NADINE
~Pronounced: Nay-Deen~

ᥫ᭡

I wake up to the sound of tools clinking.

For a moment, I think it's part of my dream, but the faint glow of light seeping under the bedroom door tells me otherwise.

What the hell is that noise?

I blink, trying to ease the burning in my eyes.

Marcus?

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, with the pad of my wrists, I stretch lazily, the warm sheets tangled between my legs, and roll over.

But his side of the bed is empty.

My vision clears.

What time is it?

Reaching for my phone which is on the nightstand across from me, I look at the time: minutes to 2 a.m.

Seriously?

The continuous clinking sound brings my attention back to the door.

Curious, I pull on my robe and shuffle down the hallway, the cool tiles waking me up with each step. I check on the kids before heading downstairs. The sound gets louder as I reach the kitchen.

No, a waah go so——

The sight waiting for me stops me in my tracks. Marcus, shirtless, with gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, is crouched in front of the fridge with a screwdriver in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

"Do I even want to know?" I ask, leaning against the doorway.

Marcus glances up, his face half-shadowed in the dim light. "Ice maker been a fuck itself. Figured I'd fix it."

Thank God, but...

"At two in the morning?"

He shrugs, pulling a red rag from his waistband and wiping his hands with it. "Couldn't sleep."

I know him well enough to know what that means. He's been restless for weeks now, trying to find his footing with me, with the kids...with everything, amidst the chaos at work.

"So you decide no one else should be able to sleep either?" I tease, arching a brow.

Marcus glances at me, holding my stare for a while. Then says, "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you..."

"I'm kidding, babe, chill." I sit down at the kitchen table, tucking my feet under me. "Want some company?"

He doesn't answer right away, but there's a slight shift in his shoulders, a subtle sign that my presence is welcomed.

"Sure," he says finally, his voice softer.

OK.

"Want me to do anything?"

Not sure what though, other than sit and look pretty, but it's the thought that counts, right?

"Nah. I'm almost done anyway."

"OK, Mr. Fix-It."

This causes a small smile to tug at the corners of his lips, making me grin.

Reassuming his position, Marcus goes back to what he was doing before I interrupted him earlier.

For a while, I just watch him work. There's something oddly soothing about the methodical way he moves, like fixing things is his way of regaining control —— at least over what aspects he can.

Plus, he looks damn good in his element.

One thing though, instead him turn on the main light, him deh yasso a strain him damn eye dem.

...at least him look like him a get through this time. Unlike the last time he attempted to fix a faulty appliance in this place.

"Remember when you tried to fix the washing machine, last year?" I say, breaking the silence, recounting the memory.

Marcus chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah. Ended up flooding the fucking laundry room. Jah Jah."

"And blaming me for overloading it," I add, grinning.

He looks over his shoulder, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "In my defense, you do overload it."

True.

I laugh, and the sound feels good—natural.

"Plus tha machine deh did a crosses yawh man. This, on the other hand, a simple one-two."

I hum. Love how him can blame the machine now. Just because him nuh listen, because I told him to leave it alone and just replaced it since the technicians were giving us the run-around.

But no!

"Hand me that wrench," he says, nodding toward the counter.

I grab it, walking over to kneel beside him. The cool tile presses against my knees, but I don't mind.

"Say please..." I tease.

"Sorry...please..."

"Good boy." I smirk as I hand it to him, watching the corners of his lips twitch with amusement.

With the mischievous smirk still on my face, I recline against the column of the island and stare at his ass.

As a batty gyal.

Seeing him like this does something to me.

Woulda gi' him piece right yasso, right now.

He chuckles lowly, shaking his head, as if he heard my thoughts.

I continue to watch him work in silence for a while, enjoying both the view and his company.

"You ever think we're like this fridge?" I ask suddenly, as the thought pops into my head.

Marcus pauses, turning to look at me with his eyebrows raised. "Wah yuh mean?"

"Broken, but worth fixing," I say quietly, surprising even myself.

