Page 39 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

And yes, what he says makes a lot of sense—and feels like…like he really means it.

“And about the other part,” he adds. “I have never in my life tried to flush money down the toilet because what the actual fuck? But most importantly, I wanna know who has been in your ear.”

I shake my head, trying to track the thread. “What?”

Moving so fast it feels snake-like, he grabs my chin, his thumb pressing into the small dimple beneath the center of my bottom lip.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Shae. I won’t ever lie to you. So, I’ll be honest and say I’ve had my share of sexual partners. More when I was younger and didn’t know other ways to channel my…” He seems to search for the word. “Aggression.”

There’s a second of silence.

“Right,” I say.

“I like to fuck, baby. I love the feeling of sliding into a woman who is ready for me, begging to buss it open for me.”

My emotions swirl like a hurricane, and I’m in the eye of the storm.

“But there’s something I want more than easy pussy. Wanna guess what it is?”

My mouth opens and closes several times, and he shifts his hand to rub his thumb along my bottom lip. And fuck if I can’tfeelthe sexual energy coming off him.

Storm is the definition of “virile man.”

“I-I don’t know,” I whisper.

“I want to find the woman who can match me. I want to be with a woman who can go toe to toe with me and hold her own. Who will stimulate me intellectually and physically; emotionally and spiritually. When I find that woman, she’ll have all of me, which is something that those in my past will never be able to say.”

Well shit. Those words have me feeling like I’m flying and like I’m crashing.

Because this damning question spins in my brain: Could I be enough for Storm…or maybe I’ll be too much?

“Anyway,” Storm says completely removing himself from my personal space and sliding back into his chair on the opposite side of the table, “you wanna create an initiative on the South Side. I’m down. And also, please remember I’m gon’ be a nigga for life. So don’t play with me about no anti-Blackness bullshit.”

Why do I want to snap to attention and tell him, “Yes, sir!”while blasting the Sisqó and DMX song?

“Well, I’m glad we can come to an agreement because this is what I think we should work on,” I continue. “Let’s focus on sourcing talent in underrepresented fields: tech, financial services, and MedTech. It’s exactly the kind of program we need to show how real change can happen. And if we do it right, it could actually make a difference.”

He looks at me, tracing all my features as I deliver my spiel and bring us back to the real topic at hand. The one that doesn’t involve me completely destroying my panties.

“You…down to follow this plan?” I ask.

Storm blinks after a few ticks of the second hand and says, “I’m yours to command.”

And with those words, I’m paralyzed for the briefest of moments, thinking about Storm commanding me, or possibly him letting up control and me ruling him.

How I breathe while those images course through my brain is a mystery.

Still, I manage to inhale and remember why we are here. Forcing my attention away from his lips, I pick up my pen and get to work.

We go back and forth on some ideas, sketching out a loose plan that tries to satisfy both our angles. By the time we’ve filled a few pages in my notebook, and we’ve checked out a few texts from the library, we have the foundation for a real idea, something to get excited about.

Even though Storm pushed back on a number of my proposals, he at least offered up his own solutions.

I have to admit, they were good solutions.

“Ready to head out?” I ask, flipping the flap to close my bag.

He nods, and we gather our things. The tension is still there, like a lingering spark. Neither of us is fully convinced by the other’s perspective, but maybe that’s what makes this partnership intriguing.

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