Page 15 of My Only (My First, My Last)

She was dressed the way I thought I should have been tonight. A high-end designer suit, tailored to fit her slim waist and hips like a glove. Gold hoop earrings and bangles sparkled under the overhead lights.

No need to be fancy, my ass.

“This is my wife,” Hassani said. “Mrs. Ayla Franklin.”

“ Aww , nice to meet you, Ayla .”

Ayla.

Not Mrs. Franklin.

Every other person had called me Mrs. Franklin after Hassani introduced me that way.

Even Calese had called me Mrs. Franklin before I told her to just call me Ayla. Calese was cool, and we clicked instantly. So, of course she could call me by my first name.

I did not give Harper that same permission.

And as petty as it sounded, I didn’t like that she helped herself to that privilege.

“This place is gorgeous, isn’t it?” she said to Hassani. “But nothing compares to how laid-back but good you look.”

I jerked my head back so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

Hassani glanced at me, then let out a nervous chuckle. “ Aw , you know.”

She giggled. “Oh, Hassani! Guess what I just got my pretty hands on the other day?”

“What?”

She winked. “Another D-Slam original.”

Hassani’s brows arched high. “Oh, word?”

“Sure did.” She nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Special edition, of course. Only a few made.”

“Damn.” He chuckled. “That’s dope.”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “Hassani told me how much you hated the one he got for your kitchen?” She exhaled another one of her annoying little giggles. “I couldn’t believe it. A D-Slam original is one of the most coveted art pieces in the art world right now.”

I had to unclench my teeth before responding. “Is it now?”

“Oh, yeah .” She pressed a hand to Hassani’s chest, and my eyes followed every inch of that movement. “You’re so lucky to have a man with such a good eye for art.”

I stared at her hand—still on my husband’s chest—before rolling my eyes up at him.

Hassani, always quick on the hint, stepped out of her touch and wrapped an arm around my waist.

In that moment, I did not want him touching me.

Who was this woman?

I know she introduced herself as Harper Royce, but who was she? And why did she seem so damn comfortable with Hassani already?

I had never heard of this woman before tonight, but somehow, she knew what was in our home. She knew enough to call him Hass .

And he let her.

“What do you do on the project, Harper?” I asked.

It was a question I hadn’t needed to ask anyone else. Everyone else had been forthcoming about their roles in Greene Gardens.

Not Ms. Thang over here.

Too busy being a damn flirt, I guess.

“I’m the interior designer on the project,” she supplied, smiling. “I work very closely with Hassani since I specialize in modern, sustainable luxury interiors. I’m designing all of the interiors in the commercial and business properties.”

She tilted her head, faux curiosity lighting her features. “Has he not mentioned me to you?”

“Not a word,” I said, holding her gaze.

“ Hmph .” She feigned shock. “Strange.”

She turned to Hassani, her smile widening. “I’m shocked, Hass .”

He chuckled nervously.

And I was at my wits’ end with his damn chuckling.

“And,” Harper continued, casually combing her fingers through her hair, “since Hassani and I work so closely together and will be working closely together through the entire project, I guess you could say he’s kind of like my work husband.”

I blinked as hard as I jerked my head back. “Excuse me ?!”

“She’s joking,” Hassani said quickly, tightening his hold around my waist. “She’s just joking.”

I stared at her, my face completely blank while she grinned at me like she hadn’t just disrespected me to my face.

See, I was used to women throwing themselves at Hassani.

They saw the light eyes, the handsome smile, the tall physique, the charm. It made sense. It was easy for them to want to be seen by him. I’d dealt with it for years, even before we started dating.

As teens, it was the girls who wanted his attention—who just needed him to look at them long enough for them to get lost in his eyes.

As adults? Same setup. The girls had just grown up.

But this one?

Harper Royce?

Nah.

She was different .

We had been speaking for five minutes, and I already saw how skilled she was at appealing to his interests.

It was deliberate.

