Page 6 of Good As Hell

The answer to that escaped me. Yes, I take care of my skin. Yes, I get lavish body treatments, but is my skin as soft as those of some of his set who don’t and never had to work? No. I have blisters still healing on my feet from all the choreography I’ve been doing. I still have a healing scar on my knee from having anACL repair last year. My skin occasionally keloids, so no, it won’t be smooth everywhere.

“What does jameela mean?” My voice is way softer than it’s ever been. Like he’s robbed me of its verbosity a little. He could’ve been calling me anything — bitch for all I know of his language.

“Jameela means beautiful.” Instead of letting his hand fall away, he cups the back of my neck, arcing me to meet his jade gaze. I will have your answer.” There is a challenge in that demand.

Holding his gaze, I swallow. He stalks closer, his body flush with mine, shaking his head. His hand slips around to the front of my neck squeezing a little.

“I need the words, beautiful.” Gaze steady, he tracks every emotion blossoming in my eyes.

“Yes,” I gasp against the light pressure and the arresting visual of his beautiful eyes and the emotion there.

Stepping back, he nods, linking our hands. “We shower first.”

Tugging me behind him, he strides on legs so long, I have to double time to keep pace with his tread.

Entering the bedroom, he passes the huge imposing bed lying in the center of the room. I barely have time to take in the immaculate posh space.

Trekking into the shower behind him, I touch the area between my breasts. My heart is fluttering like a butterfly wings. Serious misgivings start to play around in my head. He just said he didn’t like me. Why am I here? I’m in no way desperate. Why, after all this time, am I choosing to have this experience and with him of all people?

He drops my hand, turning towards with me an abruptness that’s unsettling.

It takes me a minute to notice he’s showing me his phone.

“My last testing results.” I look down at the results from two days ago. “I haven’t been with anyone in three months.”

Immediately my mind goes to his date at the Golden Globes, which, if my math is right, is exactly three months ago. Angelica is a million dollar model and nearly as tall as he is, not to mention rail thin. A man of eclectic tastes, I muse to myself.

“Yours?” He inquires. I’m flummoxed thinking as I pull out my phone searching for my tests mandated before I started choreography for my tour a couple of months ago. Did they even get testing to cover sexual health? I had to do a physical and routine blood test. I also got my annual exam, but by now my medical team knows I’m celibate, so I’m not even sure they did those tests and I didn’t bother to check.

Embarrassment heats my cheeks as I scroll through the results. What am I going to say if he asks?

“IUD?” His gaze speeds across the screen on my phone, not bothering to look at me.

“Yeah.” His eyes meet mine over the phone.

“Good. I will have your consent not to use condoms.” Another demand.

“Uh, okay…” Not understanding, I take the phone back, placing it beside his on the counter.

He’s already turning to the glass-enclosed shower, manipulating the shower heads. Stepping just outside, he hits buttons starting the flow of water.

All of a sudden nervousness has the pressure in my tummy insisting that I use the restroom.

“The water closet is over there.” He nods to a nearby door. I don’t know how he can read me so easily. “G’head and take care of what you need I will join you momentarily.” He’s almost detached as he leaves me looking after him.

Is he so matter of fact with all his lovers? Maybe he views everything as transactional since he gifts them with theequivalent of a mortgage payment once he’s done with his one night of service.

Misgivings claw at me as I use the restroom. I’ve never been afraid to change my mind about anything. In this industry I know better than anyone how not to get a terrible deal. Like the time, one of the biggest companies in the industry offered a big contract in an effort to lure me away from FADE and Ghadi. It was a dream come true. Many people encourage me to take the hundreds of millions. Never mind, they wanted my creative property in perpetuity — all of my publishing. Ain’t no way.

Still, for some reason, I pull my hair into a topknot, and slip out of the silk romper I wore up here and go over to the shower. I’m actually proud of myself for stepping in like this is old hat. My fingers barely tremble when I take the brand new sponge off the wall mount.

Squeezing out the body wash from the dispenser, I work the sponge into a generous lather and begin to wash every inch of my body.

I feel a presence behind me. I don’t turn, but continue my ritual. My hands slow as I caress each dip and curve of my body. He likes watching. He wants to come inside me. All of this I realize with each stroke of my body. He wants me but doesn’t like me.

Suddenly, I realize why I’m still here despite his admission. Because this time it’s my choice. I can choose to be with whom I want this time. Whether or not he likes me doesn’t matter. I chose him as much as he’s chosen me. He’s not taking anything from me I don’t want to give. I’m willingly giving myself to him. Freedom races through me as I fully lean into the power that was snatched away from me when was too young to realize it. Tonight I’m taking my power back. I didn’t even realize it until now. I don’t have to over analyze why I want it to be Hassan. It just is.

“Allow me.” The words reach me just as I start going over my body again. Deft hands take the sponge from my hands. Firm strokes massage and tantalize me from neck to shoulder. Then the sponge is gone, and it’s just long fingers touching me.

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