Eternal Fantasies (FTM x Fem)

Chapter Three

RAZIEL

"Can we go to your room?" The goddess on my lap requests, her honeyed drawl as courteous as it is alluring. "I need it."

Though my mind has wandered to inappropriate places with Zamira for months, my imagination could never concoct a melody so dulcet. When I heard "Nobody's Supposed to Be Here" being sung acapella, I wondered who the hell had the nerve to sing a soulful ballad so powerfully with their own flair. Rio had released my hand, enraptured by the voice himself.

"Papi, it's an angel!" He exclaimed, his little legs running towards the heavenly notes.

I strolled behind him. My pace picked up as the song hit the bridge, the soloist's vocals swelling. When I got to the doorway, I witnessed my baby momma getting her ass ripped to shreds by none other than Zamira McBride. Mir sang Eve into the ground with a cold-blooded stare, fluctuating modulations with spine-shivering ease.

The choreographer's deep, dark brown skin and equally mesmerizing chestnut-shaped eyes entrapped me from our first collision. At the time, she was 19, my little sister's new friend at UCLA. I was 22, freshly graduated from Princeton University, releasing an album with my best friend just for a unique experience. We were on two different planets. So, beyond her beauty, she didn't interest me. As life went on, that album me and Soul created spread across the world, introducing us as queer R&B sensations. Amid fame, a toxic three-year relationship, and the birth of the most amazing child I could wish for, Mir and I's interactions have consistently been cordial and scarce throughout the years.

But, when she became the leading choreographer and my dance partner on The Eternal Fantasies World Tour, I began noticing the untold stories in the depths of her eyes. Through rehearsals, I found myself craving to know every little piece about her. The late-night dance practices to sensual slow jams may have aroused me a few times, but there's so much more to her than her petite, flexible, pleasantly endowed frame.

I can't believe I'm about to do this. Denying a fine woman my sexual attention isn't my strong suit. But, if I desire a healthy, committed relationship, I must grow up and upgrade my resistance to my impulses.

"You said you wanna go to my room?" I ask, even though I understood every ounce of that Creole accent.

"Mhm." She stretches her dainty hands across my broad shoulders. Her gaze gawks at my t-shirt as if she has X-ray vision. "Unless you have condoms hidden under your couch cushions." A soft, fairy-like titter resonates from her throat, fading away too briefly.

My nostrils flare, emitting a breathy laugh as short as her titter. "Nah, I'm not that much of a bachelor." Her eyes flicker towards mine, and its rich brownness envelops me. My heart pounds at an alarming rate. It's never been this needy, ever. Something about her sets her on a paradisiacal island, millions of miles from the rest.

Though my dick's harder than concrete mix, my subconscious reminds me of my risks. I can't accept the same old, same old. I'm tired of women collecting me like I'm a rare Pokémon. Either they want to fuck me to fulfill their trans-man fantasies, to enhance their social media rankings, or to trap me with an eighteen-year paycheck. While I appreciate the financial ability to undergo life-altering procedures and have no reservations about conceiving Rio with Eve, I aspire to welcome my next child with my wife.

"What's wrong?" Mir asks. Her thick eyebrows pull together, contorting her precious face into concern.

"Nothing at all, mami." The rhythmic motion of my thumbs on her hips relaxes her features. "Everything's so right that I want to be responsible. It'd make my night, possibly even my life, to have sex with you. Before we transition into that, do you only want to fuck, or do you sense a deeper connection?