now playing: "Velvet Blue" by Ray Lozano
bonus track: "Virgo's Groove" by Beyoncé
(a/n: very long chapter)
(This chapter contains explicit content. Reader discretion advised.)
The freeway was a parking lot, backed up for miles on either side of the 405. Rush hour never ended in L.A., yet the bumper to bumper traffic on a Sunday afternoon was a new level of gridlock, even for Southern California. A minor fender bender a few miles back and road construction at just the right point had effectively snarled traffic for as far as the eye could see.
"Maybe you can take surface streets," I said as I looked at my phone again. Waze, Google, Maps. None of them saw a reasonable path to our destination. "You can exit on Sawtelle just up there, make a right, then take Venice to hit the 10. It's longer, but it'll get us there faster than this."
Paul sighed and gripped the steering wheel, drumming his fingers against the leather. He had been unusually quiet since we met up, barely saying two words throughout the 30-minute standstill.
"Is everythin' okay?"
"Yes. Sorry, Bey. Just a bit stressed."
"Work?"
"It's always work." Paul softly chuckled and shook his head, signaling before glancing in the side mirror to switch lanes. "Always feels like everyone wants a piece of me. Bigger projects, more responsibilities. More responsibility means more pressure. And the cycle never ends. They expect more out of me, so much so that it's hard not to disappoint, but I need some free time for myself and to spend time with others. I practically had to beg to go to Brazil with my guys."
"Would you think about leavin'?"
Paul hesitated and released a slow, steady breath. "I have, especially after this last project; it's tempting, honestly. I just need a break so I can focus on fleshing out the studio."
"What's stoppin' you?"
He glanced over and smiled, though his eyes didn't match the mirth, clouded by an unseen doubt.
"I don't know. Scared, maybe? Like what if I make the wrong choice? To give up a stable job for the dream. And fail."
"Paul, don't say that. You're amazin' at what you do and I can't see you failing on your first try. I mean, Drake is a loyal customer, and I seen some of your work in Pharrell's new video. You're bringin' in a huge commission for each piece. That's just scratchin' the surface."
He remained quiet and focused his attention back on the road.
Paul had a gift for ceramic art that he indulged in as a personal passion outside of his corporate gig. His Instagram was no longer private; he took the time to clean his feed and open it up again to the general public. And it didn't take long for the pieces to become an even hotter commodity, especially after Drake posted a photo of Paul's sculptures in his mansion on his own Instagram.
We drove in silence; the dull rumble of cars and the soft R&B playing through the speakers filled the gap. Paul exited the freeway and merged onto Sawtelle, weaving his way through the narrow side street.
"Do you want me to put on another playlist or sum?"
"No, this is good. You've got great taste, Bey."
"Thanks, I listen to a lotta music. Any kinda music, really. Well, except country. I can't stand country."
Paul laughed and nodded. "I would've thought the complete opposite, considering where you're from."
"It was never my thing. I grew up listenin' to a lotta Southern hip hop, though. DJ Screw, Lil' Keke, UGK, Big Moe. That's all I ever listened to until middle school."
"Ah, I've heard some of their songs before. Especially UGK."
I shifted to the side in my seat, a reaction that was as involuntary as it was telling. His casual acknowledgment of underground artists, names I had grown up with and held as regional treasures, seemed as out of place as a snowstorm in July. The 'Houston sound' had somehow crossed past the Canadian border and landed on his doorstep, and I wondered how many other surprising interests and hobbies he had welcomed in before.
The look on my face must have been something, because Paul chuckled once he glanced my way. "My older brother went to Rice. He'd bring a lot of knowledge and stuff home with him and we'd listen to the music in his room. Our parents hated it, but he and I would sit in there and talk about what album was the best or anything random for hours. He kind of shaped my music taste, honestly. Made sure we always had an eclectic mix, from house to rap to jazz."
Paul slowed down as we approached a red light, and his voice softened as the memories flooded through.
"I still listen to the bootleg CD mixes he made me from time to time. Sometimes I'll be going about my day and hear a song, and I'll instantly go back to sitting on the floor of his bedroom, playing NBA Live or Need for Speed on his PS2. I would listen to him tell me all the crazy things he got up to when he was away at university. Hearing those songs...brings back a lot of good memories. He's the one person I could truly be myself with. Aside from you. I'd think you two would get along well."
"I'd love to meet him sometime. Where's he livin' now?"
"Back in Toronto. He's got a family, and a few kids. We try to visit each other a few times a year."
"So, you're close, then?"
"As close as we could be, considering the distance. But he's usually around for the big moments, and that's what matters most."
