Page 14

I shouldn’t have opened the door when he came back a month later. I shouldn’t have gone anywhere with him.

Every part of me knew it.

But when Priest showed up at my door, looking and smelling good, and asked me to come with him on vacation—I said yes.

With no apology or explanation from him.

Something in me felt I didn’t deserve either because this man had a wife, and I made the choice to fuck with him over my better judgment—from the moment I let him in, from the first time I spread my legs for a married man had no right.

I had silenced my conscience so many times that I felt no shame.

Asking for an apology would mean I thought I deserved one—that I saw myself as some kind of victim in all this. But I didn’t. I was complicit. Maybe even guilty. I had already crossed so many lines with him. Why not this one ?

So now, to ask why, or expect better from him… it would feel hypocritical. So i packed and grabbed my passport.

It was my first time on a private jet. He didn’t tell me where we were going—he just slid his phone across the seat when we got on the plane and showed me the location.

Bora Bora. The kind of place I’d only seen in background photos on rich girls’ Instagram pages.

I blinked, looking between him and the glowing screen. “You serious?”

His lips curved. “You said you’d never seen clear blue water. So I’m fixing that.”

My heart did a flip. This was the sweetest thing anybody had done for me.

Before I could respond, he reached over and brushed my hair off my shoulder, fingers trailing slow down my arm.

I turned my face, kissed him. Not soft. Not sweet.

I kissed him nasty—deep, sliding my tonguein his mouth, clashing teeth.

This was the kind of kiss that left my mouth wet, lips swollen, and his eyes glazed.

He groaned, aggressively brought his hand up to grip my neck, holding me in place.

I pulled away before he could get too worked up, licked my lips, and reached for the silk eye mask on the seat beside me.

“I’m taking a nap,” I said, sliding it over my eyes. “Wake me up when we land.”

He chuckled low but didn’t argue. His hand stayed on my thigh the entire flight.

We landed in the dark and were driven straight to a villa that floated over glowing turquoise water. The place smelled like hibiscus and money. White linen everywhere. A soaking tub big enough to fit five people. Infinity pool. Champagne chilling on arrival.

“I’m not mad at you anymore,” I told him as we stepped onto the deck.

“You were mad at me?”

“I still kind of am.”

“Why?” he asked, like he didn’t know. I felt myself about to catch an attitude—he was trying to prod some type of emotion out of me.

All I said was, “You disappeared.”

He nodded. “And I came back.”

“True. So I’m leaving it in the past.”

“Good.” He kissed my neck.

I let it end there, because my stupid heart still did that flip thing whenever he touched me.

And he touched me constantly.

In the pool. In the bed. Against the balcony railing while the sun came up behind us. He was everywhere—rough when I needed it, slow when I didn’t expect it. Possessive. Hungry. Silent unless I asked something first.

He held me close when he thought I was asleep. Kissed my shoulder like I was made of breakable things. And when he whispered mine against the back of my neck, I started to believe it.

On the fourth day we ate dinner in an expensive restaurant under string lights, drank wine with names I couldn’t pronounce. He fed me lobster with his fingers like we were starring in some luxury ad.

He actually laughed here. Like… belly-laughed. Teased me when I fell getting off a paddleboard. Mocked my fear of jellyfish. Rolled his eyes when I couldn’t open the fancy sunscreen he insisted I wear. When I told him I was Black, he reminded me Bob Marley died of skin cancer.

“I like this ponytail,” he said, tugging gently at the ends. “The way you screamed about me getting your hair wet had me thinking I was gonna have to cough up a few thousand to get it redone.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t pull away. Earlier that day, I’d had a fresh silk press before he decided we needed to jump in the deep end of the pool—together. No warning. Just hands around my waist and splash.

Luckily, my hair was bra-strap length, and the weight of it helped. A little gel brought out the curls in my 4C texture, so it ended up looking cute.

“I hate you,” I said playfully, nudging Priest’s chest with the back of my hand.

We were standing near the fire pit on the beach. A few other couples lingered nearby—laughing, sipping cocktails, not paying us much attention. The ocean was dark and glittering behind us. Music played low from hidden speakers.

Priest’s expression changed instantly.

He grabbed my wrist, his nails biting into my skin.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he snapped, loud enough that heads turned.

My stomach dropped.

I immediately knew the mistake I’d made. “I was joking,” I hissed, trying to pull my hand back. “Priest—let go.”

His grip didn’t loosen. “You don’t say that to me. Ever. I don’t give a fuck if you’re smiling when you say it.”

People were definitely watching now.

“Priest,” I said through clenched teeth. “Don’t embarrass me.”

His jaw flexed. “Then don’t play stupid games.”

“Let. Me. Go.” I yanked my arm, and he finally released it, his breathing heavy, like a bull .

I stepped back, rage burning under my skin, but I kept my voice low. “This shit is no longer cute, Priest. It’s one thing to do this shit in private, but a whole other to do it in front of a bunch of people.”

He didn’t say anything. His face just got harder.

Fuck him. He could be mad.

I turned on my heel and walked off barefoot through the sand, heat rising in my face from the embarrassment. From the way my chest ached even though I knew better.