He fidgets with the wrench in his hand. For a moment I think he's going to brush it off, but then he nods. "Yeah. I guess you could terms it that way. But definitely the 'worth fixing' part though."

I meet his eyes, and there's something raw in his gaze. The sincerity in his voice also catches me off guard. For a moment, we just look at each other, the weight of his words settling over us.

We've both been struggling, and while neither of us is perfect, the fact that we've acknowledged that there's a problem and we're both willing to try to fix it means everything.

When the ice maker finally hums back to life, Marcus sits back on his heels, wiping his hands again.

"Fixed," he says, the satisfaction in his voice as clear as day.

Bap bap. Mi husband a fixer...!

"Guess you're good for something after all," I quip, standing up.

He grins, standing too. "And don't you forget it."

I smile, walking toward the fridge. "Oh, trust me, I won't."

I open the door, but linger longer than I need to, my mind drifting, momentarily. Tell mi say mi figot wah mi come yasso fa already...

Eventually pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, I uncork it and take a sip, glancing over at him. "Want one?"

"Nah."

O...K.

I hum, closing the door with my hip and moving over to the island, less than a foot away from where he's standing, staring down at the scattered tools at his feet.

He simply stands there, for a while, the faint hum of the fridge filling the quiet, before he starts gathering them.

I lean against the counter, sipping quietly as I watch him do his thing. I'm not sure what to say, and he seems like he's waiting for me to say something.

"You want tea or something?" I ask, after about a minute, breaking the silence. 

Or some pussy?

That can work too.

Marcus raises an eyebrow. "At two in the morning, Nadz?"

I shrug. "You're fixing fridges at two in the morning. I don't think tea is that strange."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head again. Then shrugs. "Gwaan then nuh. Tea sounds good."

Exactly. I move toward the kettle, flicking it on, and he follows me, leaning against the counter beside me, our shoulders almost touching.

"Tea or coffee, by the way?"

I shrug. "Whichever one."

"Sounds like coffee win tuh me."

I hum. It really doesn't matter.

Marcus walks toward the cupboard, and I watch him as he pulls out two tea cups and a pair of spoons, placing them on the counter.

"Black or with milk?"

Did ago mek it but since yuh willing...

"Surprise mi."

"Ah."

He scoops the ingredients into both mugs.

For once, there's no tension. No awkwardness. Just the two of us co-existing: the sound of the water bubbling in the kettle, the quiet hum of the house, and the fact that, for now, we're okay.

We might not have everything figured out, but that's a start for what it's worth.

Soon, the flick of the kettle says the water is ready, and Marcus takes over without a word, pouring the boiling water into the mugs, stirring slowly, his movements deliberate, precise.

As a professional coffee making machine. Yeah, you! 

I almost giggle at the thought. 

The sight of him standing there—barefoot, relaxed, domestic—makes my chest tighten in a way I can't quite explain.

He's been doing such a good job lately, I must admit.

And I pray he keeps it up. 

"I can literally feel you staring, B," he says without looking up. "Yuh good?"

"Great."

"So how yawh pree mi so?"

"Maybe I like what I see."

"Eeeh? A weh yuh nawh say. Mi nuh mind still, do yuh t'ing." His voice is low, teasing, with just enough edge to make me bite my lip.

As he stirs, I can't help but notice the flex of his forearm, the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin. Even now, after all these years and after everything, he still has that effect on me.

I press my legs together.

Love man like dog!

"Still a look?" he says after a minute of me being silent - ogling him. 

Smirking, I lean against the counter. "What if I am?"

"Ah, gwaan have yuh fun, man. Nuh make mi stop yuh," he says with a low chuckle, handing me my mug. "Careful, it hot."

I roll my eyes, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic, but the smile on my lips betrays me. "I can handle hot things, Marcus."

His eyes flick to mine, lingering. "Yeah? Good to know."

The look he gives me stirs something in my chest, and between my legs, but I play it cool, taking a cautious sip of the coffee instead. Noth'n worse than when hot coffee scorch yuh tongue. It's perfect——rich and smooth, just the way I like it.

I glance at him over the rim of my mug. His jawline is sharp under the dim lighting, his lips plump and eyes dark. Sexy.

