A low whistle of appreciation sounded from the doorway, and Okoye sucked in a sharp breath of surprise. The swirls of weightless imaginings fell away as her mind snapped into focus, and she blinked—or tried to at least. The silk scarf folded over her eyes hampered the effort, forcing her to rely on her other senses. Her ears strained for anything more, seeking reassurance as she tried to quell the nervous jitters running through her.

The heavy thud of familiar footsteps gave her the first clue, and warm, calloused hands trailing along her skin gave her the next. Then came his voice—smooth, rich, and unmistakable.

“You wouldn’t believe how perfect you look right now,” Attuma murmured from behind her, voice as soft as his touch. “I’d say you should be in a museum with all the other masterpieces, but they have …rules about touching the artwork there.”

Her jaw ticked as she fought the smirk that threatened to rise at his cheesiness, but she didn’t respond. She knew better.

Instead, Okoye focused on regulating her breathing as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“Rules I couldn’t possibly hope to follow,” he husked into her ear, pressing another kiss just behind it. “Not with all the ways I’ve been thinking about touching you tonight.”

She shivered as deft hands made quick work of the silk ties that held her wrists together.

“Hope you weren’t waiting too long for me.”

She felt a brief flash of irritation at the false sentiment and huffed, unamused. He knew exactly how long he’d be gone—how long he’d left her waiting and wanting. Even if she didn’t. All she knew was that it had been long enough.

Long enough for her legs to go numb in their folded position.

Long enough for her mind to wander places it probably shouldn’t have.

Long enough for her imagination to run wild, thinking of every sordid, filthy thing he might do to her tonight.

Attuma indulged her bit of brattiness with a dark chuckle, massaging her wrists for a moment before standing and circling her again.

She was acutely aware of him. Even blindfolded, the rest of her senses were sharp, alive, and full of nothing else. The heat radiating off his body as he loomed over her. The musk of his cologne, clinging to his skin. The sharp spice of cigar smoke she knew lingered on his tongue. Every carefully measured breath he took as he drank her in.

A hand grazed her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine. It traveled the length of her neck, cupping her nape and tilting her head back, and a calloused thumb traced over her jugular vein. Once. Twice. Then, on the third pass, her lover pressed down, holding her there just long enough for her pulse to throb wildly against his skin.

Her lashes fluttered beneath the blindfold, a dizzying bolt of pleasure flooding her senses when he let go.

She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to quiet the moan in her chest, letting out a breathy sigh instead. He answered with a low hum, sliding his fingers into her hair to massage the base of her skull.

Then he bent down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“I think it goes without saying,” he murmured, “but you should know: I plan to do an awful lot of touching tonight, sweetheart.”

Her stomach flipped at the naked desire in his voice, and a sharp pang of arousal made her center throb with need. A steady nod was all she could manage, and the feeling of his upturned lips against her temple was all the warning she got before the onslaught began.

He was surprisingly gentle.

Whisper-soft kisses were brushed down her jaw and across her cheeks before continuing up the line of her nose. Then, a featherlight press landed on each of her covered eyes. The hand in her hair remained, scratching light, soothing circles in her scalp; the other cradled her face, turning her head this way and that as his lips moved in a pattern she couldn’t decipher. He followed the curve of her cheekbones one moment, the slope of her nose in the next. Always close, but never where she wanted him.

She reached for his face—only to find her wrist caught in a fast, firm hold.

No touching, then.

A tender kiss on her fluttering pulse accompanied the soft shake of his head, confirming her thoughts.

He guided her hand back down to her lap. “Keep these here for me, hm?”

A gentle squeeze to both of her wrists followed his whispered request, and she nodded in understanding despite her disappointment. Her fingers twisted in the lacy hem of her negligee as he continued.

Unable to see him and unallowed to touch, Okoye had no choice but to bask in his tender attentions. Attuma’s kisses drifted up and down, in and out, tracing the ridge of her brow and the shell of her ear. Every brush of his lips stoked the low embers of her arousal. He nibbled on her earlobe, catching the sensitive skin between his teeth, tugging on it until she gasped.

She breathed a sweet sigh of bliss, mouth falling open, head tipping back as desire overtook her senses, dissolving her thoughts to nothingness. For a moment, she thought she’d heard him murmur something, but it was lost in the haze clouding her mind.

She felt him smile again, lips quirking up against her cheek this time. He peppered a line of kisses along her jaw to the corner of her mouth—lingering there, then pulling away.

A near-silent whimper slipped from her lips.

