Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

  “Gorgeous as fuck.” He reached for her and pulled her back to the bed.

  She giggled. Such a carefree sound, like she’d loved him all her life. She didn’t know if this was love or infatuation, but it brought out her inner being … it brought out the girl who loved to dance, the girl who kicked ass at spades and collected the books while talking cash shit, the girl who wanted to open a dance studio for deaf kids, not pursue medicine. He turned her into the girl she was brave enough to be two years ago.

  “You can have the food,” he said. “Let me just get this, one more time.” He pulled her to his face and sat her down right on top of it.

  “I can’t,” she moaned. “The twins wake up at seven religiously.”

  He glanced over at the clock. It was already 6:04 in the morning.

  “This is fast food, love.”

  “Meek, nooooo.” She laughed, trying to resist.

  Meek reached for his phone as Morgan sat on his chest. “I tell you what,” he said, thumbing through his screen. “Give me one song.”

  She smirked. “One song, Ahmeek.”

  He pressed Play.

  Ain’t never been a man wanting anythang much as I want you

  Sun doesn’t come up ’til morning, so tonight there’s no excuse

  Marques Houston filled the room. An old song, but new to Mo because she hadn’t been able to hear when it had come out. It was the longest song on his playlist. Four minutes. Twenty-seven seconds. Mealtime. He smirked, lifting her right onto his lips.

  Morgan’s head fell forward as his tongue made a quick meal of her womanhood. She rolled her body slowly, riding both his face and the beat. She lifted a dainty finger, snapping, and she closed her eyes as she got lost in the lyrics.

  Come on, baby, turn the lights off, let’s get naked

  The music vibrated through her body, lifting her, making her heart flutter, and she forgot that this was sex … it felt like art … like she was expressing sensuality, dancing to the slow beat, and riding his tongue so viciously that he groaned. He held her backside and attacked her clit.

  “Fuck!” she screamed. She lifted her hands and kept grinding, slow, like they were two-stepping instead of fucking, and those fingers snapped. Her forehead wrinkled as she trailed one hand down the opposite arm, then down her neck, then across her breasts, tweaking her nipples in satisfaction.

  Morgan lifted on her tiptoes and worked her middle, making him lift his head to reach her pussy. She bounced, eyes still closed. She was in a groove, a beautiful groove as Meek captured her swollen clit and pulled it into his mouth, between those sexy lips, then sucked with just the right pressure. A finger finessed her other hole, and Morgan exploded. He was nasty. The nastiest—and Morgan loved it.

  “I’m cumming,” she whispered. She had lost count. The night had been so long she didn’t know anymore. He had her in a sexual fog. After a drought of two years and some change, this was too much. One body wasn’t supposed to experience this much pleasure. How did he even know how to give this much pleasure? How the fuck did this much pleasure even exist? Morgan had only been with one man before, and he had been the best, but something about the way Meek touched her … the way he used it … the way he didn’t care to let his enjoyment leave his lips in moans. Calling her name … praising her sex … worshipping her wet … he was a fucking beast, and she understood why he had his pick of every woman in every room he’d ever entered.

  The song faded, and Morgan gripped the top of the headboard, breathing so heavy that her breasts rose, then fell.

  She lifted from him, and he pulled her to his face, kissing her forehead.

  “Thank you, Ms. Atkins, for blessing a nigga,” he said. “Made a young nigga from Flint dreams come true like a mu’fucka.”

  She blushed and pulled back before rushing into the bathroom. Not even the steaming-hot shower could wash away her sins. She had been kissed everywhere, and his lips had left a stain. Messiah’s best friend had taken her places that he shouldn’t even know the way to. She had handed him the road map to her body, and he had explored every route. She didn’t know how to feel. A mixture of shame and contentment swirled inside her because she knew what it looked like. She knew what people would say. When she emerged, he stood there phone in hand.

  “Yo, I don’t give a fuck about none of that shit, nigga. The schedule don’t change. Who set the schedule. I set it, or you set it? I work for you now?” he barked. He was back to gangster. Back to business. Morgan pulled her hair into a quick ponytail as she scrambled around the room.

  “Oh shit … my clothes,” she whispered. She had left the plastic bag in her hotel suite the night before.