Intentional.

But still discreet .

Like a scorpion hiding in a stiletto heel.

That D-Slam sculpture in my kitchen was hideous.

Every piece of art that retired basketball player, Darren Slammons, made was ugly as hell.

His work was widely critiqued for being overpriced nonsense.

But here Harper was, acting like he was the next Michaelangelo.

Like my husband was a genius for recognizing Darren’s so-called artistry.

She was leaning into this shared interest between them.

Except, I knew better.

I saw right through her shit.

The entire time she spoke to us, she only engaged with me when it helped craft the image she was trying to sell to Hassani.

And that was a big problem.

I didn’t like that.

Not one damn bit.

“Anyway,” Hassani said, his voice light but firm, “we were just about to head home?—”

“ Aw , no! Why so soon?”

Harper did a playful little dance, swiveling her slim hips from side to side before resting her hand on Hassani’s arm.

“The night is young. Why are you guys leaving so early?”

I could feel my pressure rising the longer I stood in this woman’s presence.

Her audacity was suffocating me.

I couldn’t take another minute of it.

“Harper,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “It was nice meeting you.” I peeked up at Hassani before refocusing on her. “You have a good night.”

She blinked, her smile faltering just a little before she quickly fixed it.

“The pleasure was all mine… Ayla .”

The sound of my name on her lips left a bad taste in my mouth.

Her focus slid back to Hassani, her dark eyes brightening under his gaze. “So, Monday?”

Hassani nodded. “Monday.”

I ran my fingers over my coils, inhaling a slow, deep breath.

“Okay.” She smiled again. “Until then.”

Hassani lowered his hand to mine, threading his fingers between my own as we turned for the exit.

Only when we said our goodbyes to Bryant and Zoe did I speak again.

And those goodbyes were the only words I said from the museum gallery to his car in the parking garage.

The only words I said while we merged onto the highway and left the city behind.

For half an hour, silence sat heavy between us, lightened only by the quiet hum of R&B playing through the speakers.

Then finally, I broke it.

“I do not like Harper.”

Hassani said nothing at first.

His fingers stroked through his beard as his other hand tensed around the steering wheel before he slowly released the pressure.

“She was so inappropriate, Hassani.”

“She’s harmless, baby.”

I whipped my head in his direction.

“Are you kidding me?” I let out a scoffing laugh. “That woman lit up in front of me with her eyes locked on you. I could feel her manipulative ass before I even saw her.”

“A. Boogie?—”

“And you’re supposed to be working closely with her?” I cut in. “Something she just had to make a point of?”

I stopped to take a slow breath, my heart hammering now.

“I’m used to women flirting with you. I don’t like it, but I’m used to it. It’s what comes with being with…” I exhaled, shaking my head. “ You .”

He glanced at me.

“But I’m not okay with being disrespected the way Harper disrespected me, tonight.” I shook my head, staring out the windshield. “I’m not .”

Hassani sighed. “Do you trust me?”

I turned to him, brows furrowed. “What?”

His eyes were still on the road, but his voice was low. Steady. “Do you trust me?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

“An important one.” He licked his lips, shifting his grip on the wheel. “A, I know where home is. Aight?”

I sucked my teeth and looked away.

“People are gonna be people ,” he continued. “Women are gonna flirt, and… whatever. I don’t care about none of that.” His voice softened. “The only thing I care about is you trusting me .”

“You know I trust you,” I muttered. “But this isn’t about that.”

“Ayla, you know I don’t entertain that bullshit. Come on, now.”

“And yet,” I said, turning my head to him, “this woman walked right up to a married man and greeted him like she was meeting her date at a bar.” My jaw clenched.

“I trust you. That goes without saying. But while trust is important?” My voice hardened.

“Being heard by you? Is just as important to me .”

I turned in my seat, facing him fully now.

“Feeling like what I say is heard and matters is important to me. You know I don’t trip over this kind of shit. You, of all people, know that.”

