Delicate was with my mother and grandmother at a fashion show in Milan, so we were baby-free for the next few days. I knew Dasani was home because her security detail had alerted me since she had me blocked. She was still mad about that weak-ass purse that Jisei had gotten before her.
Stepping into our bedroom, my dick hardened at the sight of her.
“I don’t give a fuck what that bitch said. She know better than to say that shit to me. I keep telling Demise we not kissing no ass!”
She was standing in front of the TV, remote in hand and phone to her ear in a Skims nude high neck bra and thong set. Her tanned-colored skin was oiled as if she was headed to the beach, and the way her ass was swallowing the thong had me kicking off my shoes.
“You so two-faced.”
She jumped, holding her chest as her neck snaked to look at me. When she realized it was just me, she scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“I’ma call you back, Daylani. This nigga just came home.”
She disconnected the call and slapped the phone in her palm. There was a Hermès case on the phone that I knew had cost me an arm and a fucking leg. Her hair was hanging in a long ponytail with her signature bangs. It was low-key my favorite style on her because it brought out her Asian roots with her slanted, hooded eyes. Even with her Filipino roots, my wife was all black and had the body and attitude to prove it.
“How I’m two-faced, Demise?”
She was ready to pick an argument, but I was imagining which way I wanted to give her fine ass this dick. My money had nothing to do with the way Dasani looked. She was fine beforeI met her, and over the years, she just kept getting finer. Hell, it was in her blood, and I knew so because her sister, Daylani, was a workaholic, running a seven-figure business, and she got better looking every year too. Their mama had done fucking good, and I wished I could’ve met her because I’m sure she was fine as fuck too.
“Because you stay talking shit about me. I’m yo’ husband, Dasani.”
Taking a step in her direction, I didn’t stop until I could smell the wine on her breath. She was so fucking pretty that I loved and hated that shit simultaneously.
“Okay… What that mean?” She frowned.
“It mean”—I ran my finger down her belly—“You supposed to uplift yo’ nigga, not talk down on yo’ nigga.”
There were visible signs of childbirth on her flat stomach, but I loved that shit. It made her look even better, and it was a plus that Dasani wasn’t shy about her imperfections. Hell, she’d spent six years sharing showers with other bitches before having Delicate, but even after becoming a mom, she still flaunted her curvy figure without a care.
“You must not know who you married to. We gone be talking shit until the grave.”
“Hell yeah, ’cause we gettin’ buriedrightbeside each other. I already bought the mausoleum.”
“Ion know why for? You ain’t gone be gettin’ on my fuckin’ nerves in the afterlife.”
“Bullshit.” I pecked her lips, and she pecked me back.
Dasani loved to talk shit in public, but within all these fucking walls, I ran shit. I let her have her moment in public, but in the guise that at night, that pussy was swollen from the beatings it endured. She was the biggest freak I’d known, and I’d fucked a lot of freaks in my day.
Wrapping my arms around her slim waist, I pulled her into my body. She fit like a fucking puzzle. These days, I found myself falling deeper in love with Dasani than ever before. There were days when I woke up and couldn’t believe she was my wife. The old me would’ve thought I was a simp, a fucking buster over pussy that was plentiful. But the old me didn’t know that I could have chaos and peace—Dasani, our daughter, and this home was my peace.
She was perfect as fuck, even with her being rough around the edges. She’d done time, just like me. She had a chip on her shoulder, just like me. She had a way with her words, just like me. She fucked good, just like me, and she was a go-getter, just like me. She didn’t need no fancy fragrance line; she’d probably lose money before she made it in the world of parfums, but she wanted to do the shit, so I was going full-throttle behind her. I didn’t give a fuck if that shit lost a hundred thousand a month. Whatever my wife wanted, she got.
“You missed me, didn’t it? Ugly ass.”
I kissed her soft lips again. “I missed that throat. Eat this dick.”
“Nigga—”
“Now, Dasani,” I asserted, and her expression changed instantly.
She pulled from my embrace, dropped to her knees, and unbuttoned my pants. Even with her pointy nails, it took her no time to set my dick free, making sure to hold my gaze the entire time. She wrapped her hands around it, and I would never get over how good her hands felt on my shit.
“I want it slow and sloppy.”
Here sleek-ass eyes went slant as she twisted her mouth, lathering up spit.
Pwuah!
