Page 16 of The Cost of Love

“I have a third-floor terrace,” I say, answering the question on her mind. “Do you want to see it?” We should probably go straight to the bedroom, but part of me wants to give her a tour.

She shakes her head, saying no.

“This way, then.” I lead her past my closed studio, bringing her to the stairs.

She is quietly taking in the artwork on the walls as we head down into the second living space. I deliberately move at a slower speed, curious to see if she has thoughts. As I hoped, she lingers at the piece visible when you hit the landing.

“This is…” She stops, at a loss for words. I look at the painting of the Black woman, with flowers blossoming from the upper half of her face. Gold paint drips from the top of the canvas, distorting the image with lines of various sizes. In the background is pure destruction, as red and black buildings are in states of disrepair. The woman’s lips are smiling, creating an overwhelming sensation of hope.

“This is powerful,” she says, finishing the thought.

I agree. When I saw it at a show in Lagos, I had to have it. She finally tears her eyes away from it and looks to me with a softer smile on her face. Seeing this painting put her into a bit of ease. I return the gesture before I take her hand and lead her the rest of the way. We pass my office, two guestrooms, and the third washroom to get to my door. When I open it, I flick on the lights that outline a pretty empty space.

“Your whole house is covered in art, and in here the walls are empty?” She isn’t saying it in a judgmental way, but more like a question she is looking to have answered.

“I can’t decide.” So all I have is a king-sized bed and two end tables. What I wake up to every day has to be the most intuitive piece I can find. It has to speak to me every time I look at it. I have yet to find that. I shrug my shoulder, trying to make the choice seem nonchalant.

“It’s a part of you, isn’t it? It’s not just something you do.”

I turn to walk into the room, a little taken aback by her observation. I don’t know how to answer that. Instead, I just beckon her toward me with an outstretched hand.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m nervous.” She bites her lower lip. Her eyes are filled with uncertainty as she takes hold.

“We only have to do what you want,” I promise, making the boundaries clear.

“It’s been some years, and I might be rusty.” She laughs as she talks, like that is the craziest thing ever.

Granted, it’s shocking. To think that someone hasn’t touched her, tasted her, or made her come in that long seems like an injustice. I feel honored that she is allowing me the opportunity to be her first in a long time.

“How about we start slow?” I offer, pulling her in closer to me.

She nods her head, but her face is still pinched. That won’t do. If I’m going to give her the best sex of her life, sex good enough to make her reconsider this dating thing, then she needs to be in the mood. I tilt her chin up and push her hair behind her ear, clearing up her face. Her eyes are wide as she looks at me with a slightly parted mouth. I rub my thumb over her plump bottom lip, eliciting an inhale. Leaning forward, I trail my lips across the corner of her jaw, grazing it with my tongue.

Her skin is soft and sweet, perfumed by the lotion she put on. I want to taste all of her, from her pussy to her mouth. I kiss up until I reach her ear, and then suck on it, rolling it around.

Under my touch, I can feel her melt a little, her shoulders lowering as her arms wrap around my waist. I pull back and look at her to see if she is a little more relaxed. Her eyes are closed, mouth a little wider, mid-moan. Happy, I resume, ready to make her toes curl.

With my hand on the back of her neck, I move her head back until her throat is exposed to me. Peppering kisses down the line of it, I let my lips linger at the base. This time, she lets the moan out as she throws her head to the side. I suck on that spot long enough that I know it will leave a mark. The possessive man in me is satisfied by this. The noises she makes urge me to leave even more.

Pulling me closer, she presses her heavy chest into my body as one of her hands comes up to cup my face. I look to see that her eyes are open and she is looking at me.

“Kiss me,” she says, her voice soft. Even still, the command is obvious in her words and body when she leans into me.

Since we met, in one way or another, I have been thinking about this moment. Wondering what it would feel like to touch a mouth so full and different from anything that I have ever known. Here is my chance, and excitement has my dick pressing against the seam of my pants.

I lower my mouth to hers and press firmly in. The plushness of her lips surrounds me, overtaking mine. We move in an easy rhythm against each other as we familiarize ourselves. The heat builds with every passing second, as the chemistry between us becomes obvious. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, nibbling it a little. I feel her shudder against me as I let it go and press back in. I want to rip her clothes off and push into her with the ferocity of my desire. Tonight isn’t about me, though, and my wants come last.

I pull back and trail one last kiss against each side of her mouth, then I lead her to the bed. Once she is seated, I take my time unbuttoning my shirt. She doesn’t ask any questions, just watches, her eyes hungrily taking me in. I drop it to the floor and then step up closer to her until I am standing with my clothed boner right near her mouth. She looks down and licks her lips before meeting my gaze.

The look in her eyes makes me want to do every dirty thing to her. Starting with fucking her mouth from this position. Instead, I take her hand and guide it down my chest and abs, letting her feel. I bet no one has really explored her. I don’t know if she has had the time to really learn a person’s body. Before this is said and done, she will know mine, and I will know hers in every intimate way. Starting now.

She trails her fingers gingerly up and down, even after I let go. Using both hands, she feels from my collarbone to the waist of my pants. The hard plains of my muscled skin are so opposite to her soft fluffiness; she seems to relish it. When she has had her fill, I step to the side and lie down next to her on the bed.

“Sit on my face,” I order.

“What?” she stutters.

The pressure released from the bed lets me know she stood up.