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Luxxie, you’re one crayon short of an entire rainbow. Why would those singers be outside your window?
Well, I’ve tossed them coins when I can’t find a couple of dollars.
I tell myself to reach out to a psychiatrist—once I get out of bed.
The singing gets louder, and I pop up into a seated position. “What?”
A chill zips through my body as my bare feet touch the ground. I quickly slide into fuzzy slippers and huddle in my pajamas.
“Dear God, I’m not crazy?” I murmur while approaching the window. I press onto my knees at the window seat cushion to peer over the fire escape balcony and through the haze.
“So not crazy,” I mutter, glimpsing the dudes who might bring R&B back andVictor.
“Luxury!” He forks wet masses of black hair from a face I wouldn’t mind sitting on and strangling with my pussy.
Instantly, I zip to the side of the window into the darkness of my room. At a better vantage point, I watch Victor search the glass for any glimpse of me. “Go away! I don’t want to talk to you.”
The interlude ceases.
“Little One, come down, or I’m coming up.”
At least he gave me two choices.
“Give me ten,” I snap and close my window.
I kick off my pajamas, rushing into my walk-in closet to assess every item I own. My hands graze the sleeve of my favorite snow-white knit dress. The lavish cotton slips from my fingertips. Why am I putting my all into this? Especially for a man who has proved that he’s not willing to put in the same effort for me time and time again?
Momma said make him work. Hell, the only work Dr. Victor Finch has put in occurred between the sheets.
34
VICTOR
Standing in a puddle of rainwater in Luxury’s foyer, my eyes rivet over the bow of Luxury’s thick, pouted lips. Obstinate hands settle on her trim waist. A pair of jeans cling to her soft, sensual hips. A magenta knit sweater leaves her left shoulder bare, vulnerable to a wanka like me. All right, I’ll grovel, let her tiny heels spike across my spine. I’ll let her delight in masochism because I’ve secretly loved the pain of crawling after a woman who doesn’t know my identity. Once satiated, I’ll resume my reign over the glorious beauty.
Just as I start to speak, Luxury ascends to the balls of her feet, planting her index finger over my mouth. “Wait. Not here.”
It was a hasty reaction, followed by the removal of her slightly trembling finger. Next, her gaze retreats as if she's holding onto a single shred of sanity. As Luxury turns away, I’m content that Dr. Whitson is nowhere in sight in the spacious living room.
Mesmerized by Luxury’s arse, I watch her ascend the stairs. After a few beats, I lock the front door and follow.
Cool air whistles through Luxury’s bedroom. I close us in the room then pull my drenched shirt away from my skin as she stalks to the opposite side, favoring space.
“Little One, I crave you day in and day out.” I part the room in seconds, dripping water with every step I take. I run my wet hand on my soaking blazer and scoff at the absurdity. My thumb grazes her chin, pulling Luxury’s eyes back up to me. When she looks everywhere else, I descend to my knees, taking her wrists in my hands.
Once I’ve placed her hands about my throat, I grit, “You’re angry. Here’s your reparation.”Give it the best you’ve got, Little One. It’ll make me feel less like shite for my next proposal—keeping you—with no real commitment for as long as I can hide you from my Queen.
While her hands slide loose, I hold them steady. “Squeeze!”
She gives it her all.
A tug
A yank.
No constricting.
But after another jerk, I allow Luxury to slip her hands free. She pushes my chest while I pop up, looming over her. The hard glint in my eye is the best form of apology I’m capable of contributing.
