Small black box.
NOTE: I'm dedicating this book to Wendy Martin. She gave me some ideas to start up with this project. I'm so grateful.
Also, for those who haven't read book one, please, check it out first to better understand.
Thanks.
**
Third Person POV
“Wake up sleep head,” says Jamal, caressing Myla's naked back as she sleeps.
A failure in response provokes him to print kisses all over her bare skin, up to the shoulder and cheeks.
Myla groans, while opening her eyes to the bright morning light; Its throw back pushing her to rotate her head to the opposite direction, and grimace an attractive figure.
She grins, and says, “Good morning, my lord.” her voice being muffled as she greets.
Jamal stares down at her in admiration. “Did you want to stay down all day? You could've told me we're not ready to leave anytime soon.”
She closes her eyes and opens it. “I'm still drunk, Jamal. Why not let me sleep a little longer?”
He snugs her into his arms and throws hickeys on her neck, earlop and cheeks. “I wish I can. The sleep has gotten enough of you already. Now is my turn.”
She giggles a bit and turns her unclothed body to him. “You want some uhh?”
He flinks his eyes on her chest and takes a deep breath. She watches him drain in her sexy body and suddenly, flops the sheet over her, covering it from his sights.
He frowns whereas she laughs at the success.
“Don't play with me,” he warns.
She stops, and says, “Look who's getting nerdy here. You have me for all your days. But I had just this moment to rest a little longer. Don't you think, you're being selfish?”
He lowers his head and their noses brush against each other. “You think I'm selfish?”
“Mmm.”
He raises his brow and she nods with a subtle chortle.
“Then I must show you at what extent I'm selfish towards my naughty wife.”
Their lips are an inch apart as he draws nearer to close that teasing gap.
With closed eyes, locked lips, he takes away the sheet from her skin, and jerks her up to his chest; hands squeezing her tights.
The subject moans and he utters in-between their breath, “What about we take this to the bathroom?”
She responds at once. “Can't wait.”
He chuckles and re-locks their lips as they walk out of the bed.
...
A sound of laughter is head from the bathroom, and becomes louder when the door opens up to a smiling Jamal, directing Myla by the waist.
They are both covered with bathrobes, walking towards the mirror.
Jamal couldn't help but kiss her every single time, and now, her entire body is tattooed by his pink lips. She stares at the mirror in bewilderment, wondering how those beautiful lips could cause these evalasting love marks.
As if he knows her thoughts, he kisses her neck again, and whispers, his voice being a husky.
“This is nothing compared to what I'd be doing to you when we get home.”
Myla's heart skips for a second as she registers his statement.
“Jamal, how am I supposed to leave this place with all these? People be looking at me,” her hand touches the red areas to cross-check.
“They need to look, so they back off.”
She peeks at his countenance through the mirror and he looks profoundly serious.
With a heavy sigh she picks up her body cream from next to them and as she's about opening, he snatches it from her.
“You have four hands now. Once in a while, seek to make use of them.”
She chews hard on her lip, trying to control a chortle. “What have I gotten myself into? Tell me, Jamal.”
He smirks, and takes off her bathrobe, leaving her completely naked. Pours the cream unto his palm, joins both hands together, before spreading the white substance over her back gently.
Her eyes shut impulsively as he massages her smooth skin. He looks at her expression with enticement, feeling more blessed to be the doer, than the receiver.
“This is what you've gotten you into. How can't I be tempted always. Just look at yourself.”
She opens her eyes and he interject, “No, keep it close. I want to see how I make you feel.”
And she re-shuts it, Laughing, and saying, “But you told me to look at myself.”
“That was a parable, my Queen.”
He plants a soft kiss on her shoulder, whereas moving his hands allover her back, waist and stopping on her curves.
A light moan escapes her lips as she speaks, “How can... your hands hold such power? They make me feel... special.”
“Because you're special to me, Myla. Very special.”
Jamal nips on her skin again, and again, but as her hormones begin to lose control, someone rings on the bell.
“You have to get that”
He clenches his jaws a little bit. “I know. And I pray I don't knock out whosever is behind that door, stoping me from_having breakfast.”
Myla's eyes squint open as her senses gathers up to what he said. Before she meets his gaze, he's gone.
Shoving his statement prior, she finishes up and picks out a good fit.
“You have this,” Jamal says, donating five dollar bill.
The delivery man bows, “Thank you, Sir,”
He nods, then closes the door behind him, moving towards a work table. The box is a small black one as he opens to look at what's within, even though being aware of its content.
A smile graces his lips, after being sure his delivery is in tact.
He goes back to re-join his wife, making sure he hides the square box, when walking into her.
It plays out successfully as she doesn't notice what he holds. After keeping the box aside, she acknowledges his presence, turning to face him with a weak frown.
Her face says it all and Jamal settles her with, “Let me get dressed, and we'd get down in a minute, ok?”
Myla offers to him a faint smile while he kisses the crown of her head and walks off.
They hadn't been to the hotel's restaurant since their settlement. He either made something for them, she does, or a chef does.
...
They get into the crane, hands locked and everyone's attention falls upon them.
Myla greets, followed by Jamal as they settle in, pressing a blue botton, 2th floor, afterwards.
Having a celebrity in the same elevator as you, while others pay to see them is just the best gift of the day.
Everyone should be scrambling for these two, but then, so many folks in here are just waiting for the first attempt from anyone. And here goes nothing, as a fan asks for a photo with the couple.
Not long after, everyone shows up their phones to have a picture with them.
But as soon as the elevator is opened, people adjust themselves while the personalities walk their way out, and towards a VIP table reserved for them.
That still doesn't keep eyes from looking, but rather propels more attention.
Some people even whisper to their hearing, things like; “Can you see? I told you, they're married, now.”, and “I sure can. With those rings on, it's so obvious.”
Myla smiles, looking up at her husband. And he looks down to meet her mesmerizing dark brown orbits, feeling lucky to have met with her.
His grip on her hand is firm as people start being envious of his possessiveness.
Right now, many ladies wish to be Myla, so they get this much love. Oppositely, many men want to be Jamal, in other to own Myla this way.
He hurls a seat towards him, and Myla seats in, while he walks over to have his chair.
“What do you want me to get for you?”
“Bring me everything.”
Jamal giggles throatily. “Someone is trying to be a fucking food addict, but I still don't mind.”
He gets up and moves away while she blows her cheeks, “What a way of being nice.”
He screams behind his back. “I heard that.”
She just seals her lips in amusement as she stares at the sexy walker, her husband.
On the other side, someone studies the couple from over the seat, with a black cap hiding the face, until Jamal's return.
He places their meals on the table, and Myla looks at her food anxiously.
“Merci, Cheri, tu es le meilleur!" She appreciates, after receiving her husband's offer.
“Mon plaisir."
She hangs her head to look into his eyes, greatly amazed. “I didn't teach you that?”
He chuckles, “What I've learned, you'll never know except if I tell you.”
Myla is taken aback. “And what are those things? Do I get to know them, too.”
“No,”
“Why? I'm your wife.”
“Sounding like my mom, right now.”
“But, I am your mom. I'm everything.”
He pauses his lips for more than a second. “Let's not conclude, ok?”
Myla's brows knit a little. “Conclude? What exactly are we concluding?”
“Being my mom thing...”
“Oh. So, your mom gets the highlight, and I don't?”
He sighs. “I didn't say that. She's just... annoying sometimes. Like, almost Everytime. You don't have to be her. That's all I'm saying.”
Myla tries to descend what his words mean as she digs into her plait, absentmindedly.
To be continued...