Page 4

I climb the stairs of my twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion to the third-floor private suite that I share with my baby.

It’s been a long day of consultations, along with returning to the home of an “unsatisfied client” who wanted to review some of the design decisions I made for her daughter’s bedroom.

She had been on board with the design when I sketched it and reviewed it with her on numerous occasions.

She’d even had a hand in picking out some of the materials.

When the design was complete, she was so in love with the damn bedroom until her daughter returned home and decided that she didn’t like it.

Apparently, the girly girl teen that she sent off to college had done a lot of changing out of her Mama’s eyesight while she was gone. Somehow, Mama missed the memo that went out that her twenty-two-year-old daughter was not into pastels, cashmere, silks, and lace anymore.

Her new flair was for leather, reds, and blacks, and all things metal.

She wasn’t quite sure what to call the phase that her daughter was in.

After consulting with the daughter, it sounded to me like she just wanted her boudoir turned into a BDSM dungeon for her boyfriend, who was also moving in.

The boyfriend that she hadn’t told her parents was returning with her.

Before I created another design, I suggested to both independently and together that they needed to have a conversation. I told them both to call me after they did, and we could revisit the discussion at that time.

After that, I had to pick our youngest son, Zaccai, up from basketball practice because his best friend, whose parents' turn it was to run the carpool, had been sick that day. Zaccai hadn’t known that the kid hadn’t been at school because they weren’t in the same classes.

I had just pulled up at the house when he called me, begging me to pick him up from basketball practice. When I suggested that he call his older brother, Zayn, he told me that Zayn was at his girlfriend’s house and wasn’t answering the phone.

I’d tried Zayn as well and got the same results.

Then I called his girlfriend, Shana, who answered the phone.

Zayn had fallen asleep, but she woke him up.

As groggy as he sounded, I wanted to make him pick up Zaccai, but I didn’t want him driving my baby around when he wasn’t fully alert.

Hell, I didn’t want him driving around without being fully alert.

So, I’d gone back to pick up Zaccai, stopped to get us something to eat, and decided to eat at the restaurant since it was just the two of us. I’d listened attentively to hear everything about my baby boy’s day before we finally returned home.

That led to an hour of helping him with his homework before I could take some me-time. I have approximately half an hour before my man, Zaire, walks through those doors.

I strip my clothes as I close the double doors that are two feet away from the stairwell and begin walking through our living suite to our sitting room, bedroom, walk-in closets, and finally to our en suite.

I adjust the nozzles on all six showerheads and wait for the bathroom to steam up. I take in my weary appearance in the mirror.

“Bayleigh, girl, you need a facial and a massage. You’re starting to look every one of your forty-five years,” I tell myself, taking in my high cheekbones and thick eyebrows.

“Damn, you need to pluck those eyebrows too. Starting to look like two caterpillars latched together on your face.” I run my fingers over my thick eyebrows.

Turning away from the mirror, I step into the slate-blue tiled shower and begin my ritual. I wash my hair, figuring that I’ll wear it out in its naturally curly state tomorrow. Looking at my legs, I make a mental note to schedule my bi-monthly wax appointment tomorrow for all the critical areas.

I wash my body thoroughly twice before I press my hands against the tiled wall. It’s time for Zaire and me to take a vacation. We’ve both been working way too damn hard lately.

When I step out of the shower, I wrap my hair in a hair towel before drying my body off, applying my moisturizers to my body and face, and then stepping through his closet and into my closet.

I find a long, white, silky nightgown that outlines all my curves and slip into it. I’m not going to wear any panties tonight. I’m tired, and I’m sure Zaire will be too. His morning started at four-thirty, and it’s well after nine now.

I move from the closet into my bedroom and stop.

Zaire is stretched out in the middle of our Alaskan King bed. I climb onto the bed with him, and he stirs enough to wrap me in his arms.

“How’s my king feeling tonight?”

“Much better now that I see you.”

“Thought you were asleep.”

“No, just waiting for you,” he declares tiredly.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“The shower was going when I walked in. Zaccai said that you two just got home an hour before I did. I figured you were tired, so I decided to let you relax first.”

“First? As in, something is happening?”

Zaire sighs. “When isn’t there?” he asks, kissing my lips.

