He started from the bottom and now had more than enough to build with.
It was plenty paper in his pockets, he’d fucked around and made his crew rich.
There was no more falling off, especially when he was the blueprint.
If he told his story and started rapping, Najee would’ve had a hit on his hands. Every word was the truth, and niggas loved when you spit that real to them and could relate.
Tomorrow would make day three since Orielle had been at his crib. He could tell by the way she was freely walking aroundin one of his T-shirts and a pair of little shorts that she was comfortable. She too felt at home, and that’s why she hadn’t left yet.
Something about waking up in Najee’s bed, in his arms, with no real pressure to rush home, made her feel safe. Not because of the space itself, but because of him. He’d given her a soft place to land without asking for anything in return.
After receiving the best massage of her life before bed last night, Orielle woke up refreshed and in the greatest mood. She slept like a baby and had been getting catered to like one as well. Najee had no problem being the only nigga to spoil her. He knew she could spoil herself, and that only made him want to provide for her more.
That’s why he was currently in the kitchen, on his Chef Jay shit, flipping the last two pieces of homemade French toast in a nonstick pan while her voice floated through the air. She sat at the island, alternating notes on a new song she was working on while sipping a cup of her favorite tea she got from the pantry.
Orielle told him she didn’t drink whole milk, gave up pork years ago, and only ate brown eggs. She mentioned that they tasted better, but Najee didn’t think so. He didn’t call her bluff, though. He simply stocked his fridge with oat milk, packs of ground turkey, and had a carton of cage-free brown eggs set out on the counter waiting for him to cook last.
Any and all things she liked had been purchased at the grocery store, adding another layer of her to his home.
Najee pulled the last strips of turkey bacon from the pan, placing them on a paper towel. When he heard her sigh, he glanced over his shoulder to see what was wrong.
“You good over there?”
Orielle nodded. “Yes. Just watching you. Do you know how fine you look?”
“Nah. Tell me. I need to hear something else good this morning besides you singing.”
Smiling, she slid out of the chair, rounded the island, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Najee looked so good with his grey shorts and white tank top on. Like her skin had been, his was just as lustrous now. He’d call it the Pretty Girl Effect. Everything she touched illuminated.
Najee palmed her ass and dropped a kiss to her neck. “You just wanted to hug me.”
“And you wanted me to.”
He did. She fit perfectly in his arms, right where she had always belonged.
“You got a nigga up early on the Lord’s day cooking for you. Who you think I am?”
Orielle giggled. “Every day is the Lord’s day, and my man.”
“Your man, huh? That sounds a bit off.”
She raised her brow. “How so?”
“‘Cause I could’ve sworn you were the one that said,you aren’t my man until you ask me to be your woman, and that’s if I say yes. Are you not?” he teased, mocking her.
Orielle’s laughter wrapped around him. “I do not sound like that.”
“Nah. You sound like a hypocrite, but I’ma let you slide, baby. Not for too much longer, though.”
If she wanted him to come correctly, that’s exactly what Najee was going to do.
“I mean,” she dragged, smiling. “I don’t hear you denying it.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked and kissed her forehead. “It’s the truth, I just ain’t stamped it fully yet. You want cheese in these bougie ass eggs you made me buy?”
Orielle was so smitten that it made no sense. Najee wasn’t too far behind her. She had this fine, Black, boss ass man up at ninein the morning, whipping her up a breakfast made for a queen, while readily taking her requests. He wasn’t just a provider.
Najee was a protector.