Paul merged onto Venice, and the bustling boulevard came into view. The sun was shining, a welcome change from the overcast skies that blanketed the city. Light rain and heavy winds had been in abundance earlier in the week, the latest bout catching everyone off guard.
"Ohhh. Well, you should give me a playlist. I'd love to hear what else y'all listened to, and we can listen together sometime."
"Sure." Paul smiled and nodded.
"If he's listenin' to some chopped n' screwed, then I gotta know what he's like."
"I'd say he's a lot like me. But more outspoken. Funny, and a smartass. Always had a quick comeback and knew how to piss people off when they couldn't get a reaction out of him. But also, really caring and always there if you needed him. He's the one who pushed me to go after my dreams and leave the city."
"Sounds like he gave you some good advice."
"He did. I just hope I'm making him proud."
"Paul, I know for a fact he's proud of you. Trust me."
I reached out and placed a hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Paul placed his hand on top of mine, holding it firmly as his thumb stroked against my skin, sending a tingling sensation throughout. His grip was stronger and firmer than hers, yet his touch was somehow just as gentle and delicate.
Paul hummed softly, and the music continued to fade into the background. We drove in comfortable silence, passing boutiques and restaurants, which soon turned into miles of suburbia, industrial warehouses, and storage facilities. I caught a glimpse of Disneyland during the car ride, indicating we were getting closer to our destination.
"I think I underestimated how far of a drive this would be."
"Yeah, L.A. is huge, but according to this address you gave me, where we're headed is actually in Orange County. San Juan Capistrano. Is this your first time going down here?" I asked.
"Yes. I've never really been south of LAX since I moved here. It's a bit of a surprise for us both, so..."
"Oh, okay."
As I leaned back in the seat, the suburban landscape gradually morphed into an idyllic canvas of undulating hills peppered with verdant palm trees and untamed shrubbery. My window was rolled down, and the breeze wafted through the car, bringing with it the subtle scent of Pacific sea salt and blooming wildflowers as it whispered through the foliage.
Paul navigated the car with ease, signaling before taking a gentle right off the main highway. The tract house suburban backdrop receded, giving way to the tranquil embrace of a tree-lined drive and rustic charm of the coastal town.
With each turn, our anticipation grew, and after a short journey cradled by greenery, we approached the estate's grand entrance. The driveway was heralded by an imposing metal gate that stood guard. Paul rolled down his window to press down on the keypad as he looked at his phone for the passcode; the gates responded, parting gracefully to welcome us in.
The estate unfolded before us like a regal tapestry at the end of a secluded cul-de-sac. Perched majestically atop a rolling hill, the house commanded an awe-inspiring view of the surrounding verdurous mountains, standing as a testament to the beauty of the region's coastal topography. The driveway, paved with sun-kissed cobblestones, snaked its way up the incline, flanked by an orchestra of native foliage that swayed to the rhythm of the gentle oceanic gusts.
We parked alongside a sleek black Escalade and a pristine white Tesla, and took our time getting out of the car. We were greeted by an array of Mediterranean cypress trees, their slender forms reaching skyward like verdant flames. The estate's white-washed stucco exterior, kissed by the golden hues of the California sun, provided a stark yet inviting contrast against the lush greenery. Bougainvillea, in vibrant bursts of fuchsia and purple, cascaded down stone walls, and terracotta roof tiles glowed warmly above us.
The air was fragrant, with the nearby ocean's briny tang and the sweet perfume of citrus trees dotting the landscape. A cobblestone path invited us towards the entrance, weaving through an immaculate garden where lavender and rosemary thrived alongside blooming roses. The sound of a distant fountain serenaded our approach, its crystal waters dancing merrily in a mosaic-tiled basin.
"Whoa. This is...wow." I turned to Paul, his expression mirroring my own wonder.
I took out my film camera and snapped a few photos, wanting to capture the estate's natural splendor and charm. The shutter's soft click blended with the melody of the birdsong and the wind whispering through the nearby trees.
"You should take a picture of all three of us in front of the house."
A man emerged from the side yard, the gravel crunching under his steps, and strode toward us with a slight limp, yet still maintained an easy confidence. He was dressed in dark denim jeans paired with a black cotton tee that slightly draped off his frame. His hair was cut very low, almost a shadow on his scalp, and his face was clean-shaven, revealing a strong jawline that flexed as he smiled.
"Hey, guys. Glad y'all could make it. Oh shit, whose Beamer is this? Hold up, is that the M4 coupe?!"
He walked over and slowly bent down, looking the car up and down. He whistled, tracing his fingers along the body's contours.
"Man, this is gorgeous. Looks brand new."
"It is," Paul chuckled and walked over, pulling our host up by his hand. "Brian, this is Beyoncé." Paul gestured towards me, and Brian smiled, extending his hand.
