Page 39

ALLURE

I hadn’t stopped buzzing since the night Riot made love to me.

Everything felt heightened now. My skin was more sensitive to the wind brushing over it.

My breath came easier, but my heart raced quicker.

Even food tasted better. The sky looked bigger.

It was like my body had finally learned something it had been aching to know all along.

And now that it knew, it couldn’t forget it. I couldn’t forget him.

We’d made love again that morning, slow and deep, right there in the brownstone kitchen after I came down for coffee and found him shirtless, sweat on his temples and fire still in his eyes.

We didn’t even make it to the couch. Just bent me over the counter and whispered my name like a prayer until I fell apart in his arms again.

Now, walking out the door felt heavier than I expected. Like I was leaving some part of me behind every time I stepped away from him.

“Text me when you get there,” he’d said, pulling me into a kiss that curled my toes and heated up places that didn’t need to be hot with me on my way to see my mother.

I kissed him back like it might be the last time, fingers brushing his jaw, heart tight in my chest. “I will.”

Then I was gone, stepping into the bright Manhattan afternoon, sunglasses hiding the emotion still lingering in my eyes.

Today wasn’t about Riot. It wasn’t about love or pleasure or the new life I was trying to build.

Today was about facing the past.

My mother had flown into the city and asked to meet at a hotel downtown. She didn’t say much over the phone, just that she was in town for a few days and wanted to see me. I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t laid eyes on her since I was sixteen. Since the morning I disappeared.

I took the elevator to the fifteenth floor and walked the hallway slow, my heels echoing off the polished marble. My palms were damp. My heart rattled in my chest like it was trying to warn me.

When she opened the door, I froze.

She looked… older. Not old. But older. Her eyes were the same, warm brown, wide and expressive, but there were lines there now.

A sadness that hadn’t been etched into them before.

Her hair was shorter, styled in soft curls that framed her face.

But when she saw me, all of that faded, and for a second, she was just my mother again.

“Allure,” she breathed, voice catching.

I stepped into her arms before I could think, before I could stop myself, and hugged her like I used to when I scraped my knee or had a bad dream. She held me close, tighter than I expected, her fingers pressing into my back like she didn’t want to let go.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and pulled back. “I have so many questions.”

Her smile wobbled. “We’ll talk all about it. Let’s catch up,” she replied.

She stepped aside and motioned for me to come in. The suite was clean and expensive, the kind of place that said she hadn’t been struggling while I was gone.

We sat on the couch, and talked about my experience away and then I hit her with, “Why didn’t he come for me?”

Her lips thinned. “Allure, sweetheart… it was so long ago.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She folded her hands in her lap, eyes flicking away from mine. “Your father… he was devastated. We both were. We thought you were dead.”

“I wasn’t. I was alive. For ten years.”

“I know that now, but?—”

“You didn’t look for me?” My voice cracked, sharp with disbelief.

Her eyes filled with tears, but they felt like a deflection, not regret. “We thought you were dead. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Why wouldn’t you find out who did it and avenge my death. Daddy had the muscle.” I pressed. “Why did daddy stop looking? Why did you just give up?”

Silence. Long. Heavy.

Then finally, “We did what we could.”

“No. You didn’t. You did what was convenient.” I stood, heat creeping up my neck. “Tell me the truth. Did he look for me?”

She looked up, and I could see it guilt, buried deep in the lines of her face. “Allure…”

“Tell me why my father didn’t come for me!”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at me with this hollow look in her eyes, like the truth was rotting inside her and she didn’t have the strength to say it out loud.

That’s when I knew.

She wasn’t telling me everything.

And maybe she never would.

But I had waited ten years for someone to come save me. And it came via the help of strangers. Not those that I thought loved me. My mother was holding something back and I’ll eventually find out what really happened. No matter what it cost.

The reunion with my mother was bittersweet. On one hand, I was happy to see her. On the other hand, there was something strange in the way that she received me. It was as if she wasn’t as happy to see me.

When I got outside, I called an Uber Black to take me back to Riot. His presence made everything fade away. Whenever I was with him, he made me forget the horrors I had once faced. Being around my mother made it all come back.

As I settled in the backseat of the ride, I texted my cousin Diori.

Me: Something is off with my mother.

Diori: What do you mean?

Me: She just seems very weird when I ask about my father or why they didn’t come for me. I need you to ask around and find out why they didn’t come for me.

Diori: I’ll get on that for you. Love you, sis.

Me: Love you too.

Hopefully, I’d have some answers soon.

When I walked back into the brownstone, everything in me exhaled.

It was like the second the door closed behind me, the tension that had been living in my shoulders since I’d seen my mother finally loosened its grip.

Riot’s scent hit me first and then the sound of music floating low from the Bose speakers.

“Baby?” I called out.

“I’m down here,” he replied from below, voice echoing up from the basement.

I blinked. The basement? I hadn’t even seen that part of the house yet.

I followed the sound down the narrow stairwell and stepped into a space that made me stop cold.

It was a studio.

My studio.

Fabric bolts lined one wall, rolls stacked in a custom oak rack like they’d been waiting for me.

In the corner stood a sleek white cutting table, glossy and untouched, surrounded by mannequins in different sizes.

There was a high-end sewing machine already threaded, plus shelves stocked with sketchbooks, pencils, shears, pins, buttons, zippers, even thread in every color I could imagine.

A drafting table sat under a skylight well, letting natural light spill in even from the basement.

The whole room was glowing. Alive. It was more than just a workspace.

It was a dream manifested into something tangible.

I turned slowly, my chest tight, eyes already stinging with tears. Riot was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching me like he was proud of himself. Like my reaction was the only thing he needed today.

