“Meek, I need you to walk away because I can’t. You’re making me feel something, and I don’t want to feel this. I can’t feel this.”
Morgan felt his hands pinch her chin and lift it. She snapped her eyes closed because he was setting her up, forcing her to look into eyes so gorgeous she knew they would trap her. His stare was a cage, one she would get locked inside.
“Ahmeek, no!” she cried as a sob escaped her. “No, Meek, please, please leave.”
“It’s your world, Mo,” he said as he lifted hands in surrender and took a step back. “I’ma go.”
She nodded frantically, unable to form words, unable to think straight, unable to suck in breath. She both hated and loved what she was feeling all at the same time. Meek gave her butterflies.
No, you can’t do this. Butterflies are bad. They’re dangerous. He’s off limits. You’re off limits. He’s Messiah’s friend.
Temptation turned up the temperature in the room, and she felt him move around her. She squeezed those eyes tighter, struggling as she heard his heavy footsteps walk toward the door. They echoed against the wood and resounded in her vacant soul. She hated that with every thud her heart ached a little.
“Ahmeek?”
He stopped in the doorway.
“If I had met you first, would you have broken me? Would you have torn my heart out my chest?” she asked.
“I won’t kick dirt on my nigga name. He loved you, Mo. I don’t know what I would have done, because it wasn’t me. That was then. This is now. All I know is what I want to do now.”
“And what’s that?” Morgan asked.
“Some shit I shouldn’t even be thinking about doing. Some foul shit, Mo.”
“And what if I’m thinking about it too? What if I’ve been walking around dead inside for the past two years, but with you I feel alive?” she asked. She walked toward him and stood in front of him. He swiped at her tears. “I’m like a robot. My life is a routine. I’ve memorized it, and I just keep doing the same thing every day, all day, but I feel this. I feel you, and I hate it. I hate you for making me feel things I haven’t felt since…”
“Look, Mo. You’re vulnerable. You’re looking for me to make you feel what you felt with Messiah. I’m not him.”
“I know that. I don’t want you to be him,” she sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Meek looked down the bridge of his nose at Morgan, leaning against the doorframe.
“What you want, Mo?” Meek asked.
“It’s wrong…”
“Say it,” he ordered.
“This is wrong,” she protested, shaking her head, ashamed that the thought had even manifested in her mind.
“Say it anyway,” Meek said, licking his lips and making Morgan’s heart skip beats as his eyes probed hers. She felt transparent, like he could see straight through her. He was waiting for her to say what he already knew. He was adamant, pressing, and Morgan was weak. The way he squinted at her, doubtfully, like he wasn’t buying the bullshit she was selling, made Morgan’s thighs clench in yearning. If they were going to speak on it, he wanted to hear the truth. The energy was already spilling into the air, but he needed the words to come from her mouth. To tell him that the attraction was mutual. That his presence was wanted.
“I can’t, Ahmeek.” She whispered the words like it pained her to let them slip from her lips. She was at a disadvantage. It was Friday too. Fine nigga Friday, and this damn god of a man was standing in front of her, looking at her like she was a delicacy. Like he was ready to hear her heavy breathing in his ear and feel her nails in his back.
“Fucking say the shit, Mo.” There it was … aggression … frustration … He wasn’t afraid of her innocence. He didn’t treat her like she would break. Morgan’s heart raced.
Morgan closed her eyes and felt the chill of fresh tears as they ran down her cheek. Shame. Similar to the emotion oozing out the speaker. She felt it all, but she still opened her mouth to speak. “You, Ahmeek. I think I want you.” The words were so treasonous they blew her entire heart apart as they transformed from thought to fruition. She could deny them if they lived in her head. She could fight them, but now they existed. She had brought them to life, and before she could even lift her lids to witness his reaction, she felt his hands cupping her face.
“Can I touch you, love?” he asked.
She couldn’t open her eyes because she was afraid of bearing witness to whatever happened next. She expected a kiss to her lips, but instead … a gentle peck to the tip of her nose. Her nose. Of all the places he could have indulged in … her nose. It was the sweetest place she’d ever been kissed. It wasn’t sexual. It was appreciative. It was endearing. She sucked in air, holding it, dying a little on the inside because that single kiss traveled down her spine, then through the channel between her thighs, then farther south to her toes. His hand fell to her hip, then rounded her ass, gripping the cuff, pulling her into his aggression. If the feel of his body against hers was any indication of how aggressive he was, then Meek was big mad, big Meek. He was hard for her, and Morgan’s body came alive as her mind yelled, Free Meek!
Her desire dripped, moistening her southern lips, begging her to indulge in what they both wanted. His stare was intense, luring her shame-filled eyes up to his, and her neck craned back as he took her lips. A fist in her hair kept her in place, but even without it, she wasn’t going anywhere because her legs wouldn’t work. The remnants of something sweet infiltrated her tongue as he devoured her. Her clit pulsed like someone had revived her sexuality because she hadn’t felt that heartbeat between her thighs in years. She didn’t even know her body could work like this again. She had thought it was a secret that only Messiah knew, because Bash never made her body weak like this, but damn if Meek didn’t know the secret too. They had been friends. Had Messiah betrayed her again and told Meek about the ways he used to make her cum? Had he shared the manual? Had they discussed her? Had they laughed about how stupid she had been to believe the lies? Morgan placed timid hands on Meek’s chest, then pulled back.
