Prologue
Kamari POV
Moving back into a place you never really moved into is a weird feeling. Radio silence from Markease and N’yona for over twenty-four hours is wild. Mom said they stopped by her place and from the sound of things, they’re together, together.
Clearly they went to the apartment afterwards, got into it with Hassan and now we’re here somehow. How did it go so wrong? Is it Markease’s fault for taking literally ten years to see he and Yona were meant for each other? Hassan’s for being a cock-blocking ass.
Shit, guess that makes me one too then doesn’t it? Yona wanted that apartment to be her love nest and I barged in on that too. I’m no better than Hassan. Maybe worse because I was inconveniencing Markease too. But it’s not like I was sleeping with Hassan to irritate him.
She rolled her pen between her fingers. The click of it against her nail was the loudest sound in the room. Outside, someone’s bass-heavy playlist thumped through the walls two doors down. The dorm version of silence.
That’s right. It was supposed to be an escape. Something easy, something that didn’t make my heart do somersaults. Someone I’d never fully love. I care about Hassan, deeply, and maybe if it was a year ago I’d think I loved him. But it’s not a year ago. And I know what love feels like. And I wish I didn’t.
She tossed her head back, looked up at the ceiling. A water stain in the corner she didn’t remember being there before. It made her uneasy. It was her room, but it felt foreign. She was surrounded by her things and still felt out of place. The desk lamp threw a yellow circle across her report that made the words look older than they were.
Her phone lit up. She snatched it up immediately hoping Markease and Yona had finally responded. She let it slide out of her hand after seeing it was just an Instagram notification. One of her clients asking for a session. She wasn’t in the mood. And with the money N’yona left she didn’t really need to work anyway. Her phone buzzed. She didn’t reach for it this time. She picked up her pen instead and tried to focus on her report. The words blurred. She read the same sentence three times.
Two minutes later it began to ring. Her heart rate climbed. Only one person contacted her with this pattern.
James.
She answered after gathering herself. One breath in. One breath out. Smoothing the edge out of her voice before she spoke.
“Hello?”
“Kamari. Good evening.”
She laughed a little. He was always so formal. “Evening professor.” Her voice was softer than normal. Unintentional but always true when she spoke with him.
“I know it’s a little late, but I wanted to touch base on that report.”
His voice in her ear tickled. Like warm water finding the inside of a seashell. “Working on it now. But I’m a little stuck.”
“Really? Should we meet up to discuss?”
Meet up?
“Is that necessary? We’re talking now.” Like I could stand to be in a room with you right now.
“It’s not… I’d like to see you though.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Kamari.”
“Professor Ellis.”
His tone shifted, to something less formal, more needy. Firm. “Aye, I want to see you.”
It made her body tremble. A current that started at the base of her spine and fanned outward. “Professor. We shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t what?”
“Do what we’re doing.”
“It’s just coffee. Discuss some classwork and maybe a bit of idle chatter. You know you’re my favorite conversation partner.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. The one he wore when he wanted her to do as he said. The one he didn’t know was his greatest weapon against her.
“…fine. Where?”
“I guess my office. Twenty minutes?”
His office? Risky. The last time we almost…
“Your office, I don’t know professor.”
“Why— oh!? Right.” He chuckled nervously. Then the mood shifted. His voice got lower, his breath heavier. “So what?”
She swallowed hard. Knew she shouldn’t go. Knew she would.
“Twenty minutes.” She disconnected the call without waiting for a response.
Fuck. What am I doing? He’s married. I’m an escort. He’s my professor. My mentor. I shouldn’t do this.
She felt a persistent ache in her lower core and groaned as she pushed back from the desk. The chair legs scraped against the tile.
“Fuck it. If it happens it happens.”
She walked over to the small closet on the far side of the room and slid the door open. An assortment of dresses, skirts and jeans, most of them crammed together on mismatched hangers. She didn’t have much time. She’d agreed to twenty minutes. It would take about half that to walk there. Heels were out of the question. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard or like she was trying to seduce him, but it also needed to look like she’d put in some effort and it needed to make him want to see underneath. She settled on a white skirt, a plain green t-shirt and a zip-up hoodie that she zipped only a little at the bottom. She completed it with Jordans. Her favorite pair. James was into shoes—it’d be a talking point.
