Page 47 of Isn't She Lucky
I’m so grateful I have a friend like Diedra. After all, she was the one who brought me back to the love of my life.
On my wayhome, I stop by my apartment so I can get more clothes. The place still needs to be packed up. I need everything at my new home now.
I park the car, then walk to the door, unlocking it. When I flick on the lights, I see Kasim sitting on my sofa.
“Kase! Oh my God! What are you—what are you doing here? How did you—?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asks.
“You’re sitting in my apartment in the dark!”
“An apartment you should no longer have.”
“Says who?”
“Your husband. I made arrangements for all of this to be moved to your new residence.”
He stands, walks closer to me, and says, “And you should know there’s nothing that will keep us apart any longer. There’s not a door, a lock, a key, or anything else that will keep me from you, Giada. Not anymore. And I understand what you were trying to tell me yesterday, especially after the talk I had with your mother, but is it your opinion that just because we’re in different tax brackets we shouldn’t be together? I know that’s what your mother thinks. I want to know if it’s whatyouthink.”
“You talked to my mother?” I ask, staring up into his eyes. I see a confluence of emotions I’ve never seen before, powered by sheer determination. This man ain’t playing with me. I feel his energy. The dominance. The alpha.
“I did. Answer my question. Is that how you feel?”
“It is, sort of,” I say, backing away from him. I walk to the kitchen. He takes steps right behind me, asking, “So, what are we supposed to do about that? You want me to transfer a few million to your account so we’re even?”
“Do you think this is funny?”
“Look at my face.”
“Kase,” I say, intentionallynotlooking at his face.
He walks up to me, grabs my chin, and angles my head up so I’m looking into his eyes, then asks, “Does it look like I’m joking to you?”
“Kase—”
“What do I need to do to make you feel like you’re worthy of me, because I’m not going to lose you again. It’s not going to happen. It’ll never happen. I will stand here and argue with you until Armageddon. It will never happen. So, what do you need from me?”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Apparently, you do because you think it’s okay to walk out in the middle of an argument and avoid my phone calls. My text messages. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, tears pouring from my eyes.
“Giada,” he says, cupping my face, my whole head in my hands. “I love you, girl.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say, sliding my hands beneath his shirt, touching his beefy chest.
He closes his eyes and throws his head back as the warmth of my hands softens him, turning his anger into passion. Into possession. Into love.
I tug at his shirt, pulling it upward. He finishes the job of taking it off, and after he tosses it to the floor, I press my face against his chest and hold it there, melting into him. Smelling his skin. Listening to his heart.
“You know that’s yours, right?” he asks me. “It beats only for you.”
When I look up at him, drowning in his desire-laden eyes, he dives into my mouth like he’s never had the pleasure of owning it before. He consumes my lips, my tongue, taking turns devouring. Teasing. Tasting.
I whimper.
“My goodness, I love you,” he tells me, biting my neck.
