Page 32 of The Richest Gangstas in the Room
"Fuck You!" she snapped, but still digging in her clutch for her keys. "And you're lucky I'm not leaving your ass here to deal with this bullshit."
We walked to her white Audi in silence, tension crackling between us. As soon as we were inside and she'd pulled out of the parking lot, she exploded.
"What in the actual fuck, Yatta? You embarrassed me in front of a potential client worth thousands of dollars! Kyle Thompson owns three of the hottest restaurants downtown!"
I adjusted my seat back, stretching my legs. "With the way that nigga was touching you, it seemed like he was more interested in what's under yo’ dress than a fucking business proposal."
"Oh my God," she said, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. "You are unbelievable. You know what? You don't get to play the role of jealous boyfriend when you won't even commit to being my man!"
There it was the real issue between us. Last week she asked where we stood, if we were exclusive, and I had brushed her off.Truth was, I didn't know what to tell her. Lizzy wasn't like other women I'd been with. She was ambitious, independent, beautiful inside and out. She challenged me, made me feel things I usually kept locked down tight. And that scared the shit out of me.
"I don't like seeing other niggas' hands on you," I said finally, staring out the window as Chicago's skyline blurred past. "That's all."
"That's all?" she repeated in disbelief, taking a sharp turn that made me grab the door handle. "You punched a nigga unconscious in a fucking club, you’re probably just cost me a major business deal, and all you can say is you don't like seeing other men touch me? Why the hell should you even give a fuck when you’ve made it clear I'm just someone you're fucking?"
Her words hit like bullets, "I never said that."
"You didn't have to! Your actions said it for you," she fired back, angry tears forming in her eyes. "One day you're blowing up my phone, bringing me gifts, making me feel special. Next day you're cold, distant, acting like I barely exist. Then you pull this caveman shit tonight? Which Yatta am I supposed to believe?"
I remained silent as she navigated through downtown traffic toward her high-rise condo on the lake. What could I say? She wasn't wrong. I had been playing both sides. I’ve been keeping her close but not too close, wanting her but afraid to need her.
In my world, caring too much was dangerous. Shit made you vulnerable and weak. But watching her with another man had awakened something in me that I couldn't control.
By the time we pulled into her building's underground garage, the silence between us was thick enough to choke on. We rode the elevator to the 28th floor without speaking, her standing as far from me as the small space allowed, arms crossed over her chest.
Inside her immaculate condo, with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan, she kicked off her heels and headed straight for the bar, pouring herself a generous glass of DUSSE.
"You want one?" she asked, her first words since the car.
I nodded, shrugging off my blazer and draping it over one of her white leather bar stools. She handed me a glass, our fingers brushing.
She took a long sip, then set her glass down with a sharp clink.
"Why are you here, Yatta? What do you want from me?"
I downed my drink in one go, welcoming the burn. "Fuck you mean why am I here? You know what I want, and that’s you. I thought that was obvious."
"For how long? Tonight? This week? Until you get bored or scared of feeling something real?"
I moved closer to her, backing her against the counter. "I ain’t scared of shit that involves us,"
"Bullshit," she whispered, looking up at me defiantly. "You're terrified. Of this. Of us. Of anything you can't control with money or muscle."
I placed my hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. "You don't know what you talking about."
"Don't I?" she challenged, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Then why won't you claim me properly? Why we still playing this 'we just kicking it' game when it's been almost a year?"
Instead of answering, I crushed my lips against hers, swallowing whatever she was about to say next. For a second she resisted, with her hands pushing against my chest. Then she melted into me, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer.
The kiss was angry and desperate, but full of all the things we couldn't say to each other. I lifted her onto the counter,my hands sliding under her gold dress, finding her already wet pussy through her thin lace panties.
"This what you let that nigga feel tonight?" I growled against her neck, rubbing her pussy her through the fabric.
"Fuck you," she gasped, but her thighs spread wider, inviting my touch.
I ripped her panties off with one sharp tug, the delicate material giving way easily. She gasped, her hands already working on my belt.