“I know.”

“So know that if I’m saying something to you?” I reached out and pressed a hand to his biceps.

Only then did he glance at me.

“I want to be heard,” I said. “I need to be heard.”

I held his gaze until he broke it to focus on the road.

“And what I say needs to matter to you.”

His throat bobbed. “It does matter.”

“Then hear me when I say I don’t like her. And I really need you to be careful with her because this thing she’s doing?” I shook my head. “The thing you are calling harmless?” I squeezed his arm. “It’s anything but harmless.”

His lips pressed together, but he nodded.

“And that’s me speaking to you not just as your wife, but as your friend , baby.”

With that, I turned back in my seat, letting the silence settle between us.

I tried to shake it off.

Tried to let the night go.

Tried to brush off the interaction with Harper.

But the shit wouldn’t leave me.

It clung to me.

Sat in my spirit.

That woman wasn’t just flirty. She wasn’t just bold.

She was determined.

And worse than that?

She felt like a valid threat.

When we arrived home, Hassani opened the front door, holding it for me.

I walked through the door, kicked off my sandals, and stormed toward our bedroom.

But before I could take another step, he caught my hand, locking his pinky around mine.

I closed my eyes and sighed, stopping in place.

He always did this.

With his pinky still hooked around mine, he moved in close behind me, his warmth reaching me before his touch.

In my ear, he whispered, “You mad at me?”

I licked my lips, keeping my eyes shut, not wanting to say yes.

But not willing to lie either.

I didn’t even know what I expected from him tonight.

It was a work event. It’s not like he could’ve been rude to Harper or checked her, no matter how blatantly she disrespected me. That wouldn’t have looked right, especially with their project starting Monday.

But still…

Why hadn’t he told me about her?

Why was I just now hearing her name for the first time, yet she knew enough about us to mention the sculpture in our home? Enough to call him by a nickname?

I felt blindsided.

Out of the loop.

And I hated that most of all.

I thought Hassani told me everything.

His pinky loosened from mine as he stepped in front of me.

Then, with those golden eyes locked on mine, he lifted our hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my pinky.

Then another.

I swallowed, my pulse kicking up when he gave me that look. The one that always turned something hot and weak inside me.

“No take-backs, right?” he said softly, reciting the promise we made to each other at the altar.

And as always, I answered, “Forever us.”

Then he dropped our hands and crashed his mouth into mine.

I sighed against his lips, my body betraying me as he backed me into the wall closest to our front door.

He parted my lips, slid his tongue inside, and I melted.

One strong hand gripped my ass, the other lifting me effortlessly, holding me against him as he moaned into my mouth.

I always unraveled when he touched me.

Always softened under the weight of his body.

The sound of his belt unbuckling made my stomach tighten.

I giggled against his lips. “Don’t you wanna go upstairs and do this?”

Hassani hiked my pencil skirt up over my hips and eased my panties to the side.

“I can’t wait that long,” he admitted, voice thick with need.

Slowly, he let me slide down the wall, guiding me onto him.

I exhaled all the air out of me, clinging to his back as he filled me.

His thrusts were slow, intentional—each one long, deep. Balanced. Controlled.

He owned every inch of my body, moving inside me with a kind of patience that made me ache for more.

I let my weight fall into his arms, trusting that he had me.

“You’re the only woman I got eyes for, A. Boogie,” he said between groans, rolling his hips deeper. “The only woman I’ll ever come home to.”

His breath was hot on my lips as he rocked into me, slow and devastating.

“‘Cause you’ve been the only woman who’s ever felt like home to me. Ever.” His hands gripped me tighter, his next thrust hitting right there. “And you always will.”

I moaned against his mouth, wanting so badly for his words to be enough.

And for a moment…

They were.

I let them sink into my skin, deep inside me, just like him.

I let them warm me the way they always had.

But love alone isn’t always enough.

And I learned that the hard way.