I dropped my phone and ran my hand over my chest until I found a nipple, twisting it just enough to take me over the edge. My vision whited out and in the distance I heard Easton swearing through his own orgasm. Long ropes of come spurted out, hitting my stomach and neck. As I came out of from the fog of my orgasm, for a second the sated bliss was edged out by a hint of regret.

But as I picked up my phone again and found Easton on the screen, looking like the very picture of pliable contented man, I pushed my worrying out, and decided to enjoy this moment.

I was about to speak, but Easton beat me to it. “I’d act like this was unexpected, but I’ve been hoping for you to do this with me since the moment you got to Ithaca.”

Easton

I was sitting up against the headboard and Patrice was doing the same, somewhere in Yonkers. His big body at rest, the tattoo on his chest—the one with the Haitian and American flags in the shape of human heart—moving as he took deep breaths. He had that secret smile I’d noticed only happened when I was being a particular brand of bratty.

“So this was all planned. You got that toy to tempt me.”

I put a finger under my chin as if considering his question. “Maybe.”

He laughed and shook his head, but didn’t have a retort. Things felt comfortable between us, no stalled conversation or weird silences.

I watched him as he ran a hand over his collarbone, where he had another tattoo. This one just two words, Ayiti Cheri, which he’d told me meant, Beloved Haiti in creole.

The skin where the tattoos were was a bit bumpy in places from keloid scarring. When I’d first asked him about it he just said his skin scarred easily, and it was why he didn’t have more tattoos. I’d run my fingers over those spots so many times when we’d been together. Never getting anywhere near my fill when it came to Patrice. Which only made me remember what he’d called me while we were messing around.

“What’s cheri mwen?”

He smiled, a little embarrassed, but I could see he was determined to say whatever it was. “It means my darling.”

Oh, there went those butterflies again.

I was so tempted to ask more questions. Was I his darling or was it just something he’d said in the heat of the moment?

I’d never heard him use it before with me, I would’ve remembered.

Did I want to know?

I didn’t want to lose the feeling those words had brought. I wanted to keep him open to me. Looking like I was a place of comfort.