Chocolate Filing: The Life of a Whore

Chapter Eleven

The sun shining in my eyes woke me from probably the best sleep I had ever gotten. I opened my eyes and stretched my limbs across the California king-sized bed covered in crisp white linen. Antoine pleased my body in ways I never knew I was missing on his living room floor until almost four in the morning. I wanted to shower and head home, but he insisted I stay the night. I wasn't comfortable with staying in this nigga house when I barely knew him, but what else is there to know after a nigga take your soul and swallow it. I wanted to sleep on his couch, but he carried me to his bedroom and told me to make myself comfortable. I thought he would've slept next to me, but he never returned to the room once he placed my body on his bed. It was refreshing the way he was tending to me. 

I could smell bacon and hear the low sounds of some island music being played. I walked over to Antoine's dresser and pulled out one of his shirts from the drawer. Draping it over my body and making sure the t-shirt stopped midway down my ass, I walked down the steps and went toward the kitchen. I watched the muscles in Antoine's back move as he continued cooking breakfast. He hummed to a familiar Bob Marley song that I couldn't remember the name of. The kitchen floor tile was cold on my bare feet as I walked around the island that was in the middle of the floor. 

"Could you be loved then be loved," he sang to himself.

"So, you just sing all the time? This some hidden talent?"

Antoine looked over his shoulder and smiled.

"Can't be so hidden if I do it out loud all the time."

He grabbed me by my waist, leaned down, and kissed my lips softly. I closed my eyes, relishing the feeling the kiss gave me. He was so gentle with me, as if he knew mentally and emotionally I was fragile. It was softening my iced heart, and as much as I tried to fight it, it felt too good. I was selfishly letting him in, knowing I could only let him get so far.

"Are you hungry?" He asked.

"Depends on what you're cooking."

"Scrambled eggs, french toast, and bacon. I have some fresh orange juice in the fridge as well."

"Sounds delicious."

He went and fixed my plate and sat it down next to me on the island. I watched him cut a small piece of the french toast and feed it to me. I closed my eyes blissfully from the taste.

"I haven't had French toast like this since I was younger," I said, reminiscing. 

"Did your mom or dad make it for you?"

My blissful bubble was abruptly popped. I was having the best time not thinking about my past and how messed up it was. 

"My father wasn't around. And I never saw my mother step in the kitchen a day in her life."

I shamefully looked away from him. I always presented myself as a strong woman in front of men. At that moment, I felt like a child.

"Does that sadden you?" He asked.

"Which part? That my father was a deadbeat or that my mother was neglectful?"

"Any of it? 

"I don't want to talk about myself."

"Why not?"

"You know, this was fun. Thanks for the sex and breakfast. I'll let myself out."

I jumped off the counter and went toward the living room. I picked up my heels and dress, which were still in a pile on the floor and searched for my keys. 

"Ysobel."

"Have you seen my keys?"

"Ysobel."

I sighed and looked at him. "What? What do you want from me, Antoine?"