The Vault

B.C.W

The alarm sounds at 6 a.m. but Samirah is already awake. Turning it off, she yawns and stretches widely. Raising up, she attempts to move off of the bed in order to stand, but of course her husband's arm captures her waist, preventing her from doing so.

"Hey baby, where you going?"

She sighs, "C'mon now. I've got to be in at 8:30."

"Says who?"

"Ah, me!" Samirah answers. "That's who."

"Call your assistant and tell her to cover for you. At least for a little while."

"Prince you know I can't do that."

"Na-uh," he corrects. "It ain't cause you can't, it's cause you won't."

Laughing, she wiggles out of his grip.

But surely not for long.

"Would you please quit it?" Struggling, Samirah begs as Prince playfully climbs over and pins her down.

"Nah."

"Now you just being bratty."

"You calling me a brat mama?"

"Prince I'm hungry."

"You know I can satisfy that appetite."

"Quit showing out, we've done enough last night."

"The love making that goes down between me and you will never be enough."

Defeated with no response in mind, Samirah's hands fly up.

"It's 6:06. I could've been showering by now."

"Or..." Prince interjects. "You could've been well on your way to your second high with me deep inside of you by now."

Giggling, Samirah would always melt into a pool of putty when her husband talked dirty, and this time was no different.

"Baby I've got to go, I promise it won't be long. I only have three clients today."

"What time is this first session?" Prince questions.

"9:30."

"Please don't rush off so soon."

"Prince..."

He grips her hips, "If you leave me like this, I don't what I'm gonna do."

Mini heart attack or panic she's having? The bronzed beauty isn't quite sure. But one thing she is entirely certain of is that if the stares go on any longer, this will definitely be one battle she's going to lose.

♥

After a mini WWE smackdown, she finally manages to get downstairs.

But certainly nothing stops her husband when he's on a mission.

"Samirah", her name he rolls off of his tongue, but she focuses on the pot of grits cooking before her.

"Sammi..."

And out comes the eggs.

"We both need to eat. Don't want the food getting cold."

"As if it can't be warmed, it can wait."

"You're too much..."

"Baby.."

Never facing him, "Yes Prince?"

"You can't leave a black man in this state. Now turn around and look at me."

"No. Want jam on your toast? No? How about hot cakes?"

"Only if they're yours, smothered in honey."

Body meeting the back of hers, his right hand travels swiftly, meeting right between the warmth of her thighs.

"Wait a minute now," Samirah gasps, one hand clutching unto his wrist and the other holding the counter's edge.

"Don't you want your coffee...?"

"I'd rather have you in my glass, you're the only thing that'll sweeten my tongue, you're the only thing that'll last."

".... what?"

"I need another bite of you babe."

Losing focus, Samirah can no longer fight. From the sizzle of the pan to the stroke of his hand, she gives in.

"Mmm... fifteen minutes?"

His fingers slip deeper, her knees go weak.

"Thirty. Call them. Tell them you gon be late."

Battle? Lost. Her husband completely conquers this round.

Breakfast is going to have to wait.