"Nice to finally meet you, Beyoncé. Beautiful name. Love the accent too."
"Thank you. Nice to meet you too, Brian," I replied, taking his hand. His grip was firm, yet there was a gentleness to it that matched the smooth timbre of his voice. As we released our handshake, I allowed myself a moment to really look at him.
Oddly enough, the resemblance to Paul was uncanny—the dimples that appeared on Brian's cheeks were deeper set than Paul's, yet they bore the same placement. The curve of his nose had the same arch, though on him, it seemed more pronounced, as if time had etched away any youthful softness. And then there were the light freckles, a constellation of tiny specks that dusted over his nose and under his eyes, less pronounced than one might expect, but there nonetheless. Paul didn't have any.
Nor did they share the exact same accent. The subtle drawl threw me for a loop. Though his diction was crisp and articulate, his voice held the slightest hint of a lilt. Not enough to be considered a full Southern accent, but more like a faint memory.
Brian's frame was a quieter echo of Paul's—the same height and shape, but where Paul's silhouette spoke of strength and mass, Brian's told a different story. His body carried a leanness that wasn't just the absence of muscle, but the subtle testament of a body conserving its resources. Of energy directed elsewhere.
Brian and Paul dapped and embraced, their hands clasping each other's shoulders. It was all too easy to draw a line between the two, to see how one could be the mirror of the other, aged by years and circumstance, a reflection of who Paul could look like at a certain point in the future.
Yet as I stood there, a part of me hesitated to jump to conclusions. Not every set of blue eyes and blond hair had to be related, and it was entirely possible that they were both simply blessed with the same genetic good fortune.
"Been a while. How are you doing, man?" Brian asked.
"Good. Yeah, it has. Sorry for not keeping in touch more."
"No worries. I know you've been busy, Mr. Hollywood. Come on in, let's catch up."
He unlocked the door and led us inside. I was immensely thunderstruck by the grandeur that unfolded before us as I took in the interior. The space was reminiscent of a villa in Spain or Italy with dark hardwood floors and a vaulted ceiling with a chandelier hanging overhead.
Light streamed in generously through the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the area in natural radiance. The living room, dining room, and kitchen seamlessly flowed into one another, decorated in the same Mediterranean theme as the exterior, with splashes of muted blues, ivories, and terra cottas. A spiral staircase sat directly across from us, and we walked past, making our way into the kitchen.
The granite counters were lined with a stainless-steel double oven, gas range, and built-in wine cooler. White cabinets accented the modern, yet rustic design, and the kitchen overlooked the saltwater pool, accompanying jacuzzi, and sprawling nature, with an ocean and mountain view that stretched for miles.
"What do you think, Beyoncé?"
"This is crazy." I walked around the counter and admired the appliances. My hands skimmed over the surface, and the granite's coolness seeped into my fingertips.
"I've got an entire chef's kitchen here. 6 burner gas range, two ovens, warming drawers, and a full-size subzero fridge. There's a butler's pantry and walk-in pantry too, and the dishwasher is built-in. So, plenty of room for storage. The island seats 6, and it's made with 100 percent ground natural quartz too, not that fake shit."
Brian pointed out the details, the subtle features and nuances that I wouldn't have picked up on.
"There's an open concept for the kitchen, dining, and living rooms. Plenty of space for entertaining and even more space outside by the stable."
"Stable? As in horses?" I asked, excitedly.
"Oh, yes. Paul didn't tell you we'd be riding?" Brian raised his eyebrow and smirked.
"He told me to wear somethin' very comfortable, so I was assumin' it was a hike."
I was at a loss for words, unable to fathom the level of detail and effort Paul put into planning this outing.
"I hope it's okay. If not, we can do something else." Paul looked worried, his brows pinching together.
"No, no, no. Are you kiddin' me? It's perfect." I smiled and shook my head, still processing the information.
Paul gave a shy smile, and Brian chuckled and nodded.
"I've got a few horses here. 2 quarter horses, a Tennessee walking horse, an Arabian, and a draft. We can take them out for a ride on the trail by the creek. That way you'll get a chance to experience Southern California without the traffic, pollution, and crowds."
We continued walking through the house and finished the tour outside, touring the stable and seeing the horses freely roam around the massive backyard. They were a gorgeous set of breeds, their coats glistening, reflecting the sun.
I took more photos, framing shots through the lens, capturing their majestic forms and the surrounding scenery.
"We can saddle them up and head out after lunch. Are you two hungry? I've got some food prepared and ready to cook."
"Yeah, I could eat. What about you, Bey?" Paul asked.
"Starvin'. And thank you so much for havin' us over."