She gathered the documents off her desk, organized them, placed them into a folder and then into her bag. She took a quick look in the mirror adjusting her hair before she went to leave, then turned around and grabbed her favorite perfume and spritzed herself twice. The mist settled on her collarbone and wrists. She exhaled shallow, grabbed the doorknob, then left.
⸻
The sorority was empty. It usually was this time of night. The other girls were probably at some frat partying. That life had gotten stale for her. Plus the other girls on campus didn’t like her being around much these days. The hallway lights hummed overhead, one of them flickering in a rhythm that felt intentional, like the building was winking at her on the way out.
She stepped outside. The night air was chilling. Immediate. It wrapped around her bare legs and climbed. She found herself wishing she’d put on tights then looked down at her bare legs and figured James would appreciate this more and that would be worth the chill. Goosebumps rose along her thighs.
She let her mind roam as she watched the warmth from her lungs become mist in the night air then vanish.
That could be us couldn’t it? A small moment that disappears in the night, forgotten.
But even as she thought that, her pace quickened. Her steps becoming more certain. Her Jordans scuffing lightly against the concrete path that cut through the quad.
Being someone’s other woman. I’m better than that. I could have any guy on campus. It doesn’t have to be James.
Her pace didn’t slow.
But I owe it to myself to explore this feeling. And it’s just coffee. And reports, and some banter. That’s all it is. That’s all it has to be.
She pushed through the double doors of the arts building without breaking stride. Her lungs burned from the cold air. There was condensation on the outside of her nose. She rubbed her hands together trying to shake off the cold. The hallway was empty and overlit — fluorescent white bouncing off linoleum that squeaked under her soles. She walked to the end of the hall and took a left. The professor’s office was the third door on the right. It would be locked this time of night. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a key and unlocked the door. The lock turned smooth. She’d done this enough times that her wrist knew the motion.
The inside of the office was warm. He always kept it set to eighty degrees. He hated it. Said it was too hot, but she was cold by nature and she worked with him often, so he set it for her comfort. The warmth hit her skin like stepping into a bath. She sat down in the love seat near the door. It was soft. The leather — or whatever the material was — gave under her weight in a way that felt practiced. She let herself relax a little, her face falling into a pillow. It smelled a little. Not good or bad. But she liked it. A mix of sweat, cologne, body wash, perfume, shampoo. His and hers, from the countless times they’d shared this couch during idle conversation and the one time they didn’t share any words at all. She breathed in deeper. His name escaping her as she did.
“Yes?”
She sat up stiff. Didn’t turn to face him. Ran her fingers across the fabric of the couch. The sound of her nails catching filling the room. “So you just stood there watching me?”
“I just got here.”
She could hear the amusement in his tone and it made the back of her neck hot. She turned to look at him, half pouting.
He set the coffees down on his desk. Steam curling from the lids. “Don’t be mad, I wasn’t trying to creep on you.”
“I don’t like that you’re grinning so hard.”
“I’m not.”
He was.
“Professor, can we just get to work?”
“We could,” he sat down next to her. Right next to her, his thigh against hers. The heat of him through his slacks immediate and distracting. “But something’s bothering you right? You’ve just seemed off.”
She stretched her hand towards the coffee and he got up and brought it to her. The cup was warm in her palms. Grounding. “It’s nothing.”
He rubbed a hand on her thigh. High on her thigh, almost pushing the skirt up. It wasn’t intentional, she didn’t think, but her breath still caught and she still nearly burned herself with the hot coffee. A drop landed on her knee and she barely felt it over the heat his hand was generating.
“Kamari, talk to me.”
“It’s really nothing. Just some stuff with my former roommates.”
“Your brother?”
“No. Well yes. He’s ghosting me or whatever and I’ll smack him when I see him but it’s not him. I’m concerned about another— friend? Maybe family is a better word. I don’t know. He just seemed, not right.”
“…Hassan then.” He said with a scowl. Voice tinged with disapproval.
“What?”
“Nun.”
