“Are you going to open it here on the island?”
“No, I’ve been looking at locations in the Caribbean, maybe Barbados or Trinidad. Cigar lounges in the states aren’t really a hot commodity anymore. There’re too many regulations, changing attitudes about smoking, but here? There’s still a market for it and a real appreciation for the craft. Plus, the climate is perfect for storing cigars, and there’s a culture around it that’s been lost in the States. Then y’all have an orange Sharpie skin, comb over, red neck motherfucker as a president, so you know never know what to expect over there.”
I giggled. “That’s true. I’m with you when you’re right.”
With a slight smile, holding up a cigar he’d selected, he said, “You should try one. You might like it too.”
“I’ve never smoked before,” I admitted, feeling suddenly nervous. “I think the last time I smoked was in college.”
“C’mere,” he motioned his head. “I can teach you properly and you ain’t got to worry about having it as bad habit if that’s what you’re worried.” He gently grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to him. “This is a Connecticut shade wrapper. It’s very smooth and creamy.”
Then he led me to one of the soft and worn leather chairs to sit down on. Much obliged, I was going to join in the nextavailable chair, but he pulled me closer and guided me to sit on his lap. “Sit on me, Nyne. You’ll have to get used to sitting between my legs, love.” He spoke, sending shivers down my spine and causing butterflies to flutter in my stomach.
Our skin touched. There was a high slit in my dress, revealing my thighs. Showcasing intimacy, he caressed them before preparing the cigar with a small guillotine cutter.
“The key is not to inhale it like a cigarette,” he explained, his voice taking on that patient, instructive tone I was beginning to recognize. “You’re tasting it to savor it. The smoke never goes into your lungs, just your mouth and nasal passages.”
Syx lit the cigar carefully, rotating it to get an even burn, then handed it to me. “Take a slow pull, then release it gently. Don’t rush though.”
I brought the cigar to lips, trying to mimic what I’d seen in movies, but the moment the smoke hit my throat, I coughed violently. My eyes watered and my body rejected the foreign sensation.
“Easy. You got to take it easy, baby,” Syx spoke, with his hands immediately on my back, rubbing and soothing circles between my shoulder blades. “You’re trying to pull to hard. You pulled it back like you were taking a breath. Don’t pull the smoke into your lungs at all. Just let it sit in your mouth for a moment, like you’re tasting wine, then exhale slowly through your nose. It’s about the flavor, not the depth.”
I nodded, after I gained my composure. Now I felt embarrassed by the way I reacted.
“I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t apologize,” Syx gently spoke. “Everyone does that the first time. Here, watch me.” He took the cigar from me and demonstrated, drawing the smoke into his mouth, holding it for a moment then releasing it in a slow steady steam through his nose. “See? You gotta be gentle. You don’t need to use force.”
I tried it again. This time more carefully, drawing just a small amount of smoke into my mouth and holding it there. The flavors bloomed across my tongue—earthy, slightly sweet, with hints of cedar and cream. Slowly, I exhaled and this time it was smoother, warmer and almost sensual.
“Better?” Syx asked, his voice low and encouraging but his hand never moved from resting lightly on my back.
“Yes,” I said, surprised by how relaxing it actually was. The warmth of the smoke, it sort of felt like a ritual and the way Syx was watching me with such focused attention. It was intimate in a way I hadn’t expected aside from what I signed up for. Confidently, I took another pull and let the smoke roll through my mouth before exhaling. “I can see why you love this so much.”
He grinned. “You feelin’ it now?”
“I feel it now Syx,” I mumbled, barely above a whisper.
I looked down at him. The cigar smoke curled between us in an amber light, and I saw something in his expression that made my pulse quicken. It was a tenderness that went beyond mere instruction and a genuine care that made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
Chapter Four
“C’mon so I can feed you. You’ll fuck around and smoke the day away if I left you.” He tapped me on my shoulder, motioning for me to stand up.
“Okay.” I passed him the cigar, and he toked from it then stood up, towering over me and clasped my hand around his and led me out.
After locking up the cigar room, I trailed upstairs and into the kitchen after him. He held onto my hand as if I might venture off anywhere else inside the house.
The kitchen was big and beautiful. There was an island in the middle with huge countertop space that I loved more than anything else. On top of the island were vegetables, bell peppers, onions, and a cutting board.
"What's for dinner?" I questioned, leaning against the island. The coolness wafted over my arms.
"You said you can cook, right?" He glanced back at me with a smirk.
"Are you putting me to the test?"
"Maybe."
