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Eventually, he lifted his head and looked at me with an expression that made that same place in my chest tighten again.

He pressed a kiss to my lips and got up.

“Where are you going?” I asked hoarsely.

“Stay there.”

I heard water running in the tub and a few minutes later, he came back and scooped me off the couch.

“I can walk,” I protested weakly.

“Can you though?”

I snorted. He had a point. The way he handled me, my legs would’ve given out before I made it two steps.

He carried me to the bathroom, where the tub was filling up with steaming water and the whole room smelled like eucalyptus.

He stepped in first and lowered both of us into the hot water, so my back was against his chest. I sighed dramatically as my muscles relaxed almost instantly. “Damn all of that?” he said.

“Not too much! You were—you.”

“This dick left your smart-ass speechless.”

I elbowed him lightly. “Don’t get gassed.”

“Tuh. Bet you never had a nigga making you call on the holy trinity before.”

Heat flushed my face as I tried to wriggle away from him.

“Nuh uh,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t be embarrassed, ma. You just fuckin’ with a real nigga. That’s all.”

“Whatever,” I huffed.

He laughed again and picked up a washcloth. He squeezed some body wash on it and ran it across my shoulders and down my spine, careful around the spots where his mouth had left marks.

I closed my eyes as he bathed me, telling myself this didn’t mean anything.⁠2 He was just being a gentleman, even though no gentleman in my life had ever done this for me. When he was done, I moved to the other side of the large soaking tub while he grabbed a fresh one and washed himself. He got out first and wrapped a towel around his waist before holding out a towel for me. I stepped into it and he wrapped it around me, rubbing my arms.

He kissed me. “I’ll order us some food,” he said as he left the bathroom. I finished drying off and sat on the edge of the tub.

I’d called that man “baby.” That word had never left my mouth during sex, because I didn’t do that. Endearments were tools. Regina taught me that you sprinkled them when a man needed reassurance, when you wanted something, to stroke their egos. I had never, in my adult life, referred to a man as “baby” because I meant it.

Then here comes Cardez Montague, folding me like a pretzel and it fell out of my mouth like a prayer.

I went to the sink to brush my teeth and glanced at myself in the mirror. My install was frizzy from the pool and the steam. My lips were swollen and my eyes—they looked different. Softer, wider, like something behind them had shifted.

I turned on the faucet and rinsed out my mouth.

“This was just sex,” I whispered.

Good sex. Really good sex. My pussy throbbed, and despite the soreness, I wanted to go again.

But… it was still just sex. And I’d had good dick before. So this didn’t have to mean anything beyond two people who were attracted to each other finally acting on it.

I pressed the towel against my face and held it there, inhaling deeply.

“I’ma make you mine, Belle.”

Except I didn’t belong to anybody. My mother belonged to men, even when she was taking advantage of them—she’d reshape herself to fit their lives. I watched her do it for thirty-eight years and I swore I would never do the same. The whole point was to take what I needed before they could hurt me.