It was something. The professional mask he’d built was slipping. James wasn’t exactly from the hood like she was, but he’d had a time where the streets were all he knew. Even though he didn’t have to live that way. It slipped out when he was agitated sometimes. The way his posture shifted. Shoulders squaring. Jaw setting. Like a suit being taken off from the inside.
“I know you don’t like when I talk about Hassan.”
“Well, he sounds like a bad influence.”
“He’s harmless. Or he was. I don’t know.”
“Did he do something to you?”
She could see the vein in his neck pulsing despite his calm tone. His hand had stopped moving on her thigh. Frozen mid-stroke.
“No. And even if he did, it’s not your place to do anything about it. My brother would handle that.”
He bit down on his lip. And she wanted to apologize. She didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He couldn’t be defending her honor while being a college professor. A married one at that.
“You’re right. I overstepped.” He moved his hand off of her thigh and she moved to put it back but stopped herself. Her fingers hovered in the space where his hand had been. The skin still warm from the contact.
“Professor Ellis, it made me happy that you got upset for me but really, I’m fine.”
“Mari… I’m really trying here. I’m shooting straight with you. I know I’m not supposed to like you. You’re nineteen. I’m thirty-six. I’m married. You’re young, vibrant in a way that reminds me of when the world had color. When smells were stronger. Spending time with you is why I wake up. I ain’t supposed to say that. But I said it.”
Her heart stalled. Mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. The office was so quiet she could hear the clock on his desk ticking. Had it always been that loud? “Professor…”
“I ain’t your professor right now. It’s just James.” He cupped her face with one hand and leaned closer. His thumb grazed her cheekbone. “And I’m gonna kiss you now.”
“James.”
“That’s right.” He kissed her softly at first. Then deeper, rougher. The taste of coffee still on his lips. Bitter and warm.
“James… we can’t.” She breathed, but her tongue was sliding against his without restraint. “Stop.”
He pulled back. She pulled him back in.
“Make up your mind.”
“I’m trying.”
He unbuttoned his shirt. She pushed a hand to his chest. It was firm. Warm. A tattoo of some kind of wing was peeking out above the last pec. She’d never seen it before. The ink was dark, the lines clean. “Yay or nay?” He said hovering over her. Their faces inches apart. His breath against her mouth.
Her fingers were still pressed against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat under the tattoo. It was bounding. For a moment she thought she may literally have his heart in her hands. Or maybe she was feeling her own heart escaping through her hand to his chest.
“…I don’t know.” She wasnt sure if she was answering him or her own thoughts.
He kissed her again. “How about now.”
“Maybe.”
He kissed her again, longer. Her back arching off the couch without her permission.
“Now.”
She gasped for breath. “Wait…”
He slid a hand along her thigh. Then back down to her knee then back up, brushing the skirt, pushing it up a little further each time. His fingertips rough against her skin. Calluses she hadn’t expected. “Take your time.”
Jesus! Why does everything he does feel so good? Fuck it. Fuck it!
“Okay. Do you have protection?”
Her pulse was in her ears. Like her body was applauding a decision her brain hadn’t fully signed off on.
“Yeah.” He got up and went to his desk. The leather of the couch sighed where his weight had been.
Really? He keeps them on hand?
“Wow professor,” she teased. “Just got those on deck? Who else you bringing by here?”
“Nobody but you.” He looked like he had to stop himself from saying more. She didn’t need to guess to figure what. He probably prepared them for his wife.
His wife who he’d be going home to after this.
She couldn’t understand why that bothered her. How many boys had gone home to their girlfriends after a session with her? After paying for her company. Because she liked him? Because he made her feel special?
Special? Yeah right. You’re a mistress. About to give up the little pussy God gave you for free. For love. Get up and go back to your room.
The snap of elastic drew her attention. “You gonna undress or…”
Her eyes went wide. “Um…” It was big. Bigger than she’d seen before. And she’d seen a few. “Um… I… woah.”
He chuckled. “Don’t get scared.”
“I’m not scared. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Why’d I say that.
“Oh yeah? Ever ride a bull like this?”
Fuuuuuck no!
