He didn't even acknowledge my words. Instead, he swung the passenger side door open and damn near shoved me inside, stepping between me and my exit before I could even think about jumping back out. I turned my glare up at him, breath coming in short, my chest rising and falling fast. "You lost your damn mind?" Juste didn't even blink. Instead, he leaned in close, his dark eyes pinning me to the seat, his voice thick, heavy, deadly calm. "You must think I'm fuckin' playin' with you, Chiana."
I clenched my jaw, refusing to back down, even though my pulse was beating hard as hell against my throat. I refused to let him see that he shook me. "I don't need you manhandling me, Juste," I snapped, my voice tight with frustration. "I told you, I can handle my damn self."
He let out a humorless chuckle, his tongue flicking across his teeth. "Yeah? That what you think?" I folded my arms. "That's what I know." His jaw flexed, his patience thinning with every breath I took. Then, suddenly, his fingers hooked under my chin, forcing my face up, his touch firm but not rough. "I'll see you when I get there." Before I could even form a response, he slammed the door shut in my face, the sound cutting through the thick air between us. I sat there, my pulse pounding, my mouth slightly open as I processed what the hell just happened.
Then, slowly, I lifted my middle finger to the window, aiming it right at him as he turned and disappeared back into the building. Cocky, overbearing ass. I let out a breath and sank back into the seat, arms crossed tightly over my chest, my mind whirling with everything that just went down. A few minutes later, Pierre walked out, my purse and laptop bag in hand, moving like he was on a mission. Without a word, he slid into the driver's seat and started easing us away from the building.
I cut my eyes at him. "You gon' tell me what's going on?" He exhaled through his nose, like he knew this conversation was inevitable but still didn't feel like having it. After a pause, he glanced over at me before shifting his eyes back to the road. "Ya boy in a million-dollar debt to the St. Jeans. Been that way since his ass fled the city."
I threw my head back against the seat, letting out a frustrated sigh as the weight of Maseon's bullshit settled onto my shoulders. That nigga was forever in some shit. And now He'd brought me into it. I felt my headache creeping in, pressing against my temples, making my chest tighten. I had spent so much energy fighting Juste on this, only to find out he had a point. Mase was assed out.
I was stuck looking dumb as hell. I pressed my fingers against my temples, forcing my frustration down, trying to figure out how I was going to smooth things over with Juste. Because lowkey I wanted to cry. Not just because of Maseon's bullshit, not just because Juste had been right, but because I had let my pride get in the way. I should’ve turned Maseon’s ass around.
Pierre drove in silence, the weight of the situation settling heavy in the car. I kept my arms crossed over my chest, my jaw tight, my mind running in circles trying to figure out how the hell I was gonna fix this. I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples. "A million-dollar debt? Pierre, how the fuck is Mase still breathing?" Pierre let out a dry chuckle, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "That's a good-ass question. Jus let him slide once... and that nigga dipped out the city before his luck ran out." I sucked my teeth, irritated.
Pierre glanced at me. "And your ass sittin' across from him like you tryna get caught up in the crossfire." I rolled my eyes, turning to stare out the window. "I ain't know all that at the time." Pierre scoffed. "Yeah, well... now you do." I chewed on my lip, my mind flashing back to Juste's face when he walked in that office. The way his eyes never left mine. The coldness in them. The disappointment. I had never seen him look at me like that before, and the thought bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
The car slowed, pulling into the long driveway of the house. Pierre parked and glanced at me. "You want some advice?" I sighed, my fingers tightening around my bag. "Not really."
"Cool, I'm giving it anyway." I turned to glare at him, and he smirked. "Jus is mad as hell," he said, resting his arm on the steering wheel. "And you know he don't let shit go easy. If I was you? I'd figure out how to make that nigga forget why he mad before he even gets the chance to think about it too much" I exhaled, shaking my head. "You tryna say I need to seduce my way out of this shit?"
Pierre shrugged, his smirk deepening like he was enjoying this a little too much. "I'm just saying, Jus got a soft spot for you, but that don't mean you immune to consequences. I'm not telling you to suck the man dick and fuck him real good, I'm just sayin'... ya know." He shrugged again, a teasing glint in his eye. I smacked my lips, rolling my eyes. "Pierre, this ain't the time to be playing." But unfortunately, His ass was probably right.
I pushed open the door to the house and let out a deep breath, shaking off the frustration from earlier. My mind was running a mile a minute, but one thing I knew for sure? I needed to do something to get Juste off my ass.