She craned her neck, chasing the kiss he’d denied her, but a firm tug on her locs stilled her movement. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“I’m going to need an answer before we continue, darlin’,” Attuma said, answering the question she hadn’t voiced.

Had he asked her something?

Had she missed it?

The furrow deepened. Okoye scrunched her nose and let out a questioning hum.

“Distracted, were you?” His thumb brushed across her lips as he laughed softly at her puzzled face. “I suppose I can’t blame you,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to the underside of her jaw. “You’re just as distracting to me, too.”

The words were breathed against her mouth in a pseudo-kiss that only made her ache more. Tempted as she was to steal it—just one kiss—she knew better. If she did, he’d likely deny her for the rest of the night.

And that was a nonstarter.

She loved his kisses.

Attuma nudged her nose with his own, resting his forehead against hers, bringing her back from her errant thoughts.

“Tell me your color, sweetheart.”

“Green, Sir.”

The answer spilled out in a breathless rush before he’d hardly finished the command.

He let out a pleased hum and kissed the corner of her mouth again, trailing another line of featherlight kisses up her cheek to her ear. Okoye held back her whimper at being denied again—but the disappointment didn’t last.

Swift and sure, his mouth descended on hers.

She squeaked in surprise, then melted into him.

Their lips moved together in a rhythm of highs and lows. Meeting and matching. Pushing and pulling. A dance she knew every step to. He tasted just like she knew he would—bourbon and smoke and something nutty that told her he’d gone to his favorite cigar lounge after leaving her bound and blind to wait for this moment right here.

The kiss deepened as he pulled her into him, warmth blooming in her chest and pooling low in her belly. His tongue teased at the seam of her lips, tracing the fullness of her bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, nibbling it gently.

Feeling bold now that she’d had a taste, Okoye grazed her teeth over his upper lip. His answering groan was muted and dangerous. Wanton. She felt it all the way down to her toes. He bit down on her lip in reprimand, jerking her closer, then snaked his tongue into her mouth and traced the back of her teeth.

She squirmed, thighs clenching as the heat of her arousal spread. He didn’t miss a thing.

Attuma pulled back with a low, dirty chuckle.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said, trailing hot kisses along her jaw. The hand tangled in her hair tightened in an instant, sending a sharp thrill racing down her spine as he growled in her ear. “I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

A soft keen escaped before she had thought to stop it, but Attuma didn’t seem to care for the slip-up.

He crashed his lips to hers, all traces of his earlier gentleness swept away as his grip turned bruising. His mouth ravaged hers—all tongue and teeth and need. It was more claim than kiss, and she could taste his hunger.

Okoye balled her fists, nails biting into her palms to keep herself from pulling him closer, and surrendered to his unforgiving mercies. Her capitulation was rewarded quickly. His tongue swept between her lips, dancing with hers, drawing a long moan from deep in her chest.

Her lungs burned as air became a scarce commodity, but Attuma didn’t relent.

He drew her up to her knees, keeping their mouths fused all the while. His hand slid from her hair down her back, palming the cheeks of her ass and pulling her flush against him until there wasn’t a breath of space between their bodies. Her breasts crushed against the hard planes of his chest, and she shuddered as the silk of her negligee dragged across her stiffened nipples.

Attuma moaned this time and deepened their kiss, pulling her closer like he couldn’t get enough.

Like there’d never be enough.

Okoye pressed into him, eager to give everything he was taking, and whined pitifully when the need to breathe finally tore him away.

He didn’t go far.

They panted in tandem, breath mingling, the air between them charged with a passion so heady it made her dizzy. She was drunk on it—on him. His hold softened, and he cradled her tenderly. Like she was something precious.

To him, she knew she was.

She could feel his heated gaze on her again. Staring. Studying. Her thighs clenched under the weight of it, arousal flaring as his thumb traced over her now-kiss-swollen bottom lip.

Gods, she wished she could see his eyes.

She could picture them perfectly—his usual dark brown blown black with lust, glowing with a hunger that made her shiver. They always did when he had her like this.

The damned blindfold denied her the chance. And worse, it robbed her of the opportunity to see him coming. Like now, when he ducked down to kiss her twice more. Less urgent than before, but still edged with a yearning that made her chase after each one, seeking more and more and more.

He denied her again, lavishing his affections down her neck instead. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, making her tremble with need, and she threw her head back, biting her tongue to stifle the sounds of her pleasure.

It was futile.

The moment he brought his teeth into the mix, grazing the rigid line of her collarbone, a loud gasp tore from her throat. It echoed in the quiet of her bedroom and earned her an even harsher bite.

She knew better.