She leaned back on the couch and tilted her head a bit, trying to give off an air of confidence, but she didn’t speak. She knew her voice would betray her. She smiled instead. He took that as affirmation. And moved closer. And every muscle in her body tensed. Her stomach tightened. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. Her eyes locked below his waist.
I can’t do it. Nobody was made for that.
She chuckled nervously. “Quick question. Your wife likes that?” She said pointing to it.
“You wanna discuss my wife? Now?”
“No… maybe. It’s massive professor. Have your past partners complained?”
“Only ever had one partner. And she doesn’t really speak up, about anything. Maybe you’ll tell me what you think.”
She worked her mouth but no words came out.
“On second thought, we have these reports to go over and I have to get up early in the morning. Well today actually. It’s after midnight. So…”
“I can be quick. We’ll have time to go over those reports. I’ll even bring you a coffee in the morning.” He said sliding back onto the couch. The cushion dipped. She felt herself tilt toward him.
She was running out of excuses as he pushed her back down. Running out of rationality the more he kissed her. She moaned as his lips pressed against her neck. He sucked harder than he needed to. It was almost painful. Almost. The sting blooming into heat that spread across her collarbone. Her head rolled to the side and she saw the coffee cup on the table. The steam had stopped rising.
“My— my coffee. It’s getting cold.”
“I’ll heat it up for you.”
“Now?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Why not now?” He grabbed her hand and placed it on his dick. She ran her hand along the shaft unconsciously. “…damn.” It was barely a whisper. He pulsed against her palm with every micro movement. It was thick, hard. The warmth of it startling even through the latex. “You’re like this for me?” The room suddenly felt smaller. A veil of sweat breaking out across her skin. The heat of him as she stoked slow making her own body burn hotter. The vein along the left side of his shaft jumped as if leaning into her touch. It gave her a sense of satisfaction that quieted her doubts.
“You gonna leave me hanging?” He reached under her skirt, hooking the waistband of her panties.
She hesitated a beat. Two. The fabric of the couch rough against the backs of her thighs. Then slowly lifted her hips. He pulled them down with the same hesitation, as if giving her the opportunity to go back. She didn’t.
“Kamari.” He kissed her again. Tossing the damp garment to the side. It landed somewhere she couldn’t see.
“Gently.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do it. The first time can definitely be the last, James.” She repositioned herself beneath him. The fabric of the couch against her bare skin made her skin sweat more. She let her legs fall open. He pushed the skirt further up her waist, his left knee brushe against her inner thigh, his erection pressed against her clit and she shuddered from the sensation. “Fuck around and find out.”
“It’s not even that big.”
“…nigga.”
He laughed. “Okay, okay. Watch the language.”
“Sorry. Just— you’re trying to shove a log in a keyhole. It’s lubricated but still.”
“You trust me?” He said pressing against her entrance. The pressure patient. Deliberate.
Her mouth dropped open. “Right now… I’m not sure.”
He pushed. The head slipped inside. She felt the fullness creeping in. A stretch that bordered on too much and not enough at the same time. “How about now?”
“…yeah.” She let her nails bite into his shoulder. The fabric of his open shirt bunching under her grip.
“Hm?” He pushed further. Slowly, deliberately.
“Shit…”
“Language.”
“Sorry. Fuck. Sorry.”
He laughed. “One third of the way there.”
What!? I’m gonna die.
He placed a hand on her abdomen and pushed further. She gritted her teeth, breathing becoming frantic. The office clock was still ticking. She could hear it between her own exhales. Each tick a measurement of how far he’d gone.
Then her phone chimed.
“Need to get that?”
“Will we have to start over if I do?”
“Probably.”
“Then no. Keep going.”
He did. “About halfway now.”
“Stop telling me how deep you are. I already feel you in my stomach.”
Her phone chimed again. She groaned. It was distracting.
“Want me to get it?”
She sighed. “Yeah, pull out.”
The pull-out wasn’t slow at all. And he got stuck at the entrance. Or he acted like he did. He used it to sneak in a few shallow strokes that made her toes curl inside her Jordans. Which she was still wearing. She hadn’t even taken off her shoes.
She hopped off the couch, legs already feeling weak. The room tilted slightly. He slapped her lightly on the butt as she walked by. “Stop it. Be right back.”
