Page 73 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I grab the bottle and walk it out to the room. There’s not much in my suitcase, but what’s there gets two to three sprays of Ace. I even spray my panties.

I put it back in its place, my gaze flickering over the rest of his things. A razor. A hairbrush. His durag. Deodorant.

His toothbrush.

An idea blooms in my head.

I remember Ace making that joke about spaghetti. His mama must be old-school southern like mine for him to be hip to that trick.

But this one?

I just conceived it.

The water’s still cascading, and Ace’s indecipherable hums fill my ears. I don’t know how long I have, so I swallow hard and bite the bullet before I’m caught.

It’s in my hand. With the other hand, I pull my panties to the side. A breath, then a quick flick of my wrist, and it’s inside of me, in the place that belongs only to him.

I check it for visual evidence before I return it to the counter. Satisfied, I finish packing, content with the fact that I know, and he never will.

The drive back is quiet, but cozy.

Ace keeps one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my thigh. His thumb rubs lazy circles into my skin, his grip firm and warm.

I steal glances at him whenever I can. Moderation is key; I don’t wanna freak him out. Because the truth is, I adore him. I would climb inside his skin and live as him just to know what it’s like to walk around being that amazing, all day every day.

But that would be a disaster. I wouldn’t get shit done. I’d be too busy pleasuring myself.

“Can I tell you something?” I say, angling my body toward his.

He takes his hand off of my thigh to turn the radio down. I wait until it’s back in its rightful place before I start.

“My mom basically…abandoned me,” I begin, swallowing hard. I hate that I have to give him this part of me, but it’s necessary. Deep breath.

“What I mean is…” I trail off, because this is hard for me, for many reasons.

Ace grabs my hand and squeezes.

“My parents didn’t have a good marriage,” I say, underselling the shit out of that. “Maybe abandon is the wrong word. I don’t know.” I take another deep breath. “She left because she wasn’t happy, and she didn’t take me with her. Or my brother.”

Ace’s brows knit together. “You have a brother.”

“Yeah. He’s in New York. We don’t speak.”

Another understatement.

“I told you my parents were separated,” I continue, “but really, they’re divorced.”

The corners of his mouth turn down, his grip on my hand loosening considerably.

“So you lied again.”

“I’m sorry. I just…you don’t understand how intimidated I was by your family,” I whine. “I was ashamed.”

“Of a divorce?” He looks appropriately skeptical of that, so I pivot.

“Of being abandoned by my mother. Your family is so close and loving.”

I’m lying my ass off now, but he looks like he’s buying it. He puts the squeeze on my hand again, and I sigh in relief.

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