“Quiet now, darlin’,” he warned lowly, grabbing a rough handful of her ass. “Don’t you know pretty things were made to be seen and not heard?” The words were edged with something dangerous, sending a bolt of molten heat flooding through her. She bit her lip to suppress her whimper.

“I’d hate to have to leave you here for the rest of the night just ‘cause you can’t shut up.”

She stiffened at the threat, shaking her head rapidly. Desperately.

“I know. I know,” Attuma said, the edge bleeding from his voice as he pressed a sweet kiss beneath her chin. “I don’t wanna do that either, sweetheart. Which is why you’re gonna be good for me, yeah? Nice and quiet?”

Okoye nodded, swallowing thickly. Staying quiet was always a challenge, but she was miles beyond desperate now. Her thighs were slick with desire, and she could feel her pulse in every throb of her aching clit.

If he left her like this—all worked up with no release?—Bast as her witness, she would cry.

“Good,” he praised, pressing soft, almost chaste kisses to her lips in reward. “Arms around me then, pretty girl.”

She obeyed without hesitation, winding her arms around his neck as his mouth found hers again. His hands slid down, palms curving over the swell of her ass before hooking beneath her thighs. He lifted her in one easy motion, and her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.

Her bare center met the coarse denim of his jeans, and she gasped against his mouth.

The friction was a searing jolt, sending white-hot sparks racing up her spine. Her fingers tangled in the thick strands of his hair, scrambling for purchase as she rolled her hips into the rigid press of his arousal. He groaned—a strained, drawn-out sound that made her chest thrum—and his hands flexed on her thighs, pressing bruises into the soft skin.

The five steps between the chaise and her bed were a cruel tease. A test of her restraint, and had it been any longer, one she would have failed.

The mattress met her back with maddening softness, and she whimpered at the loss of his lips when he pulled away. She sat up instinctively, trying to keep him close, but he wouldn’t have it. Gentle fingers unwound hers from his hair, and he stood to his full height, chuckling low in his throat when she pouted.

Then came the quiet rustle of fabric.

His shirt hit the floor near the foot of the bed, and her breath hitched.

The metallic clinking of his belt was next.

Fuck.

She cursed the blindfold for the third time.

All she could do was imagine the miles of tanned skin she couldn’t see. His broad chest and sculpted arms. The wide, smooth planes of his back. The thick, corded muscles of his thighs. And his scars—raised and rigid, lining his torso in perfect symmetry.

She could trace them with her tongue.

Or better yet… ride them until she–

A heavy thud snapped her out of her sinful imaginings.

His jeans.

Fuck.

He stepped back into her space, and she let out a shaky breath.

His skin radiated heat. She could feel it on her lips—close enough to taste. Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip on reflex. A hand fisted in her hair jerked her head back before she could dare, and his mouth crashed down on hers again in a carnal, lust-drenched kiss that tasted like pure sin.

He crawled on top of her, using the weight of his body to nudge her backward until her feet rested on the edge of the bed, legs splayed open, and knees cradling his hips. Filthy words were murmured between filthier kisses, and she tore her mouth from his when a hand cupped her center.

She nearly bit her tongue in two to keep from crying out, the metallic tang of copper flooding her mouth.

Attuma didn’t care. And thank Bast, he didn’t stop. Her lover pressed on, spreading her slick folds and slipping deft fingers through the heat of her wetness, moaning his praise at the feel of her.

“You’re so wet, darlin’... is this all for me?”

She gave a frenzied nod, her hips bucking into his hand. Thick fingers traced the length of her slit, gathering her arousal and drawing slow, torturous circles around her clit while his mouth found her neck again.

Her chest heaved, breaths coming in heavy, broken pants with every bruising kiss he left along the column of her throat. She bit out a strangled moan when the tip of one blunt finger sank into her, just enough to tease, before he drew back.

Over and over and over again, he toyed with her, playing her body like an instrument he’d spent years learning, driving her mad with need. She writhed beneath him, gritting her teeth to stifle her desperate pleas and frustrated growls rising in her throat. His answering chuckle was just as torturous as his unrelenting touch.

It was never that easy with him.

Sharp teeth grazed over the tops of her breasts, catching a stiffened peak between them and tugging until her back arched off the bed. He pulled the bud into his mouth, then laved at it through the silk of her negligee, making her whole body tremble from the sensation. A rough hand clamped down on her hip, keeping her in place. Reminding her she was utterly helpless and entirely at his mercy.

Fire licked through her veins as his mouth sucked harshly at her breast, and his teasing fingers pushed her closer and closer to an edge she’d never reach.

She mouthed silent pleas, fervent and aching for something, anything.