“What’s going on, baby?” I ask, unbuttoning his shirt.

Zaire sits up and lets me remove his shirt. I move on to unbutton his pants and belt before he stands so that I can shove them down.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Bay.”

“You need to. You already know that if you don’t, you’ll be talking about it in your sleep.”

Every now and then, he has these dreams where he gets so frustrated, he says little phrases related to what he’s holding inside. He tosses and turns throughout the night and then wakes up the next morning tired and grumpy.

“You’re right. Let me take a shower first.”

“Okay. I’ll head down to the kitchen and fix you something to eat.”

“No need. Our meeting was catered tonight,” Zaire professes, slipping out of his underwear and heading into the bathroom.

“Okay, I’ll be here waiting.”

Zaire nods and disappears. I grab my iPad and look over my schedule for tomorrow. I have an appointment with a client, and we’ll be meeting at the flooring store that I use. I send several email reminders about upcoming appointments and orders that I have placed.

After I send email reminders about those, I respond to a few of my emails before I hear him wrapping up his shower. Getting out of bed, I head back into the bathroom, where I’m waiting when he steps out of the shower.

I grab his towel from the towel warmer and dry his body off. His sighs are repetitive, and I know that something is bothering him badly.

I toss the towel into the hamper and drop to my knees in front of him. Taking his length into my hands, I wrap my lips around Zaire’s dick and suck him to the back of my throat.

“Ohh, fuck. Yes, my Queen. This is what I needed . . . ahhh shit,” he moans.

I’m pleased at the way that his arousal grows harder and thicker in my mouth and hands. Zaire’s hands go up to my head, removing my towel from my hair. Slowly, he pumps into my mouth.

“Aww, fuck, Bay. Yes, baby, yes,” he grunts in that deep, growly voice that I love.

My hands move from his length to cup his ass. I squeeze and moan at the feeling of his tight, muscular ass flexing against my palms.

The more that I suck Zaire’s meat, the more that I feel the tension easing out of him.

It always feels good to know that I am my man’s peace and protection from the world.

When he comes here to his castle, this is his fortress from all the attacks outside.

Our home is his safe space where he doesn’t have to worry about shit.

My arms are where happiness, peace, and love reside.

I take care of my man because he rocks hard for me. We’ve been down since day one when he was sixteen and struggling with life and the shit that had happened to his family.

So, I have no problem kneeling in front of him right now, sucking the shit out of his dick until he can’t remember his name. Yeah, I’m that woman that has him speaking in tongues and will make sure he doesn’t look at another bitch sideways or even fantasize about one.

Yes, he owns a strip club, but those bitches can’t do shit for him.

Not like I can. And it’s not just about the sex either.

I’m that woman who has plenty to bring to the table.

I built him into the man that he is today, and he appreciates me for it.

He shows me daily how grateful he is to have me by his side. And I don’t mind doing the same.

“Ohh, Bayleigh,” he groans again, and I pull him out of my mouth to suck on his nuts.

Zaire’s toes curl, and his hands fist into my hair, pulling so hard that my eyes sting. But I don’t stop because I want him to remember that he’s home and that whatever that world has out there for him can’t touch him behind these walls.

I shove him back into my mouth again and take him all the way down, picking up speed and using the spit and my hands to work him over, jerking him until he is shooting hot sheets of cum down my throat.

When I finish, I stand, open my mouth, and let him see me swallow. He smacks my ass.

“What can I do for you, my Queen?”

“I need nothing except for a good night’s sleep and for me to wake up in the morning with your face buried in this pussy. But if you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you, I’m gonna go in here and get some sleep. It’d be nice to have you curled around me.”

“I can do that,” he agrees, letting me tug him behind me.

We lie in the bed, and I love the feel of his warm, hard body against mine. He’s naked, and I’m still wearing the white, satin nightgown.

My baby falls asleep before me, and I know that we’ll get good sleep tonight. All is well in the world as I drift off to sleep—until he wakes me at two in the morning with two words. A name that I haven’t heard in ages.

Essence Hamilton.

I sit up in bed, staring straight ahead.

What the fuck?

3 – BAYLEIGH – MY SCREAMS

“Mm,” I groan, slowly struggling to come awake.