"What you doing sitting at a hotel bar drinking alone Ms. Nia?" He questioned, shifting his attention to me. The way he said my name carried a softness to it in a curious way.
"Who said I was alone?" I questioned. He looked down at the margarita glass sitting in front of me and grinned.
"Them sad ass margaritas you drinking." He said, making me laugh. It came out before I even thought about it.
"What you say to drinking some of this 42 with me?" He questioned. I shrugged slightly. Why not. The bartender slid two glasses toward us. The 1942 burned smoother than the margaritas had. We clinked glasses and drank.
Three drinks later, we were laughing and joking, talking shit, like we had known each other forever. The conversation moved easily. From small things to bigger ones. For a little while, I forgot about the box sitting on my kitchen counter that held the pictures and the letter. The bar lighting softened everything around us. Voices blended together in the background.
The tequila loosened something inside my chest that had been tight for months. For a minute, I caught myself staring at him, caught up in the way his lips moved and how perfect his teeth were. The way his voice dipped when he laughed, and the way he leaned back in the chair like he belonged wherever he sat.He broke my trance, reaching out to rub the side of my face. The contact was light. His thumb brushing the edge of my cheek like he was testing something. "I didn't say you could touch me," I whispered. The drinks flowing through both of our systems and slowing down wasn't in sight.
"I wanna do more than touch you. I wanna take care of your body and cater to it," he said, sending chills over my body. His voice dropped when he said it. The sexual tension was clear; there was no denying that. It hung between us in that unspoken way that didn't require either of us to explain it. I found myself getting caught up in his lips again. I had to clear my voice to snap myself back.
"Listen, I believe in being honest. I know who you are. Do you know who I am?" I questioned cocking my head to the side.
He chuckled lowly under his breath. A knowing sound. "I know exactly who you are. I'd be a fool if I didn't. I heard earlier today you left that nigga to fend for the kids by himself, though," he said. The words didn't sting the way they might have earlier in the day. Instead, they settled in the air between us like information that had already been accepted.
"Y'all don’t miss nothin," I muttered. The world Jules lived in moved fast. Faster than most people realized. Information traveled quicker than feelings had time to catch up. "You know this will never go beyond these walls? I just wanna focus on myself and my kids. I'm just looking to take my mind away from things while I'm here." I said. I meant that. The last thing I wanted was another complication. Another man attached to my life in a way that made things heavier. This moment felt simple. A breath between storms.
He brought his finger to my lips. "Shhh you talking too much about the wrong thing," he said. His voice softened. "What you say we order a couple more bottles of this 42 up to my room. You drink with me and let me help you relax." He said, showing off his perfect white teeth to me.
The drinks I already had flowing through me made me feel free. Lighter than I had felt in months. Maybe years. Honestly, nothing was holding me back. I wasn't thinking about what a good wife would do. I was just sitting in a bar with a man who made me laugh after the worst day of my marriage.
I looked over at the shot I had on the bar and threw it back before holding out my hand for him to lead me to his room. For a brief moment before he stood up, I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The woman looking back at me looked different. Like someone who had finally stepped outside the life she had been holding together for everybody else.
After a few hours and several more drinks, I was throwed across the couch in his suite laughing. My head leaned back against the cushions and for the first time in what felt like years, my laughter didn't feel forced or careful. It came out loose and full from somewhere in my chest I hadn't heard from in a long time.
He had my feet in his lap and was massaging them, telling me a story about how he avoided an arranged marriage his uncle set up for him when he was 19. His hands were strong but patient, working slowly through the arches of my feet like he understood something about how tension lived in the body. Every time his thumbs pressed into the sore spots I didn't know I had, I felt another layer of the day slide off my shoulders.
The city lights poured through the tall windows of the suite behind him, soft gold and white reflections bouncing across the glass table in front of us. For a moment, I just watched him talk. The way his hands moved while he explained how he had disappeared for six months to avoid that marriage. His smile widened when he remembered the chaos it caused in his family. It felt strange listening to a man talk about freedom like it was something you fought for. "Enough about failed marriages." He said standing up walking toward the table that sat near the window that shined lights from the city. His tone was certain, like he understood something about the subject that didn't need to be explained twice.
I sat up on the couch, my eyes following his movements. The room was dim except for the city light bleeding through the window and the lamp beside the couch. It cast shadows across his shoulders as he reached for the hem of his shirt. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his toned body. He had markings up and down his chest that looked like they were made with a sharp knife. Thin raised lines that crossed his skin in patterns that looked deliberate instead of accidental. I suspected that they meant something, but I didn't ask about them. Some things you could tell were tied to stories people didn't hand out easily.
"Come," he said, waving for me to come over. His voice was softer now. I stood from the couch, standing beside him. The room suddenly felt smaller. In a way that made me aware of the space between our bodies. "Take your clothes off." He said with a big, cheesy ass smile on his face.
