One
Irreplaceable was a fitting song.A woman who finally had enough of her man’s bullshit and told him to leave. Beyoncé’s angry words paired with her sassy vocals were the perfect combination to the hit song.
It was directed at him, for sure. In fact, every song his ex had on her playlist was one bigfuck youto him. As Senator Ocean Ellison sat in his ex-girlfriend’s living room, he noticed a theme with the songs she’d played.
First, there was “I Don’t Love You Anymore” by Teddy Pendergrass.
Then there was “Apologize” by One Republic.
Followed by “I Will Survive.” Not the upbeat version by Gloria Gaynor, but the quiet storm cover by Chantay Savage.
As Ocean listened to “Cry Me a River,” it became increasingly clear he had the work cut out for him.
She was angry. She was beyond pissed. She, worst of all, was heartbroken.
Ocean felt his stomach coil up in tight knots and guilt choked him. If he had to be on his knees all night and wear out his best pair of Armani slacks, so be it. He was not leaving with Aaliyah. Point. Blank. Period.
They had more in common than what appeared to be. Their backgrounds were wildly different but when they connected, Aaliyah and Ocean were unstoppable. He was clean-cut and dare anyone thought, innocent. She was a bad girl with a past.
The odds were stacked against them from the start and they both treated their connection as a fling. When they made love, all sense flew out of the window. Her mouth was skillful and her tongue was hungry. Her hands explored every crevice of his body and demanded more from him.
They made love throughout the night. They fucked in every room of her apartment and his home. Aaliyah became Ocean’s fire. He became needy for her love and touch. He anticipated her needs before she spoke them.
With his security detail waiting outside, Ocean took stock of Aaliyah’s condo. Decorated in muted colors like mahogany, cream, and peach, it was very different from Aaliyah’s old apartment in Los Angeles. Her condo had several windows that gave natural light. Dark, hardwood tiles covered the floors, leading to plush carpeting in the bedrooms.
It was an expensive condo, Ocean concluded. It was decorated in quiet luxury that didn’t come out of an IKEA showroom, but pricey items that a certain economic threshold could afford. There were quirky items like an old, colorful credenza that sat her flat screen TV. An equally colorful Indian rug lay under Ocean’s feet. He knew it came from a trendy store in West Hollywood because he had the same rug in his home.
His stomach churned when he realized he was sitting in a room Thomas Ellison furnished.
His father didn’t personally pick out the items, but there was no doubt his money played a significant role in Aaliyah’s new life. Thomas Ellison was a master at brokering deals and it never took long before an enemy ultimately gave him exactly what he wanted. His money paid for her condo. His money paid for her shop.
His money ensured Aaliyah would never bother the Ellison’s ever again.
Ocean never asked how much did his father give his ex for he was disgusted the action took place. As he glanced around more, Ocean already knew the answer: somewhere between six and seven figures.
Thomas was the ultimate executive and if he wanted something, family relations and personal feeling be damned. It was one of the reasons of the strained relationship between all of his sons, Ocean included.
It was a weird dynamic – they loved their father with the same passion they loathed him. They would never disrespect him in public, but it was always no holds barred behind closed doors. Ocean chuckled as he thought about it. They were truly like any other rich, political family. They just happened to be famous.
Ocean walked around Aaliyah’s condo, taking in the sights and sounds. Old pictures of family and friends graced the living room. A picture of Aaliyah with her parents at her college graduation from Cal State L.A. Wild times with Brittany in clubs. A selfie of Aaliyah on a sunny day. Pictures of her celebrating pride. Family gatherings.
And most certainly no pictures of her and Ocean.
Her smile was infectious. Her spirit naturally drew people in. Her eyes could balance simmering sensuality and innocent wickedness depending on whom she spoke with. Her voice was soft, smoldering, with a touch of smoke. She was #goals and #carefreeblackgirl before they became trendy.
She’d often complained about how skinny she was. She was barely a B cup and she was envious of the women how had voluptuous bodies. She never had a problem buying clothes her size and often dressed her body shape instead of what size she could fit.
“You’re perfect,” Ocean purred one night after a lovemaking session. His fingers traced a constellation tattoo on her body backed by soft splashes of lavender, fuchsia, and gold. “You’re perfect for me and that’s all that matters.”
“You don’t want me to get a butt lift?” She teased.
Ocean pulled Aaliyah on top of him and reached up as she straddled him. “If you want surgery, baby, I’ll pay for it. But I’m just saying you don’t need it. You’re beautiful and perfect just as you are.”
Aaliyah adjusted her position and sank down on Ocean, coating him with her tight and slick heat as they both sighed. “I’m going to fuck you for your appreciation.”
Ocean held onto his girlfriend’s hips. “Please do.”
Ocean shook the memory from his head before it impacted his slacks. The last thing he wanted was to make Aaliyah feel he was only there to sex her and leave. He wanted their relationship to work and if he needed to wait, so be it. He was not going to ruin this because his dick had a mind of its own.
