Page 42 of Serenity
I wanted her to see me do things I used to do to her to another woman. I wanted to hurt her the way she and Mike had hurt me. And maybe it was petty. But it wielded the intended effect.
“Protect me?” Serenity asked, rupturing my thoughts.
“You didn’t have on a mask.”
“Because it broke!”
Her sultry voice heightened, but it was still sweet as honey. She was flustered as if I’d hit her dog.
“The nigga you came with didn’t even offer to get you another one or give you his. Genevieve is heavy on discretion, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t photographed or possibly exposed,” I explained.
When I saw her in the crowd, I instinctively went into protector mode despite my embarrassment. I wasn’t out to let my nigga’s little sister go out sad on account of watching me during a low moment.
“What type of rank do you have in that place to be making such decisions?” She seemed more upset at the fact that I’d had her removed than anything else I said.
“I own it.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fell with the revelation. “Do you…go there often? Do you perform like that frequently?”
Again, the question arose, leading me to wonder exactly how did she see me. Whatever portrait lingered in her pretty head was mine to repaint. Again, I sought to lay waste to whatever the fuck her hesitations or concerns were. They couldn’t exist in the world I wanted between us.
“No, Serenity. I haven’t been inside Genevieve in months. Not since that night. Nor do I plan to. I have all I need right in front of me.”
“Okay,” she said, turning back toward the counter.
“Okay?” I asked, unsure. I expected there to be more of a fight or disagreement about my exploits but not a fucking simple ass “okay.”
The aromatic zing of the herb-infused oil she was toying with filled the air, telling me my experience with it wouldn’t be pleasant. Serenity smiled and turned toward me with a dropper half full of the concoction and a glass of orange juice.
“Serenity, answer me.”
“Yes, okay. If that’s what you say, I have no reason to believe otherwise. Thank you for the transparency. Here.”
Hands folded in front of me, feet crossed at my ankles, I didn’t budge.
“Just drop this on your tongue and then knock it back with the orange juice in three gulps.”
I sniffed and coughed, shielding my mouth. “You want me to drink that?”
“Duke, it’ll help you fight what remains of your cold.”
“Bee, I’m not drinking that. It’s nasty. I can tell.”
“So is being sick. Here, watch me do it.”
She knocked it back and chased it with orange juice. I watched her grunt in disgust, too. It made her request even less appealing to fulfill.
“I’m not doing it.”
“I guess I need to be on my way then.” She deadpanned, issuing a look that told me it wasn’t up for debate.
If I had to choose the disgusting ass oil of oregano over her absence, I’d chug the entire bottle. The black glare on my face conveyed where she was going, but it wasn’t on her way. She’d be on my dick, on her way to another orgasm. For as much as I could, I’d hold her hostage before she scurried back to her busy schedule.
“Aight. Give it to me.”
With the concoction set up in the dropper again, I followed her lead, knocking back the oil and chasing it with the entire glass of juice.
“Shit. Agh. Wipe that smile off your face.”