Then the segment began. “Tonight, we’re highlighting a new arts initiative bringing community and culture to the forefront. Bellamy Urban Development is sponsoring an upcoming exhibit at Voss Contemporary House called Mothers of the Block, featuring work from local artist Rhythm Brooks.”
The anchor turned to Sincere first. “Mr. Bellamy, why was it important for your company to sponsor this event?”
Sincere didn’t even stutter. He was so calm under pressure. “If you’re going to build in a community, you should also invest in what makes that community what it is. You should invest in the people, the culture, and the families that have been holding that block down. This exhibit celebrates the mothers who keep neighborhoods together when everything else is trying to pull them apart. The women who raise kids, work jobs, stretch budgets, bury loved ones, and still show up. If we’re seriousabout development being for the community, then supporting them isn’t charity. It’s respect. And it’s worth putting our name and money behind.”
Then the anchor looked at me. It suddenly felt like the entire world was looking at me and waiting for me to embarrass myself on national TV. “Rhythm, what can guests expect from Mothers of the Block?”
My hands were shaking, but I lifted my chin and tried to act like I was just as confident as Sincere. I could feel him watching me, and I wanted to impress him. I wanted him to be proud. “Guests can expect more than just paintings. It’s stories. It’s sacrifice. It’s the women who raise families with pressure on their backs and still show up every day. When people come to the show, I want them to feel seen. I want mothers to feel honored. I want people who don’t understand our neighborhoods to finally understand the love and labor it takes to survive and still show up.”
The anchor nodded slowly. “That’s powerful.”
I glanced at Sincere without meaning to. His eyes were proud, like he was watching me become what I kept saying I wanted to be.
The anchor asked, “How does it feel to have this kind of support from Voss Contemporary House and Bellamy Urban Development?”
I could feel the dreamy look in my eyes. “Honestly, it feels like a dream. I’ve been painting for years, and there were times I was just hoping someone would buy one piece so I could keep going. So, to have a gallery like Voss believe in me, and to have a sponsor back the show makes me feel like God is answering prayers I didn’t even know how to say out loud.”
The anchor smiled. “When is the exhibit?”
Sincere answered, giving dates and details.
Though I was handling the interview, my heart was still doing backflips. I had gone from fantasizing about my art being out there to hearing my name on the news.
It didn’t feel real.
But it was.
And I was living in it.
After the interview wrapped up, Sincere suggested we head to a bar and grill downtown I'd been dying to try. We ate catfish and grits and gumbo while talking about how well the segment went.
All evening, Sincere looked at me like he was already imagining how to take me apart, piece by careful, deliberate piece. His gaze lingered on my mouth when I spoke and followed the curve of my neck as we ate and conversed. He would pull me close, like he was about to ruin me completely.
With Sincere, foreplay wasn't some checklist of touches or whispers; it was woven into everything. Every word he chose had meaning, every glance stripped me bare, every pause between us exploded with intent. I didn't want the night to end, but he hadn’t forgotten how excited I was about the new piece that I was making. He told me that he was taking me home so that I could work. Disappointment must've flashed across my face because he then said he was staying the night with me.
My place was nice, but it was in the hood. It was nothing like his sleek high-rise condo in the Loop. So, it was sweet and even sexy that he didn’t mind staying at my place. Here was this rich and well put-together man willing to downgrade without a second thought, just to be close to me.
At first, I worried I wouldn't get any work done with him there. I felt like I needed to entertain him, and I wanted todrop my tools and curl up in his lap. But Sincere made himself at home at my dining room table, nursing a drink while I sat on my stool in the corner studio space. He just watched as I painted. His attention fueled me, and I started to feel like I was performing for him.
Two hours had gone by of me painting and us simply talking when he said, “I feel like I'm watching a work of art make a work of art.”
Heat rushed through me, and I set down my brush. I wiped my hands on a rag as I stood. My heart pounded as I crossed the room to him. I stepped between his legs, and my thighs brushed his. I looked down at him, seeing the hunger mirrored in his eyes, and leaned in, capturing his mouth with mine. His hands slid to my hips, pulling me closer as our tongues met in a slow, teasing dance. I could feel the hard line of him through his pants, pressing against me, and it made my core ache with need.
Sincere broke the kiss first, but his eyes were fixated on my body. “I’ve been waiting all night to see all of you.”
He took his time letting his fingers trail up my sides, hook under the hem of my shirt and lift it, exposing my skin to the cool air of my apartment.
He didn't just undress me; he studied me. His gaze raked over every curve like he was memorizing the map of my body.
When the shirt came off, he roughly whispered, “Beautiful.”
It wasn't empty praise. It was reverence that made my nipples hard.
He unclasped my bra slowly, letting the straps slide down my shoulders, and when my breasts spilled free, he cupped them gently. His thumbs circled my nipples until I arched into his touch. His hands explored lower, unbuttoning my jeans, peeling them down along with my panties. His face was level with my hips, breath hot against my thighs, but he didn't touch where Iached most. He made me wait, standing there exposed, while his eyes drank in the sight of my shaved pussy.
I felt wanted without a single finger on me. His stare alone set my skin on fire and made my clit throb with need.
“Sincere,” I breathed, but he just smiled, rose to his feet and pulled me against him again. He kissed me slowly. Relaxed sweeps of his tongue mimicked how I craved him to lick me elsewhere, all while his hands held my waist like he was starving. I could feel his dick straining against his pants pressing into my belly.
