“Brimm, let’s go,” his tone is curt, commanding. If I didn’t know him so well—us so well—I’d be embarrassed by it.
I stay in my pose with Dawn, in her personal space with my mouth to her ear, appearing very…intimate. “That’s intimacy, Dawn. And it can only be experienced once you’re in his heart, not on his payroll. See, when you obtain his heart, you influence his payroll.”
“Brimm!” Azmir calls again, this time with a little more urgency to his tone.
I slowly pull back, turn, and stroll over to an impatient Azmir who’s standing erect with his hands resting on his tapered waist, pushing back his suit jacket. When I reach him, he laces his hand with mine, and tows me behind his lengthy frame, out the door. I manage to keep up with his hasty strides without stumbling, giving away my blotto. I’m damn near pissy drunk, but content being back with Azmir.
We leave Dawn alone in that room, meditating on intimacy with Azmir Jacobs.
There are no goodbyes on our way out. No last minute potty breaks. No eleventh hour recollections of checking in with someone before our departure. Before I know it, we’re out of the venue and at the door of Azmir’s limo.
“Good evening, Mr. Jacobs,” Ray greets. “…Ms. Brimm. I trust the event was successful.”
The scowl on Azmir’s face tells it all, but I’m confused by his annoyance. Did he hear my exchange with Dawn? Or is he upset that you left his party, Rayna? I don’t know what’s incited his sour mood. My inebriated state won’t allow for a sound mind to reason.
I nod to Ray, providing a polite smile, hoping to hide my drunkenness. I then duck inside the plush and spacious limousine, trying to provide a little decorum. It takes a few seconds for Azmir to join me. I can hear him murmur something to Ray. I’m sitting with my back to the partition, observing the mild sounds pouring from the speakers and smelling the fragrance of fresh leather upholstery while waiting to pull off.
From my peripheral, I can see Azmir yank off his suit jacket. He tosses it onto the bench across from me before getting in the car, planting himself center of the seat opposite of mine. His penetrating gaze sears right through me. It makes my mind fight for lucidity as it floats in liquor. What’s his problem? I don’t want to be intimidated. I’m sick of being a coward. I did nothing wrong! To express this, I lift my chin in the air.
Azmir scoffs, unmoved by my assertion. “Gown. Off,” he enunciates and I struggle not to get caught up in the allure of his luscious lips stretching at each syllable.
My face morphs into a puzzled grimace. What’s he hitting at? I’m not sharp. I’ve drank way too much.
“Now, Brimm. Gown off!” he growls.
I freeze…can’t move at his command. We’re in motion, in the back of his limo, on our way home. Why is he asking me to take off my gown? He hasn’t moved to take off his clothing. Why would he— My thoughts are abruptly halted by the swift movement of Azmir leaping across the car and flipping me two ways until he locates the zipper of my gown, then peels the fabric from my skin. His grip isn’t delicate. He’s too hurried for soft touches. Within a matter of seconds, I’m stripped down to my thong and heels as I lay awkwardly on the floorboard of the car, breathing rapidly. With incredulity, my eyes rake up to Azmir whose breathing pattern matches mine. His scowl is still in place. He is angry.
We stay locked in our positions, eyes warring. I don’t know what it means or what his deal is, but I won’t lose. I’m on a winning high from destroying Desperate Dawn. I have the fumes of victory to take on the great A.D., too. I don’t know my next move; I also don’t feel pressured to make it because I didn’t start this mindless obstinacy.
From a side panel within his reach, he clicks a button and the volume of the music increases to a near blaring level. Funny how, Raheem DeVaughn, of all artists, croons. Then, Azmir slowly lifts his hand and crooks his index finger as he beckons me to him. I take a minute to contemplate my next move. I’m naked in the back of his limo, wearing only a thong and heels!
Hesitantly, I rise to my knees and shuffle over to him. As I approach his wide stretched legs, my eyes are immediately taken by his straining arousal. He’s swollen against his thigh, underneath his dress pants. My mouth collapses and I idly wonder if it pains him. My heart pounds and my belly jerks at the comprehension of his need.
With dubious eyes, I meet his glare. He bends over and whispers in my ear, “You know you want it, Brimm,” he torments then sits back. I hear the smugness in his hoarse vocals. His chest rises and I can tell he’s holding back. And now I know what’s ahead, what mood he’s in. What I’m in for.
But now what?
He cocks his head to the side and pushes his tongue into his molars contemplatively before slowly returning to my ear, “You talked your shit to Dawn about what it feels like to have me pour my soul into your mouth…down your throat.”
My breath catches in my throat. He lifts a brow, knowingly.