She dug her phone out of her bag. Her fingers were clumsy. Still trembling.
It was filling up with alerts.
What’s going on?
At the top, a message from a sorority mate. Amanda.
Amanda: Where are you!? Shit is going down at the house. Get back here now!
Kamari: Is it important? I’m kinda in the middle of something.
Amanda: Yes! We got robbed!
Shit!
She stuffed the phone back in her bag and started gathering her things.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have to go. Uh… where are my underwear?”
“Right now? And I think I tossed them somewhere near the right side of the desk.”
She dropped to her knees. The room was dark. She was trying to locate by feel. The carpet was rough under her bare knees. Her hand brushed something wet. Those had to be it. “Yes. My sorority got robbed. And it’s probably my fault.”
“Really? Uh, want me to come with you?”
“And how would that look? Us showing up together at this time of night. With my clothes and hair like this.”
“How’s it going to look when you show up alone?”
“The same. But they won’t know who I was with.”
“Right. Right.”
She grabbed her bag and pulled the door open, paused before leaving. The hallway light cut a bright line across the office floor. “Next time okay?”
“No worries. I’ll uh, save this for later then.”
She laughed. “Good night James.”
“Night Mari.”
She took off in a light jog. She was halfway down the hall before the door could close behind her. The fluorescent lights blurred overhead. Her reflection chased her in the polished floor.
Fuck! It’s always something.
She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or frustrated. Probably both. She wanted it to happen. But she was also grateful it hadn’t really gotten started.
But the dull ache. The sensation of fullness was still there. A reminder that it had gotten started. And her body wanted to finish.
Fuck. Tomorrow. We can try tomorrow.
⸻
She showed up at the sorority building glistening with sweat, hair disheveled, breathing uneven, and angry. Amanda was standing at the entrance alone. Lightly dressed as if she’d woken up and come down just moments ago. Arms crossed against the chill.
“What did they take?”
“I don’t know. Nothing. You’ll have to confirm.”
“What? Why?”
“Well he was in your room.”
“The fuck? You said we got robbed. You meant I got robbed?”
“I guess. I think it was that one guy that came around here sometimes. The one with the low cut, walks weird like he’s tryna be hard.”
“Hassan!?”
“Maybe. It looked like him. And he was all in your stuff.”
She pulled out her phone and dialed his number. It went to voicemail.
Kamari: You asshole! Did you break into my room? What did you steal!? Don’t worry about it, I’m on my way to take it back.
“Kamari—”
“Could you lock up my room please? I’m going to kill this asshole.”
And to think I was concerned about him. He ruins my link-up and breaks into my room!? I’ll cut his balls off.
“Uh, okay. It’s late though. Can’t this wait?”
“No. That rat might run off and hide.”
I’ll have to message Markease later and tell him it was a false alarm. Hassan ain’t shit. We don’t need him. And we shouldn’t care about him.
The apartment wasn’t far from the university. She could get there in twenty minutes if she ran. So she did.
⸻
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Hands on her knees, dripping with sweat, feet aching, pulsing in her favorite shoes. The pair she’d ruined running here. The white leather scuffed and darkened with grime from the pavement. She was literally steaming in the night air. But the run had actually cooled her head, the way exercise tended to. She’d rushed here angry, but now that she’d thought about it, she was just more concerned for Hassan. She pulled out her phone and dialed Markease. It actually rang this time. She started climbing the stairs. Phone to her ear, still ringing. The metal railing was ice cold under her free hand. After four rings it connected to voicemail.
This shit again.
She wanted to scream.
“Hey, I’m here at the apartment. I’m really worried about Hassan. He… he’s not okay Markease. I know he fucked up. He’s a fuck-up, but… just when you get this call me back. Please.”
She ended the call. Now at the top of the stairs. She looked at the beat-up old door. The paint peeling at the edges. The dent near the bottom from the time Hassan kicked it open after losing his key. She didn’t expect to be back here so soon. She stepped to the door and realized she didn’t have the key. She’d left it in her room. She groaned in frustration until she heard shuffling on the other side. He was here. She started to knock. To bang on the door but thought better of it. This was Hassan. She turned the knob. The door was unlocked.
Of course.
