized he'd made a terrible mistake. Letting that woman go without being able to contact her quickly became a regret he couldn’t live with.
It had taken him a month of showing up at the club under the cover of having a good time to, “accidently” run into her again. She was serving customers drinks in the same VIP lounge he’d met her in. It didn’t matter to him that she was a waitress. He wasn’t interested in what she did for a living, only that she’d allow him to spend time with her. The memory of what it felt like to be buried so deeply inside her made him determined she wasn't getting away. He wouldn’t relent until he'd convinced her a friends-with-benefits scenario was a workable way for them to enjoy each other and avoid the entanglements of being in a committed relationship.