  Meek snapped his fingers at her, trying not to break up his phone conversation and get her attention all at once. He pointed to the bags that sat by the front door of the suite.

  Morgan frowned, walking over to them and opening them. An Adidas women’s jogging suit and new Yeezy sneakers in her exact size lay inside. She opened the La Perla bag to find undergarments, down to the socks. She lifted stunned eyes to him. He had measured her by eye. He was so well versed with pussy that he could guess her sizes without asking. She didn’t know if she should be flattered by the thought or offended that he hadn’t gotten anything wrong.

  How many women has he been with?

  The way he worked her body over, she suspected more than a few. He was a connoisseur.

  She slipped into the clothes, and he walked over to her, slightly distracted by the transaction taking place in his ear.

  “Hold on,” he said. He lowered the phone to his side and wrapped one hand around her waist, jerking her toward him. He helped himself to her lips, and just like that, Morgan’s worries eased. She didn’t care who he was with besides her. She had a situation too. Who was she to judge?

  “I’ll call you when we get back,” he said. “If that’s okay?”

  She stalled as she looked at him. “Are we sure about this? People will talk. They’ll think—”

  “What they want to think. As long as you know what it is, I’m good,” he stated.

  Morgan felt a pull in her chest. Did she know? What did this mean? “I don’t like being judged, Meek. I don’t like being whispered about or stared at,” Morgan said.

  He could hear the insecurities in her. “They do that anyway. Every time you enter a room. They talk, and they stare. You have no clue what you do, love,” Meek said. “No fucking clue.”

  “I’m afraid of this with you,” she admitted.

  “No bullshit, love. Me too,” he answered. She smiled at that. “I can press Pause. I can act like none of this ever happened if you want me to, Mo. Ball’s in your court.”

  “How will it happen again if I pretend it never happened the first time?” she asked.

  She headed for the door, and as she pulled it open, his baritone made her take pause.

  “Yo!”

  She turned to him with curious eyes.

  “London is a wrap … I need you around for a while,” he said. No inflection in his tone because it wasn’t a question. He wasn’t requesting her presence. She knew an order when she heard one, and as much as she wanted to buck, she didn’t, because she liked that shit. She smirked, and her heart raced because he was a motherfucking man—all dominance, no waver. She didn’t answer because she was a woman, with covert manipulation that turned his dominance into her own. She walked out of the room feeling her power as a woman, as Morgan Atkins, as Benny Atkins’s seed, as Ethic Okafor’s daughter. For the first time in a long time, Morgan felt like she was in control of her life.

  18

  Morgan crept back into Aria’s suite and rushed to the second bedroom, where her babies were still sleeping. She pulled Messari up and cradled him in her arms.

  “Wake up, my handsome boy,” she whispered. She kissed the top of his head, and the sound of his whines melted her. “Mommy’s Ssari,” she sang as she rocked him in her arms. She loved both her babies, but Messari reminded her of his
father so much. The very best parts. She closed her eyes. She placed him on the bed and then reached for their luggage. She removed clothes and pull-ups and quickly dressed Messari. “Did you have fun with Auntie Aria?” she asked.

  Messari nodded.

  “Of course he did.”

  Morgan turned to the door to find Aria at the door.

  “Isn’t that right, boyfriend?” Aria asked. Messari struggled to jump from the high bed, not caring that he wasn’t big enough to do it on his own. He was fearless, and Morgan shook her head as he hit the floor hard and then quickly recovered to run full speed to Aria. “Are you hungry?” Aria asked.

  Messari made kissy noises as he gave Aria a big kiss and wrapped his arms around her neck.

  “Aww, you make me feel so special, Ssari,” Aria sang. Morgan smiled and then reached for Yara. “So, you want to tell me where you snuck off to last night? I know you weren’t with Bash because he called here looking for you.”

  “What did you tell him?” Morgan asked, her heart sinking. The thought of having to explain where she was terrified her for some reason. Morgan wasn’t instinctively dishonest, and having to conceal last night’s escapades gave her anxiety.

  “I told him you were asleep,” Aria answered. “I’m down for the alibi, but where the hell were you?”

