Page 87 of Madam, May I

He stood erect with boxers in hand and then jerked them on. “There were African tribes who helped sell their kinsmen into slavery and that damn sure didn’t make it right,” he said, seeming to be annoyed. “Complicity isn’t the ultimate co-sign that something is okay.”

At the moment she felt intimidated by his intelligence and unable to piece together a solid argument against his opinions. “I just think men shouldn’t tell a woman she has to do whatever he chooses with her body,” she said, turning and leaving the room with a quick pace toward the kitchen.

Her body felt warm with embarrassment, shame, and anger. She poured herself a large glass of wine and took a sip.

“You do understand that the ones who agree to prostitute themselves and give off this ridiculous notion of empowerment help to create a culture where men think all women or gay men want to be sexualized?” Loren asked, his face incredulous. “Thus, leading to assholes willing to trick, kidnap, or brutalize someone else into selling themselves. One begets the other.”

Desdemona thought of her own story, Portia’s, and so many more. She felt overwhelmed. Her thoughts were muddled. She refused to believe she was no better than Majig and so many other brutal pimps. It wasn’t the same.

One begets the other.

“Never mind, Lo. Just let it go,” she said, sounding—and feeling—weary.

He crossed the kitchen to take the wineglass from her for a sip.

Desdemona eyed him and how comfortable he was in her kitchen. In her life. He denied it constantly, but she knew he wanted more from her—even if it was more time—and she had to bring it to an end. Their conversation really brought it home that she could never be more with him.He doesn’t even know me. The real me. My name. My profession. My background. How I make my living? How I try so very hard not to be what Majig was to me?

He came over and hugged her close, setting his chin lightly atop her head as he rubbed her back.

Desdemona closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the feel and smell of him. She tilted her head back, and he kissed her mouth. All of the sensitive spots on her body pulsed as if charged with a bolt of electricity.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, low in his throat, as his eyes—those damn sexy, slanted eyes—studied her face.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she looked at him she felt sad, because she knew it was best for them both to end it. Things had gone far beyond what she had planned. And in truth, it wasn’t just Lo. She had begun to see him as familiar. Wanted. Needed. That was scary.

There was no room for him in her world, and in his, there was no space for her past. Not with acceptance and understanding.

“My GED test is coming up next month,” she began.

“You still ready?” Loren asked, combing his fingers through her hair to press his fingertips to her scalp

Even that tingled from his touch.

Bananas.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I think I’ve done all I can for you,” she said, hating that she was unable to meet his eyes. “So now I can focus on me for a little bit and get ready . . . on my own.”

Desdemona felt him stiffen against her before he stepped back, breaking their hold.

Loren nodded a few times as he looked around the kitchen at anything. Everything. “I get it, Ms. Smith,” he said, reverting back to formality. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replied, deserving an Oscar for her performance of indifference.

“I better get dressed and get out your way,” he said, failing at keeping the stiffness from his tone.

She remained stoic. It wasn’t easy, but she did not fail.

Not long after, he strolled into the kitchen in his jean jacket over a dark blue T-shirt, matching denims, and throwback Jordans. He stopped in the entry and looked across the distance at her. “Good luck on your test,” he said, looking at her.

“Thank you, Lo,” she said. “And good luck with your final in a couple of months.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head like “Oh, it’s likethat. Cool.” His handsome face was cold, his jaw square and his eyes fiery. He gave her nothing else but a head nod before he turned and left.

The door closed. It seemed to echo.

She covered her face with her hands. Waves of emotions flooded her, weakening her knees and unsteadying her hands. The very thought of never seeing him again sent her to the floor with her back pressed to the cabinets. It was hours before she finally rose and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her head.