“I—” My voice caught in my throat.

He pushed off the frame and came toward me slow, his hands sliding around my waist. “You don’t ever have to wait on your future. Not in this house.”

Tears slipped free before I could stop them, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my face into his chest. “You did all this for me?”

He kissed the top of my head. “I did it because you deserve to have a space to create. A space that’s yours.”

I pulled back, my eyes tracing every corner of the room again. “Riot… this is… it’s everything.”

He smiled, slow and sure. “Good. Because it’s only the beginning.”

I didn’t even know how to process the depth of what I felt in that moment. No one had ever poured into me like this. Not just with gifts, but with intention. With foresight. He didn’t just believe in my talent. He carved out room for it to thrive.

“I got one more thing,” he said, brushing a thumb over my cheek.

“More?” I laughed through the tears.

He took my hand and led me upstairs to the living room, where he dropped onto the couch, pulling me into his lap like I weighed nothing.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he started, rubbing slow circles against my thigh. “About what really matters. What I want to build. Who I want to be.”

I studied him carefully, waiting for the catch.

“I’ve decided to give the animals away.”

My breath stopped. “What?”

“To sanctuaries. All of them. I’ve already been reaching out, getting things in motion.

Places where they’ll be safe. Cared for.

Where they can live out their days without being some rich man’s trophy or part of a power flex.

I’ve been watching you, the way you care…

the way you see things. And I realized, I want to build something cleaner. Realer.”

Tears welled in my eyes again, different this time. Not because of the gift, but because of the shift. Because he wasn’t just changing his life—he was letting go of the darkness he’d once clung to for power.

“I don’t want to be the man who keeps things in cages anymore,” he whispered.

I leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, tasting the promise in his mouth. My heart expanded, stretching in ways I didn’t know it could. This was the kind of love people wrote about. The kind that broke curses. That rewrote legacies. That turned haunted men into protectors.

“I love you,” I whispered against his lips.

He pulled me in tighter, his forehead pressed to mine. “You make me want to be more than I was.”

His hands slid down to grip my hips, and the energy between us shifted, thickened. The way he was looking at me now—like I was something he needed to devour—made heat and wetness swarm my pussy.

"You know what you do to me?" His voice dropped to that dangerous register that made my thighs clench. "Walking around here looking like that, smelling like that..."

"Riot..." I breathed, but he was already moving, hands sliding under my dress, fingers tracing the edge of my panties.

"Nah, baby. I need you to understand something." He shifted me on his lap so I could feel how hard he was beneath me. "Every time you leave this house, I count the minutes till you come back. Every. Single. One."

His fingers found me wet and ready, and he groaned deep in his chest. "This for me?"

I nodded, already losing myself in the way he touched me—confident, possessive, like my body was territory he'd claimed.

"Words, Allure."

"Yes," I gasped as he slipped two fingers inside me. "Always for you."

"That's my girl." He worked me slow at first, watching my face like he was memorizing every expression. "But I think it's time we try something new."

Before I could ask what he meant, he was lifting me, positioning me over him. My dress bunched around my waist as he freed himself, and I felt the thick head of his dick pressing against my entrance.

“I Wait," I breathed, suddenly nervous. "I've never..."

"I know, baby." His hands steadied me, strong and sure. "But you're gonna ride me. Gonna take what's yours."

The way he said it, like I owned him as much as he owned me, made something fierce bloom in my chest. I braced my hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, and slowly started to sink down.

"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Just like that. Take your time."

But I didn't want to take my time. Not anymore. I wanted to feel all of him, wanted to know what it was like to be in control. I slid down inch by inch until he was buried deep, stretching me in ways that made stars burst behind my eyelids.

"Look at you," he growled, hands spanning my waist. "Taking all this dick like you were made for it."

I started to move, tentative at first, finding a rhythm. His hands guided me, helped me roll my hips in ways that made us both groan.

"That's it. Ride that shit." His head fell back against the couch, gold teeth catching the light as his mouth fell open. "Goddamn, Allure."

The power of it—of being on top, of watching this dangerous man come undone beneath me—was intoxicating. I moved faster, chasing the pleasure building between us.

"You feel that?" He gripped my hips harder, helping me bounce. "Feel how deep I am? How good we fit?"

I could only moan in response, lost in the sensation of him hitting spots inside me I didn't know existed.

"This pussy mine," he growled, sitting up suddenly to capture my mouth in a heated kiss. "Say it."

“Yours," I gasped against his lips.

"And this dick?"

"Mine," I said fiercer, grinding down harder.

"Fuck yes, it is." He wrapped one arm around my waist, using his strength to move me faster, harder. "Take what's yours, baby. Make me remember who I belong to."

The couch creaked beneath us as we moved together, our bodies finding a rhythm that felt ancient, primal. His mouth found my neck, sucking marks into my skin that I knew would last for days.

“Riot," I whimpered, feeling that familiar tension building. "I'm close."

"I know, baby. I can feel it." His thumb found my clit, circling in time with our movements. "Let go for me. Show me how good I make you feel."

When I came, it was with his name on my lips and his hands holding me like I might float away. He followed right after, groaning deep and raw as he filled me, marking me from the inside out.

We stayed like that for long moments, connected, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured, pressing kisses along my jaw.

"What a way to go," I teased, making him laugh—that deep, rumbling sound I was becoming addicted to.

He stood suddenly, still inside me, carrying me toward the stairs. "We're not done. Not even close."

As he carried me to our bedroom, I realized this was what I'd been missing all those years in captivity. Not just freedom, but this—being wanted, being cherished, being claimed by someone who saw all of me and wanted more.

Tomorrow I'd worry about my mother's secrets. Tonight, I was exactly where I belonged.