velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 19

ALAIA

Jaire's chest rises and falls; his snores create a calming rhythm to start my day. As marvelous and chiseled as his face, his abs display a happy trail that seamlessly connects to the groomed hair above his manhood. Temptation lulls me to tug at the sheets and expose his gorgeous flesh. Fellatio has never been a burden, but I never yearned to provide it. Salvia builds, remembering his thickness glazed with its shine. The modulation of his voice elevating and his exhales accelerating resurfaces in my mind.

"Fuck, Lai..."

God, last night was miraculous. Jaire's instinctive authoritativeness and shiver-inducing verbiage coaxed me to obey his every syllable. Despite his domineering exterior, he displayed attentiveness, subtly checking my comfort level with sweet-toned phrases like, "You love how that dick feels inside you, princess?"

His touch was reverent as if he was worshipping a goddess, each stroke a testament to his idolization. Exaltation flooded my altar, propelling my soul to the acme of heaven. I'd still be receiving his offerings if waking early wasn't essential.

Jaire senses my fingers tracing shapes on his chest and jerks awake. He wears a disapproving glare as if I've invaded his personal space. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," I say. The blankets rise to my shoulders, covering my puffy nipples.

His half-opened eyelids twitch as he rubs at them. In a muffled voice, he speaks lazily. Something about how he's not a morning person. Melatonin.

"Um, okay." With a huff, I lift myself and rest against the headboard. He turns on his side and grabs his cell: tapping, texting, and scrolling. "We gotta head out soon. I'm starving."

He opens a message from Sunni and closes it as fast as it pops onto his screen. Despite his quick reflexes, I glimpse Sunni's oiled, dark brown titties. Mezanmi, they're plump and pretty. If he's breaking it off with her, he should do it before she makes a fool of herself. I'd be furious if I sent nudes to a guy who no longer had an interest in me. Why hasn't he told her yet? You know what? That's none of my business. I'm not meddling or instructing him how to handle his hoes.

Since he doesn't reply, I add, "Also, I want to be in Malibu before the studio session. We shouldn't cut it too close."

"I got it, Lai. I asked you to give me a second. Can you do that?"

My lips fix to say, "Don't give me a fucking attitude," but I'm gonna give him a chance to wake up before I cuss his ass out.

"I couldn't understand you. You were slurring." His stunning profile catches my sharp gaze. Once again, I'm talking to the air. The fuck is his problem? "Whatever. I'm going to get dressed. You should, too."

"In a minute."

While he lazes, I invite myself into his closet and scout for an outfit. A maroon Nike sweatshirt with matching sweatpants calls my name, and I answer. As I dress, Jaire stays stationary, trapped by the digital world. Is this why he's regularly late?

When I exit the bedroom, he doesn't utter a word. Do I want to knock him upside his head? Yes, but it'd be senseless to fight when he's barely conscious. However, he will meet my wrath if he continues acting like a dick after I help him out. I'd hate to teach him the terrifying lesson of pissing off a Haitian woman so soon in our dynamic.

I charge into the kitchen and search the cupboards for glasses. We have to discuss reorganizing if I'll be over here frequently. Nothing's ever where you think it is in his place. After opening a million doors, I spot cups in a bottom cabinet. Who the hell keeps glassware low? Kissing my teeth, I fill the glass with filtered water. The time on the stove signals leaving in twenty minutes is optimal if we wish to enjoy breakfast before our journey. He'll resurrect by then, right?