“Are you ready to listen?”
I nodded, head scrubbing against the door.
“I need words, Royce.”
He twisted his fingers inside of me.
“Yes. Yessss.”
“Yes what?”
He pulled them forward, toward him.
“I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
He curled them forward a centimeter more.
“I’m ready to listen.”
“That’s my baby,” he whispered against my ear.
Beckoning for my orgasm, he stroked my G-spot forcing my arms around him, pulling him closer.
“Ishmael. Oh Go– Yesss. Yessssss. Yesss.”
“Shit is pathetic,” he mumbled.
It was. I was. This was. I hadn’t been touched this way. Not before him. And, I doubted I’d be touched this way after him.Ishmael was staking his claim. Ishmael was unraveling me so effortlessly.
His skillset was apparent. He was a pleaser. A fucker. A man after a woman’s whole heart, starting with her pussy and working his way up.
“I’m gonna cum–”
“That’s why we’re here, my baby.”
As the words left his mouth, my soul left my body. I slammed my eyelids shut and leaned my head against the door. I lost control of my limbs. A gush of my gratification led way to my undoing.
My sprinkler was ignited. I wet my threads, Ishmael’s threads, the floor, his fingers, and my bottom half.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuuuuuuuuuck.”
He continued extracting my pent up frustration, pain, loneliness, disappointment, despair, sexual tension, and desire.
“Ishmael. Please. Please.”
My stomach knotted. My abdomen tingled with pleasure. My legs grew numb.
His lips crashed into mine, silencing me. He tasted so sweet. He tasted like he belonged to me. I tried removing his tongue from his mouth. My hunger would be the rebirth of me. A newer me. One that wasn’t afraid of what Ishmael had to offer me. One that wasn’t afraid to risk it all for a love I knew he could offer. One that understood Chemistry’s choice to love Egypt in spite of everything. One that had chosen to listen, learn, and fall head first for the man before me.
Ishmael ejected his fingers. As I released him from my mouth, I came to the realization that nothing would be the same beyond this moment. Silence coated the uncertainty swelling my chest. My vulnerability was on the shoulders of my fabric. My emotions were all over the place. I was tender. Just as he wanted me. Just as he had made me.
Ishmael wet a napkin. He cleaned the mess he’d made as best he could. He patted my skin gently, hoping not to miss a spot. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Something was happening inside of me. Something was changing. Something was altered. I felt things shift in my chest, making room for him. Saving a spot for him. Expanding to accommodate him and all that came with him.
He cleansed my hands with a soapy towel and then followed up with water. He did the same for himself. His eyes were penetrating my sensitivity. They searched me as he moved about the restroom. I didn’t have anything to give, except everything. Every part of me. I was defenseless. He could have it all. All of me.
He discarded the paper towels as he had my boundaries.
