Page 53 of Serenity
Recalling the man who’d dragged me away from the constant toil of the daily grind, gratitude swelled in my heart. This was the reaping of Duke. He’d forced me to be still, and it was the sweetest immobility there was.
Our walks down the harbor and through peaceful alleyways would forever be etched into my memory bank. On one of our many strolls after dinner, we approached a cello player on the side of the street playing “O sole mio.” In awe of the raw talent, I paused and smiled to watch the performance.
At the close of the song, I reached into my bag to offer a few euros Duke had given me. Swiftly, I was halted by him. Instead of allowing me to give the tip, he’d placed €200 in the man’s hat on the sidewalk.
“Grazie!” Our cello performer called out his gratitude.
“Prego,” came out of Duke’s mouth.
Several paces from the performer, he halted our steps again. Grabbing my hand, he examined my nails. “Do you understand the history behind having nails the length you have?”
“What’s that?” I smiled. A surplus of anecdotes, Duke always had a story about one thing or another.
“The longer the nails, the less work a woman performed. Nails were a symbol of wealth and aristocracy. Women with long nails didn’t engage in labor or any form of work.”
“Well, I’ve put that theory to the test, and it failed several times,” I shrugged.
“Indeed. You have, shamefully. It highlights your fucking nuances.”
“I’m a walking, talking, working contradiction. What’s your point?”
“My point…” He stepped closer. Pulled me closer. Tilted my chin upward to meet his eyes.
“…is you aren’t to lift a finger around me. Let those pretty claws do nothing in my presence. That includes reaching in your bag to pay for anything and everything, understood?”
While free to protest, the opposition wasn’t welcome. Resisting ease served no purpose. A fool’s effort, that was. Resistance and war weren’t welcome in the Duke’s presence. Choosing flow instead of force, I nodded my compliance.
“I can’t hear you, Bee.”
“Yes, baby.”
SOVEREIGN, PORTOFINO ITALY
Witnessing Serenity embody gentleness, tranquility, and ease forced my chest to swell unsanctioned. For the three days we’d spent in Portofino, she basked in every moment.
At a quarter to six, the sun rose, trickling a warm glow over the promenade. That light spilled into the bedroom and over both our limbs. Sepia-brown extremities. Chocolate delicateness. Deep honey. A thigh was draped over my nakedness, as were her bare chest and arms.
Delicate, the balance between masculine and feminine was. Her rhythm flowed easily in such a dance. As needed, she knew how to step into either side. She knew when to lead and be assertive, and she knew when to fall into grace, nurturing, gentleness, and creativity.
Her softness was only meant for those deserving. Her depth was only intended for the soul able to swim through her fire. Her access was limited to what brought her peace. To what surplused her joy. To what lulled her breaths.
Never had I met a man who didn’t recognize his forever when he stumbled upon it. It didn’t require months. It didn’t require years. It required attentiveness. It required awareness. It required intelligence and honesty about what one desired.
Mine.
No waffling. No wondering. No fear. It was settled. Her claim was made that first night in the club when I asked her where her man was. My claim was made that first evening she welcomed me inside the warmth of her temple. Selfish, I was. Unable to imagine anyone experiencing what I had after I had her. She’d nurtured me back to health. Now it was time I returned the favor.
Tension was hoarded in her body, and my sole ambition was for that shit to flee. For it to be so foreign, she refused to entertain it. For as long as I could keep her captive, away from work, away from stress, it would be my gift.
Peaceful mornings and leisurely nights comprised our time in Portofino. Quiet moments, like the present, carried me through my truths.
Skin, a rainbow of browns, intermingled between pale sheets. My golden caramel tone contrasted against deep cocoa ass cheeks, milk chocolate thighs, and honeyed titties with chocolate chip nipples. We made the perfect melanated sundae.
What would our kids look like?
Felonious thoughts of possibilities that didn’t exist crept their way into my dome. Thoughts I’d tucked away after the failure of my marriage. I was a man bare, in the comfort of home. Exposed. Freely, I let my thoughts roam. Home. She was home. My fingers grazed the length of her spine, basking in the present moment.
“Hmm.”