She pushed the door open. The place was pitch black. Weird thing number one. And the place was even more trashed than the last time. She stepped inside and heard glass shatter under her steps. The sound too loud in the silence. It echoed off the walls like the apartment was holding its breath.
Something was off. A pit formed in her stomach. Her senses were screaming danger. The way they had when Hassan looked at her that day. But she wondered, just for a moment, if maybe it wasn’t danger she was sensing. Or rather, not for her. She couldn’t abandon him. Not if she could help. And it seemed like she may be the only person in his life that would even try.
She walked further in. The TV was emitting a dim glow. It was broken. Barely hanging from the wall mount. The light from it pulsed, casting shadows that shifted and reformed like the room was breathing. The air smelled rotten. Spoiled food and stale smoke layered on top of something sharper she couldn’t name. The dishes were still piled high. The old sofa was flipped, the cushions on either side of the room. The familiar clacking of the ceiling fan was the only sound. At this hour the building was asleep. The door to Hassan’s room was open. She called for him. But didn’t get an answer. She stepped lightly. She didn’t want the glass to pierce her shoe.
“Hassan.”
Still no answer. Her voice sounded smaller than she wanted it to. She stepped into his room. It was small. The lights were low, but she could see well enough. He wasn’t inside. Clothes were scattered about, random takeout bags from various restaurants all over the place, but no Hassan. The room smelled like him though. That cheap cologne he wore too much of. Even empty, he left an imprint.
She backed out of the room. Walked across the living room and noticed Markease’s room door was ajar.
She thought maybe he’d gone in to trash what was left of Markease’s stuff.
“Hassan?” She pushed the door open. The room was barren, save the mattress and a dresser. Nowhere for anyone to hide. The streetlight outside the window threw a pale rectangle across the bare mattress.
She sighed. “This is getting stupid.” Did I just imagine it? I could have sworn I heard movement.
She stepped out of Markease’s room. The bathroom door was shut, light off. He wasn’t likely to be in there. The only place left. Her room.
Why would he be in there?
She heard shuffling again. Closer this time. The sound of weight shifting on a floor that wasn’t used to being quiet.
He was inside.
“Hassan? Dammit, if you were here you could have just answered. This isn’t funny. Why are all the lights out? Why’d you break all this stuff? You’ll have to buy it all again.”
He didn’t respond. Again.
She stepped through the door. The room was dark like every other room. She could see the shadow of what was her bed frame, N’yona’s too. The dresser they kept in the corner. But not much else. He could be lying on the bed and she’d never know. The darkness in here was different. Thicker. It had a presence to it, like walking into a room that had been holding someone’s breath for hours.
The room seemed empty.
She slid her hand along the wall for where she knew the light switch would be. The plaster was cool and slightly gritty under her fingertips. Her finger brushed the switch, and something cool and clammy brushed her hand then grabbed it.
She screamed. Whatever it was let go.
She stumbled backwards out of the room. Falling on her backside. A small shard of glass cut into her right hand. The sting sharp and immediate. Warm blood welling up against her palm.
“Ow! Dammit Hassan! Why’re you—”
Someone stepped out. Someone not Hassan.
She couldn’t see his face. He took a step towards her. She slid back. The glass grinding beneath her. Her palm left a wet streak on the floor.
“Back up! I’ll scream!”
“Don’t! Where’s N’yona?” The voice was deep, distinctly male. It didn’t belong to anyone she’d ever heard.
N’yona? What does he want with her?
“Fuck off. You some kinda stalker?”
“I’m her friend. I want to help her.”
“What? She doesn’t need help. You’re a crazy person.”
“I’m not crazy! She’s mine!”
Yeah. Crazy.
She gathered the air in her lungs to scream and it was taken away when something crashed into her side. She grunted in pain. He’d kicked her in the stomach. The force of it folded her in half. Spit flew from her mouth. The taste of iron blooming at the back of her tongue.
“Don’t you dare.”
She coughed, choking on her own saliva. Tears welling up from the pain. He might have broken a rib. Every breath was a knife. “…stop.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know! She’s gone!”
“Gone where?!”
“Help! Help me! Hel—”
Everything went dark after that.
