Page 88 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

Stfu

Make me nigga

I laugh to myself, shaking my head as my guy comes back with the Hen.

I’m glad she said that. It’s good to know she ain’t let the degrees fool her, and that she knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I absolutely am still a nigga.

24

Raya

I feel him before I see him.

It’s a familiar heat, dark and simmering, licking up my spine like an open flame.

I like the meek, mild-mannered scientist, but the aggressive, unhinged Ace makes my knees weak.

He’s in here somewhere. Watching me. Furious. And I’m sitting pretty, sipping my drink, talking shop with my aunt, who I missed so much, it hurt.

“The tech guy shouldn’t be a problem,” she’s saying. “You know I got a guy for everything.”

“And he can do what I want?” I say.

Tori shrugs. “I’ll ask. If it can be done, I’ll find somebody to do it.” She pauses to sip her Scotch. “But the other thing…”

“Auntie.”

She shoots me a look. “The circumstances are different, now. For one, there’s Faith—“

A large, rough hand wraps around my wrist, causing her to stop mid-sentence, and my drink to slosh over the rim.

Gasps ripple through the people sitting nearby, eyes flicking toward us. But Ace doesn’t acknowledge them. Or Tori. Or even me.

And just like that, I’m snatched up. Dragged through the bar like a tantrum-throwing child who needs discipline.

Eyes follow us. I don’t struggle. I look back at Tori, who’s smirking like she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

I glare at his back as he drags me past the bar, through the kitchen doors, into a narrow space near enough to the stove for me to feel its dry heat.

I don’t get a chance to ask him if he has permission to be back here. My back hits the wall first, then his hands cage me in, his fingers twitching like he’s two seconds off of choking the life out of me.

Bae’s so passionate.

My eyes flutter shut as his hand slides under my dress, rough fingers skimming my thigh. When his palm meets the bare skin, and he realizes what’s missing, he goes still.

For a second, the only sound between us is the distant clang of dishes and the hum of bar chatter outside.

His pupils are dilated when his eyes lock on mine. “Why?”

I blink up at him. “Why, what?”

His grip on my hip tightens to the point of pain. “Why the fuck you ain’t got no panties on?”

My grimace turns into a smirk. “I don’t own any.”

He exhales hard through flared nostrils, his jaw clenching so tight, I know there’s a headache on the other side. His fingers curl against my thigh, fingertips digging into my flesh.

“You’re a fuckin’ liar,” he murmurs, bringing his hand to my chin.

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