“Meek, wait,” she stammered.
“My bad, Mo,” he returned, pinching his lips. “Damn.”
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“Whatever the fuck we want to do,” he answered.
He said it like he had no worries. Like they had no one to answer to. Like he could do what he felt without thinking twice. Damn, how Morgan wished she could be so bold, so brave, but this wasn’t right. No matter how right it felt, it was an illusion. It was dead wrong. It had to be. Her heart wasn’t supposed to race like this for him.
“I have a fiancé,” Morgan whispered. She turned and fisted her hair in dismay. Nerves ate away at her. Guilt weighed on her shoulders because she would have to live with her Meek-stained lips. She would have to kiss her babies with those lips. Kiss Bash with them too. She wondered if he would taste the hint of chocolate on them, because that’s what Meek was made of. God had constructed him using Godiva fucking chocolate, so smooth that not one blemish lived on his body besides the ones he had put there on purpose. Ink that held deep meaning.
“I don’t give a fuck about that nigga, Mo. He can become a memory like that.” He snapped the fingers on his left hand while the right rubbed the top of his fade. There it was. His aggression. He was more skilled than Messiah at keeping it hidden, at controlling it. He kept it tucked like the 9 mm pistol on his waist, but it was there. He buried it beneath the pretty-boy looks and the charm and that smile that made Morgan’s stomach hollow. Morgan knew Meek’s threat wasn’t just talk. He had the ability to make Bash disappear without a trace, and with lust dwelling between them, he now had a reason to.
“I have two kids, Meek,” Morgan added. “Is it fuck them too? I’m not little Morgan anymore. I have responsibilities. I have a family.”
“I know that, Mo—”
“So, what are we doing?” she interrupted. “Playing?” Morgan’s brows lifted as she probed for a reaction. She saw the ma
kings of regret all over him. He was the man she would have and then immediately wish she could take off her hoefax, because no way would Meek stick around. When he didn’t respond, she nodded, scoffing in disbelief. “Yeah, that’s what we’re doing … we’re playing with fire … with people’s lives. Bash has been good to me.”
“He ain’t the only nigga that’ll be good to you, Mo.”
“You want to raise two babies, Ahmeek? Cuz I highly doubt that you do. You out here getting money, flying free, moving fast. My life isn’t fast anymore. It’s slow. It’s steady. It’s boring, and you are butterflies.”
His brow pinched as she continued, “You don’t seem like the potty-training type. We could do this, and it would be amazing, it would be fun. I’d feel sick to my stomach every time I smelled your cologne because looking at you right now I can barely stand, but you’re not here for the long haul. You won’t be there to enroll my kids in school. You won’t come to softball games, or pack school lunches, or help me send them to college. We’ll have sex, and I’ll like it. Hell, I’ll love it, then you’ll leave. Just like he did.” Morgan felt a nagging in her soul. Meek was Messiah all over again. He would be interested until he wasn’t, only this time she had Messari and Yara to think about.
“I told you a long time ago, no woman has ever asked me to do more. If that’s what you want, that’s what I’ll give, Mo. But do you want it? Do you want it with me? You say yes, and I’ll handle the rest. You don’t even got to pack your shit. We’ll grab the twins and break out. New nigga, new life, new throne, but you got to want that shit.”
Morgan couldn’t think. She was overwhelmed. Meek would be her undoing. She had finally gotten to a stable place in her life. It had taken her years to piece herself back together. To learn to hide the emptiness she felt after losing Messiah. She had convinced herself that it didn’t matter if she were happy as long as she looked happy. Walking and talking the part was enough, but Meek was making her forget all that she’d rehearsed. He was chipping away at the picture frame full of lies that she called her life.
“Is that what you want?” she asked, confusion plaguing her. “You say it like it’s so easy. Like our common denominator isn’t Messiah and like this isn’t wrong. You want me? Since when?”
“Since for-fucking-ever, Morgan,” he admitted.
The answer snatched the logic from her mind because it made no sense. She had been in his space too many times to count. How hadn’t she picked up on his attraction? Then her mind flashed to the night in the club … the night she had pulled him onstage … then the night he had defended her when she was pregnant. She had thought he had done so out of respect for Messiah, but he had done so out of disrespect for Messiah … out of something deeper, an emotion that he had harbored for her. He had danced with her just to make her smile. Murder Meek had allowed himself to soften for her … for no one, but her.
“He trusted you,” Morgan uttered. “You were his best friend.”
“And you were his girl, but before you were his girl, you were the girl that every nigga in the hood wanted. You were the one niggas used to try to get in position for just so he could have his paper right when he came at you. You thought niggas didn’t speak to you because you couldn’t hear. Nah, niggas couldn’t speak because they weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready. I needed to boss up a little, but it’s always been you.”