"No problem. I love hosting."
Brian smiled, and the three of us made our way back to the house and congregated in the kitchen.
He instructed Paul on the task at hand, and the two of them worked seamlessly, moving around each other and chatting effortlessly, discussing the latest project Paul had worked on.
"So, Beyoncé. You're not from California, are you?"
"Naw. I went to school here, moved away, then moved back here about two and a half years ago."
"And what do you do?"
Brian opened the fridge and pulled coconut milk and two whole marinated chickens placed in a glass baking dish with saran wrap covering the top. Paul placed a Dutch oven pot on the stove and began preheating the oven. "I work at Santa Monica College. I was a part-time art professor, but I'm finally full-time now."
"Wow, you seem so young. That's impressive." Brian added a splash of olive oil into the bottom of the pot before placing the birds in, breast side up. "Paul said you're an artist, too. I'm curious why you'd choose teaching over being a full-time creative."
"I don't see it as a choice. Art is a passion, but teachin' is a vocation. L.A. is an expensive city to live in, and I can't really survive solely off of the income from my art." I shrugged and watched him chop fresh herbs and place them in the pan alongside the chicken. "I've tried freelancin' for the past year and it's been hard. No consistent clients and some weren't even payin' up on time. And I've tried to get my paintings in galleries too, but no luck so far."
"It's not easy for creatives to make a living, eh? Especially artists. But from what Paul has shown me, you got drive and a vision. I think you and Paul should collaborate. Showcase your work together. I'd love to see that in the future."
I chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, that'd be somethin'. I don't know why we never thought of doin' that."
Paul was still by the stove and his focus remained on the rice he was preparing. His body was stiff and I could feel the tension emanating off of him. I reached for his arm and gave him a gentle squeeze, hoping to ease the pressure. He glanced over, offering a reassuring smile.
"I have a feeling it'd be a pretty successful show. Maybe we can plan it for the summer, do a pop up somewhere. I've got a few properties downtown I'm currently looking at that'd probably be ideal for a gallery. I'll let you know if I'm able to get anything."
"Yeah, that would be great. Seriously."
Brian turned on the gas stove, lighting the flame, and poured a splash of cooking wine and the remaining marinade in the pan. The sizzle of the flesh and the aromatic scent of the herbs and spices wafted through the air, the fragrance beckoning my senses.
"Did Paul tell you about the storefront space he just bought?"
"Yes, he did, and I'm very excited for him." I glanced over at Paul, and he was grinning from ear to ear. The first genuine smile of the day.
"It's a little overwhelming. There's a lot to do if I want to start this as soon as possible. I still need to hire some help for my social media, and handling the sales, and-"
"Whoa, slow down. We'll get to that. Let's cross that bridge when we get there. Today is about having fun and getting away from the noise. So, why don't we all go relax and take a load off. You two are the guests, and it's a Sunday. We can worry about the details later."
Brian playfully shooed us away from the kitchen, and we settled down at the dining table, watching him finish cooking. After a few minutes, we were all digging in, the savory flavors and tender chicken dancing along our palates.
"Oh wow, you definitely put your foot in this," I said between mouthfuls.
"Thanks. It's a common dish back home. We call it galinha asada."
That's when I had to ask.
"Y'all two are brothers, huh? I ain't wanna assume at first, but everythin' was too much of a coincidence."
They laughed, their chest reverberating with mirth. "I was hoping you would pick up on that as soon as you saw him." Paul placed his fork down and wiped his face with a napkin.
"I guess it wasn't that obvious, eh?" Brian asked. "Yes, he's my baby brother."
"Baby?"
"Only by a few years," Paul replied.
"Ten to be exact."
"Damn, y'all are ten years apart? That's huge."
"Yeah, it is. People thought he was my son because of the age gap. Mom was about 28 when she got pregnant with Paul. Our sister and I were oopsies. I am the more handsome one though, right?"
Paul snorted and rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, Brian."
Brian laughed and leaned back in his chair. "See? He's the baby."
"You have a sister? What's her name?"
"Brie," Paul replied.
"Ooh. Like cheese. She must be a sweetheart." I smiled and took a sip of water.
"She's...a firecracker. A wild child. Like Brian, actually. They're two years apart."
"Don't compare me to her. She's reckless as fuck."
"She's just got a big personality. It's not a bad deal."
"No, it's dangerous. She's impulsive and does shit without thinking."
"Like what?" I asked.
Brian sighed and shook his head. "Let's just say she's always been trouble, and I've had to be the one to clean up the mess."
Brian's tone shifted; the playful energy was replaced with an icy frost. Paul remained quiet, his gaze falling on the food on his plate and his fork scraped against the porcelain in a feeble attempt to distract himself.
