My nut was damn near there, so I pulled out and ripped the condom off. I stroked my dick hard, my breath loud, and nutted thick between her thighs, lettin’ all of it drip down her skin while she laid there pantin’ and shakin’.
I got out the bed and went to the bathroom to flush the condom, watchin’ the water take it like it meant nothin’. I washed my hands, splashed some water on my face, and stared at my reflection for a quick second before turnin’ the light off and headin’ back into the room.
Echo was already stretched across my side of the bed like her body was tired from bein’ worked on. She pulled the covers back for me with this soft smile, and I climbed in ‘cause fuck it, the night was already what it was.
Soon as I settled, she slid right into me like she had been waitin’ on that moment. Her hand rested on my chest, her fingers lightly draggin’ over my skin like she was learnin’ me. She pressed her lips on my shoulder, slow and wet, and then kissed up to my collarbone like she was tryna make a home out of my body.
“Come here,” she whispered, her voice low while she grabbed my jaw and turned my face toward hers.
I let her kiss me, and I kissed her back, but somethin’ in me didn’t move with hers. Her mouth was soft, her body was warm, and I could feel her heart beat against my arm where she rested,but the shit ain’t land where she probably wanted it to land. It was like bein’ full but not satisfied. Like the room had sound but no music, or like everything was here but somethin’ was missin’.
Echo didn’t notice though. She kissed my shoulder again, then my chest, then laid her head right over my heart like she was tryna sync herself to the rhythm of my body. Her nails traced slow circles on my stomach, and she let out this hum like she was content, like bein’ curled up next to me meant somethin’ big to her.
I rested my arm behind my head and stared at the ceilin’, lettin’ her lay however she wanted. Her perfume was still strong, her skin was soft, and she looked damn good next to me, but none of it hit deep. None of it settled anything inside me. It was just quiet.
Echo lifted her head a lil’, pressed another kiss to my chest, then relaxed again with a smile like she had claimed her spot.
I ain’t move her, but I ain’t pull away.
I just let the room go dim around us while the night stretched. I let her lay here like she was supposed to and waited for my mind to settle into whatever came next.
By mornin’ she’d be gone. Not in a rude way or a cold way. Just… gone. ‘Cause this wasn’t that, and it wasn’t gon’ be that.
Tonight was just a night and tomorrow would be what it always is.
Life With ‘Lo
Two weeks later…
I couldn’t really explain it but life with Kay’Lo had been nothing like I expected, and somehow that made it even harder to pull myself away from him. Everything about him confused me in a way I wasn’t used to because men were usually simple to me. They wanted my face, my body, my attention, and they made it known from the jump. Most times I had them wrapped before the first date even ended. With Kay’Lo though, it was like he let me close enough to feel chosen but never close enough for me to know where I stood, and I hated how that made me feel because it wasn’t normal for a bitch like me.
We had gone out twice to get food and both times he kept that same quiet vibe like he was studying everything in the room except me. He didn’t ignore me but he didn’t lean in either. I would be laughing and talking because that was how I got most niggas comfortable and even though he would smirk or nod or give these low laughs, he didn’t let me feel like I had him the way I usually had men. It made me want to try harder and pretend like I wasn’t trying at all.
When we hit the club together, he walked in like he ran the whole building and nobody could tell him otherwise. Every nigga showed him love, every woman looked twice, and even the way he carried his drink looked dangerous. I stayed by him, acting unfazed, but inside I liked the way eyes followed him. I liked the way his hand rested on my lower back sometimes, low and light like he didn’t want to claim me but didn’t want nobody else getting ideas either. But then other times, I would lean into him and he would pull away without actually moving, like he shut off in the middle of the moment, and I couldn’t tell if it was me or something going on in his head.
He was intimidating in a real quiet way and I didn’t know how to adjust to that. I wasn’t scared of him, but I couldn’t predict him either, and that bothered me more than I wanted to admit. It wasn’t even the sex that kept me confused, even though the sex was part of it. When he touched me, it was the only time he let any emotion come through and the way his hands held me, the way his voice dropped when he talked me through it, the way he whispered the nastiest shit in my ear like he owned my whole body, it made me feel like he had a piece of me and he didn’t even want it.