Please, please, please.

The ragged breath she let out when he finally sank one thick finger into her was like a gunshot.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

“Oh, you’re ready, aren’t you, baby?” he teased, almost cruel. “Do you need more?”

A broken whimper was all she could give, her hips bucking fruitlessly into his hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

Whether he was feeling benevolent or merciful, Okoye couldn’t say. She didn’t particularly care. Her world had narrowed to the building rhythm and subtle curve of his fingers as one became two, and he began to fuck her.

In and out. Back and forth.

It was all she could do to keep her hands off him and her mouth shut.

She wasn’t completely quiet, of course. Harsh pants and strangled squeaks slipped free as his pace quickened, faster and faster. A dull roar built in her ears, her blood rushing, her mind spiraling. Everything felt too good and not good enough.

His fingers curled again, setting her every nerve alight. She bit her lip to blood, hips rolling in perfect rhythm to his every thrust, chasing the high only he could give her.

Attuma’s mouth left her chest in a mess of wet silk and burning skin, trailing kisses up her neck to murmur wicked praises in her ear.

“That's it, sweetheart… open up for me,” he purred. “You’re doing so well. Think you can take another?”

Okoye nodded frantically again, without thought or care. She needed more.

She wanted everything.

He slowed—just enough—and two became three.

His thumb pressed against her clit.

His fingers curled deep inside her.

And she screamed.

The high she’d been chasing slammed into her with the fury of a rushing tide, dragging a low, guttural sound from her throat. It was blindsiding, sweeping away every thought of restraint and ounce of her will, leaving her with only shattered silence in its wake.

She panted heavily, trying to regain her breath as the shock of what she’d done settled around her.

His fingers stilled, and her body froze.

Fuck.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, prickling with dread.

She knew better.

For one harrowing second, the world went still.

Then, Attuma’s growl cracked through the room like thunder.

“Oh, darlin’,” he purred, low and dangerous in her ear, “you’re gonna pay for that.”

His fingers slipped free in an instant, leaving her aching and empty, and her whimper turned into a startled gasp as his hands gripped her thighs. She didn’t have a moment to breathe before he was dragging her to the edge of the bed like a rag doll.

“Attuma, I’m–oh!”

The apology died on her lips as her wrists were captured in a vice-like grip. He yanked her to her feet, twisting her until her back was pressed against his chest.

“Please, Attuma–” She tried again, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush. He squeezed her wrists, and she winced, righting the only error she could. “Sir, please… I–”

“Shut. Up,” he bit out, grip tightening around her again.

Her jaw clamped shut at the command, not trusting her voice in the face of the dangerous tone his had taken on.

“Oh, so you can keep quiet, huh?” he taunted, ripping the blindfold from her face. She blinked, eyes cloudy and stinging as light flooded in. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to have some help, does it, darlin’?”

Her lips parted in confusion, only to find her mouth full of silk as Attuma shoved the balled-up blindfold between them.

He didn’t stop there, pushing her forward until her hands hit the mattress and kicking her feet apart so she was just off balance. Rough hands jerked her hips up, forcing her to her toes, and Okoye could only whimper through the makeshift gag.

“Shut up,” he said again. A warning this time.

And she tried.

By the gods, she tried.

But they were as merciless as the man behind her.

Attuma didn’t spare a second, lining himself up and sinking into her with one brutal stroke. And with no time to think or even breathe, Okoye sobbed.

Her hands scrambled, fisting the sheets as he drove into her. Unrepentant and unforgiving. Every thrust was tinged with the sweetest pain, and despite her efforts, each stroke forced a muffled, ragged keen from her. The pace he set was punishing, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love every moment. Her eyes screwed shut as her body sang with sensation—overwrought and somehow still desperate for more.

Her next moan was closer to a shriek—high and reedy, barely dulled by the silk stuffed between her teeth.

A hand clapped over her mouth, pulling her upright until her back arched almost painfully. Her breath hitched. Her legs trembled. And he never stopped.

“Shut. Up,” he snarled into her ear.

It was an impossible demand, and still she tried.

She wanted to scream. And so she bit down on the silk.

She wanted to beg. And so she dug her nails into the sheets.

But she couldn’t silence the way he split her open.

She could only feel.

Every brutal thrust of his dick as he ravaged her from within.

Every slap of his skin against hers as his hips slammed into hers.

Every ragged breath he tore from her, trapped by the drenched silk in her mouth.

Every senseless throb of her aching cunt, swollen and dripping as he drove her further and faster to ruin.