"Well, I've been told I can be a handful by my folks, so y'all not alone." I said, hoping to lighten the mood.
Brian chuckled and his demeanor changed again, though the warmth and welcoming disposition I had first encountered hadn't fully returned as we finished our meal. As promised, Brian took us on a ride, and the three of us spent the rest of the evening exploring the trails, immersed in the serenity of nature.
The moment my feet found their place in the stirrups, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, transporting me back to a time when life was simpler and joy could be found atop a horse, galloping through my uncle's massive acreage.
We trotted, weaving our way through the narrow footpath, and the gentle rocking motion, paired with the scent of sun-kissed chaparral and citrus blossoms, eased the stresses of the past week away.
"Hey. Can I get a pic of y'all?" I asked.
"Sure," they replied, bringing their horses next to each other.
I held the camera in front of me, my thumb resting against the shutter button, and pressed down. Paul looked at peace, and his smile was as radiant as the sunlight. I hoped that the photo captured his happiness, an expression I wanted to hold onto and remember.
We took more photos, capturing the picturesque scenery, the surrounding landscape, and the horses. I hadn't ridden since middle school, and despite the undeniable soreness in my legs and lower back, each ache was a testament to a joy I thought I'd lost.
Once we returned to the villa, the sunset painted the sky in strokes of orange and purple, wrapping around us like a warm, familiar blanket, and I was overwhelmed with a sense of homecoming. It was a moment of pure, childlike bliss—carefree and safe—and Paul had no clue just how grateful I was to be experiencing it again.
"No fucking way! Your uncle is the Johnny Dupont? No wonder you were a natural at riding."
We were back inside, and after Brian cleaned the stables and fed the horses, we relaxed in the living room. Brian was seated on the couch, and Paul was perched next to him. I sat in the lounge chair opposite them, curled up on the plush cushion.
"Yep, he's the one who introduced me to it. I loved goin' over to his ranch and ridin' horses. He'd always take me out on the open field and teach me how to do tricks and stuff."
"He trained you?" Brian gleamed as he leaned back on the couch.
"I wouldn't really say 'train'. More like showed me how to ride properly. And he'd take me backstage at the Rodeo when he'd perform and introduce me to all the other cowboys and ranchers and stuff. He was so loved by everyone."
"I'd love to meet him." Paul chimed in. "I always wondered what happened to him."
Ironically, so did I.
✮✮✮
"Your brother is so much like you, and yet completely different," I said once we were back in Paul's car.
Brian insisted on helping us bring the leftovers home, loading the Tupperware containers into the car and exchanging hugs and farewells. He promised to set up a dinner at his place soon to properly meet his family.
"He's...yeah. He's a good guy. A really, really great brother."
Paul's voice trailed, and his expression was guarded. His focus was fixed on the road ahead, the streetlights illuminating his face in a warm orange glow.
"Sorry."
"Anythin' you wanna talk about?"
Paul shook his head and sighed. I didn't push any further. The ride back to my apartment felt longer despite the absence of traffic, the lack of conversation creating a noticeably uneasy tension.
But I had questions, and it was only a matter of time until they spilled out, begging for a chance to be heard.
Paul parked next to my car in the lot and helped carry the leftovers up to the apartment. As soon as we stepped inside the dark empty space, I turned on the lights and locked the front door behind me. He placed the containers down on the counter and turned to the sink to wash his hands, his posture, stooped, shoulders tense, and his lips pressed together. I walked over to join him.
"Bey, I'm really sorry. For today. For everything," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"I messed up. Soured the mood." He sighed, drying his hands with a paper towel.
"How? Everything was perfect. I had a real fun time." His depressed demeanor had me thinking back on what Brian told me in private before we left:
'I like you, Beyoncé. You've got a good spirit about you. Keep an eye on him for me, eh? Please...'
"You did?"
"Yes, Paul. Really."
His face softened, and he exhaled, the air flowing out slowly and steadily, but the tension refused to leave his body.
"You ever feel like...no matter what you do, things will never matter? Like, you can't change anything, no matter how hard you try. Like the outcome will always be the same. No matter what."
I hesitated and considered his sudden ambiguous question, recalling the memories, the painful truths that had become a part of me, seared into my soul like an unwanted tattoo. I wondered what he was alluding to.
"Yes. Every day."
"Me too." Paul ran a hand through his hair and frowned. "There's just a lot I want to change, Bey. I wish...I could go back and do things differently. Spend more time with the people that I love. Make everything right. Tell them how much they mean to me. Make more memories with them. Be present. Stop being so fucking stupid. Before it's too late."
