Counting the seconds, I allowed myself to momentarily surrender to the safety I felt being in his arms. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally too. There were so many things about Ishmael that made him dangerous, but this feeling… this feeling always made him feel safe. He placed a tender kiss on my neck that made my nipples harden before releasing me. Taking me by the hand, Ishmael led me into his home.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been to Ishmael’s home, this one at least, but this was the first time I’d seen it decorated like this. The candles, rose petals, and soft music gave a feminine touch to his otherwise masculine home. The bottom layer of his home was loft style – open and spacious. There were no walls separating the living room, dining room, and kitchen. He also had a small little nook that served as his chill area that had his smoky gray leather recliner, a small side table with a few books stacked atop it, a silver lamp, and his acoustic guitar.
Ishmael was probably one of the most ruthless, dangerous, drug dealers I’d ever known, but there was a second side of him that was soft, sensual, and sweet. One that loved playing and listening to live music – specifically Jazz because he said it calmed his nerves. That, and fishing.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking around his living room. “Is this the surprise?”
“Yea. You like it?”
Ishmael looked at me as I took in his effort. It was the sweetest and most romantic thing any man had ever done for me. And while a part of me wished it would have made me all warm and fuzzy inside like the average woman, it scared the shit out of me.
“Looks more like a date than a surprise.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
I looked into his eyes, unfamiliar with what was inside of them as he looked back at me. “As long as you’re paying, you can have whatever you want.”
“You know money ain’t nothin’ to a nigga like me.”
And that was true. Ishmael never had an issue coming out of his pocket. His motto was one that I took to heart. Upon our first meeting, I couldn’t help but wonder why someone like him would be in need of my services. Not only was he extremely handsome with a captivating vibe; Ishmael was hood royalty. I was sure there were plenty of women lined up to have him.
After he took that loss, though, he didn’t have any plans of getting close to another woman any time soon, so he came to me for sex and companionship when he needed it. And he would always say, we all pay one way or another, might as well pay for what the fuck you want.
“I know. So what’s on the agenda for the night?”
My hands scrolled down his muscular chest, desiring to feel it with nothing left between us. I craved money, yea, but I ached for Ishmael.
“Dinner, conversation, and…” He paused and smiled before placing a kiss to the center of my forehead. Ishmael slapped my ass as he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and released me. “Some else upstairs.”
Just the thought of what he had upstairs had my pussy leaking. I was ready to get dinner over with now! The smell of food permeated the room, so I figured if dinner wasn’t done it would be soon. After asking him if he needed help with anything and nodding when he declined, I made my way over to the dining room area and took a seat at his black, marble table. I didn’t want them to, but my eyes kept going back to the living room.
To the rose petals that were scattered across the hardwood floor and brown tables. To the candles. This time, I smiled and felt that feeling that had me holding a squeal hostage. Inhaling a deep breath, I forced myself to get my shit together as I sat back in my seat.
I wasn’t this girl, and I didn’t intend to be.
The first time Ishmael returned, it was with a bottle of Hennessy for him and Peach Crown for me. He set the bottle in front of me along with a small bottle of apple juice to mix it with. I poured him a shot then made myself a quick mixed drink. Unable to sit still any longer, I stood and met him in the kitchen. Ishmael had told me before that he could cook, but I never thought I’d see the day where he actually cooked for me.
Gripping his arm, I stood behind him and smiled as I looked around him to see what he was cooking. “Probably should have asked sooner, but are you allergic to anything I need to know about?”
My smile widened as I shook my head. “No. This smells really good. What is it?”
“Cajun shrimp alfredo. Got some garlic bread in the oven. Is that cool?”
“Absolutely. I love alfredo.”
Standing next to him, we began to talk about our favorite things. It started with food and switched to movies, colors, hobbies, places and seasons. By the time we were done, the pasta sauce and garlic bread was too. We fixed each other’s plates then headed to the dining room, having the most random conversation about death and reincarnation.
It came about because I told him that my favorite holiday was Christmas, and he told me one of his favorite holidays when he was a child was Halloween. He used to enjoy dressing up and scaring his younger siblings before getting sick off the candy they’d gotten. So he started telling me about the Halloween him and his cousins and siblings went to a graveyard and pretended to be people rising from their graves.
Man. If I would have seen that shit, I would have jumped into a grave! That led to us talking about if we were ready to die. With his lifestyle, he was ready for whatever. I, on the other hand, wanted to live for as long as I possibly could. The thought of spending eternity anywhere – heaven or hell – was overwhelming. It never ended. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that. Like at all.
“So are you saying you don’t believe in heaven and hell?” I asked, putting a piece of shrimp on my fork.
“I do, but a part of me believes in reincarnation too.”
He went on to talk about how it was odd that one person died every twelve seconds while another was born every thirteen. And in a sense, it made sense that those souls were being reborn. But that was something I still couldn’t fully accept as truth.
“If reincarnation was real, would you want to come back as yourself?”
He thought over my question intently as he chewed his pasta. “I would; I would just do some things differently.”
I would have asked him to elaborate but his expression grew cold and I couldn’t help but wonder if those things were things he didn’t want to discuss. Trying to lighten the moment I asked, “Okay. So, let’s just say seventy years from now we’re in the same space and one of us dies…”
Ishmael cut me off to ask, “Is this your way of saying you plan to be wit’ a nigga for life?”
An irresistibly devastating grin spread across his face, keeping me from being able to reply right away. Brushing it off, I chuckled and shook my head.
“Not at all. I’m just saying, if it were to happen, how would you feel in that moment? Death scares me, so if someone died in the same house as me, I would freak the hell out.”
We both shared a light laugh, and his smile lingered when he answered me. “So what would you do? Cry or some shit?”
He said it, as if it was the weirdest reaction he’d ever heard of! “Hell yea! I’d be bawling my eyes out. And if someone really close to me died, like my mother, I wouldn’t be no more good after that. That shit would eat at me for the rest of my life.”