He stared deeply into my eyes with his famous sexy gaze. The one that set me on fire. He
said simply, “You wish…”
     That made my blood boil. How nonchalant he was. I was hurt beyond reason. I didn’t deserve this shit. I said, “And that’s beginning to be a problem. I want to be fucked, baby.”
     He rolled his eyes.
     “I don’t have any babies. I don’t remember seeing you go through nine months of labor, Missy. Your ex fathered all your children, who you barely see and barely know. No wonder he has custody of them...and that’s all we ever do is fuck. We get mad we fuck. Happy we fuck. Cook, we fuck. Come home from a funeral, we fuck.”
My nipples were hard. I loved when he got mad, he got aggressive and that If-I- ever Crossed-your-Mind-Brian-McKnight shit went right out the window.
     I said, “And is that so bad?”
     “You don’t know me.”
     “I know you like the back of my hand.”
     He had challenging eyes.  “What size boxers I wear?”