"It's not too late, Paul. You're here now, present here with me. You've got so much ahead of you, remember, you told me that. You gave me that advice. You still have time."
"Time isn't a guarantee, though. Time doesn't do shit. Time isn't kind. And nothing, no amount of money or success, can stop time." Paul's voice began to rise, his breath quickening as he paced around the nook.
"Hey, Paul, hey, look at me. Breathe..." I rushed over, my hands still wet, and grabbed his hand, hoping that would ground him.
Dr. Beharie had advised me on coping techniques for when I was struggling, and physical touch was often a helpful outlet for me, using it more times than I could count. But as his palm met mine, a different realization dawned on me.
The gesture meant more than what I intended, a tender moment filled with an emotion that remained unnamed. Paul squeezed my hand, and a thousand unspoken thoughts floated between us, tethered by an invisible thread, and we stood there, staring at each other.
"Breathe with me, okay?"
"Beyoncé, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I...I'm scared. And confused. And frustrated. And a mess. And it's not fair to you. To drag you into this."
"Paul, c'mere. Come sit with me."
I led him into the living room and we settled on the couch. Paul stared at the floor, his lips parted and his brows furrowed.
"Look, Paul. You don't gotta explain anythin' if you don't want to. But if somethin' is botherin' you, just know I'm here. Whenever you're ready. No pressure."
I placed my other hand on his, and his eyes flickered up, the pain evident in his gaze. He closed his eyes, and his lashes fluttered as his Adam's apple bobbed, his jaw clenching.
"I opened myself up to you, you gave me advice that has helped me tremendously and I wanna return the same kindness. I could tell there's a lot goin' on today, and you don't have to put up a front or act a certain way for me. You can be vulnerable, Paul. And let me take care of you for a change."
Paul's eyes fluttered open, the blues flecked with a shimmering gloss. He sucked in a deep breath and released it, his gaze unwavering and his fingers grasping mine tightly. A single tear streamed down his cheek, and he lifted my hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing them against my knuckles. The sensation of his breath and the brush of his skin sent a tingle along my skin.
"Beyoncé, thank you. For today. And for everything. You mean so much more than you realize. I swear hanging out with you is the highlight of my week. Even if it's just going on a car ride and listening to music. Or walking the pier. Or sitting here and talking shit, watching TV. I..."
Paul faltered, his voice trailing. A few moments passed, and my heart drummed in my chest.
"I feel safe with you, Bey. And happy. And that scares me. Because I don't know how long this will last."
"Paul, I'm not goin' anywhere."
"You can't promise that."
"I know I can't. All I can do is be here, as much as I can. For as long as we can. No guarantees, but I'll try to give you whatever you need. Even if that means right now."
My hand was still in his, his thumb caressed the back, the rhythmic motion soothing. The crease between his brows softened and his shoulders slackened, the weight lifted. He released my hand and moved closer, wrapping his arms around me, his embrace enveloping me in a protective cocoon. I held him and kissed his temple, and he exhaled, the air dancing along my shoulder, his body relaxing against mine.
Paul pulled away to study my face, an electric charge crackling between us. His intense gaze seared my skin as his hand cradled my cheek, his thumb stroking gently.
"Is it ok if..."
His whisper was soft, his eyes half-lidded with a warmth that beckoned me closer. A fluttering sensation danced in my stomach, and my breath caught in a moment thick with suspense.
I straddled him, wrapping my arms around his neck as our lips met without hesitation. The kiss was soft, a cautious exploration of new territory. His hand traced the curve of my neck, eventually resting at the small of my back. His other hand cradled my head, his thumb's gentle caress below my ear sparking fireworks.
His taste, a delicate balance of espresso and chocolate from the tiramisu we shared earlier, spread warmth through my body. His arms tightened around my body, drawing me closer. The faint scent of his cologne—a complex blend of cedarwood, leather, and light cinnamon—surrounded us.
In that moment, we surrendered to a tenderness that was long neglected, a shared craving for connection that had gone hungry for affection. As we melted into one another, the line between desire and love blurred into obscurity.
Pulling back eventually, I rested my forehead against his with our noses brushing lightly and our mingled breaths filling the space between us. His eyes fluttered open, searching mine, perhaps seeking confirmation or understanding in the silent language of my expression.
I grabbed his hand and guided him towards the bedroom, and his steps matched mine, our pace unhurried and intentional. Once we arrived, I turned the knob of the dimmer switch to set the mood and we stood by the foot of the bed. Paul's palms skimmed over my sides before resting on my hips.
I let my fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the slight prickle of stubble against my skin. He drew me in, his hands exploring the contours of my backside.