She arched harder, head falling back on his shoulder, her hand desperately gripping the arm banded about her waist.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Is it too much?” He crooned, slowing his pace and driving into her harder and deeper than he ever had. His voice was soaked in mock sympathy, condescension dripping from his lips like honey. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it, pretty girl. You were so. fucking. eager. to come for me before.”

He twisted his wrist to grasp her clawing fingers and trailed both of their hands down her body to her drenched slit. Forcing her to feel how he’d split her open. How he was taking her apart, piece-by-blessed-piece.

“This is what you wanted, right? What I promised you?”

The blindfold-turned-gag muffled another broken keen, but Attuma was undeterred. He let her wrist fall limp, both hands gripping her hips like steel as he sped back up. Short, sharp strokes—each one unerring and utterly devastating. She felt every inch of him dragging against her trembling nerves, sending sparks skittering through her entire body. Okoye scrambled, hands moving in a frenzy as she tried to find purchase on something, anything.

“You know I always keep my promises.”

Her whole body quaked, every muscle taut, every breath stolen. She rolled her ass back into him instinctively, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter in the face of her impending climax, and she shuddered, moaning as the edge of delirium approached with frightening speed.

The gag muffled her wanton pleas, but that didn’t stop her.

Please, please, please–

Her nails raked at the hand pinning her in place, but that didn’t stop him.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he hissed into her ear, his voice a velvet rasp.

Okoye shook her head frantically.

She wouldn’t dare. Not again. Not without permission.

“That wasn’t a question, baby,” Attuma chuckled, low and lecherous in her ear. “You’re going to come for me again. You don’t get a choice.” Each snap of his hips into hers was a deliberate strike—methodical and merciless and dismantling any hope she had of resistance. “You’re going to come on my dick. Over and over, until that greedy little pussy of yours is all fucked out. And then,” he whispered, sharp teeth grazing her ear, “you’re gonna give me one more.”

Rough fingers took up a rapid rhythm against her clit, drawing tight, messy circles around the aching bud in time with his thrusts. Her body writhed as he struck flint against steel.

Once.

Twice.

And she felt her body catch fire.

Heaven and hell met in a blazing inferno, and Okoye burned at its epicenter.

Her head bowed, and she wailed against the gag. She shuddered violently—sweet, aching heat curling in her veins. Pleasure roared in her ears, and stars burst behind her eyes. Her legs locked, and her back arched as she moved with and against him. White-hot pulses rolled through her in rapid succession, her second climax no less devastating than the first, and she writhed, somehow torn between wanting nothing else and needing so much more.

Attuma refused to let her come down. He was relentless, pace never changing, fingers never stopping. The hand on her hip swept back and hooked under her knee, lifting it onto the bed and sending her reeling. She teetered dangerously, barely keeping her footing on the tip of her toes, and dropped to her forearms as her leg buckled. The shift tilted her hips, opening her further to his unyielding drive, and she cried out—ragged, broken gasps swallowed by the drenched silk in her mouth.

Merciless strokes kept her dangling at the precipice with no end in sight, forcing her to take him—to feel him as he drove into her. Harder. Faster. Deeper. Steel hands pinned her in place, deft fingers twisted just so, and she hit a new octave.

Her third high was a maelstrom of unending sensation. Blood rushed in her ears like thunder. Lightning crackled under her skin. Bliss cut like a knife, wreaking unholy havoc on every one of her senses, leaving her mind blank and blinding white. She keened, fingers scrabbling for purchase and tearing at the sheets, as she bucked against him.

A hand cracked against her ass, viciously reminding her she had nowhere to run.

“Don’t you dare. You don’t get to run from me,” he growled, both hands jerking her back onto his dick as he redoubled his efforts—fucking into her hard and impossibly deep, “not after that little stunt you pulled.” Another smack landed, demanding her attention. Her penance. “You’re going to take every inch of me, baby. Like the greedy slut you are. And we won’t stop until I say we’re done.”

A final crack of his palm against her skin rang out, the sweet sting punctuating his declaration, searing it like a brand into her skin. Her teeth clenched, biting down on the silk and choking out a strangled moan, knowing it wouldn’t take much, not with how far gone she was. Okoye pressed her cheek into the mattress, hot tears spilling over as she arched back without thought.

Attuma’s pleased hum bordered on a groan. “Mmm, there she is… Push it back for me, baby,” he breathed, raw desire bleeding into his tone. He gripped a handful of her ass, spreading her open for his lewd gaze. “Come on, greedy girl—I know you can give just as good as you get.”