I went straight into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and digging around for something to cook. My hands moved on autopilot, grabbing the ingredients for jambalaya, my go-to comfort meal, and Juste loved it. The aroma of seasoned shrimp, smoked sausage, and peppers filled the kitchen as I stirred the pot, my mind still stuck on Juste's reaction earlier. I sighed, plating up the food before covering it and leaving it on the counter. I wasn't even hungry no more. Instead, I headed upstairs, peeling off my clothes and running a bubble bath. The second I slid into the warm, vanilla-scented water, I let out a deep breath, my muscles finally relaxing.
And right on time, my phone started ringing. I smirked, already knowing who it was before I even glanced at the screen. Amina. I hit answer and put her on speaker, sinking deeper into the water. "You good, ho?" was the first thing out of her mouth. I laughed. "Damn, Amina. No 'hello' first?"
"Girl, fuck all that. I felt it in my spirit—your ass got some goin on." I shook my head, running my fingers through my damp braids. "I always do lately."
"Exactly." I could hear her chewing, meaning she was either at some restaurant on her layover or sitting in her apartment eating like she ain't got no damn sense. "Alright, spill."
I exhaled. "So boom, I may have met up with Maseon even though Juste specifically told me not to." There was a long silence on the other end. Then... "Bitch..." I winced, bracing myself. "I know, I know—"
"Bitch, did I hear you correctly? You met up with who?! The ex-situationship nigga? The nigga you used to let fold you up like a damn pretzel? While you livin' with a whole mob boss who got jealousy issues?" I covered my face with my free hand. "Amina, please—"
"Nah, ho. 'Cause you done lost your damn mind." I sighed dramatically, staring up at the ceiling. "It wasn't even like that. He's a client. It was business."
"And Juste's ass don't give a fuck about that. And you knew he wouldn't, so why you playin' dumb?" I frowned. "I wasn't playing dumb—"
"Bitch, you knew what you was doing. Don't piss on my head and tell me it's rainin'." I let out a deep sigh, closing my eyes. "Yeah, okay. Maybe I underestimated how pissed Juste would be."
"Oh, you definitely did." I could practically hear her shaking her head through the phone. "And now what? You tryna fix it?" I opened my eyes, thinking about the way Juste had looked at me earlier. The weight of his stare. The anger beneath the surface. And then, the way he grabbed me, touched me, made sure I felt exactly what the fuck he meant. I bit my lip. "I mean... I'm not tryna have the man mad at me forever."
"Mmhmm. So what's the game plan?" I ran my fingers along the rim of the bathtub, letting the bubbles pop against my skin. "I cooked for him." Amina scoffed. "That's step one. You gotta do more than that though, bitch. You know Juste ain't no regular nigga. He the type that need you to stroke his ego a little. Give him a little attitude, but also remind him that you his." I smirked. "So basically, I gotta finesse my way out of this shit?"
"Duh. It's either that, or be ready for some real petty, toxic, long-ass punishment type shit. And knowing Juste? That nigga is King Petty." I groaned, sinking deeper into the tub. "damnit."
Amina laughed. "It's what you get, ho. But don't worry, you got this. Just use that good-ass pussy and a little bit of charm. Niggas ain't as complicated as they like to think they are." I shook my head. "You too much Mina."
"And yet, I ain't the one about to beg a nigga for forgiveness." I hung up on her ass.
I stepped out of the tub, my skin still warm from the water, and made my way into the bedroom. I perched at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a plush towel, rubbing lotion into my thighs when the door swung open. Juste strolled in, a bowl of jambalaya in one hand, his fork in the other. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there, taking slow bites, his dark eyes locked on me. I could tell he was still mad. Still pissed about Maseon. But he wasn't saying it. Instead, he kept chewing, then grabbed a bottle of water from the dresser, taking a long sip before putting it down. I sighed, smoothing lotion up my legs, my heart picking up speed at the intensity in his stare. "What?"
He didn't answer. Didn't give me no damn warning either. One second, I was sitting there, wrapped in my towel. The next, The towel was gone, ripped away in one swift motion, and Juste was on me, his grip firm as he snatched me forward. Before I could even catch my breath, he had my legs pinned up, one big hand holding them there as his other gripped his dick, slapping it against my clit. I gasped, my mind trying to catch up—but Juste wasn't giving me time to think. A deep growl left his throat. "You like ignoring me, huh?" Before I could answer, he dove into me, making my mouth fall open, my body arch up on instinct. "Juste—"
"Mmhmm," he grunted, his strokes deep, his grip possessive. I had pissed him off. In one swift motion, he flipped me over, my hands barely catching myself against the sheets before he yanked my hips up, planting his palm at the small of my back, pushing me down. Then, he was inside me again, his pace relentless, each stroke hitting deeper, rougher. His voice was like thunder in my ear. "Why the fuck you act like you can't do what I say?" A sharp slap landed against my ass, sending a shockwave through my body.