His kisses found a home along the gentle slope of my neck, each one sending tremors through me as he lavished attention on the delicate hollow. My hands ventured beneath his shirt, encountering the firm terrain of his abdomen. As he raised his arms, I peeled away the fabric, revealing a landscape of smooth skin etched with defined lines.
The kisses continued, with an occasional tender graze of his teeth that shot sparks through my being. His hands slipped beneath my top to meet the warmth of my skin, stirring a shiver that raised the fine hairs at my nape. With a gentle tug, he removed my top, his eyes sweeping over me, filled with admiration and a hint of awe.
Cradling the back of my head, his fingers intertwined with my braids, gently angling my face toward his. His breath was warm and his tongue teased the seam of my lips as the anticipation built. We gradually reclined onto the bed, its fabric as cool and welcoming as his body that pressed against mine.
We let the minutes stretch, peeling away each other's clothes with a leisure that heightened the intimacy. Each touch and whisper was a note in the symphony of our deliberate undressing. I felt his hand ventured further south, his fingertips slipping past the barrier of elastic. My underwear offered no defense. His gentle caress drew a moan from deep within me, quickly hushed by his kiss.
"Bey..." His voice was a low rumble, thick with desire, his fingers pressing in a rhythmic dance against me, fanning the flames in my belly. As he explored further, the new sensation rippled through me, a mix of unfamiliarity and profound satisfaction.
It had been so long.
Far too long.
It was almost painful.
He was the first, and only man, who had touched me so intimately since...
My heart clenched, and I squeezed my eyes shut as the tears threatened to overflow. I felt his movement slow, then stop. His gaze, heavy with concern, searched mine, and his thumb stroked my cheek, wiping away a stray tear.
"Hey..." He was quiet, his expression soft.
I swallowed, trying to regain composure.
"Should we stop?"
"No." I shook my head slightly, "...I want this."
He withdrew his hand from inside me, and the slickness coated his fingers. He brought them to his lips, and the sight ignited a blaze in my core. Paul took his time, the muscles rippling and flexing as he removed the final pieces of clothing separating him.
I closed my eyes and opened them once more as I tried to reassure myself that I was not dreaming. I nearly screamed at the sight before me, the fullness, the girth, the length...
"Do...you have a condom?"
I was so enraptured by the specimen that stood before me, his body carved from marble and his confidence unshakeable, that his hushed question barely snapped me out of the trance.
"Oh, uh, yeah. Lemme go check Robyn's room. She might have one."
"Robyn's room? Is she-"
"Oh, no. No. It's cool. She would probably throw one at us if she was here."
Paul smirked and shook his head, a slight chuckle escaping between the both of us, and he watched me leave.
Once inside Robyn's room, I opened her nightstand drawer, rifling through the various trinkets and baubles, until my hand grazed a bundle of foil packets. Relief surged, and I returned triumphant with a few in hand.
Paul was already situated on the bed, one arm folded behind his head as he stared at the pole on the other side of the room with curiosity. His eyes flickered once he noticed my presence, following my movements as I climbed on the bed and slowly crawled towards him.
My hand carefully grasped the base of his shaft, and a soft hiss left his lips, his mouth parting. My hand calmly stroked him, and gauged his reaction as a low groan rumbled from his chest. I was hesitant, nervous to proceed, the last time being so long ago that the memories were a distant haze.
'Too sloppy, too aggressive, too gentle.'
Paul's hand came to rest atop my own, and his grip guided me, showing me the right amount of pressure, the correct pace, and the ideal technique. My confidence grew as the sounds leaving his lips increased in volume and fervor.
The praise fueled me, and I took him in my mouth, the warmth and saltiness coating my tongue, the fullness and girth pushing at the corners of my lips as I moaned. Paul moved his hand to the top of my head and his grip tightened. A primal growl escaped, his body stiffening. His free hand grabbed a fistful of the sheets, twisting them.
"Bey...wait-"
But I didn't listen. I wanted him. I wanted to make him come, and I doubled down, applying more suction and hollowed my cheeks. With his chest and neck turning tomato red and hips bucking, he let out a guttural moan, the deepest I've heard from him yet.
"Wait..." he laughed, his hand moving to my shoulder. "If you keep going like that...fuck...it'll be over...too soon."
I paused, releasing him, a thin trail of saliva still connecting us.
"Was that okay?"
"...putain incroyable," he murmured. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, wiping the excess away.
He reached for a packet and rolled the condom on. I stood by the edge of the bed to remove my underwear, and Paul's hands encircled my waist, drawing me close, his lips leaving a burning trail of kisses along my navel and downwards.
