The peace in the party.
His fingers traced my thigh like he wasn’t trying to start something, but my body knew better. Every circle he made sent a signal straight to my core.
I shifted, just a little, just enough for him to feel the warmth between my legs, and he tilted his head like he already knew the storm he was stirring.
“You feel that?” I whispered.
He nodded, lips brushing my cheek. “I been feeling it. You just finally ready to stop pretending you don’t need this.”
That was all it took.
I turned in his lap, straddling him now, and we kissed the kind of kiss that made your spine curve and your toes curl. His hands gripped my waist, then slid under my dress like he was unwrapping something fragile and expensive.
“You gone let me make you feel good out here?” he asked against my lips.
“Out here, in there, on the balcony rail, on the ceiling. Yeah, wherever.”
We both laughed, but he didn’t rush.
That was the thing about him—he never did. Every movement was deliberate, every touch had intention. And when he entered me right there in the soft dark of the balcony chair, it wasn’t just sex. It was a celebration.
My head fell back as his hips moved slow, matching the rhythm of the city below us with jazz in the distance, laughter in the streets, wind in my hair. His lips found my collarbone, then my breasts, then my mouth again.
“I love this version of you,” he whispered.
“I think I do too.”
And just like that, I shattered.
Not just from the orgasm, but from the release. From the joy. From the way he held me through it like I was precious.
When it was over, I stayed in his lap, our breathing finally slowing as we rested against each other under the stars.
He kissed my forehead softly. “I gotta get up early tomorrow. Some work I need to take care of.”
I nodded, tracing circles on his chest. “All good. I was gonna chill and do some exploring anyway. Maybe get lost in the city a little.”
He smiled. “You should. Let the city love on you some more. But be ready by 6, okay? I’m taking you somewhere special for dinner.”
I kissed him once more and whispered, “Can’t wait.”
And I meant it because that day reminded me that my Heaux Phase was less about the chaos and more about the clarity I found in my own pleasure.
9
Lyrix
“I Signed Up for What Now?”
I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but it was probably some little drunk demon whispering“YOLO”in my ear. But I woke up and googled “fun things to do in New Orleans,” and before I knew it, I was booked and confirmed for a damnBYOB cemetery tour.
Yes. A bring-your-own-bottle graveyard tour.
It sounded like a good time at the time… until I actually sobered up and realized I was about to drink and flirt with ghosts. But I already paid, so it is what it is.
The tour bus pulled up bumping Juvenile like it was a block party on wheels, and honestly, the vibes were too good to back out. I stepped on with my mini bottle of tequila like it was holywater, and immediately made eye contact with a loud group of women in matching neon shirts that said“Cousin Trip: NOLA.”
One of them spotted me and said, “Girl, come sit over here with us, you look too fine to be ghost hunting alone!”