  “I just sat in the casino all night. I just needed to think,” Morgan lied.

  The sound of the suite’s doorbell rang out, and Morgan sighed in relief as Aria turned. “I’m ordering food. You want anything? What the kids like?”

  “Anything you order is fine,” Mo said. “I’ll be out after I dress Yara.”

  Aria nodded and pulled the door closed, taking Messari with her.

  Yara whined and hugged Morgan’s neck tightly. She was fussy in the morning; it never failed.

  Morgan rubbed her hair and rocked her. She pulled back and signed to her daughter. “Mommy loves her Yolly Pop.”

  Yara pouted and rested her sleepy head on Morgan’s chest. She wasn’t in the mood to reply. A true meanie in the morning, Yara wasn’t ready to interact with anyone but the sandman. Morgan sat her down and changed her into fresh clothes. A Burberry check dress and cardigan because it was cool inside the hotel. She brushed her hair up into a pretty puff and placed a headband around her head. She carried her on her hip and walked out of the room.

  She stopped mid-step when she saw Ahmeek sitting at the long rectangular table.

  Her heart lurched inside her chest, and she forgot to breathe. Yara lit up when she saw him and scrambled to get down. Morgan placed her on her feet, and she ran to the table to Ahmeek’s side.

  “What up, smart girl?” Ahmeek asked as he reached down to lift her onto the table in front of him.

  Morgan was stuck. She just stood there looking stupid as Aria, Ahmeek, and her kids ate breakfast.

  Aria’s brow pinched as she looked from Mo to Ahmeek and back to Mo. “Hmm,” she said. “Casino all night, huh?” Aria snickered.

  Morgan blew out a flustered breath and made her way to the table. She felt exposed like everyone in the room could see through her.

  “Hey, Meek. What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Good morning, Mo,” he greeted, playing it much cooler than she was capable of doing. He fisted his beard and smiled, then focused his attention on Yara. “How’s my favorite girl?”

  “His favorite girl,” Aria repeated and stared a hole through Morgan. Morgan refused to look at Aria. She felt the accusing stare, but she simply reached for a plate and began to help herself to the spread. Yara was giving her away. No way should she be this familiar with Ahmeek.

  Stop feeding that nigga Cheerios! Yolly Pop, no!

  She made a mental note to never commit a murder with Yara … she would for sure get them caught.

  “So, what you do last night, Murder Meek?” Aria asked.

  “I was cooling,” Ahmeek answered, his eyes never leaving Yara as she pulled on his beard.

  Aria pinched off a piece of pancake and placed it in Messari’s mouth. “Hmm…” She rolled suspicious eyes back to Morgan. “You might want to put some makeup on that hickey before you go back to Bash,” she stated bluntly.

  Morgan’s hand shot to her neck. The side Ahmeek had devoured just hours ago.

  “Something must have bitten me,” she said as she rushed to the mirror on the wall. Sure enough, there was a hickey on her neck.

  “Probably,” Aria said, giving Morgan a knowing look. Isa emerged from the master bedroom.

  “Yo, bruh, you ready to mob?” Ahmeek asked, standing with Yara in his arms.

  “Yeah, we up,” Isa said. “Rebook that flight, Ali. I want you in my bed when I get back.”

  Aria glanced at Mo. “You want to stay a few more days?” Aria asked.

  “I can’t,” Mo declined.

  “She didn’t ask if you could. She asked if you wanted to,” Ahmeek said, eyes on his phone screen as he struggled to text with one hand while holding Yara with the other.

  Morgan’s insides twisted as she wondered who was on the other end of that message.

  “Mo?” Aria pushed.

  “I, umm … I can’t…”

  Ahmeek’s brow knitted, and he walked over to her, standing directly in front of her. Morgan reached for Yara, but Yara pulled against her, wanting to stay in Ahmeek’s arms. Morgan felt that. She hadn’t wanted to let him go either.

  “Come on, Yolly Pop,” she signed. “He has to go.” She forced Yara to let go and put her down. Yara instantly clung to her leg.