The nights I spent at the penthouse made it even harder because sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and not feel him beside me. The bed would be cold on his side and at first I thought he had gone to the bathroom or to getsomething to drink, but then I would check the time and realize he had been gone for nearly an hour. I would call his phone just to make sure he was still somewhere close and sometimes he would answer sounding distracted, telling me he’d be back, and then he would show up later walking into the room quiet as hell, not explaining where he went or why.
It left me confused, irritated, and curious all at once because I didn’t know any man who moved like that. But Kay’Lo moved like somebody who didn’t need to explain himself to nobody and I didn’t want him thinking I was pressed even though I was starting to feel something I couldn’t name.
To me, it seemed like the only time he put any emotion into me was during sex and that meant something to me because I wasn’t used to having to fight for the emotional side of a nigga. Most niggas gave that part up quick because once I let them taste the physical, they wanted everything. But Kay’Lo didn’t give me that. He gave me the physical without the attachment and it made me want the attachment even more.
I would never admit that to myself though. I just kept telling myself that he was the type of man who needed time, but deep down I knew it was because I didn’t know what to do with a nigga like him. He wasn’t loud, he wasn’t extra and he wasn’t in my face. He didn’t ask me where I was at or who I was with. He didn’t blow my phone up. He didn’t chase me at all, and even though he invited me places, he didn’t do it in a way that made it feel personal. It felt like he invited me because I was convenient, not because he needed me there, and that bruised my ego in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack.
Tonight, I was at the penthouse again, laying in the bed with Kay’Lo while he slept. His arm was wrapped around my waist like he was making sure I didn’t move while he was knocked out, and that should’ve made me feel wanted but it didn’t. It mademe feel watched, like he didn’t trust me to be in his room without him being attached to me.
He looked good as hell while he slept. His lips were a little parted, his lashes were thick, his tattoos dipped below the blanket, and he smelled like soap and weed and masculinity. Every now and then he would pull me closer in his sleep, like his body was trying to make sure I stayed exactly where he wanted me. I stared at his arm around me and let my fingers trace the ink on his skin. This man fucked me good, and that was part of why I didn’t wanna let him go. He had me thinking about him in ways that irritated my own spirit because I wasn’t supposed to feel anything this deep for someone who wasn’t giving me the same energy.
Because even outside of sex, he wasn’t consistent. When I texted, he replied hours later. When I called, sometimes he answered and sometimes he didn’t. When he talked, it was short. When we chilled, he was quiet. I wasn’t used to that. It was like he kept a piece of himself somewhere I couldn’t reach and that made me want to reach even harder.
I saw how he treated his wife on Instagram though. All those pictures with him smiling and leaning into her, holding her close, kissing her cheek, looking like he would burn the world down behind her. That wasn’t nothing light. Men don’t smile like that unless they in love. I had only seen him smile at me about three or four times and even then it was small and quick, like he couldn’t let it out all the way.
I wanted that version of him. I wanted the version of him that loved hard. I wanted the version that wasn’t guarded, and that knew how to hold a woman like she meant everything to him. I wanted the version he gave her.
I knew it was crazy because I didn’t know that woman. I didn’t know their history. I didn’t know what she was to him besides the fact that she was clearly someone he had lovedenough to marry. But I also knew that whatever she gave him, she gave it so good that it took something from him that I wanted. I guess you could call that feeling a woman’s intuition, but I didn’t like that feeling. I didn’t like feeling like another woman had access to a part of him I couldn’t touch.
I grabbed my phone with his arm still around me and went to her Instagram. She had posted some memes, all emotional and weird, talking about healing and missing your person even though y’all toxic. I stared at those posts and felt this irritation rise up because I didn’t like how it felt like she was talking to him through her story. I didn’t like how the words landed, like she still had a grip on him that I couldn’t break.