It was base instinct that had her hips rolling back despite her trembling legs. Wanton need that had her clenching around him, bearing down despite her overshot nerves. Mindless abandon that had her wanting, wishing, praying, for the high that would bring her crashing down.

His hands were possessive on her body, dragging her down onto him as he drove up—meeting her halfway with devastating precision. His voice dropped into that husky scrape that told her he was just as close to the edge as she was, and their rhythm coalesced into a carnal medley: the wet slap of skin on skin, her gagged and breathless moans growing higher in pitch and fervor, his gravel-and-sin voice guiding her. Goading her.

Praise and possession spilled from his lips in a debauched litany.

“Fuck, darlin’.” Attuma’s hips slammed into hers, “You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. Taking me so well. And fuck—if you don’t look good doing it.”

He spread her further, groaning again, and she answered with a choked gasp, knowing his gaze was locked onto where their bodies met. It was obscene and profane, and so, so hot.

“I know you’re gonna come again, sweetheart. I can feel it. You’re gonna come for me, and that’ll be mine. Just like this perfect ass is. And this greedy cunt of yours.”

His fingers found her clit again, and an inhuman sound left her throat. Her eyes slammed shut as her hips bucked wildly, body writhing as he drew relentless circles across the slick, swollen bud.

“You’re gonna scream for me when you do, and that’ll be mine, too. Just like you are.”

His thrusts grew frenzied, rhythm breaking as he drove them both to the very brink. Electric sparks curled up her spine with every ragged scrape of his dick inside her, and she sobbed into the sheets.

“I want what’s mine, Okoye. Give it to me. Now.”

The command came in a vicious growl, and she couldn’t do anything but obey.

The scream that tore out of her throat was nothing short of primal.

Her body jerked with it, nerves misfiring in every direction like a live wire. Agony tangled with ecstasy as she surrendered to the blistering waves of her fourth orgasm, and her senses blurred to static.

The world splintered apart beneath her, and she fell with it—dragging Attuma down alongside her.

He came with a guttural snarl, body shuddering and grip bruising. His hips stuttered against hers, fingers faltering, and she let out a weak moan as he filled her, flooding her with warmth.

