Page 32 of Taste Of You

“I’m not surprised to see you here,” the woman that lives with Millie says, stopping me in my tracks. She’s standing just outside the building’s door, a cup of coffee in her hand. “You ready to talk?”

“It was only a matter of time...” I trail off, wanting her to share her name so I can thank her. She’s spent the last two years helping my girls, guiding Millie through her new role as a mother.

She holds her hand out. “I’m Sandy, and I know.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, brow raised.

“It means, that she’s upstairs, and I’m taking Lily to my sister’s for the day. It means, I want to see that girl upstairs smiling and walking on air when I return tomorrow.” Her hand tightens in mine, face serious. This is her warning, and I let her have this moment. Let her get off her chest whatever she needs to. “Cami is special, Jet. A beautiful soul that has suffered enough, and unless you’re here to make it right—stick around—I need you to turn around and leave. Leave, and don’t come back. She’s precious, not a toy. All in or nothing.”

“I want it all.”

“Good.” Her face softens, and a small smile curls at her lips. “Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll be gone. Cami hasn’t had breakfast yet, still sleeping, so maybe you can provide that today? She has a sweet tooth, by the way. Spoil her.”

Little does she know that I came more than ready to tackle any task thrown my way.

The second Sandy and the little one leave, I’m at her apartment and knocking. Three hard raps against the door, and then I wait. Listen for any noise.

Nada. Not so much as a shuffle of feet or a yell to wait.

Again, I pound on the structure, harder, almost willing for the door to open itself. My body pushes against the solid wood, my hand on the knob—a slight jiggle, a barely there turn of my wrist—and I realize Sandy left it unlocked for me.

A push, two steps, and I’m in. In my hands, I carry our breakfast and a long-stemmed rose. It’s what they call a blush pink. Soft and smells a bit sweet.

Reminds me of her own sinful blush. How the slight color would decorate her skin and make my mouth water.

“Fuck, I need her.” Walking into the kitchen, I place our food down, then turn around to close her door. I’m trying to make the least noise possible, to wake her with my body spooning her delicate flesh and not some obnoxious sound.

To apologize with my lips.

My eyes scan her living room, and I smile. They had fun last night.

Their couch is piled high with blankets, large cushions, and a few stuffed bears. On the coffee table sits what looks to be empty pizza boxes, a pack of Oreos, and a few apple juice boxes.

Heck, the TV is still on and playing the start menu to Moana.

This hot mess is more than adorable. Too cute for words.

As if I’ve been here a thousand times, I walk toward a corridor off the living room and head toward the end. Last door on the left. That is where I take pause.

There’s a strange pull I feel, a comforting buzz that tells me she is close. Just on the other side of the door.

The lights inside are off and the curtains are drawn closed as I walk in. Millie didn’t lock it, and I didn’t knock.

Toeing my shoes off, I walk closer and toss the small box near her pillow. My shirt and pants follow, leaving me in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs after. I need to feel her skin on mine.

The closer to her I get, the feeling of emptiness which has consumed me for days ebbs. Lessens until there is nothing left as I stand at the end of her bed.

Millie lays on her front with both legs spread. The comforter that had been covering her petite form pools near the edge of the mattress, like she has kicked it off at some point during the night.

She’s in a simple tank top and a pair of cotton cheekies, both in white. Her dark hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun, while her fresh, soft face is relaxed while she softly snores.

Motherfucking beautiful. Perfection in the literal sense.

There’s a slight glow in the room—a warm ray that bounces off its objects and illuminates her beauty. It surrounds her like the purest of auras. As if she were a deity.

She’s a goddess. My goddess.

Bringing a knee up, I climb onto the bed and the mattress shifts under my movements. Brings me closer to her. Crawling, I distribute my weight and cage her in below me. Cover her from head to toe.

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