My heart ached for Zeek. He’d spend his entire life searching for his father. He was the result of an affair. His father was aware of his existence but chose not to participate in his life out of respect for his wife. The weekend I met Zeek, his father died. His mother gave him the news as he sat next to me at dinner the following evening.
She’d heard of his death through the grapevine. It was then that Zeek realized he’d been on a wild chase all along, and his mother knew exactly where to find his father. Their relationship had suffered every day since. It was one of the main reasons we wouldn’t have a traditional wedding.
Zeek was ready to make me his wife, but wasn’t ready to make amends with his mother. I was simply a girl from Dooley. My family didn’t know how to handle themselves in the environment Zeek and I were fostering. So rather than burden ourselves with the acts of others, we decided to marry privately and remotely.
On the second floor, I entered the bedroom Zeek and I shared. My long robe swayed with each direction I turned until I reached the tub in the center of our bathroom floor. One clickand the stopper was prepared. I turned the knob, and water began pouring in.
Confident in the nozzle's position, I poured in bath salts and bubble bath. And, as quickly as I’d come, I left the bedroom. The sound of a car door closing turned my lips upward as I rounded the stairs and got closer to the kitchen.
Like a kid in a candy store, my arms went up in the air. My hands flailed. Excitement bubbled near the top of my stomach. Contentment caved my chest in. My emotions tumbled over my French-manicured toes.
The mere thought of Zeek’s presence deemed me speechless. Helpless. Hopeful. Joyous.
Out of body.
Out of mind.
Out of my comfort zone.
Out of my control.
Still, I ran closer toward his love rather than running away. His magnetic energy hardly left me a choice.
“Garage door open,” the alarm chimed.
I planted my feet firmly on the floor in front of the door just as it widened. Behind it appeared my man. My headache. My honey. My whole heart.
Black adorned his body. Head to toe. His line was as crisp as his jeans. I pressed them better than the dry cleaners that left starchy lines down the center. Their privileges had been revoked for the last three years. And, rightfully so.
His brown skin was milky and smooth to the touch. While I had a twenty-step skincare routine, Zeek used only water, oil, and antibacterial soap. His results were stunning.
Gold teeth tore from behind his lips. My professionally altered smile displayed my perfectly whitened teeth. As the duffle bag in Zeek’s hand fell to the floor, I leaped into his arms.With both hands pressed against his cheeks, I pulled him closer for a kiss.
My tongue invaded the space I knew so well. A peculiar taste connected with the familiar smell on his breath, lips, and beard. The aroma was offensive. It was grounding. It was unsettling.
I pulled back, struggling to maintain my composure. My heart fell from my chest onto his black sweater. My breathing changed. So did my vision. The man I’d fallen in love with was no longer the man I was holding in my hands. He was a stranger. A disappointment. A threat.
“Daddy’s home,” Zeek boasted.
I slid from his arms onto the floor. A deep sigh tumbled from my lips as I forged a smile.
“I have your bath running. Go wash up and meet me in the kitchen. Your favorites are waiting. They’re still hot.”
Managing my emotions became more difficult with each passing second, so I decided that silence was far more suitable.
On the tips of my toes, in my fluffy slippers, I turned in the opposite direction.
How was your trip?
I missed you, baby.
Your pussy is waiting.
Hug me again.
Kiss me again.
I love you.
