Page 177 of Invisible Bars

And just like that, my quiet little girl turned into a damn storm.

God help whoever tries to take this woman from me… or hurt her in any way.

I wasn’t just protective; I wasprepared—prepared to go to war behind my wife, Naji Kors.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

NAJI

“You sure you ready to go back?” Imanio asked, standing by the front door to see me off to work—arms crossed, dressed like a quiet storm in a tailored, light brown suit that framed his broad shoulders and tapered waist to perfection.

Myhusbandlooked good.

Imanio hadthatlook… like one of those actors women would pause the TV for or claim as her ‘TV Husband’.

The nigga was just fine without even trying.

He smelled different that day too—which, honestly, wasn’t a surprise. After being invited into his room that first night, I noticed the setup immediately. There were no bottles cluttered on a dresser like some drugstore display; just a glass-encased shelf built into the wall beside his walk-in closet, recessed lighting casting a soft glow on a curated collection of high-end colognes. Everything was spaced intentionally—labels facing outward, no fingerprints. It didn’t take me long to realize where a quiet chunk of his money went and that he liked tosmell good.

The cologne Imanio wore that day had a spice with hints of vanilla and amber—clean, smooth, grown-man sexy. It smelled like the kind of cologne a person would lean into, not away from. I was dressed too, though not as intimidating. My uniform wassimple but clean—a navy, staff-issued polo tucked into fitted black joggers, paired with non-slip sneakers laced tight. My work badge was clipped neatly to my waistband, and a folded set of labeled feeding schedules peeked from the side pocket of my backpack, right where I always kept them.

I smiled, stepping closer.

“Imanio, we’ve… we’ve had this talk… at leastfivetimes this past weekend;twoof those times you were shirtless and distracting.”

He gave me that look—the one where his eyes narrowed just slightly and head tilted like he was debating whether to argue or eat me alive.

“Exactly,” he said, voice low. “And you still think I’m supposed to just let you walk out the door like I ain’t had yo’ legs around my neck since Saturday night?”

I was spiraling in slow motion.

We spent all Saturday night and Sunday wrapped up in each other— literally and emotionally. I slept in his arms, laughed in his lap, watched TV with him, and moaned into his mouth more times than I could count. No physical sex had taken place, and honestly I was scared—not of him, but of the things he’d said. Imanio didn’t just talk dirty; he talkeddirectand said things that made my stomach flip and my knees press together under the covers.

“Once I’m inside you, Naji… that’s it. No going back. I don’t do halfway. I’m not letting you walk normal or think straight for at least two days. You say yes to me, and I’m taking all of you—mind, body, soul, and every sound you try to hold back.”

He said that in a low voice, right up against my ear with a hand resting on my thigh like he was already halfway there.

And I believed him.

I started toseehim too. Imanio was no longer the ruthless, grumpy, emotionless guy I met; he was more curious, open,and vulnerable, even. He laughed alittlemore too, and I felt it in places I didn’t even know had nerves. Not to be mistaken, Imanio hadn’t turned soft, but he was definitelybreaking—in a good way… letting little cracks show.

“Question. You celebrate the Fourth?” he randomly asked.

“The fourth of July? N-No. I… don’t have family to celebrate it with for one. Most important, it’s not really a holiday forus.I mean… our ancestors were still picking cotton and dodging whips in 1776.”

His eyes met mine, and to my surprise, he nodded slowly.

“Facts.”

“I’d love to sit around and eat, b-but celebrating ‘independence’ when our ancestors weren’t even free? That’s l-like throwing a birthday party at somebody else’s funeral.”

That made him laugh. “Damn. You dramatic as hell, but accurate. I don’t celebrate it either. Same reason. I just—” he shrugged, “I show up for the ribs.”

“A-And the potato salad?” I giggled.

“As long as that shit don’t have onions and raisins in it.”

We both laughed at that. It felt… natural.