Page 67 of Mahogany 2
With furrowed eyebrows, I watched her. Concerningly. She didn’t mess up. She couldn’t mess up. Mahogany had a serious case of anxiety. She was a perfectionist through-in-through. And in that moment, I felt a bit of sympathy for her.
My desire for Mahogany did cloud my better judgement. And when I said desire, I didn’t mean sexually. I just… a nigga wanted to be in her vicinity. I wanted to look up and see her. I didn’t want to work with another designer. But because I was a logical nigga who had always wanted her comfortable, I recoiled.
“Alright,” I stated through a deep breath. “Under one condition.”
Her eyebrows dipped. “What’s that?”
“Once a week, I get the Mahogany experience.”
“The Mahogany experience?”
I laughed. “Work with me once a week.”
“Crescent, I would love to work with you once a week but… like I said… I cannot work with you after what I—whatwedid.”
“We’re two grown adults who had sex,” I reminded her.
“You say that like it’s nothing?—”
“Didn’t you just say it didn’t mean shit?” I reminded her, walking from around the desk to stand with her. “Let it not mean shit.”
She backed away. She was overreacting. I got it. She was married. Shouldn’t have fucked me. Shouldn’t have allowed me to handle her the way I handled her, but the shit happened. Still, I couldn’t change the way she felt. I had to accept it for what it was. She wanted to transfer me to some mediocre ass designer because she was in her feelings, cool. I’d let her have that.
“I—”
“I hear you,” I told her. “You want to transfer me over to Shardae. You scared of a nigga now. I got it.”
“Crescent, I am not scared of you. I just… I really want to respect my vows and?—”
“Got you, baby. I understand.”
Now she wanted to respect her vows. Didn’t give a fuck about them vows when she was squirting and creaming all over my dick. Mahogany didn’twantto put a wedge between us—she felt like she had to. I didn’t think it would matter.
“Do you?”
“I do,” I honestly told her. “Don’t respect it though. But then again… it’s not for me to respect.” Pausing, I extended my hand. “It was a pleasure working with you, Ms. Mills.”
She squinted, gazing down at my lingering hand. “Crescent, please?—”
“I promise I don’t give a fuck about that shit,” I cut in with my eyes locked on hers.“Never had.”
She swallowed and looked down at my lingering hand again.
“Damn, you scared to touch hands with me, too?” I asked, slightly offended.
Sucking her teeth, she placed her hand in mine, and I pulled her in. Did she resist? Yeah. A little. Not enough for me to chill. I figured, if she was cutting ties with me, why not sealthe endingwith a warm embrace?
“Come on now, man,” she protested, pressed against me.
With my arm wrapped around her waist, I tightened my grip. “Why you running from me?”
“I have to.”
I nodded and pressed my lips against her warm forehead. She let me. When I felt her body relax I held her tighter. Not because I didn’t want to let her go. But because she just felt good as hell. It wasn’t her soft skin. Wasn’t the way she smelled. The way she felt had nothing to do with the physical touch. But everything to do with the way she made me feel inside. I wasn’t a nigga who used words like fuzzy, but that’s how she made me feel. Fuzzy. Comfortable.
“Let me,” she added.
“Let you what? Run?”
