“Damn, shorty,” he groaned in appreciation. Morgan had filled all the way out. It had been years since he had left her in that hotel room, and she had transformed. He hated that somebody else was hitting it. He knew Meek was in it, and it burned him. He suspected Bash may be hitting it too. Not well. He was almost positive the lame nigga was trying, and the thought set a small fire inside his chest. Little Morgan had some ho in her with the juggling of two men, and oddly, it turned him on. He lifted the dress above her hips as Morgan stifled her breaths in anticipation. She held his ears, her thumbs caressing the side of his face, a familiar stroke she hadn’t done in a long time. His eyes closed. Morgan was such comfort. She knew exactly where to touch, and he felt his nose burn as his emotions tried to push to the surface. He pushed them back down. Buried. Always unexposed beneath years of bullshit. Morgan knew this was wrong. She was already stretched too thin. Pieces of her were everywhere. Stuck to Bash like lint to a black shirt, attached to Ahmeek emotionally because even now he was in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t stop herself because Messiah owned pieces too. He possessed the most broken parts. At one point, he had held them all because the pieces used to be whole … the pieces used to make up a heart. A heart that beat for him. She straddled him. She pulled back, lifting his face, forcing him to look at her as she sat in his lap while his hands rubbed her behind. She saw a new tattoo on his neck. Two M’s. One inked on top of the other like a logo. Branded on his body like she was the last woman he would ever be accountable to. Like he didn’t have the rest of his life to find another one who would dislike the imprint of Morgan on his skin.

“Why did you pull up on me, Mo?”

“I don’t know,” she answered again, looking off at the ugly painting on the wall. It was hideous, and Morgan took in every detail of its ugliness to avoid looking at him. She couldn’t face him.

“You know, shorty. Don’t do that. You’re supposed to be walking across a stage right now, but you’re here. Why?” he asked.

“Because…,” she started, then stopped. There was a lump in her throat. So much resentment existed between them.

“You know how my patience is set up, Mo. Because what?” he pushed. She marked him with angry eyes.