“Shit. I ain’t say you was. Time will tell, though, if you are or aren’t.”
“Shio, don’t do this. I can’t live around you, walking on eggshells. Either you accept us as innocent in all of this, or you let us go. I’m not going back to Chicago. I’ve already decided to move across the country or the continent after this. But I will not let you blame me for what has happened to me.”
“You mean to you and Shya…”
Crunch.
As I chewed on my fruit, I watched as Bahati’s chest heaved. She didn’t bother to correct herself or respond because she was too busy watching me eat this apple as if she was imagining it was her pussy. Her robe came undone and now hung fromher shoulders. I glanced down to see that her nipples were poking through the lace fabric of her bra, and from where I was standing, I could see goosebumps form on her skin.
“Come ’ere, Bahati.”
With her wine glass in hand, she took a step, but I stopped her. “Put the glass down.”
The glass touched the marble countertop with a softting. She invaded my space with only a hair separating us. The smell of shea butter was strong, and the way her skin gleamed was an indication that she’d lathered in it.
Good, she hasn’t used Solana’s shit again,I thought as I scanned her pretty face.
“I didn’t bring you here for you to walk around on eggshells. You’re safe to do what the fuck you wanna do when the fuck you wanna do it. But me? You ain’t never safe with me. You’re safe in my home. You’re safe in this city. But I ain’t a safe space for ya, and I mean that in every which way it can be articulated.”
Bahati gulped, but the scent of her wet pussy that hit me like a tidal wave let me know she wasn’t feeling what the fuck I was saying like I wanted her to. She was aroused by the danger I’d just warned her about if she was playing with me.
“You have shelter. You have wheels. You have an unlimited fuckin’ credit card. Sitting in this house cookin’ food that I’ll never eat and cleanin’ when I have a damn company that does that shit for me ain’t gone up yo’ ranks. And I ain’t sayin’ this shit to hurt your feelings, I’m sayin’ this shit to be transparent so you can stop walkin’ around in the skimpiest shit you can buy online.”
Her lips parted, and with my free hand, I palmed her face and tilted her head back. I didn’t need to run my hand between her legs to know that she was drenched. Her body language and the smell coming from her were enough indication.
“I ain’t good for you, Bahati. And ion think you good for me either.”
Dragging my thumb across her lip, Bahati was damn near hyperventilating. I could put her out of her misery. I didn’t like seeing a woman horny when I knew I had the tools to satisfy her, but Bahati didn’t do it for me. Her plump and sticky bottom lip was soft underneath my thumb, and her eyes fluttered constantly like a newborn butterfly, but I wasn’t turned on in the slightest.
“I look good. I fuck good. I eat pussy good. I trick good. I talk good. I walk good.”
She was panting at this point, and her silent plea sounded desperate in my mind.
“But when I’m played with…” I snatched her into my chest. “I torture good. I slice good. I shoot good. I fucking kill good.” Leaning down and placing my lips at her ear, my beard scratched the side of her face. “I fuckin’ bury good.”
Keeping her pressed to my chest, I leaned her head back so that I could get a clear view of her. “I’m poison, Bahati. And not the instant kind. I’m the kind that slowly creeps in your veins, shutting your organs down inch by inch.”
“I… I didn’t do anything. I swear! I’m innocent!”
“You innocent?”
She nodded. “I’m innocent, I swear it to you, Shio. Maybe this all happened for a reason. Now that we are united, maybe we could… We could?—”
“What? Be together?”
“No. I… I… I didn’t say that.”
She did, but in true East African fashion, Bahati was stubborn. Her head was as hard as titanium steel. She’d never ask to be with me, but she’d do shit to ensure that she was. Just like she’d never ask for dick, even though she’d been walking around this bitch twitching like she had Tourette’s syndrome.
Taking the apple I’d placed on the counter, I placed it to her lip. She bit down, and I released it, leaving it in her mouth.
“Nitakuoa,” I spoke in her native tongue, Swahili. It was the same language that had connected us—the one she’d taught me fluently years ago.
Her eyes expanded as her body tensed as if she was waiting for me to replace the apple with my lips.
“Ikiwa huna hatia kama unavyosema wewe ni katika haya yote, nitakuoa.(If you are as innocent as you say you are in all of this, I will marry you.)”
She moaned, and for the first time since she’d been in my home, my dick hardened. The problem was I wasn’t sure if I’d gotten hard from the thought of her being guilty and me having probable cause to kill her ass or if my body was finally ready to let her have it. Not knowing which one triggered it frustrated me more than I already was from that flawed-ass doctor.
