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It starts at my feet and climbs my body in a tidal wave. There’s no stopping it. No preventing its multiplication as it grows and strengthens through my core. Ripple after ripple of pleasure cascades through me until I can’t stand it anymore.
I explode. There’s no other word for it. The only thing that holds my being together is my skin, and even that feels stretched at the seams.
“I love you,” I hear him say, and I want to reply, but I can’t. I’m no longer in that world. Mortal concerns like love and heartbreak make no difference to me where I float amongst the gods.
I do love him, though.
I try to tell him thank you, but I sigh instead, falling into a bliss-filled daze.
* * *
By the timeI leave subspace, Justin is dozing lightly beside me. He didn’t fuck me. Instead, he used a toy. It could mean nothing. I could be overthinking it like I’m prone to do. Especially lately.
Or it could mean everything.
Justin has never denied me anything I’ve ever asked of him. Not if it was in his power to give it to me. Sometimes even when it wasn’t. But I asked him to fuck me. To fill my body with his and merge our souls as one and Justin used a toy instead.
I can resign myself to the fact I’ve lost Remi. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt before, but I’ll survive the pain. If I’ve lost Justin too? I might as well join my mother in the afterlife.
SEVEN
REMINGTON
”So, Remington. Tell me about yourself.”
I give the woman across from me a bland smile, hoping I don’t look like I’m cringing. I hold the goblet of wine in the palm of my hand and enjoy the way the light breaks through the dark red color before bringing it to my lips.
Exquisite.
I feel like lately, all I’ve been drinking is whiskey and vodka.
“First off, Imani, don’t call me Remington.”
She laughs at that, the long line of her neck exposed perfectly in the restaurant’s low lighting. She’s beautiful. She truly is. In every sense of the word. Her hair is kinky and natural; her makeup is subtle. Her lashes and nails are fake, but it doesn’t take away from her organic loveliness, it enhances it instead. She’s in a tight, bright blue dress that hugs her curves from knee to breast.
It’s doing nothing for me.
She’s supposed to be my date to the Holiday Ball next week, suggested by my mother, naturally. Tonight was to break the ice, so all the first date awkwardness is out of the way before we’re trussed up and put on display like Christmas hams.
“Call me Remi, please.”
“Deal,” she says, grinning from where her chin rests in her palm. Ms. Manners would be aghast that her elbows were on the table.
“I already know all about myself. I want to learn about you. I thought I knew all the beautiful women from my mother’s circle of friends. Your presence was a pleasant surprise.”
Nice line, the Justin in my head whispers in my ear.
It makes me want to vomit.
Imani blushes lightly, batting her eyes and dipping her chin so she’s not looking at me directly. I wonder if she practices that move in the mirror. The old me probably would have found it charming.
“I’ve been in Atlanta for the last several years,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. A much smaller sip than mine, may I add. “I went to college at Emory, then continued on at Emory Medical for my doctorate. I’m back in New York for my residency. It was just a lucky break that I was placed at a hospital from my home state.”
I move my weight to my elbow on the arm of my chair and try to pretend I care.
“Doctor? I didn’t know that. What’s your specialty?”
Her eyes light up, and it’s the first sign of personality beyond that crafted by boarding schools and refinement classes.