"Ago mek a note a that..."

This man...

"Move from yasso nuh! Yuh see yuh face?"

My statement pulls a chuckle from deep within his chest, as he joins me, pulling out the chair across from mine.

I nod toward the open tool kit still resting on the floor by the fridge. "So...yuh plan fi fix noth'n else tonight? Or should I start locking the toolset away when I sleep, from now on?"

He grins, his teeth flashing white. "Nah, di fridge was the only thing mi plan fi tek on tonight. But yuh never know, I might surprise you."

I pick up the hidden meaning behind his comment.

"Surprise me?" I try to play it off. "Like how yuh surprise me when yuh flood the laundry room?"

I'm well aware of the innuendo, yet still...

He laughs, the sound deep and genuine. "Alright, fair. But yuh cyaan hold dat over mi forever, babes. Jah know?"

"Oh, I absolutely can," I tease, taking another sip of coffee.

Marcus leans back, folding his arms across his torso, his expression softening. "You know, we don't do this enough."

I shift in my seat to get a bit more comfy. "Do what? Drink coffee in the middle of the night?"

He shakes his head. "No...just...talk."

Oh.

His words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don't know how to respond. He's right. Between the kids, work, and everything else, we've been moving around each other like two planets in separate orbits. Although our relationship has improved dramatically since we agreed to work on ourselves last time, moments like this are rare.

"Well," I say finally, straightening my posture, "maybe we should change that."

His gaze meets mine, eyes sincere. "Maybe we should."

I hum, releasing a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I look up to see him staring at me with that look in his eyes, still.

My cheeks heat up. "What?"

He shrugs. "Noth'n. Maybe I like what I'm seeing too...?"

I roll my eyes, but can't help but blush as I stare at the almost empty cup in my hand.

"Come here."

At his voice, my heart skips a beat. "No. Move..."

"Babe, come here nuh..."

"Marcus, how yuh love gi' yuhself trouble so?"

"Fi call mi wife?"

"We both know wah yawh call mi fa'."

"Eeeh? Wah mi a call yuh fa'?"

I give him a blank stare.

Which makes him chuckle. Then clears his throat. "Mi nawh trouble yuh, babes. A swear."

I hum, unconvinced.

"Big woman t'ing."

"So wah yuh waan mi ova desso fa wah cyaa say from ova yasso?"

"A sum'n mi waah show yuh."

"Easy nuh," he adds when I give him the look.

"Show mi from yasso..."

As if you thought I'd fall for that. Tuh!

"A ova yasso mi waa show yuh."

He gets serious when I still don't move. "Aite, if yuh mek mi affi come fi yuh, it ago worse. So the less risqué thing to do is to come to mi."

ChatGPT said:

I raise an eyebrow, feeling a bit mischievous. "Worse?"

He nods slowly, a smug glint in his eye. "Much worse."

Why do I want him to prove it?

My heart flutters despite myself, and I set my mug down, sliding off the chair with a slow, deliberate stretch. "Well, we can't have that now, can we?"

Marcus leans back slightly, spreading his legs just enough to make room for me to fit. "Come mek mi show yuh sum'n."

I playfully roll my eyes but take a slow step closer. I know exactly what he's doing. And he knows I know. Still, I let myself be pulled in.

Caution level is on ten but my curiosity is piqued, so I continue forward until I'm standing right between his knees. Instinctively, his hands slide up the sides of my robe, circling around my waist then down to my ass, cupping the cheeks. I suck in a breath.

He looks up at me with that intense, unreadable gaze. "See mi tell yuh say mi nawh trouble yuh?" 

"Really now? So wah yuh call this then?" 

"Yuh know seh mi miss yuh?" He says out of the blue. 

I pause.

"I'm right here," I then say, softer than I intend.

"Yawh trouble eno, yuh know ano that mi mean, beau." 

I do? 

Yes, I do. Regardless I only fix him with a teasing pout. 

