I woke up in the middle of the night, my heart pounding for no reason. The room was silent, the house silent, but my mind was loud.
I turned my head and looked at the clock on the table. 12:00 a.m.
I sat there for a second, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts running wild. Everything felt heavy again.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my hands trembling slightly. I scrolled to the number and pressed call before I could change my mind.
It only rang once.
"Sending it over," the voice on the other end said, no questions asked.
I didn't reply. I just hung up, swung my legs out of bed, and slipped quietly out of the room.
The house was completely still. Everyone was asleep—the kids, the nanny, even him. I moved carefully, every step deliberate as I grabbed my bag and keys.
Outside, the cool night air hit me, and I walked straight to the car waiting at the curb. My driver stepped out immediately, opening the door for me without a word.
Once I was inside, I handed him a folded piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.
He nodded, put the car in drive, and we pulled away from the house, the neighborhood lights fading into the distance.
The entire ride, my stomach twisted with nerves. I stared out the window, telling myself not to turn back, not to overthink.
When we finally pulled up to the destination, I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.
The building was tall and quiet, every window dark except for a few scattered lights. I walked slowly, my heels clicking softly against the concrete, and for a second, I almost turned around.
But I didn't.
I pushed through the front doors and headed straight down the hallway until I reached the door marked 222.
I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing, then lifted my hand and knocked.
It took a while, long enough for me to start doubting if I should even be here. Then the sound of footsteps approached from the other side.
The door opened, and he stood there rubbing his eyes, clearly half-asleep.
"Fatima?" he said slowly, his voice low and rough from sleep.
He stood there in the doorway, still rubbing his eyes, clearly caught off guard. I didn't say a word. I walked past him, my heels sinking into the plush carpet as I stepped inside his hotel room like I belonged there.
I had one of my people find out where his hotel would be before he even landed in Atlanta. Zaire didn't know that, but that's how I operated with everyone I did business with—I always needed to know where my partners were and what they were up to. It was about control. About always staying ten steps ahead.
"Is everything okay?" he asked again, his voice deeper now as he shut the door behind us.
I didn't answer.
My eyes swept over the massive presidential suite. I could see the living area off to the side, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A huge bar stood along the wall, and beyond it was a king-sized bed dressed in white sheets, the kind that looked too perfect to touch. Everything in the room screamed money and power.
I turned to face him then, my eyes locking on his. We stared at each other in silence for a long moment, the air between us charged.
And then, slowly, I reached for the string of my long black jacket.
With one tug, it fell from my shoulders and slipped down my arms, pooling on the floor at my feet.
I stood there completely bare, my head held high, my eyes never leaving his.
Zaire's tongue darted across his lips as he stared at me, his chest rising and falling a little faster now.
I didn't move. I didn't speak. I just held his gaze, steady and unflinching.
That was all it took.
He crossed the room in two strides, scooping me up effortlessly, and his mouth was on mine. His kiss was hard, urgent, nothing soft about it.
We moved like we couldn't get close enough, bumping into the furniture as we stumbled deeper into the room, knocking over whatever was in our path.
I gripped his shirt and tore it open, buttons flying, the fabric ripping under my fingers. He didn't flinch. He just lifted me higher and carried me to the bed.
Zaire laid me down slowly, almost reverently, his strong hands keeping me in place as he hovered over me, his breath hot against my skin.
Zaire's eyes burned into mine as he hovered over me, his chest rising and falling steadily.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his voice deep and rough.
Before I could respond, his lips crashed into mine. His kiss was urgent, demanding, like he couldn't get close enough. His hands gripped my hips firmly, pulling me to him as if he owned every inch of me.
He moved his mouth from my lips down to my neck, slowly trailing lower, his hands sliding along my thighs. Then he knelt between my legs, spreading me apart with a controlled ease that sent a shiver straight through me.
"Relax," he whispered, his voice vibrating against my skin. "Let me have you."
And then he was on me.
I gasped as his tongue moved deliberately, slowly, making me grip the sheets tight in my fists. Every touch was purposeful, pulling sounds out of me I couldn't hold back. He didn't stop, didn't rush. He devoured me like he had all the time in the world, like I was the only thing that mattered.
When I arched up against him, he pulled me closer, his grip tightening on my hips.
"Don't hold back," he growled softly, his mouth still on me.
I didn't.
By the time he pulled away, I was trembling. He climbed up the bed, hovering over me again, his lips glistening. He kissed me hard, making sure I could taste myself on his mouth as his body pressed into mine.
In one smooth motion, he was inside me.
I gasped, clutching his shoulders, and he moved with a rhythm that left me breathless, his strong hands keeping me pinned beneath him.
"Fatima," he groaned against my ear, his voice sending chills through me.
He didn't say much else—he didn't have to. His lips, his hands, the way he held me said enough.
We moved together until there was nothing left to hold back, until every kiss, every thrust, every sound felt like it was pulling me apart and piecing me back together all at once.
When it was finally over, we collapsed into each other, his chest slick and warm beneath my cheek.
He wrapped an arm around me, holding me close. His breath was still heavy as he pressed a slow kiss into my hair.
I laid there, listening to his heartbeat until my eyes closed.
But in the middle of the night, I woke up.
Zaire was still asleep, his arm draped over me. I stared at him for a moment, tracing the sharp lines of his face in the glow of the city lights outside.
Why does he make me feel like this? I thought. Why does he make me feel... like I matter?
I couldn't let it happen.
Quietly, I slid out from under his arm and slipped out of the bed. I gathered my clothes, dressing quickly, making sure not to make a sound.
One last glance at him, and I was gone.
By the time I reached the lobby, my driver was waiting. I climbed into the car and whispered, "Home," like I hadn't just been in Zaire's arms hours before.