I blinked at him. "Take my clothes off?" I questioned him, turning my head to the side, making him chuckle.
His laugh rolled out low and easy. "I'm trying to give you a massage, Nia," My name rolled off his lips, sending chills through me.
Something about the way he said it felt deliberate. I unbuttoned my pants, pulling them off my body. The air in the room felt cooler against my skin now. I unbuttoned the shirt I had on, taking it off. I was standing there, left in a pair of panties. My nipples perked up as the air hit them. I watched him move his jaw around like his mouth started to water. His eyes didn't rush across my body the way I was used to, they moved slower, taking me in like he was studying something instead of claiming it.
He turned to me grabbing me by my waist picking me up placing me on the table. The movement surprised me just enough to make a small laugh slip out of my mouth. "Lay on your stomach." He directed lowly. I laid flat on my stomach and outstretched my hands. The glass table felt cool against my skin. I heard the soft twist of a jar opening. The smell of shea butter filled the room. He rubbed the shea butter in his hands before he started massaging my body from the soles of my feet to the hair on my head.
His hands moved slow. Like he understood exactly how much pressure to use without asking. Every muscle he touched seemed to melt under his palms. My calves first. Then the backs of my thighs. My shoulders loosened slowly as his hands moved across my back, kneading out knots I didn't realize had been sitting there for months.
I was so relaxed that I had my eyes closed. I wasn't sleep, but I wasn't here either. My mind drifted somewhere quiet, away from the years of carrying expectations I didn't even remember agreeing to. I felt him lift my torso up and position me on myknees with my ass up in the air. My body was so relaxed I couldn't reject him even if I wanted to. The truth was, I didn't want to. For so long, my body had belonged to my husband. In that moment, it just felt like mine again.
His touch shifted lower, and I felt the heat of his breath against my skin. His big hands started to roam over my ass before he gripped it a few times, kissing each of my cheeks. He took his thumb, rubbing circles in my ass, before he slid it from my asshole to my pussy lips. The feeling of his thumb rubbing circles on my clit made ripples through my body. My body was threatening to release myself wildly over his face and chest before he stopped making me gasp. He blew his cool breath on my clit before I felt his mouth latch on to my pussy like he was having the meal of his damn life. A small gasp slipped out of me before I could stop it. The sensation pulled a sound out of my throat that surprised me. My back arched instinctively. The tension that had been buried in my body for months seemed to unravel all at once. I cried out on that table like a baby. The sound echoed softly off the walls of the suite. My hands gripped the edges of the table as waves of sensation moved through me. It had been a long time since I'd felt that good. Not just physically, but in a way that reminded me my body was still capable of pleasure after everything it had carried.
For the next week, I had booked at the hotel, he catered to my body, massaged me with his hands and his full lips. The days blurred together slowly. Mornings started late with sunlight creeping through the curtains. Afternoons filled with room service trays and quiet conversations about places we had both been. Nights that stretched longer than they probably should have. Sometimes we talked for hours. Sometimes we didn't talk at all. But there was something strangely peaceful about it. Likewe had stepped outside of real life and found a place where expectations didn't exist.
He refused to have sex with me, though. The first night, I thought it was just a restraint. The second night, I thought maybe he was being careful. By the third night, I finally asked him why after climbing on his lap, trying to force him. He forced me off him and sat at the edge of the bed, looking at me like he had already thought about the answer more than once. He told me if we had sex, we'd cross the line of no return, and he wouldn't be able to honor my wishes of what we were doing not escaping these walls. At first, I didn't understand what he meant. Then it settled into my chest slowly. Sex would have tied something between us. A story that didn't belong to either of us outside that hotel. What we had instead felt different. Temporary and honest in a way that didn't demand anything beyond the moment. So, I didn't argue.
JULES
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The man I'd become stared back at me. The bathroom lights above the sink were too bright. They hit every line in my face, every shadow under my eyes, every inch of the man standing there pretending he had control over what was about to happen. I was dressed sharp. Black Armani suit and gold watch. Shoes polished so clean the floor light bounced off them. I didn't look like a man on trial. I looked like a man going to a business meeting. That was the point. Appearances mattered in rooms like this. Judges noticed. Jurors did too. Men who looked composed had a better chance of walking out of courtrooms than men who looked desperate.
Still, my jaw stayed tight. I didn't know what the fuck was about to happen. That bitch sent that box to my house, aint no telling what she sent to the judge or the DA. The thought sat heavy in my chest. Even dead, she still had a way of making noise in my life. I felt dumb as fuck. Stupid for thinking I had that bitch under control. That was the first rule about dealing with women like Jade. You never really controlled women like that. You just borrowed the illusion for a while. My hand came up, rubbing slowly over my beard. Crazy part about it, I found myself grieving the bitch, and I kept asking myself why with no answer. That part didn't make sense. It wasn't love. It damn sure wasn't loyalty, but it was something I didn’t have answers for.