Until I feel his hands slide between the folds of the fabric, kneading the exposed skin of my hips, move up to my waist, edging a bit higher until they're brushing just below my breasts. Warm palms, gruff; calloused from working with tools, I assume, gliding across my skin, raise a sea of goosebumps beneath their trail.

"Yuh love play wid man medz?" he mutters, eyes focused on his hands on my body before they meet mine.

"Shut up," I murmur, my voice catching as he tugs me down onto his lap, one hand now cupping my breast.

The chair creaks softly beneath us.

"You nuh tired, Mr. Blackwell?" I ask, feeling his erection press up under me through his sweatpants.

He smirks. "Tired, no. Horny? fuck yes."

Says di man who swear he wasn't gonna touch me.

I bite back a laugh, shaking my head, but I don't move. Instead, I shift just enough to tease him. His breath catches.

"Do that again," he says, voice lower now, rougher.

My clit jumps. 

"Do what?" I whisper, pretending to play innocent as I roll my hips slowly.

Marcus's grip tightens. "Stop play wid mi, Nadine...!"

His tone immediately sends a shiver up my spine.

We haven't been like this in a while. This close...connected...playful. And God, I've missed this version of us.

My hand find their way to his abs, dragging my nails lightly across the defined muscles. "Ano that...wah yuh plan fi 'bout it if I don't?"

Marcus's eyes darken. "Yuh waah test that?"

Without giving me to chance at a snarky comeback, he grips the back of my neck and pulls my face lower, covering my lips with his. 

The kiss is warm, unhurried, possessive.

Using his free hand, he effortlessly pulls me onto his lap so that I'm now straddling him. 

In no time, his hand is back under my robe, warm fingers splaying against my ass, pressing me down onto his crotch, as he deepens the kiss.

I melt into him, my arms tightening around his neck. His dick is rock hard beneath me, and I can practically feel the tension between us, urging me to grind my wetness against it.

With a low grunt, he breaks away from our lip lock, exhales, before leaning back in, trailing his lips along my jaw, down to the curve of my neck.

I close my eyes as he sucks gently at the spot just below my ear. My breath hitches, the pulsing sensation between my parted legs becoming almost overbearing.

God!

This man literally knows every shortcut to my body. Every switch.

"Marcus..." I murmur, a warning and a plea all in one.

He pauses, just enough to whisper, "Tell mi fi stop, and mi stop."

I don't say a word.

Because I don't want him to.

Instead, I shift again, moaning softly in his ear to let him know the feeling is mutual. He groans low and rough in my ear, and I feel it everywhere.

The robe slips further off my shoulder as his hands roam.

He's taking his time to explore my body. And it's messing with my head.

Messing with my resolve.

Needing to asset some level of dominance for myself, I bring his face back to mine and kiss him again, rough.

As if the act flips a switch inside his head, he springs to his feet, lifting me with him, and my legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

I gasp, surprised, but he's already walking us toward the stairs, one hand gripping the back of my thigh, the other steadying my back.

He breaks the kiss just enough to speak, "Bedroom or living room?" 

His voice comes out so deep I almost don't hear him.

"Kitchen counter..."

"Yeah?"

His tone causes the heat to rush to my cheeks. 

I nod, feeling a little promiscuous. 

Marcus obeys. No questions. Turning on his heels, he leads me over to the counter, setting me down on the cold marble countertop. 

A shiver creeps up my spine as he slides the robe off one shoulder. Then the other. It pools at my waist, baring me to the heat of his gaze which warms me up, despite the coldness beneath my ass.

"Look how yuh nipple dem stand up stiff," he mutters. more to himself than to me. "Sexy yuh fuck."

I go to respond, regardless, but before I can, he leans forward and takes said nipple into his mouth.

My head tilts back and a low moan escapes my parted lips, my fingers digging into his shoulders. My hips rock forward instinctively and the feel of him between my parted legs—hard, restrained, aching—sends a ripple of heat straight through my core.

Oh, fuck!

Reaching into his waistband, I pull the grey sweatpants down just enough to free him from the agony I imagine he must be in.

His dick springs free, erect, purple at the tip and ready. For a second, I just look at it.

