She stepped closer.
“I’m glad you’re here, though. Bianca emailed me, and she added Lyric to the email.”
That got my attention. Lyric had been quiet, but I knew she was still mad at being cut off, after being with me since we were young.
“She wants to sue you and wants us involved. Says the NDAs were shady. Says you played all of us.”
I stared at her.
“You respond?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Her eyes softened slightly. “Because I don’t burn the man who built me.”
Silence stretched.
I believed her, but I had questions I knew she probably didn’t have answers to.
She took another step forward.
“Fuck Bianca. You know you miss me as much as I miss you.”
“You don’t miss me too much, writing subliminal diss songs about me.”
“You know music is how I release. Now just admit you miss us.”
I missed all of them sometimes. The bullshit. The comfort. The way things used to be simple.
But simple didn’t exist anymore.
Still, I didn’t step back when she touched my dick through my slacks.
Her hands moved slow, familiar.
“You don’t have to pretend with me. I won’t tell anyone we were together,” she whispered.
I exhaled slowly.
She lowered herself in front of me and undid my pants, eyes locked on mine like she was making a decision for both of us.
I didn’t stop her.
Because kings got tired too.
Because sometimes moments like this felt easier than thinking.
The room blurred into low music and breathing, my hands gripping her ponytail while my mind drifted somewhere far away, while she deep throated me.
France.
Contracts.
Yuna’s face when she fainted from dehydration.
A future that felt heavier than this moment.
