Page 5 of Hellcat Barbies: Imani
She leans over me and her braids fall in my face. Even they smell good as hell.
“Sorry,” she apologizes. She stands back up straight, gathers them, then does something to put them back. Then, she leans back in and gently removes my jacket. I look down. I am bleeding. The blood as seeped through my shirt. Holding a clean part, she lifts my shirt and examines my wound like she’s a doctor or some shit. “Yea. He got you good but it doesn’t look deep though. That’s good. I live like five minutes from here. I can patch you up.”
“That’s not safe. You don’t know me.”
“I know that you just saved me. He had that knife all along. Who’s to say he might not have used it on me. You saw that clerk. He was just standing there like shit wasn’t happening. Hell, he even looked away. Besides, you’re injured not me. I got the upper hand and I’m packing. It’s one in here and one in my crib. Let me help you.”
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
Hell, even if she doesn’t, I’ll take the risk. She’s fine as hell, pretty as fuck, and I can tell that she’s not scared of me. Besides, even if she’s lying about the guns, I still like the fact that she’s mentioning them.
“I know what I’m doing. Just get in so I can stop the bleeding.”
She reaches between my legs and I smile. She just shakes her head as she presses something on the side of the seat, letting it back. When she stops, I turn and place my feet inside then close the door before she can. She walks over to the driver sidethen gets in. Both of my damn phones are going off. My personal phone is ringing and my blackphone is vibrating. I ignore them both. They will just have to understand why I’m not at the dinner party.Hell, I just got stabbed.
Imani
Damn, he’s fine.
Shit!
This suit and this damn cologne that have taken over my car have me clinching my pussy pearls. He’s handsome but why the fuck is he in my car and why the hell am I taking him to my house.
He’s a stranger.
I don’t know this man at all.
He’s big as shit but f-i-n-e. I can’t leave out fine because he is. A tall, muscular, dark chocolate man wearing the hell out of a suit, with a fresh-out-of-a-barber’s chair low Caesar cut and precisely trimmed beard has to be a sin. Father God, give me strength not to jump him after I tend to his cut. Oh, add your son too God; I’m going to need both of you on this one.
“Are you plotting over there?” his smooth baritone says, jarring me from my crazy ass thoughts.
“Plotting what?” I ask.
“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re super quiet and just a few minutes ago we were talking.”
“I was in emergency/trauma mode.”
“I’m still bleeding so I think we are still in emergency mode.”
I glance over to him and the deep red stain on his shirt doesn’t seem to have gotten bigger but I can’t be sure until I get a closer look. I have some skin stitch at the house. At first glance, it looked like that should be enough to close the gash. However, if it isn’t, I can stitch him up. Although I’m a surgical tech, some of the doctors I work with in the OR allow me to suture or close up incisions at the end because I’m actually pretty good at it.
“Two more minutes and we’ll be there,” I tell him before turning into the townhome community. Mine is located on the second right, the fifth one on the left. When I pull into my garage, I don’t shut my engine off right away. “I think I should at least know the name of the man that saved me,” I tell him.
“I’m Daymir,” he says.
“Daymir. I like that. I’m Imani.” I pop my trunk then kill my engine. Before the gas station, I stopped by the Marketplace and picked up the ingredients for the teriyaki salmon bake and they are in the trunk. “Can you walk? I need to grab some things out of the trunk.”
“I can walk and help with whatever.”
“Not tonight. You’re hurt.”
I unlock the doors and get out. When I grab my four bags from the trunk and walk to his side, he’s out. Not only is he fine but he’s insistent too. After several nos from me, he still grabs two of the bags and I lead him inside.
I snatch my bags back and rush them into the kitchen. Then, I grab about four towels from my linen closet then spread them on my loveseat.
“Please don’t try to be a superhero. I’m going to take off your shirt and you are going to let me. Then, I’m going to help you onto my loveseat and again, you are going to let me,” I sternly say and he just smirks. He doesn’t resist me either though.
Shirt-on Daymir is sinful but shirt-off Daymir is freaking divine. His dark chocolate skin is smooth like butter and just gorgeous. The ink across his neck and down his right arm is barely visible against his midnight skin and even that is sexy. Before I realize it, I’m staring, hard, too hard. He catches me and he doesn’t try to conceal the fact that he did. In fact, he brazenly calls my ass out.
