A dollop of hand sanitizer fell into my palm. I held the bottle over Ishmael’s hands. He turned them over. My generosity allowed him to clean his hands without requiring more sanitizer. I rubbed mine together.
“You’re makeup,” he reminded me.
I opened another pack of wipes and slid the compact mirror out along with it. One side at a time, I cleared my face of the additives. They weren’t necessary, neither was reapplication. I finalized the bareness of my appearance with clear KC lip gloss.
“Ready?”
Ishmael sighed with a shake of his head.
He wasn’t ready. He wanted to call it a night. He wanted to take me back to his place. He wanted to rip my dress from my body. He wanted to stick his dick inside of me. He wanted me cumming hard and loud–like he had.
“Yeah,” he lied.
He opened the door. I waited until his feet were planted safely on the ground. He required time to collect himself. He stood on wobbly knees.
Royce.” Ishmael extended a hand, welcoming me to join him.
I exited the car, following him like a cat in heat. Cameras began flashing the second we were in full view.
Ishmael leaned closer to my ear. I braced myself for whatever was to come from him. He’d been deep in thought since his semen touched my tongue.
“If you put your mouth on anyone else, I’m going to have to take them motherfuckers off your face,” he promised, buttoning the jacket of his suit.
I smiled, turning toward him.
“Jealous much?”
“I don’t care how hard your head is, my baby, don’t make me prove to you that I am no bluffer.”
He pulled me closer, stopping mid-stride for still images. After five seconds, he pulled me toward the entrance of the large event center.
“I don’t bluff either, Ishmael. So, don’t force me to pull your card.”
I didn’t have to explain for him to understand.
“Is that a threat?”
“I don’t make threats I can’t fall through on.”
“Sounds like my type of woman.”
We entered the building, hand-in-hand. The coolness sheeted my skin with small bumps. Still, Ishmael kept me warm. His temperature was spiked. His hormones were raging. He had been satisfied, yet he still craved more of me. I, too, needed more of him.
“My dress–” I lied.
“What about it?”
“Come here.”
I broke our stride to travel in the direction opposite of the dinner party. Ishmael’s mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t focused. Every appearance mattered. His head needed to be in the game whenever he was in the public eye. This was our first appearance as a couple. The last thing I needed was my pussy on his mind when the entire room was waiting on him to slip.
“I need you to help me.”
I jiggled the door of the first handle I stumbled upon. It was locked. I jiggled the second handle. It, too, was locked. The third door pushed open, allowing both Ishmael and I inside.
“Royce, wha–”
I turned around and unfastened his suit jacket. I slid it from his shoulders and placed it on the chair behind the desk.