And yeah... still as impressive as it was the first time I saw it. 

Still mine.

I wrap my hand around the base and give one slow pump. Marcus's head tips back slightly, a low curse slipping from his lips.

"Yuh know say yuh come fi bloodclaat torture mi tonight doh?" he murmurs through gritted teeth. 

I peer up at him, biting my lip as the answer to his question.

He grunts. "Yeah, man, mi see it clear."

Pulling him closer, now running circles along the tip of his dick, I smirk, leaning in to whisper into his ear, "Who says it's torture?"

Before he can answer, I press my lips to his neck. Then lower. My tongue tracing over his collarbone, down his chest, circling a nipple until he lets out a soft groan that tells me just how much he's been craving more than just physical touch.

I'm enjoying the way it feels having him wrapped around my fingers, literally and figuratively, which urges me on. I kiss my way down his stomach, fingers still wrapped around him, moving up and down in slow, deliberate strokes. 

Soon after, I slide off the counter, dropping to my knees.

When I finally lower my mouth to him, he stiffens and I almost think he'd come then and there.

"Jesus Christ..." he hisses.

I take my time. Use my mouth, my hands—everything I know drives him crazy. Deep strokes, tongue teasing the underside, the head. The way his breath stutters every time I do something differently tells me exactly where to focus.

"Shit, Nadine... baby..."

Mhm...!

His hand tangles in my curls, not forcing his length deeper down my throat. His hips twitch slightly and I hum around him, letting the vibration push him closer to the edge.

But I don't let him go over.

Not yet at least.

After a few more bops, I pull his length out with a soft pop, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, looking up at him through my lashes.

"Yuh good?" I ask sweetly.

He glares at me. "Mi say, man, mi nawh wile yuh eno. Just wait..."

I almost laugh in his face.

Hear this grey tone man about fi throw tantrum!

"Gwaan wid yuhself, man. Soon fuck yuh up." 

Up, down, upside-down too! Why not?

A teasing grin spreads my lips as I stand, push him to the nearest stool and climb on top of him, straddling him again, with the other two stools as props for my legs,  positioning him just at my entrance. The heat between us is electric now, buzzing under my skin.

He watches me through narrowed eyes.

I lean forward, lips grazing his. "Fuck mi up den nuh, Marcus."

And with that, I sink down onto him.

Slowly. 

Taking it deep. 

Inch by inch.

"Fuck!" we gasp in unison, eyes locked on each other.

My head tips back. A breathy moan slips from my lips as I take all of him.

He fills me completely—stretching me.

Oh shit!

His hands fly to my hips but I slap one away. The other tightens, but he stays still. Barely. Allowing me to adjust.

When I've found my footing, I roll my hips, and his head drops to my shoulder, a growl rumbling from his throat.

Shifting my weight, I start riding; grinding slowly every now and again, letting the tension build—drawing it out the way he used to do to me when he wanted to remind me who I belonged to.

After a while, Marcus matches my pace. 

We move together, fluid and synced. My nails scrape down his back, and his grip on my thighs tighten. 

I'm so wet I can hear it. And I know he's enjoying the extra lubrication by the look on his face.

Our rhythm builds—-intense grinding, rocking, moaning—-until it's as if everything else blurs. 

Marcus raises his hand between our bodies, cupping my left breast, and squeezes my nipple. Hard. I whisper, grinding down in a slow circle that makes his head drop back with a groan.

"Babe...cho...fuck! Yawh try fi kill mi?" he mutters, voice rough.

I place my hands on his shoulders and roll my hips again, quinting my pussy muscles to grip the head of his dick. I know that that move always drives him crazy.  "Not really. More like mi a remind yuh..."

He grabs my ass, not to take control—but to steady himself. His breathing's ragged now, forehead damp.

"Remind mi seh wah?" he pants.

I lean forward, lips brushing his ear.

"Seh mi still own yuh."

And always will. No matter what. 

Marcus's body jerks beneath me. 

My words seemed to have triggered him, because, with a grunt, he presses my ass down, so he can force the entirety of his length into me, before easing me off, lifting his hips and thrusting upwards, slamming into me hard.

