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Minutes later, Makai was dragging my suitcases into my place. He’d gone shopping for me on our first day in The Catherine, but we’d gone shopping as a group twice more. I’d left with almost nothing and returned with enough to fill one side of my closet. Shoes and bags he’d purchased were being shipped. There wasn’t room for them on the plane or in the two new suitcases.
After dropping my bags off in the kitchen, Makai disappeared into the bathroom I’d shown him. While waiting for him to emerge, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. The amount of alcohol I’d consumed during our trip was alarming. I wanted to flush my system and remove its waste as quickly as possible.
In the midst of retrieving water, I noticed the rotting food I’d left in the fridge that was supposed to be trashed days ago. The impromptu vacation had thrown everything out of whack, but I wasn’t complaining. I began removing the outdated food from the fridge and dumping it in the trash.
WHAP.
The slap on my right cheek startled me. I banged my head on the top of the fridge trying to escape. There was no exit route. Not even when Makai slid my leggings down my legs and entered me from behind.
“Baaaaaaaaby,” I moaned, gripping the edge of the fridge with one hand and the door with the other.
“Don’t baby me, Glacier.”
The sternness represented by his tone raised a hundred red flags. While blessing me with even, deep strokes, he rescued my head from the fridge and transferred me to the counter. Arched back and curled toes, I accepted his massiveness with pride.
He fisted my ponytail, pulling my head backward until his lips touched my cheek. The kiss I was waiting for never happened. Instead, I felt his teeth sinking into my skin.
“Ahhhh. Baby. Ummmm.”
His strokes quickened. The love we’d made in The Catherine was a far cry from the screwing we were into now. I felt conflicted, not sure if I wanted more of this or more of the slow strokes that I’d become addicted to.
“I’m not staying,” Makai grunted, confirming my suspicions.
He wasn’t feeling his best. Something had happened between the time he’d set my bags aside and his return from the bathroom.
“Wh-whyyyy?”
“Because I’m not laying up in a crib another nigga done marked as his territory. You got me fucked up, G.”
I stiffened from both the pending orgasm that slammed against my uterus and the aftershock of Makai’s declaration. Immediately, I recalled the face trimmer on the counter that was once Nelson’s but I’d claimed as my own. When feeling lazy and I didn’t want to spend my day recovering from waxing, I opted for a trim that held me over for another week—sometimes two.
His collection of boxers had become my favorite loungewear. Not because they were Nelson’s, but because they were more comfortable than my panties most nights. A fresh pair hung behind the door each day and I discarded a pair in the dirty clothes. I’d collected them over the four-year span we were together. Tossing them had never crossed my mind, though I’d gotten rid of all the rest of his things.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, taking full responsibility for the heat that was coming from his body. I could feel the steam seeping through his skin.
As sick and confusing as it was, his anger heightened my sensitivity. The orgasm that was knocking at my center began to erupt. Before it reached me, Makai ejected himself from my canal, leaving me deserted and barely able to catch my breath.
“Baby,” I called out to him, watching as he stuffed his pole inside his pants.
Agitation was apparent in every move he made. He reached into his pocket and removed the knot that was inside. When he slammed it onto the counter, I could feel his frustration deep in my core.
“Makai. Can we talk about this?”
He ignored me, continuing with whatever plans he’d set in motion.
“Makai?”
I moved closer. He stepped backward, gutting me in the process.
“Ya phone should be in your mailbox. Wherever that motherfucker is. Is that enough to hold you over for the week?”
“Week?” I gasped, pulling my leggings up to my waist.
“I asked you if you were done crying ’bout that nigga and you told me yes. Ya crib ain’t agreeing with the lie you told. Don’t fucking call me until that nigga out ya life completely. I mean that shit, G. Don’t fucking call me.”
“Makai. Wait. Let’s ta—”
There was no use. He’d already reached the door and was out of it.
