“I’m not many motherfuckers,” Tristan responded as he watched the expressions on Dwayne’s face. Annoyance. Mirth. Anger. Calm.
Well, that was interesting.
The dark-skinned man standing in front of him smiled, but Tristan wasn’t fooled. Dwayne was a predator. Dangerous. Deadly. But he was cautious of Tristan. He didn’t back down, but neither did he engage. At this, Tristan’s lips curled up in a smile of his own. He knew why Dwayne was still somewhat cautious. He’d recognized the same traits in Tristan that he saw in himself. The only difference between the two was that Tristan ate predators for breakfast.
In school, he’d come across the perfect descriptor for what he was.
Apex Predator.
As such, there was no motherfucker higher on the food chain than him.
The easy smile might fool some, but for those who recognized a kindred spirit, there was always a healthy dose of respect. Usually, he’d make men like Dwayne kneel, make him acknowledge the power that coursed through Tristan’s body. He’d decided to be generous today.
Dwayne’s body relaxed a bit before he looked down at his watch. A sign of disrespect. Orlando and Leo shifted, which Tristan caught in his peripheral. Shaking his head for them to stand down, he looked at Dwayne and raised an eyebrow. Is this really how you want this to go down, the look seemed to ask.
Smiling at him, D understood the look. Nodding his head in acknowledgment, he turned his gaze away for a moment before speaking again.
“No, you’re not other motherfuckers. I respect that. But before you threaten all manner of shit you’ll do to me in the name of Camille, you might want to understand just who it is you have by your side. Her father tasked me with watching over her since she was eight years old, and I take my job seriously. Her father? Let’s just say, I’d rather tangle with you than with him on any day of the week. And Camille? Well, she is definitely her father’s daughter. Of that, I have no doubt. So, before you threaten me again, you should check with her.”
That conversation was still running through his head as he lay in bed, Camille nestled in his arms. As he turned the conversation over in his mind, he knew he’d have to keep his eyes open. Watch her a little closer. Pay attention to her words a bit more. Had he underestimated her?
It wasn’t that he was worried about her or her knowledge of what he did for the family. There was something about the recent conversation he had with Dwayne and the comment made by Shandra at lunch today that had a red flag going up. It was time he dug a bit deeper to understand just who this woman was.
Not that he’d let her go even if he found some skeletons in her closet. No, that was never going to happen. Everyone had some secrets they wanted to keep hidden away from the public eye. He couldn’t fault her for that. But if there was something in her past that could come back to bite her, or him, in the ass, he needed to know what it was.
A mumble sounded from his sleeping beauty as she snuggled closer to him. Kissing the top of her head, he wondered how the fuck he’d gotten so lucky. He’d never wanted the whole family dynamic. He loved his parents, and his uncle and aunt, for giving him life and creating an environment where he could grow and succeed. But he’d never seen marriage and kids as an option for his life.
There was too much to do. Not only with the family but his own legitimate business interests. A wife and children had never entered the equation. Until he met Camille.
Inhaling deeply, he took in the smell of coconut that lingered on her skin. Even after all these weeks, he still hadn’t figured out how she always smelled so fucking good. Adjusting her slightly, he smiled when he noticed her black satin hair scarf was tilted to the side. Lifting one hand, he adjusted the material slightly to get it back in position.
That was one of the biggest lessons for him, and she’d had to school him on the essentials of how a black woman prepared for sleep. He’d learned a lot from his lady in the past months. Before meeting her, he wouldn’t have cared about a woman’s nighttime routine, only that their legs were open for him when he wanted to fuck.
With Camille, everything changed.
The softness of her skin soothed him when his demons asked him to give them free rein. Her thighs cradled him when his soul needed to be soothed. She allowed him access to her body without question. Whenever he needed her, she was there. No matter what he asked of her, she gave it to him.
In many ways, she humbled him. Helped him understand just how much she valued him, and their time together.
That he had her in his home was a testament itself. None of the women before Camille had ever stepped across the threshold of his home. With her, he’d brought her to his home within two weeks of their first date. There’d been this driving need to take her, make her scream his name as he fucked her in his home. In his bed.
Even now, there were little signs of her presence all around. He’d cleared out space in his massive walk-in closet for her work clothes. For her, work clothes meant jeans, T-shirts, and boots. That still was an odd thing for him to understand.
Then again, that’s what made her so special to him. She broke the mold on what a woman was or was not. Made the world stand up and pay attention to her as she was. Camille made her own path in the world, and she dared motherfuckers to challenge her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t all woman, because she was, and then some.
She was loving and sensitive and gave him that good pussy every fucking night. On the other hand, she called him out on his shit, cursed him out when he went “all caveman and shit” (her words), and reminded him almost daily that she was with him because she wanted to be, not because she needed to be.
Everything about her said she was all wrong for him. That she’d never fit in the family. They’d never accept her brashness, her skin color, or her unladylike ways. But when she smiled at him in that mysterious way that told him he was the only man for her, he wanted to whisk her away to a private haven built just for her.
At the end of the day, when she cuddled up to his side and asked him about his day, or showed that fierce protectiveness for her family, friends, and even him, he wanted to build a protective shield around her. His every instinct told him she was the woman for him. That he couldn’t ask for a better woman to be hisamata moglie.
Everything about her was strong, loyal, and fierce. Those traits would be needed in the future. Now that he’d tasted her, listened to her moan his name as her wet pussy pulsed around his dick, and given his soul something to hold on to, he was never letting her go.
His phone lit up, indicating a call was coming through. Picking it up, he saw that it was Franco. “What the fuck?” he muttered. They knew not to interrupt him unless it was something important. He adjusted his body, shifting Camille to the side as he swiped the screen.
“Ciao,” he grumbled into the phone.
“Ciao, Tristan.Mie scuse. We might have a situation with Junior.”