Page 46 of The Smoke Hour

“I’m saying, I don’t know what the fuck it was about you. But I knew that I wanted to see how deep our connection went.”

“So, in the last three months, you’ve still been messing with your fuck buddies?”

“Nah. In the last three months, I’ve been focused on you.”

“Sex?”

“My hand and that bottle of lube are tired of some shit. Think my TVs tired of playing porn too.”

“Man, get out of here with that,” I said and laughed.

“I’m serious, Kaifiya. You think I’m bullshitting you, but I’m not. When something draws me in the way that you have, I get dead focused on that shit and figure out the purpose of the person or thing in my life and what I need to do about it. Between trying to figure out our connection and running my businesses, I haven’t had time for shit else,” Smoke explained. “What about you?”

I leaned across the table to get as close to him as I could without the other passengers hearing us.

“Well, since the only man I’ve ever known to eat pussy as good as he does, stopped eating mine, I have had to settle for my Rose toy, my dildo, my vibrator, and some kinky porn. I’m thinking I might have to go rub one out tonight,” I whispered before I sat back in my seat, pulled my wineglass to my lips, and took another sip.

Smoke gulped and replied, “How ’bout you let me rub it out in my bed tonight?”

I looked out the window. “We’re nearing our drop-off point. Let me think about it.”

An hour later,we entered Smoke’s house, and I was horny from all the touching, kissing, and teasing we’d done on the ride over.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna put this food away and make a couple of quick phone calls,” Smoke stated when we arrived.

“Do you mind if I just take a shower?”

“Kaifiya, I’ve told you a thousand times that mi casa es su casa, or in my father’s native tongue, ile mi ni ile re. Treat this place like it’s your home. Get comfortable like it’s yours.”

I took several steps toward him and flirtatiously took his hand in mine. Staring into his eyes, I told him, “I’ve never told you this, but whenever I hear you speaking Yoruba, it turns me on.”

“Fihan ohun ti o n s?r? nipa,” he said, lowering his head and bringing our faces so close that our lips were just a pucker away.

“What does that mean?” I asked when my breathing sped up.

“It means show me what you’re talking about.”

“Let me take a shower, and I can show you exactly what I’m talking about,” I replied in a raspy tone.

He winked at me. With his lips against mine, he whispered and immediately translated, “O j? akoko. You’re a tease.”

I puckered my lips to kiss him, but he instantly pulled back.

“Who’s the tease now, sir?” I asked.

I laughed and headed up the stairs of his six-bedroom, eight-bathroom home.

“Kaifiya?”

“Yeah?”

“Take your shower in my room,” he shouted.

“Okay.”

Smoke had a large, beautiful home. At 9,730 square feet, two of the bedrooms of the six were master suites, and every bedroom had an en suite. There was a gourmet kitchen with a view into the family room. The kitchen had top-of-the-line commercial appliances, a keeping room, a breakfast bar, and a walk-in pantry. There were five fireplaces, a computer room, a game room, a laundry room, a media room, a wine cellar, a theater room, an office, and a walk-out terrace with a full kitchen.

The grounds were beautifully landscaped with a saltwater pool, hot tub, gas firepit, and pro-installed putting green. The subdivision had a golf course, tennis courts, two swimming pools, and a clubhouse.

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