His hands slid over my thighs and he guided me toward him, positioning me above his lap, his arousal resting against my slick folds. With a gentle tug, he coaxed me into lowering, and he penetrated inch by inch, stretching and filling me, the pain and pleasure mingling into one. I had to ease myself down, taking the time to acclimate to his size.
When I was fully seated, we paused, gazing into each other's eyes, our shared desire evident and intense. Paul's hands glided along the slope of my back to unclasp my bra, and his lips grazed my collarbone before he moved back to allow the garment to fall away.
"Holy...shit."
The look on his face, the reverence and wonder, caused the heat in my core to simmer. He hesitated at the sight of the barbells lining my nipples, and his brow quirked up.
"You can touch them...they won't hurt."
His eyes darted to mine, a flash of mischievousness crossing before his hands cupped the fullness of my breasts, his thumbs rubbing and teasing the piercings. He lowered his head, and his mouth closed around the sensitive flesh. A sharp, shaky moan bubbled from me.
It was by far the best impulsive decision I had made.
Paul's hands migrated further south as he leaned back onto the bed, and my hips started to roll, creating a rhythm. His motions were fluid and measured, each upward thrust calculated and precise, an art form in its own way.
Our moans and gasps, mingled and staccato, echoed off the walls and bounced along the surfaces. The scent of sweat and sex filled the air, the moisture beading, then trickling. My fingernails dug into the taut muscles of his shoulders and chest, and his hands clutched desperately at the globes of my ass, pulling and kneading.
In one swift and sudden motion, Paul lifted me and led us to the wall across the bed. I gasped, clinging tightly, the abrupt change bringing a new wave of sensations. My arms and legs wrapped around him, his body pinning me as he resumed.
My hands ventured, scratching over his defined back and clutching at the corded ropes of muscle and the back of his head. Each thrust was a jolt, and the force reverberated through the wall, some of my picture frames rattling nearby. It became impossible to stay quiet, and with each snap of his hips, my cries grew louder and sharper.
"Paul...oh-please!"
Begging. Pleading.
It was so desperate. So uncouth.
I didn't care.
He slowed and stilled, and the whine that escaped me had him chuckling lightly. He carried me back to the bed and repositioned me on my back with one of my legs draped over his shoulder. Paul leaned forward, his weight resting on his forearm, and he was once again fully sheathed.
The new position introduced a deepness that was unlike anything I'd experienced, and each time Paul filled me, I was getting closer towards the finish line.
"Shit...I...I'm 'bout to—". My breath hitched with each moan and gasp becoming shorter and shorter, and Paul's free hand found mine, our fingers intertwined and holding tightly. I had never been in this position, never held hands while having sex. It was an small and simple gesture, but the emotional intimacy was enough to send me over the edge.
"Let go for me..."
Paul's lips grazed the shell of my ear, whispering a litany of praises as my release tore through me. My back arched, my nails digging into his firm grip on my hand. A string of curses and his name spilled from my lips, the ecstasy so potent.
His pace came to a gradual halt, and his forehead rested against mine, our breathless and shaky pants filling the silence. His eyes searched mine, the blue hues still dark with lust that had me melting.
"We've got all night," he said between ragged breaths, "I've got so much more to give you."
I fought hard to regain my breath and what was left of my consciousness before asking, "Is that...a promise?"
He placed soft pecks starting from my forehead and left a trail of wet kisses until he found himself between my legs. No part was left untouched.
"Yes."
✮✮✮
My limbs were leaden, the exhaustion permeating every fiber of my being. Paul's chest rose and fell beneath me, the gentle and even rhythm lulling me closer to sleep. His hand lazily fell against my hip and his breathing was steady and deep. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, and I snuggled closer, relishing the warmth that radiated from him, the familiar scent of french vanilla body wash clinging to his body, and the softness of the comforter against my skin. Paul's other arm was tucked beneath his head serving as an extra pillow, and his face was relaxed, a content and satisfied expression resting.
After our evening of passion, the hours spent discovering each other's bodies, we showered and he eventually drifted off to sleep. He stirred and mumbled, his voice husky and groggy, and he pulled me even closer, before relaxing once again.
I wanted this, a simple moment of comfort, a normalcy that I yearned for.
But a nagging thought lingered.
As if it were sensing my internal struggle, my phone chimed.
I stretched, reaching towards the nightstand, careful not to move too much and wake Paul. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the screen, a message caught my attention, and all traces of relaxation vanished.
(Aaliyah): hey, sucks we couldn't hang out this weekend. i know u were probably busy earlier this week and i know u probably have work tomorrow so u can't really talk rn. but i was hoping u could stop by or i meet up with u sometime this week. i really miss seeing u and i know our schedules been crazy lately. i wanna fix that. text or call me when u can. <3
Fuck.