I squeal.

And my juices flow.

Gripping the back of my neck, he lowers my face to his and bite down on my lower lip.

It stings, but it's painful enough to bring pleasure. 

I moan into his mouth and he uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Our rhythm shifts—faster now, wilder, our mouths clashing, teeth, tongue, everything messy and urgent.

 I feel him twitch inside me. I'm so friggin' soaked, and the sound of it, fills the room.

Marcus groans. Loudly.

The sound urging me to ride him harder. Faster.

The chair creaks below our weight. 

My thighs are burning. 

I can feel the sweat beading down my spine.

My husband's head falls forward, mouth latching onto my breast once more, tongue flicking, circling the sensitive bud, sucking and pulling — but I don't stop.

If anything, this urges me on.

I'm breathing heavily now. In fact, we both are.

My hips slap against his, the friction hitting that sweet, sensitive spot again and again. I feel the orgasm building.

I'm so close I could cry.

He hits a spot and my mouth falls open.

Oh, fuck, yes!

I drop my forehead to his. Barely able to contain myself, I grip his cheeks and stare in his yes, as I whisper:

"Don't move, babe. Don't talk. Just—stay right there."

Stay. Right. There...!

"Fuck!"

One thing about my man is that he knows my body to the 'T'. He can always tell when I'm about to come, and judging by his reaction, tonight is no less.

He groans aloud, but quickly folds his lips to quell the sound.

Wanting to feel every inch hit that spot, I press down onto him until he's balls deep. Tightening my arms around his neck once more, I continue to grind against him— harder, rougher — chasing the sweet release — until I break. 

I tense, my grip tightening, a wale slipping through my parted lips, my body locking down around him as I come. Biting down on his shoulder, while pulsing around his dick that's buried deep within me, the orgasm of a lifetime repeatedly rocks my body in waves.

"Sexy yuh fuck," he whispers in my ear, brushing away the strands of hair that cling to my face.

I can feel his dick twitching inside me and tell he too is close. 

Lifting my head just enough for my lips to reach his ear, I tell him to, "Come for me."

Those simple words are enough to make Marcus lose it.

He grips my waist and slams up into me repeatedly. His strokes are deep and fast paced. The closer he goes to the edge, the messier they become. 

"Fuck, babe, mi ago come..."

"Shit."

"This...ugh. Yuh pussy feel good yuh fuck!"

"Quint pon it again..."

I do.

And that's all it takes.

He shifts his weight, bite down on his lower lip and thrust upwards once—twice—then spills deep with a growl that rips from his chest. 

I lean down, kiss him slow this time.

After a few seconds, I pull away, allowing us both the opportunity to catch our breaths. 

"Damn," Marcus says after a few seconds, as if reminiscent. 

This makes me smile, leaning in to peck his lips again. 

"Round two?" I murmur against his lips.

He huffs a breath, a half-laugh, half-moan. "Yuh waa kill mi."

"Maybe."

Marcus squeezes my hips and I fold. "A joke!"

"Fuck yuhself wid mi, woman."

With a mock eye roll, I pull my legs from the stools, and I rise from his lap.

My legs are like jelly, but I'm too preoccupied to care. Reaching between my legs, I swipe my middle finger between my folds, lock eyes with him, and bring my finger — that's coated in a mix of his cum and my juices — to my lips and tuck it into my mouth, with a wink. 

Marcus blinks. 

With a teasing grin stretching my lips, I grab Marcus's hand, pulling him up too. He follows without a word, sweatpants barely pulled up, hard again already, just from watching me.

"yawh dealid?"

"Shush, and just follow me," I tell him with a smirk.

The aim was to take it somewhere else more comfortable. Like to our bed.

But we don't make it upstairs.

As a thought pops into my head. Catching him completely off-guard, I shove Marcus against the kitchen island, drop to my knees, and take him into my mouth.

His head hits the cupboard with a thud. A low curse slips out of him.

That's what you get for giving me tough chat...

