I grabbed her hips and lifted her onto the counter. That lil ass dress she had on lifted effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around me without breaking contact, lips brushing mine when she said:
“If you leave again…”
“I won’t.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “Not unless I have no choice. And even then, I’ll fight to get back every day. You believe that?”
“I do.” She moaned into my mouth, kissing me again. This time our tongues danced slower, and deeper, reminding both of us that time was the true culprit in our relationship.
“You left me scared. Jah”
“And you left me starving,” I added.
My hands slid down her thighs, feeling the tension melt from her muscles. Her dress rode up further, and neither of us cared. She clutched the collar of my shirt like a lifeline. Her eyes locked with mine. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she kissed me again, desperate now, breath catching as she grabbed my face with both hands. I let her take what she needed, let her burn me alive with it.
Crimson was still on the counter, legs wrapped around me, her breathing ragged against my jaw. Her hands slipped under my shirt, pushing it up with a force that was all frustration and heat.
“Off,” she demanded.
“Fuck, Red…”
I dropped to my knees in front of her, hooked her underwear to the side, and kissed the inside of her thigh slowly, letting her squirm.
“Jah…”
I tasted her, slow at first, teasing, letting her feel every flick of my tongue, every breath. She gripped the mirror behind her, body arching, legs trembling around my shoulders.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed, voice shaking.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. Her moans echoed off the sleek walls, mixing with the low thump of bass from the club outside. The bathroom smelled like jasmine, leather, and us. When her thighs clenched around my head and her hips rocked forward, I knew she was close.
“I’m not done,” I said as I stood, unbuckling my belt with one hand.
She pulled me back in by the waistband of my jeans, lips crashing into mine like she was desperate to taste herself on my lips.
I slid into her with one smooth motion, and we both let out a sound—hers sharp, mine guttural. She clung to me like the world was ending, like this moment might be the last. I believe that’s what she truly thought.
“Fuck, Jah…”
“I got you,” I whispered against her ear. “Always.”
We moved in sync, slowly at first, building. Every thrust felt like a memory, and her moans sounded like she was begging for my presence. Her nails dug into my back. Her soft lips drifted to my neck, my jaw, then my lips. Every time I moved, she met me, tilting her hips. The pressure built quickly. I buried my face in her shoulder and lost myself in the feel of her.
“I-I love you so much, Jah,” she moaned as tears flooded her eyes. Her body tightened, then trembled as she came aroundme. With my forehead pressed to hers, I followed her, spilling into her. We stayed there sweaty, tangled, and out of breath. Her fingers caressed my head.
“Red, I wanna be clear. Don't you ever keep my kid away from me again.”
“I won't. I'm sorry. I promise.”
crimson
. . .
Mommy.
This morning, I woke up with a heavy longing for her. I assumed it was just nerves, but no matter how long my mother had been gone, I still missed her presence. Desperate to feel her spirit, I drove north of the city to visit one of the most popular apothecaries. ‘Rosewater, I need all you have.’ I told them. Rosewater was my mother’s signature scent. Once I procured it, I went to the boutique and sprayed it this morning before anyone arrived. She’s not here to see any of this, but I needed her close. That smell…it brings her back, even if just for a second.
Standing in the middle of the floor, I smiled while taking in the scenery and a whiff of the space. Crème De La Crimson smelled like new money, and rosewater. Everything looked just like I planned it. The lighting was soft and not too harsh. The velvet chairs in the fitting area were rich and bold. I wanted the customers to have something warm to sink into while either trying on something new or waiting for someone who was. The racks were spaced strategically and I smiled realizing every piece hanging there came from my hands. I’d dedicated tears of joy, self-doubt, and hours of sewing.
I loved the mix of exposed brick and smooth white walls. The space felt grounded and blanched. I wanted the shop to feel high-end, but not out of reach. While I wanted the socialites and elites to shop with me, I also wanted ‘the girl next door’ to know she could afford me too. Whether I made it big or stayed right where I was, I wanted to remain humble. This moment was a reflection of my determination. My forgotten dream had now been realized.
