Page 61 of Body Language
He pulled back just long enough to smirk up at me, lips glistening. “Don’t call Him now, baby. Call mi.”
By the time Sincere finally pulled back, my thighs were trembling like I just finished running suicides in a gym.
And let me go ahead and say this—
As you can see, I love an eater.
Yeah, Kendrix had me all intrigued with his smooth talk and “big dick energy,” but let’s be real, he wasn’t stopping shit. I wanted a nut, and Sincere was the cheat code.
Why not get it from a man who’s always been there delivering exactly what the fuck was needed?
See, me and Sincere had a different kind of thing. We didn’t always have to be intimate, but when we did? Whew. It was always what it needed to be. He knew the assignment before I even gave out the syllabus.
And yeah, I could’ve given him more tonight. Could’ve let him flip me over, dig deep, and put me to sleep the other way. But sometimes, all a girl wants is to get that bread, get that head, then leave.
Instead, we laid there, laughing and talking because we’d been best friends forever. Venting about life. About stress. About how both of us stayed booked and busy.
Somewhere between his laugh and him saying,“Niv, yuh know yuh mi peace, right?”
…I knocked the hell out.
When I finally woke up, the room was quiet. He was gone.
But on the edge of the bed sat a purple Chanel bag and a fat stack of bills tucked inside.
And also a note, written in his handwriting:
Niv, You know I love venting and spending time with my favorite woman. But duty calls, and I had to go see someone. Can’t wait to do this again.
I laid back against the pillows, smirking. Arlette swore she stopped my bag. Baby, she just helped me get more.
16
Kendrix
I ain’t even gon’ lie. Since the moment Pretty left that damn club, flipping me the bird like I was some weak ass man, she’d been stuck in my head like my favorite hook.
I tried to bury myself in work. Meetings. Calls. Even hit the gym like I had demons to sweat out. It didn’t matter. Shorty was in every thought.
And the wildest part was that she was probably somewhere laughing, legs crossed, sipping on champagne somebody else bought, like I wasn’t still tasting her on my tongue.
That shit had me tight. It wasn’t even about the sex. Hell, we ain’t even fucked yet. My dumb ass. It was the way she moved. That confidence. That cutthroat feminism that made me feel like I had to step my game up just to stand next to her.
But at the same time, it pissed me the fuck off.
I knew she was the type to remind you every five minutes that you didn’t own her. That she could walk away whenever the fuckshe felt like it. And that was cute… until I realized I wanted her walking to me, not away from me.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at my phone like I could force her name to pop up.
Nothing.
Not a text. Not a missed call. Not even one of them little “wyd” joints.
“Aight, Pretty. Bet.”
I told myself I wasn’t about to chase her. I wasn’t that nigga. But the way my chest felt heavy as hell when I imagined her with somebody else… Yeah, I was lying like shit.
I already knew I was gone call her. Matter fact, I was two seconds from pulling up unannounced. I try not to get like that but when I lock in, I lock in.
