Page 152 of Roulette: The Madam

Click.

Clack.

Still in heels, I crossed the lengthy bedroom floor and joined the beautiful Colombian-bred woman on the balcony. I could feel the daggers Matías burned in my back with his honey-colored eyes.

“Buenas noches, señora.”

“Buenas noches.”

I removed my heels after taking my place on the bed. They fell to the floor like Jenga blocks, clashing with the concrete.

“De espaldas, por favor.”

“Bueno.”

Following instructions, I laid against the white sheet with my pussy kissing the Tibu sky. My nipples peddled. The muggy breeze was soothing. Comforting. Calming. Caressing.

I looked over my shoulder, through the glass of Matías’ bedroom to find him peering out onto the balcony. His hand was no longer empty. At the mini bar in his bedroom, he was pouring himself a glass of brown, unlabeled whiskey.

He pursed his lips, mimicking a kiss. I grabbed it with my right hand and placed it right where it belonged, on my pussy.

Oil dripped from the bottle onto my chocolate skin. My nipples ached as they grew even harder. Warm hands began to move about my limbs. I closed my eyes, promising to leave Matías’ home first thing in the morning. He knew how to spoil a woman. And, if he kept at it, I wouldn’t make it to Rosario Islands. I wouldn’t make it past his bed.

Darkness coatedevery crevice of the bedroom. I wasn’t sure when I’d made it to bed, how I’d made it to bed, or when I’d lost consciousness. However, my bladder was screaming for me to wake or wet the sheets and the night breeze coming from the window wasn’t helping at all.

Matías lie beside me, sound asleep. His light snores were silenced for once. I stretched my limbs, preparing to slide from underneath the sheets. As much as I wanted to relieve my bladder, I wanted to stay in bed. The sleep was too good. The silence was too addictive.

My leg brushed against Matías, combing over the mounds of hair that decorated them. As our skin collided, my heart fell from my chest into the boxspring beneath the mattress. The hairs on my body stood at attention. Each and every one of them. Slowly, I pushed my arm underneath the pillow where I was sure Matías had placed my weapon. He knew I didn’t sleep without it.

“It’s not there, Princess.”

I squeezed my eyelids together at the sound of his voice. The disappointment in his tone. The pain in his words.

“Isra–”

“Tell me something,” he tittered, kissing the skin of his teeth.

Suddenly, I regretted my current state. My naked body against the bed was no longer suffering from the breeze from outside. Not even Matías’ cold corpse could cool me down. I was on fire. The only person who had the power to stop the flames from burning me alive was the person who’d set me ablaze.

“Did you think I was just blowing smoke up your ass when I told you not to associate yourself with any nigga that isn’t me?”

“Israel–”

“Yet, here you are, ass naked in another nigga’s bed, in another fucking country.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s very fucking simple, Roulette.”

“What– why are you– what are you doing he–” I stuttered, feeling my heart break along with his.

I was a free agent, true enough, but there was something about Israel that made me want to do right by him. Even when I tried fighting the feeling, it always conquered me in the end. Tonight was more of the same. He commanded more from me.

And, though I had no plans to ever give myself to a man, wholly, he made me consider it. Fantasize about it. Dream about it. Wonder about it.

“The game you’ve been playing your entire life ended the moment I slid up in what I wholeheartedly believe ismyshit.” He emphasized his possession, claiming my pussy as his own.

“I don’t give a fuck what the next nigga accepted or allowed. I’m not him, Princess. I’m not none of them motherfuckers. I’m Israel Kingston. And, there ain’t a motherfucker alive that will be able to say they touched you after I did. Niggas don’t deserve it. Niggas don’t deserve you. They don’t know the first fucking thing to do with a woman like you. I do.

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