  “Hey.” The word came with a finger beneath her chin as he lifted her face to his, forcing her to meet his eyes. “If you want to stay, stay. The twins ain’t a problem. I’ve got business out here, but afterward—”

  “I know you fucking lying,” Aria whispered in disbelief.

  “Mind yours,” Isa stated, not bothering to look up from his phone.

  “Why, when hers is so much juicier?” Aria stated.

  Morgan turned red. “Ahmeek…”

  “Right. You can’t,” Ahmeek stated, nodding.

  Morgan had never felt so nervous. Ahmeek was standing too close, looking too hard. He was worse than Yolly Pop! The nigga was a snitch! He was letting it be known that he was invested, and he didn’t seem fazed that Isa or Aria was witnessing this public display. He pinched her chin and then rubbed his thumb over her lips.

  Morgan couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth like he was restraining himself. A part of Morgan wished he wouldn’t.

  “Travel safe, Mo.”

  Morgan held her breath until Isa and Ahmeek walked out the door.

  “Bitch! You fucking Meek?” Aria shouted.

  “Aria, my babies—”

  “Girl, fuck these kids! Your ass is fucking Ahmeek!” Aria stood from the table as Morgan scooped Yara and retreated to the bedroom where her babies had slept. “Oh my God! When did this happen? How did it happen? Bitch, was it good? I bet he’s good!”

  “Aria!” Morgan shouted. “What if I asked if you were fucking Isa?”

  “You saw us last night! You want details? The nigga dick is big as fuck and he eat that shit from the back! There you go. You got all my tea! Now fucking spill!” Aria shouted.

  “He’s amazing,” Morgan moaned as she collapsed onto her bed. She sat Yara down beside her and then buried her head in her hands. “How did I let this happen?”

  “Fuck all the guilt trips, Mo. I need the play-by-play,” Aria said, clapping with every word. She sat in the chair across the room.

  “I’m engaged,” Morgan said.

  “And you shouldn’t be,” Aria said.

  “Ahmeek makes me feel…” Morgan paused. “I don’t know.” She shrugged.

  “He makes you feel what?” Aria pushed.

  “The last time I felt like this was with Messiah. He makes me feel like I’m all he sees. I know that I can’t have him … can’t love him…”

  “Love him, Mo? How
long has this been going on?” Aria asked.

  “Since London. He’s the reason I came home. I knew I couldn’t stay there. As soon as he left London, I wanted to leave too. I just wanted the possibility to run into him. My heart aches around him. And it was friendly at first. We talked, we chilled, but the time together feels natural. It feels good, and then last night…” Morgan’s eyes closed. “It felt like love, Aria. Every touch, the places he kissed, the things he said … my heart just craves him. Even right now, I just want to be around him. I want to be under him, watching Netflix. I want to go grocery shopping with him because he occupies the twins so well. I just want him, and he’s Messiah’s friend. It’s wrong.”

  “First of all, you don’t owe Messiah anything. Yeah, it’s a little fucked up, but he’s dead, Mo, and before he was dead, he tore you apart. You tried to kill yourself behind that boy, Mo. He sucked the life out of you. If you think this thing with you and Meek is real, you deserve to see where it leads. You deserve to be happy, and that’s not with Bash.”

  “I can’t leave Bash,” Mo whispered.

  “Well, if you think Meek is going to be your side nigga and keep it on the low, you’re highly mistaken. Men like Meek don’t stay in the shadows. You see what he just pulled in here. He’s fucking you, and from the looks of it, he’s in his feelings. He sniffed it one time, and now he wants more. He’s got Yara feeding him Cheerios, and he’s caressing your lips and shit like you’ve got a ring on your finger. He won’t care who’s watching. If he fucks with you, he’s going to fuck with you all the time. You won’t be able to keep it a secret. Be careful, Mo. You’re going to have to make a choice. Let Bash go or leave Meek alone. They’re both really good guys, and you deserve a good guy. You don’t have to feel guilty about it either, because it ain’t shit a ghost can do but haunt you. You shouldn’t feel bad about finding happiness with Meek. Messiah left you with a lot of pain. I say you’re entitled to heal what he broke any way you see fit as long as it’s healthy.”

  * * *

  “So, you want to tell me about little Morgan, G?” Isa asked as they stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the exit.