After we hung up, I got myself together. I slowly moisturized with cocoa butter and vanilla oil, leaving my skin glowing. My body was soft and warm, and my hair was still pin curled under my bonnet.
I gave my face a soft beat with some concealer, powder, nude lips, warm cheeks, and lashes just long enough to flirt without trying too hard. A spritz of perfume was sprayed on my wrists, behind my knees, and on my ankles. Then I slipped into my red lace lingerie and robe, adding gold accessories.
Giving myself one final look in the mirror, I whispered, “Yeah. He’s not gonna be able to breathe when he sees me.”
Leaving my room, I headed for the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. Then, I set out Ahmad’s Remy on ice, and about fifteenminutes later, I heard a knock at the door. It was seven o’clock on the dot.
My stomach did this little flip, nerves and excitement all mixed up. I grabbed my phone from the dresser and made my way to the door. I opened it, and my heart fluttered.
Ahmad stood there looking like a walking reason to mess up every ounce of self-control I had left. Fresh haircut, chain resting just right over his black hoodie, that clean smell hitting me instantly—soap, cologne, a little weed. He held a gift bag in one hand and a subtle grin on his face, like he already knew he was trouble.
“Damn,” we said in unison as his eyes flickered up and down my body.
“Why you answerin’ the door like this?” he asked, licking his lips with his eyebrows furrowed. “It coulda been anybody on the other side.”
“Nope,” I smiled, reaching for the gift bag he held out. “You knew to show up on time for this.” I stepped back to let him in, heart thudding hard as hell now as I tried to keep cool. Tonight was about to be a trip, and we both knew it.
Ahmad stepped in, rubbing his hands together and sniffing the air like he was about to dive into a five-star meal. “Goddamn,” he said, dragging the word out like he meant it. “It smell good as hell in here. I’m hungrier than a mahfucka.”
I grinned and shut the door behind him. “I don’t cook for just anybody.”
“What you make? Chicken tenders, boxed yellow rice, and corn?”
I swear, I wanted to slap the laugh out of him when he said that. Then again, he was used to some young hoes. Cutting my eyes his way, I said, “Wrong. Juicy steak bites, garlic mashed, and roasted asparagus.”
He turned to me, eyebrows raised. “You tryna make a nigga propose?”
“Boy, shut up,” I laughed, turning to lead him toward the kitchen.
He grabbed my hand, pulled me into him, and wrapped an arm around my waist. My body went damn near limp as his lips brushed mine, slow and sweet at first, then deeper. His tongue moved like he’d decided my mouth was one of his favorite places to be. By the time he pulled back, my knees were lowkey buckling, and my pussy was already throbbing.
“Open that,” he said, nodding towards the gift bag in my hand. His palm slid over my ass real casual, but the way he gripped it had me ready to skip dinner at the table and go straight to the bed for dessert.
I smirked up at him as I reached into the bag, tissue paper rustling while he watched me like I was unwrapping a bomb. The first thing I pulled out was a bottle of Patrón, and I smiled. “You remembered.”
He nodded. “You ain’t the only one that pays attention, Tae.”
Then I reached in again and pulled out a small black box. I looked up at him, one brow raised. “A card game?”
Ahmad leaned in again, mouth hovering over mine. “Yup. We eat, we drink, we play... we vibe tonight.”
I stared at him, confused. “But... we’re still gonna fuck though, right?”
He burst out laughing, head thrown back as he shook it. “Yo, you wild. You don’t waste no damn time.”
“I’m just saying,” I shrugged, trying not to smile too hard. “All this pent-up tension needs to be released.”
“Relax, horny ass. I still got what you need,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Let’s eat first. Then I’ma stretch you out and put yo’ ass to sleep.”
“Mmhmm…” I warmed up our plates, and we sat down at the table with the playlist vibing low in the background.
Ahmad dug into his plate as if it were his first real meal in weeks. “This shit’s fire, Tae. On God.”
I sipped my drink and leaned back, watching him eat with that satisfied look on his face. “I cancookcook.”
“I see that. I’m lowkey scared of how good this is,” he said between bites. “You feedin’ a nigga, keepin’ yo’ house clean, got candles lit, you smellin’ like heaven. And I know that pussy pretty and waxed.”
I tilted my head, digging into my plate. “Maybe. So, when can I get mychocolate?”
