Page 30 of Own It

“Knock, knock!” Cynthia shouted, though her ass didn’t knock at all as she pranced in carrying a tray of food.

My stomach growled loudly at the smell of what I soon learned was loaded mashed potatoes, a New York strip steak, and maple glazed Brussels sprouts with shaved parmesan. To drink, I was served a glass of water.

“Thank you, Cynthia. Wow, this looks . . . amazing.” I was damn near drooling as I eyed the tray laid across my lap.

I began to speculate on what Rakim could’ve told Cynthia to have her acting as if I wasn’t handcuffed to a bed and quite obviously being held captive.

“Need anything else?”

“Nope. Thanks.” I got right to eating the already sliced steak, which I was grateful for since I only had one hand.

I then remembered it probably wasn’t wise to supply a hostage with a weapon. Though something told me the least of Rakim’s worries were me coming into a knife.

“Welcome!” Cynthia floated out.

My thoughts were all over the place as I ate every bit of the food, even the fat cap of the steak.

I’d been done for about twenty minutes before the door came open. I was expecting for it to be Cynthia to collect my plate, but it was him.

Like always, my heart rate increased its speed, and my stomach filled with butterflies as he neared. Rakim had such an arresting demeanor and overall presence that it was difficult to pay attention to anything else but him.

He was donned in a black do-rag, wife beater, gray jogger shorts that ran past the knee, socks, and corduroy slippers. Even his calves were sexy. His dark skin gleamed against the moonlight peering in through the windows as he grabbed up my dirty dishes, muscles flexing and the scent of bodywash or cologne assaulting my nostrils in the best way.

Everything about this man turned me on, and I recognized immediately that my ass could never be a lesbian. Simple things like Rakim’s facial hair, big hands, broad shoulders, hard body, muscular back, brown eyes that were hooded most likely from his high, and that pronounced dick print were just things a woman could never possess but I needed.

I caught a glimpse of his gun as he started to turn and leave.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” I called out.

Truly, I wasn’t the least bit sorry; I just wanted to talk with him and convince him to stay a little longer. In that moment when I’d nicknamed him a bitch ass nigga, he was in fact being a bitch ass nigga, so I would never be sorry for that.

Rakim only bobbed his head in response to me, not saying a word as he swaggered out of the bedroom.

Hours later . . .

The loud sounds of ruckus startled me out of my sleep, and seemingly just in time because my bladder was screaming. Sitting up and doing my best to hold it in, I began to panic, realizing it was the middle of the night, and Rakim wouldn’t likely be coming to check on me any time soon.

Knowing the bathroom was out, I began to scour the room in search of something I could relive myself into and that was within reach since I was cuffed. Just as I began to get anxious, the door came open, and heavy footsteps followed before the whole room lit up, thanks to Rakim turning on the desk lamp.

“You aight?” he queried, onyx skin dripping in sweat and making me lose my train of thought. “Motion detector is wilding.”

He was shirtless, and his top half was riddled with abs, perspiration, and tattoos. On his bottom half were a pair of basketball shorts, socks, and low top Chuck Taylors. Judging by the boxing gloves sitting on the desk, I was able to surmise that Rakim had been working out on the punching bag.

I found myself speechless. In awe. Probably drooling at the sight of this man, making him look me over with his brows kissing in worry.

“Oh, I have to pee.” I suddenly remembered, in disbelief that the pain I’d been in due to having to piss had completely dissipated at the sight of this man in all his fine ass nigga glory.

“Aight,” he replied, making his way over to me and hitting me with the scent of his cologne instead of musty balls and armpits like I’d been expecting.

There was nothing worse than the smell of a dirty dick and balls.

As he unlocked the cuff, I stole glances at his handsome face and full lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

Standing as soon as he retreated from the bed, I made my way into the bathroom and sat on the toilet to release. While I did, I attempted to talk some sense into my-damn-self about all the overly lustful thoughts I was having about Rakim.

I’d never been the type of woman to be extremely sexual or dick crazy. Yet ever since I’d been in captivity, all I thought about was Rakim’s lips, his big hands, that dick print, fucking, sex positions, and orgasms. For the first time, I regretted removing sex from my life because had I been fucking on Shaun, I wouldn’t be sitting here in heat. The last sexual escapade of mine had been years ago.

I stood to wipe then flush before going to wash my hands. As I soaped up my hands, I closed my eyes in order to pray away the lust, but my mind drifted to Rakim’s big, sweaty, chocolate body, making me shoot my eyes open and beg God internally to forgive my pathetic ass. I couldn’t even pray right because of this nigga.