She made him want to live again.
They sat there until it was time for massages, her asking random questions. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”
“Baby, what kinda question is that?” He laughed. “You loopy off this fresh air.”
“Answer the question, Rolani.”
“The duck,” he said finally. “I could take one big duck.”
“You sure? Ducks are mean.”
“Baby, I’m from the Southside. I done seen meaner shit.”
“Be prepared for me to call PETA on you when you do decide to box a duck.”
“That’s fucked up,” he said, shaking his head.
She laughed until her stomach hurt, clutching her side as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Rolani sat back, watching her with that soft, unguarded expression that made her feel lighter than she ever had with anyone else. She was starting to understand the hype of having a person. Her person. And hers happened to be fine as hell, sharp-minded, unexpectedly kind, and a little reckless in all the ways that kept her on her toes.
“What?” she asked when she finally caught him staring.
“Nothing.” His voice lowered. “I always enjoy my time with you.”
Her lips curved, stomach fluttering. “I enjoy my time with you too. You’ve quickly became my best friend.”
His eyes darkened, and before she could process it, he leaned forward, grabbing the back of her neck and kissing her. It wasn’t tender; his mouth devoured hers, hot and hungry. His hand slipped under her robe, sliding between her thighs with a confidence that had her gasping into his mouth.
When his finger pushed inside her, she inhaled sharply, clinging to him as her lips stayed tangled with his. The kiss was so deep, so intense, her head spun. She swore she was seeing stars…until a sharp knock rattled the door behind them.
“Nooo,” she whined.
Rolani leaned back, breathing heavy, his bottom lip caught between those gold teeth. The sight alone made her shudder, thighs instinctively clamping around his forearm. Another series of taps hit the door, and with maddening calm, he slipped his glistening fingers from between her legs and slid them into his mouth. He sucked them clean while staring her down.
“You gon’ get the door, Ken?” he asked, his tone all tease and temptation. Truth was, he wanted to send whoever it was away. He could rub her down, work her muscles loose, ease her tension better than any stranger. But he held back, knowing she deserved every ounce of pleasure he’d planned for her this weekend.
She laughed, cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed by how easily he unraveled her. “You will finish that later, understood?”
His grin was wicked. “I got you, baby.”
The knock came again, firmer this time, and Kennedi finally straightened her robe before opening the door. Two massage therapists stepped inside, both Black women dressed in crisp linen uniforms with the luxury ranch’s gold-stitched crest on their pockets. They greeted Kennedi warmly, professional but cool, and the room instantly settled in the calm that follows Black women wherever they show up.
Within minutes, they’d rolled in portable tables and trays of oils, setting up on the deck that overlooked the sweeping fields of the ranch. Horses grazed in the distance, the faint sound of hooves drifting through the air, mixing with the rustle of wind in the trees. The whole place radiated peace and intention. Black-owned luxury, clearly built with them in mind.
Lavender oil drifted into the breeze as the therapists prepped, and Kennedi caught Rolani’s eye across the room. He was leaning against the doorway, watching her with that same smirk from earlier. She shook her head, biting her lip to hide her grin, but it was no use.
They both knew what had almost happened. And the promise of what would happen later had them fighting smirks like teenagers sneaking around, high off each other and the thrill of almost getting caught—only this time, they were wrapped in the safety and luxury of a space designed for them to indulge.
“Y’all want music or nature sounds?” the lead therapist asked, hands hovering over the sleek Bluetooth speaker on her cart.
“Nature sounds,” Kennedi answered quickly, needing the calm after what Rolani had pulled on her.
An hour later, they were both liquid, boneless. Every muscle, loose. Every ounce of tension, gone. The lavender oil still clung to their skin, and the faint sound of crickets and swaying trees lingered in the background. Kennedi felt ridiculous trying to remind herself she was not at work, that she wouldn’t turn this into a travel article about the most romantic Black-owned ranch she’d ever seen. But she knew damn well her writer’s mind was already forming paragraphs.
The therapists packed up quietly, leaving them alone in their villa, the heavy door clicking shut like a promise.
“I can’t move,” Rolani groaned, lying flat on the chaise in the corner. His robe was open, chains glinting against his chest, and that thick dick print pressing against his thigh like it was begging her to come see about him.
Kennedi stretched, then moved across the room with that slow, fluid grace he could never get enough of. When she was standing over him, hands on her hips, he cracked one eye open.The lazy grin that spread across his face told her he already knew what was coming.