Her limbs finally gave out, and she collapsed into the mattress, mind going blissfully blank.

~~~

Time slipped by unnoticed as she drifted in and out, her world shifting between slow, shuttered blinks.

Gentle hands smoothed warmth across her hips and back, soothing her whimpers as he eased himself from her body.

Strong arms lifted her fully onto the bed, slipping ruined silk and lace from her body, and rearranging her boneless limbs beneath his.

Careful fingers coaxed her mouth open, working the gag from between her teeth before massaging her jaw and neck.

Soft lips pressed kisses into the salt of her skin, trailing from her nape to her shoulder, whispering reverent praises between every breath.

“Mm, you were perfect, darlin’,” he murmured, kissing the underside of her jaw. “So perfect.”

She stirred at the sound of his voice, lashes fluttering but never quite lifting. Another kiss dropped to her forehead, and she pressed her face into his, still too wrung out for words.

“Wore you out, huh, sweetheart?” A quiet laugh rumbled through him as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “But you took me so well. You always do.”

Another kiss followed the compliment, landing on the corner of her lips, and she turned her head just enough to catch his mouth with her own.

It was soft and unhurried—all languid desire and satisfied passion. They breathed each other in, lips pulling in long passes, tongues teasing but never taking.

Attuma hummed into her mouth, and she released his lips with a happy sigh, going lax into the pillows once more. He continued lavishing her with sweet praises, pressing gentle, adoring kisses on every inch of skin he could reach.

Slow hands roamed the length of her body, shifting her little by little until his mouth was leaving lingering, open-mouthed kisses across her ribs. Her mind drifted, floating somewhere far away in the hazy clouds of bliss. She sighed again, loose-limbed and pliant, and her hands found his hair as he dipped below her belly button, fingers slipping through loose strands.

Broad shoulders nudged her thighs open as he dusted kisses across her hipbones. He settled himself between her still-trembling legs, and her brow furrowed, warmth blooming through the haze. She blinked, slow and listless, and let out a soft whimper of confusion when his mouth met the slick skin of her thighs.

Her fingers stilled in his hair, breath hitching as his tongue traced the inner seam.

“Wait… Attuma, wait, I–” Her voice was a weak, barely there whisper, and she shifted, trying in vain to close her legs. “I don’t think I can–oh!”

He pressed the lightest of kisses to her clit, and she flinched, her hips jumping at the contact, her protests dying before she could voice them.

“You can,” he said, soft and sure. “You will.” He nosed up her slit, speaking directly over the overwrought bundle of nerves at her center. Dark eyes flicked up to meet her half-lidded ones. “You’re going to.”

The certainty in his tone shouldn’t have been such a turn-on, but Okoye couldn’t deny the slow spread of molten heat emanating from where his mouth was already doing wicked things to her.

His head dipped low again, tongue mirroring his earlier actions on the opposite thigh, and she whimpered.

“I made you a promise, didn’t I, darlin’?” he whispered, pressing another featherlight kiss to her clit, holding her steady when she jumped again. “Let me keep it.”

It wasn’t a request.

She knew as much.

However nicely worded or quietly spoken, there was no mistaking the demand in his voice.

He was going to take her again.

She was going to let him.

Her fingers loosened just a fraction, body relaxing beneath him once more as he nuzzled the top of her mound. He hummed, satisfied by her submission, and ran a soothing hand over the trembling muscles of her stomach. His other hand traced the length of her thigh before hooking under her knee and spreading her further for him.

The shift brought her attention to the steady trail of wet leaking from her center, and she tensed all over again.

“Wait–don’t–Attuma, you–”

Her objections shattered into a high, strangled gasp as he licked a wide, flat stripe up her cunt, groaning deeply as he went.

The sound sent a shock of vibration through her, and her fingers twisted in his hair again—too shocked for words and too weak to push him away.

He did it again, slower this time, catching every trace of ‌their combined spend in one long, languid pass of his tongue from slit to clit. Then he sucked her clit into his mouth, tapping it gently with his tongue before releasing it with a soft, filthy pop.

His pleased hum rumbled up her spine, and he grinned at her, wicked and wanton. “We taste good together.”

Okoye didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

Not when his mouth was back on her, moving in slow, reverent laps, savoring her like she was his favorite sin.

Not when his tongue was gliding through the mess he’d made of her—of them—like he’d never get to taste her again.

She let out a hoarse moan, back arching off the bed as his tongue swept over her in tender, unhurried strokes. Her hips rocked up despite herself, thighs falling further open as he licked into her, teasing at her aching opening.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have you,” he coaxed, covering her mound with his mouth, laving at sodden folds.

He kissed and licked and lapped at her, every languid pass of his tongue making her quiver. It was all so gentle, yet still so devastating after all the havoc he’d wreaked on her earlier. She felt the telltale rise of heat pooling in her belly and let out a broken whimper, unable to comprehend her body’s response.

“Look at you, pretty girl,” Attuma murmured, voice low and laced with dark delight. “You said you couldn’t take any more, but here you are… dripping for me.”

He parted her folds with his thumbs and dragged his tongue up her slit again, grinning when a guttural moan sounded from deep in her chest.

“Gonna come on my tongue, greedy girl?”

“I can’t,” she said, dragging the word out in a pitiful whine.

Her body told a different story.

It was clear in the way her legs trembled and her hips rolled. The way her toes curled and her back arched. The way her fingers kept twisting in his hair and her empty, aching cunt clenched around nothing.

She was going to come again.

She was going to come again, and Attuma knew it.

“Yes, you are.” His chuckle was filthy. Smug.

She almost hated it.

“Come on then, baby. Give me what’s mine.”

His lips wrapped around her clit again, pulling the swollen bud into his mouth and sucking with just enough force to make her cry out. Then, he flattened his tongue and pressed, working it back and forth against her heated flesh until it was all too much.

