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After a deep breath, I say, “Take me to your leader.”
Melinda lives in the same apartment complex as me and when we see each other we wave in passing.
Although we aren’t the best of friends, she never fails to laugh at my tired joke. Worry grips me when she doesn’t so much as crack a smile.
Must be something serious. With Royce arriving today, it could be anything.
Before I can ask what’s going on, Melinda turns on her heel and strides to Mr. Brown’s office. I follow, clutching my sides so I don’t twist my hands in worry.
Melinda wipes her brow, then raps her knuckles once on the door. After a beat, she opens it and announces me like a duchess at an 18th century ball, “Genesis Turner, Mr. Brown.”
I move forward to avoid being hit by the closing door.
Mr. Brown says something. I don’t know what. I can’t hear for the pounding in my ears.
Roycestands with his hands in the pockets of his black tailored suit, facing the opposite direction. The morning light coming through the blinds intersects him into sections of dark and light.
And just like that, I’m transported to that rainy night in New Orleans and how his lean, sculpted body called to mine.
Saturday morning pancakes can’t compare to his pull.
I pay no attention to Mr. Brown. Instead, I take my fill of Royce while he keeps his gaze fixed to the skyscraper next door.
His black hair is shorter… a bit more than a military buzz. Two years ago, it hung a few inches below his collar.
I sigh in disappointment.
One of my most erotic memories of our time together was how I’d run my fingers through his thick mane as he feasted between my thighs.
Mr. Brown, calling my name to get my attention, snaps me out of fantasyland. “Uh, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Royce Grayson.”
Royce turns, but doesn’t leave his position by the window.
My eyes zero in on the slight bulge in his pants before I lift them along to what I know to be flat abs, a muscled chest, square chin, beautiful lips, aristocratic nose… and thoseeyes.
Those gorgeous eyes I’d called a wooded-forest green.
Royce had chuckled at that when I told him. A second later, he’d placed his dick in my mouth and told me to mind my teeth.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for Royce’s cue.
He doesn’t move, only stares.
A rush of images, all of them triple X, run like a slideshow in my mind.
Me on my knees. Me on all fours. My face pressed into the sheets soaked with our sweat…
I can’t. I can’t.
Mr. Brown looks at him, then at me. His brow furrows. He opens his mouth…
“Mr. Grayson,” I say, walking forward with my hand extended. “So nice to meet you. Congratulations on buying STS.”
We meet palms.
No tingling jolts. No lingering glances. Done. Over. That’s it.
And that’s the way we need to stay.