I take my time this round. No teasing. Instead, I caress him with slow, messy strokes — using my tongue, my hands, my lips every now and then.

Of course, he can't take it for too long. His hands fist the edge of the counter, his thighs tense under my palms, and he groans my name as he shoots a load into accepting mouth.

Peering up at him through my lashes, I swallow. 

When I finally stand again, lips glistening, eyes locked with his — he looks like he's about to fall apart.

I almost giggle at the look on his face.

"Nadz—"

"Come," I say simply, cutting him off.

We end up on the living room couch.

Forgoing the plan for round two, we somehow end up cuddling instead.

I'm not mad at it though. 

Now that I've come down from the high, my pussy feels sore as hell, so I think it works out in my favor. 

We stay locked like that, in each others arms, spooning, panting, sweaty; his dick resting on the small of my back.

His hand rubbing lazy circles on my  thigh.

He places a gentle kiss on my shoulder and I relax.

We remain in that position for a few minutes until Marcus breaks the silence. 

"Jah know. Mi nuh deserve yuh, eno," he whispers against my ear.

Goosebumps clothe my skin, but I pretend to be unaffected.

Instead, I smirk, peering up at his handsome face 'though I can't see it properly since he's behind me. "Glad yuh know."

And that's the truth.

He seemingly agrees since he doesn't say another word, just tightens his hold around my waist.

I close my eyes and covertly exhale.

I know I should go pee, but I can't bear to move. 

It's been so long since I've felt so at ease.

Sigh.

...

I don't know at what point I dozed off, but it's a nudge from Marcus that jolts me awake. 

"Babe," he calls for me, lightly tapping my shoulder.

"Hmm?"

He chuckles beneath his breathe. "Shit, yuh gone far inna dreamland already, man."

I blink and look around, taking in my surrounding. 

We're still in the living room.

I groan.

Which apparently pleases the big head man behind me who chuckles more openly now. 

Hate him yussi!

"What time is it?"

"Mi nuh know, but day supposed to soo' light."

A so long mi drop asleep?

Then again, mi must tired after all of tonight's activities...

"Oh."

"Yeah. And as much as mi woulda like fi keep this shit up, we should go upstairs before the kids dem come down and see wi like this."

I groan again.

"Yuh good?"

"No."

"Wah do yuh?"

My cheeks heat up. "Yuh fuck out mi ole."

Marcus guffaws. "Jah know, babe?"

"Yes, and mi hate yuh...!"

Lie.

"Jah know, Nadz."

I pout.

And Marcus eases up, moves from behind me, and comes to stoop in front me so he can see my face. 

"Yuh serious, B?"

I hum and look away.

"Jah Jah," he mutters more to himself, and I bite my lip to resist the urge to laugh in his face.

 A good.

After yuh tired mi out, yawh come laugh after mi.

"Wifey..."

I don't answer.

"Babes?"

No answer.

"Mrs. Blackwell?"

Still no answer. 

"Fat pussy woman?"

OK, that can work.

"Wah yuh say, sir?"

"Yawh feel pain?"

"Don't question me. We aren't friends."

"Want mi lift yuh go up di stairs?"

"Don't sorry fimi." I'm pouting still, although I'm internally dying with laughter.

"Jah know."

"So wah yuh waan den?" he presses, when I'm back to ignoring him. 

Then adds, "Yuh waan stay yasso then?"

I nod. 

"Yuh sure yuh nuh waan go inna yuh bed weh it more comfortable?"

I would, but I honestly don't have the energy to. 

See when yuh love hood!? A that yuh get...

"After I can walk again," I say with a dry laugh, shifting away from him, feeling sore in all the right places.

He laughs too. Stands, climbs back over me, resuming his position behind me, and pulls me into his chest. I smile as I feel him cover us with the nearest throw blanket on the couch.

"Alright, a you a di don eno, so anything you say goes."

That's right!

One don inna the man life and it's...?

OK.

Thank you very much. 

My smile stretches at the thought. 

"Good night, babe."

"Good night, baby girl. Love you."

Without another word, I settle into him and close my eyes.