Morgan was speechless. Messiah and Meek had put her on pedestals before she even knew her own worth. She was still working on that part, but Meek was standing in front of her professing her greatness without thinking twice. If he could only see her broken parts, he would know she was damaged goods.
Meek nodded and rubbed a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Meek…,” she whispered. There was consolation in her tone, sadness, perplexity. She didn’t even know how they had found themselves in this position. She couldn’t have him. It didn’t stop her from wanting him, because—like it or not—he filled a void in her, a void a similar man had left behind. It would be easy to slide Meek into that spot, to let him try to repair the devastation that occupied that place, but Morgan’s conscience was working in overdrive. Her mind was spinning, tossing around the reasons why she couldn’t allow this to go further.
“I know,” he said. He placed both hands on her face, cupping it in his palms, his thumbs caressing her cheeks softly. “I know,” he repeated. “I’ma break out.”
Morgan lifted her hands, catching his wrists so he wouldn’t withdraw just yet. She closed her eyes, enjoying the flutters inside of her because she knew once he walked out the door, they would fly out with him.
“Take care of yourself, Mo,” he said. “Lock the door behind me.”
It felt like a punch to the gut when he walked out. The remnants of his cologne lingered, and Morgan drowned in it. She bowed her head and placed a hand to the wall to steady herself.
“You can’t have him,” she whispered to herself. She flicked the bolt on the door and slid down until her butt touched the floor. Morgan was in trouble. She was with one man, yearning for another, all to try to fill the hole Messiah had dug in her soul. The damage he had left behind was irreparable. She would never be okay.
12
“I can’t believe you proposed,” Aria whispered as she lay on Isa’s chest. The smoke from the blunt he pinched between his fingers clouded the air. He brought it to her lips, and Aria hit a toke, holding in the smoke before lifting her neck and pushing out of pursed lips.
“Shit, is it too late to take that shit back? I was high than a mu’fucka,” he said. Aria punched him, and Isa snickered. “I’m just fucking with you, Ali.”
“So, you know you’ve got to meet my family now, right?” Aria said.
“I ain’t marrying them, I’m marrying you. A nigga need permission for that?” he asked, lifting a brow and looking down at her. Aria stared up at him as he put the blunt to her lips once more. Inhale. Exhale. High. Her mind was floating.
“Not permission. I’m going to do what I want to do regardless, but an introduction is necessary. My brother will want to meet you,” Aria stated.
“Your brother?” Isa asked.
“Nahvid,” she said. “My half brother. He’s my whole world. He’s kinda like a father to me because I never met ours. He got locked up when I was a baby. So Nahvid basically raised me. Everything I know, everything I am, he put in me. Crazy, right?”
“Not crazy, Ali. That’s everyday life in the hood. What about your mom?” Isa asked.
“She moved to Atlanta when I came to Michigan for college. She owns a salon down there. Nah bought it for her,” Aria explained. “What about your family? Your mom? Do you have sisters? Brothers? How are we getting married and we don’t know anything about one another?”
“Cuz I ain’t interested in nobody but you. I don’t give a damn about none of that shit. As long as you’re here, Ali, I’m gucci,” he said. He lifted her chin, and Aria climbed on top of him. She removed the weed from his hand and put it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. Then she went lower, kissing him so deeply she pulled a groan from his soul.
“You been playing it real safe with me. I want you, Isa.” She reached down, rubbing, groping, grabbing what felt like a blessing just from size alone. “I’m ready,” she whispered between kisses. She could feel him rise beneath her. She knew he wanted it too.
He placed hands on her hips and lifted her off him before climbing out the bed.
“Don’t you got class and shit? Ain’t you gon’ be late?” he asked.
“Graduation is three weeks away. Whatever I haven’t done by now isn’t getting done.” She chuckled.
“And what about rehearsal? You skipping that too? Don’t you got to perform tonight?” he asked.
She frowned and came up on her knees. “What are you, nigga? Alexa?” she questioned. “You got my whole day planned out in your head. I’m trying to throw you some pussy, and you throwing it back. Am I bad at it or something?�
� A bit of insecurity crept into her. He had a reputation for being with women, more than one, often all at the same time. He wasn’t accustomed to mediocre sex, and Aria tensed. She was so new at it, she wondered how she compared. “You didn’t like it?” she asked.
He approached the bed, picking her up, forcing her legs around his waist. “Hell yeah. I love that shit. You got pure dope between these thighs, Ali,” he whispered. “I’m just trying to be different with you. I ain’t no gentleman. I like to fuck. I like to dominate women in bed, and you’re not ready for all’at. I don’t want to hurt you, Ali, so I’m going slow. Trying to develop some manners.”
She smirked because she constantly told him that he lacked them. He was trying. He was making an effort to be what she liked. “Ain’t no rush. I got it for forever, so I’ma break it in slow like a new pair of Guccis or something. Stretch it out a little bit before I go beast on you. I’m your man, I got to act like your man. You don’t need to be skipping class. You didn’t do it before, so don’t start now. I ain’t the nigga that’s gon’ let you fall off. Go to class, go to rehearsal, and I’ll do backflips in that shit later. A’ight?”
Butterfly Page 11
