“I love it here… in your arms.”
I closed my eyes, allowing her words to land right where they belonged.
“Thank you. Thank you for taking a chance on me. Thank you for taking good care of me. Thank you for not running the other fucking way. Thank you for seeing my flaws and my faults and choosing to stay anyway.
“Thank you for sacrificing time with the people you love to be here for me. Thank you for being here when I step through the door. You don’t understand, my baby. That shit just does so much for me. To me.”
“I’ve been asking for someone to come into my life who understands me. I wasn’t sure how long that would take. But, that night I met you… I knew I wasn’t asking for too much.”
“You helped a stranger. Your selflessness wouldn’t let me forget you. Even if you hadn’t walked in my office days later, I wouldn’t have let you slip away. I would’ve found you. As soon as this shit was over, I would’ve come for you.”
“I know,” she admitted.
“I want you to cum, Royce.”
“And, I want you to rest. Tonight isn’t about me, Ish. It’s about you.”
“Every night is about you, my baby.”
She shook her head. “Not tonight.”
My flaccid dick fell from her pussy as she stood.
“I won’t fight you on this. I’m tired, Ish. I can’t sleep until you can.”
I removed my soaked briefs, knowing I wouldn’t win this battle.
Royce grabbed ahold of my hand. She led me into the house. I pulled the doors closed as she waited. A yawn pulled her lips apart as our journey to the bedroom continued. As much as I wanted to shower, I knew Royce wouldn’t last much longer.
It’ll have to wait.
She wanted me in bed… skin to skin. Chest to back. Nose to neck. Deep in my slumber.
I pulled her into me, wrapping my arm around her neck. My lips grazed her ear.
“When I ask you to marry me, my baby, don’t deny me.”
Chuckling, she responded, “I have no plans to.”
THIRTEEN
4 days until the election…
“And napkins, please.”
The cashier grabbed a wad from the stack behind the counter and shoved them into the paper bag.
“Thank you.”
Ishmael’s days were spent in his office, combing through last minute details and garnering every vote he possibly could. We’d exalted every avenue. Still, he refused to leave any stones unturned. I admired his drive.
The fear had begun to become evident in his fight. The clock was ticking. Daniels was ahead in the polls by a mere 1.2 points. Early voting had revealed the numbers we’d been waiting for.Admittedly, I expected Ishmael to claim the polls during early voting as well as during election day.
Though perplexed, I wasn’t concerned. He would be the mayor of Berkeley. As long as I was in his corner, losing wasn’t an option. It was never an option. Second place was too close to last place. And, in this race, second place didn’t matter.
Absentmindedly, I massaged my breasts. They were still tender to the touch. The mobile mammogram was a success. Two thousand and twenty six women were examined. Fourteen were advised to see an oncologist for the masses found in their breasts. Twenty-two others were advised to monitor small spots noted in their files in the event they became cancerous.
On the final day of the week-long event, we gifted children of those affected by breast cancer the clothes we’d collected throughout the month of October. Cameras and microphones surrounded us, but there was one I was willing to share a word with or allow Ishmael to do the same. Jasmine Kade. She wrote the front page articles forBerkeley News. I wanted Ishmael’s face plastered over this morning’s paper.
