Page 33 of You Deserve Good Things

“That’s my girl,” I whispered, my mouth sliding back down her neck, laying kisses like little fires along her skin. “You have always been mine, Yaya. I was just waiting on you to come home.”

She tilted her head back, surrendering fully, and I took my time makin’ love to her like she was sacred ground. Kissin’ her, touching her, drowning in her. The way she trembled under me? That shit made me feel like a god.

“Goddamn, you sexy as hell.” I groaned, letting my hands memorize every dip, every curve, every stretch mark that told the story of a woman who survived.

“You feeling me, baby?”

She nodded, eyes glazed over like she was caught between prayer and sin.

“Say it,” I coaxed, voice hoarse and needy. “Talk to me.”

“I feel you, Jacory,” she breathed out. “I feel you everywhere.”

And that was it. That was church.

I worshipped her body like it was scripture, lips and tongue tracing verses she didn’t know she carried. When I kissed her thighs, she quivered. When I finally went lower, tasted her, her hands tangled in my locs like she was tryna keep from falling apart.

And when she came undone, moaning my name like it was her only prayer, I felt that shit in my chest. In my veins. In the part of me that had been waiting four years to be this close to her again.

But I wasn’t done.

I slid up her body, slid into her slow, deep, like I was home.

“Baby,” she whispered, shaking beneath me.

I kissed her mouth, slow and deep, lettin’ her taste her own sweetness. “You think we done, baby?” I smirked. “We just getting started.”

We moved together like a slow song in the summer. Sticky. Sweat-slick. Sensual. Every stroke was a promise. Every moan was a confession. I loved her with my body the way I’d always loved her with my soul—wildly, deeply, and without hesitation.

She wrapped her legs around me, locking me in like she was never lettin’ me go again.

And I wasn’t letting her.

When we finally crashed together one last time, bodies shaking, breath ragged, skin hot, I held her close like the world outside didn’t exist.

She lay on my chest, her fingers drawing lazy circles on my stomach, our heartbeats thumping in rhythm like a slow jazz drumline on Frenchmen Street.

I brushed her curls off her face, kissed her forehead soft and slow.

“You locked in now, my love,” I murmured.

She tilted her head up, eyes hazy, lips swollen from our confessions.

“I been locked in,” she whispered.

That wrecked me in the best way. I held her face in both hands, kissing her slow, kissing her deep, like I was kissing every broken part of her back together.

“You never gotta worry about me leaving you, baby,” I whispered, my voice raw like scraped knuckles and bleeding truth.

“I love you past the moon and stars, Yaya,” I said. “I love you beyond forever.”

She relaxed into me, body limp, spirit safe.

“And ain’t no one,” I added, eyes locked on hers, “not no bitch, not no situation, not no storm or shadow—ever coming between us. You hear me?”

She nodded, soft tears clinging to her lashes, and then she said the one thing that made my whole soul exhale?—

“I love you too, baby.”

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