I was cumming already. My pussy fluttered around him, and my juices slicked his shaft as he coated himself in me.
He plunged in and out relentlessly. The table creaked under us. His balls slapped against my ass with each thrust. I couldn't hold back the loud and needy moans that spilled from my lips.
“I-I-I-I can't be quiet,” I whispered frantically.
Sincere leaned in, capturing my mouth. His tongue tangled with mine to swallow my cries as he kept drilling me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked me through wave after wave. Each thrust sent me spiraling. My walls squeezed him tight, milking his length as I came over and over, my body shaking, breath ragged against his lips. He didn't stop, just held me there on the edge of the table, owning every inch of me with that perfect dick.
We moved so slowly, almost as if neither of us could believe what we had just done and how good it was. But we had. It was real. The proof was in how I still couldn’t catch my breath or feel my legs.
I tugged my dress back down over my thighs, while Sincere zipped up his pants and straightened his shirt. All I could hear now was our deep, ragged breathing as we tried to catch our breath.
Reality crept in, chasing away the pleasure that had consumed me moments ago. Sincere wasn't just some guy; he was kind of my boss. I looked up to him. Just a few years older than me, he'd carved out this successful life that I wanted. What if this was nothing more than a holiday fling, fueled by too much tequila and the magic of the season?
Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed him reach for my hand until his warm fingers intertwined with mine. He gave them a gentle tug and led me from the dining room toward the living room.
We sank onto the couch together, and a small wave of relief washed over me. At least he wasn't bolting for the door, leaving me to piece together the aftermath alone.
When he turned to me, his eyes searched my face in the dim light. “You've got some regrets?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “I don't want to ruin my opportunity,” I admitted, my words tumbling out in a rush. “Not with some one-night stand. Working with you and Aria is so important to me. And more importantly, it's good for my kids. I can’t mess this up, especially over random sex.”
Sincere's expression softened, and he squeezed my hand. “Then let's promise right now: we won't let this mess up our working relationship. No matter what, we’re going to keep it professional when we need to.” I nodded slowly. Then he added, “But let's be clear, I don't do random, Rhythm. I don't waste my time having sex with someone that I don’t have plans for, because I don't want that shit happening to me. I don't just fuck random women.”
The directness of it caught me off guard and made a flush creep up my cheeks. “So, I'm not random?”
“No, baby.”
I just stared at him, doubting him. “How can you know that? You barely know me.”
“I feel it,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Before I could respond, he draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, lingering there for a beat. I melted against him, feeling the uncertainties unraveling.
Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he added in a deep rumble, “Ain't no way you can be random with pussy that good.”
9
SINCERE BELLAMY
Ihad been ignoring it, second-guessing it, and telling myself this obsession with Rhythm was lust and curiosity. I told myself it was too fast and intense, which wasn’t my usual pace. But the moment I put my dick in her, I knew it wasn’t just desire. That was when I knew the feelings were real.
I made a decision then to show Rhythm that my interest wasn’t only physical, even though the physical part was good as fuck. I wasn’t going to be another man who looked at her like a body first and a person second. If I wanted her, I was going to show her. So I planned a real date.
Earlier that week, during one of our calls about the associate placements, she had mentioned that she had never been to an actual gallery opening as a guest. She said she always felt like those spaces were “for other people,” and then she laughed it off. But I’d made a mental note of it.
I was able to find a gallery opening that Saturday. It was a small and invite-only opening with a Black curator. The night was unusually warm for November. It was about fifty degrees, which feels like summer to anybody born and raised in Chicago.I shut the engine off and stepped out of the car just as her front door opened.
Rhythm wore a fitted brown top tucked into distressed blue jeans that hugged her just right. They were cuffed at the ankles, so the pointed toe heels were shown off. She had an off-white blazer draped over her shoulders and carried a bag the same color that I’d seen Livia carry. Rhythm’s locs were pinned up neatly, showing off her neck, jawline, and doll-like face. Her makeup was flawless without being too much. The bold lip was sexy as hell.
I stood there longer than I should have. She smiled when she saw me staring. When her pace quickened, as if she couldn’t wait to get near me, I fought the blush that rushed to my expression. When she slid her arms around me, the scent of warm pear, soft florals, and something creamy underneath felt just as intimate as her arms around me.
“Okay,” she said with wide eyes as I opened the car door for her. “Where are we going?”
I opened my mouth to answer and realized my brain had stalled. Every time she was near me, something shorted out. The educated, composed, always-two-steps-ahead nigga that I usually was took a backseat.
“It’s a surprise,” I said finally. “Just enjoy the ride.”
She blushed as she climbed in, and I appreciated that she trusted me, instead of forcing me to tell her.
