No, I mean he claims a chair. I’m not acting like a callow girl who’s fallen for an older man. Other people plop down—pop a squat.Sit. Heturns the space into his kingdom.
“Come.”
My arms fold. I don’t want a simple reply. I want depth. From a couple of feet away, Victor’s striking gaze sears my thighs. A jackhammer launches between my legs. I lean against a sleek end table, drawing my hands together to fall over my sex. The button-down covers my ass, but I’m not wearing panties and Victor’s hungry. Shit, I hope he’s ravenous. He has yet to reciprocate.
I displace my craving for him and ask, “Here I assumed you were British. Were you raised in Saudi Arabia?”
It finally clicks. The reason I was compelled to date Victor. The aura swirling around him reminds me of my beloved Harlem—diverse and cultured.
“No. That’s where I was immediately before arriving here, Lux.” He waves a hand, simple as that.
“Born?”I borrow his sharp approach. Last night, he learned every inch of my body, and I have been forthcoming with myself.Why’s he so guarded?
“London.”
My lips tense as I ask, “Raised?”
“Everywhere you could imagine.”
“Name some places,” I say through gritted teeth.Wow, I can be snappy too.
Victor’s irresistible chuckle makes me want to taste his taut abs and unzip his pants, placing a big wet kiss on his dick.
“Luxury, where were you born and raised?”
“Grew up in Harlem. I’m an only child, as you’re aware. I was deathly shy unlessmy songcame on the radio. FYI, almost every other song wasmysong. Nobody could tell me I had a voice only amother,” I take a deep breath, “could love. I was your typical awkward kid throughout school. Went to NYU, tried that.” Smiling fondly, I catch my second wind. “And I may have held everyartsymajor available before giving up. Victor, see how natural it is to speak?”
Even though Vic doesn’t reply, it’s clear I have all his attention.
Though I’m not a social butterfly, Victor draws me in. He listens without judgment as I share the longest relationship I was ever in with Arnold, whom I met in college. I can’t seem to stop talking, especially when Victor doesn’t stare at me like I should shut up. His response is refreshing. He . . . listens.
“We were having one of those lazy days with me drawing. I was an art major at the time.” My finger coasts over the lacquered counter I’m leaning on. “Arnold’s head in a book.”
I share how, as Arnold picked up his NYU hoodie to go home, a ring fell out.
“I was hesitant. He agreed. Come to think of it, maybe Arnold’s quick response that the ring was for Tiffany was a slip of the tongue. I might not have known they were married until the honeymoon ended.”
Victor’s brows lift. “Who is she?”
God, I love the sound of his voice. Aliyah had asked, “Who isthatbitch?”But Victor has a regal disposition.
“Tiffany was a fellow NYU student. They tag teamed some class projects together. He said Tiffany was serious, and she could throw a dinner party for business associates in the future. He was so sexist. Who’s to say she didn’t get the dream job, and he needed the skills to entertain her affluent associates?”
Oh, God. Shut up, Lux!
“Arnold ruined rainy days for me.”
“Rainy days?”
I take a tempered sigh instead of shoving my foot in my mouth. Maybe Victor’s a man of few words. I have to say he’s more attentive now than ever before.
“Ya know, constant drumming on the windows. The rich, earthiness. It was raining that day, which was why it was a lazy day. I had a million more reasons why I was fond of rainy days, but they no longer hold the same appeal. Now, the rain just nourishes my flowers.” I chew thoughtfully on my lip. “Anyway, I went home, had a good cry. Less than a month later, Dad and I moved to Brooklyn after...when...the nightmares became my new normal . . .” I dam up.
“Little One,” he sighs and beckons for me to come to him, which I do without hesitation. References about my height have always rubbed me the wrong way, but from Victor, I don’t mind. For the first time, the cold mask falls off Victor’s face, revealing a glimmer of tenderness. Either that or I’m still high off his intoxicating touch.
Victor’s strong arms wrap around me, and he plants me on his lap. Not straddling. Not indecent, just nurturing. I press my thighs to my chest, and his ropy arms become my safe space. The heat of his upper body warms me like a fireplace on a dreary night. “Tell me about growing up, Little One,” he says. “Tell me about you and your mum.”
11