The dam broke, and her lips parted on a high, desperate sound.

Bliss surged like a tide, pushing past her disbelief and denial, and swept her away, leaving nothing but the thrum of his name in her veins. She clutched at him wildly—her hand fisted in his hair, her nails carving half-moons in his shoulder—trying to anchor herself against the onslaught. Her body shuddered through the swells, rocking in time with his mouth as he coaxed her through it.

The high ebbed slowly, each wave smaller and softer until euphoria finally gave way to exhaustion.

Her body sagged beneath his, boneless and spent, and he finally pulled his mouth from her, leaving a gentle kiss on her clit.

He took his time making his way back up her body, smoothing his hands over her thighs in soothing circles as she trembled through the aftershocks. Another whisper-like kiss just below her belly button, and one more, right above her heart.

Then, his lips were on hers, kissing her sweet, slow, and deep.

“Mine,” he whispered.

A truth that didn’t need telling, but one she confirmed anyway.

“Yours.”

~Finis~

A/N: There's a whole spiel in my brain about practicing BDSM safely, but I'm way too tired for the full lecture. Main points are Communication, Consent, & Trust. Communicate your boundaries long before you get into bed with partner. Make sure Consent is given explicitly and not just implied. And Trust your body, your limits, and your partner. Also please remember, no good Dom wants to hear your safe word. It's a safety net, not a goalpost.

This has been a PSA from your favorite Pillow Princess ☺️

"Can you come by the lab later?" 

Shuri’s voice sounded over Okoye’s comms, making her tense as she blinked in confusion. 

"What?" she hissed, eyes darting away from the convoy of covered trucks she’d been surveilling.

"The lab. My lab," Shuri said slowly, "You know, the one where I work for the betterment of all Wakandans?" the princess deadpanned.

Okoye scrunched her nose, glaring at the passing trucks as though they were Shuri’s face. She’d been traveling through the northern Indian jungle for three days; she was hot, sweaty, and a little more than fed up. Shuri’s interruption was as untimely as it was agitating. "You do know that I’m on a mission, right? One you tasked me with."

"Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure you’re doing just fine. Can you just come by when you get back? Preferably before you head home." 

Okoye could hear the lack of concern in the younger woman’s voice just as clearly as she could picture being waved off. Biting back a growl, she let out a long-suffering sigh and pressed her body flat against the branch she was perched on. 

"Is it important?" she asked, eyes tracking each truck as it passed. One of them was carrying several crates of stolen technology that had been grabbed from the Avengers compound in New York. How it’d made its way across an ocean and a continent was a problem for someone else to solve; she was merely responsible for retrieving it. 

Shuri was silent for a brief second before she returned her question with another one. "If I say yes, will you come?" 

Instead of an answer, Okoye cursed as several of the trucks broke off from the main line, including the one she’d singled out two days prior. "Shit! Aneka, where are they–"

"Aneka says they’re headed northwest, towards the Pakistani border," Shuri replied, just as apathetic as before, making her curse again.

She kissed the back of her teeth, sitting up in fluid motion, and swung her body down, grabbing a low-hanging vine to lower herself to the jungle floor. "Dammit, Shuri! Put Aneka back on!"

Shuri grumbled in her ear, but she ignored the child, taking off in a sprint the moment her feet hit the ground. Darting through shrubs and bushes, Okoye slid into a crouch at the tree line and growled a curse at her little sister. 

"I swear to all the gods–" 

"Just a quick stop!" the younger woman insisted.

Two more trucks turned off around the same corner while the rest continued down the road, and Okoye swore to strangle her if the damned contraband she’d spent weeks hunting moved across another international border. 

"Shuri!"

"It’s important!"

"Yes! Fine! Put Aneka back on! N’goku!"

"Thank you! Love you! Make sure you come back before you go back to Azzaria, okay?"

The line switched back over to Aneka before she could curse the princess some more, and the younger woman apologized profusely. 

"Sorry, General. She disabled the comm link–"

"It’s fine," Okoye cut in, hoping she wasn’t going to have to brave the Indian-Pakistani border. "Do you still have eyes on them?" 

"Yes, they’re still heading northwest. 30 or so clicks away from the border. Do you want me to send in the auxiliaries?" 

Okoye eyed the convoy, counting the remaining trucks barrelling down the road, and plucked an EMP bead from her wrist. She rolled the bead onto the dirt road as the last truck approached, watching as it detonated in silence and brought the truck to a sudden stop. 

"No," she said, grinning sharply. She pulled her spear from the holster around her thigh and twisted the handle, extending the weapon. "I’ve got a ride."

~~~

Okoye breathed out a sigh of exhaustion, leaning against the cool metal of the elevator walls as it carried her into the depths of Mount Bashenga. 

Her legs felt like jelly, her shoulder ached, and she was sorely in need of a shower. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long, but there was no way to tell what Shuri wanted. She'd already sent the retrieved contraband ahead of her to Abasi with the rest of her extraction team, figuring Captain Wilson would appreciate having the tech back on American soil sooner rather than later. The elevator slowed to a stop, and Okoye sent up a silent prayer that this little side venture would be quick. 

Nodding her greetings to the Dora on duty, Okoye strode down the short hallway into the lab and found her little sister in a familiar position as GRIOT announced her presence.

"Glad to see you in one piece, General," Shuri said, glancing up from the work table she was hunched over and giving her a quick once-over. "Everything went okay?"

Okoye arched an unimpressed brow at the formality and sniffed, returning the greeting in kind. "Glad to be back, Princess. And yes, the mission went well, despite certain... disruptions."

Shuri snorted at that and dropped all pretense. "Please; you've had worse."

"And they were just as unappreciated," Okoye shot back, nudging the younger woman with her hip and ignoring her grumbled protest as she leaned against the work table. "Now, why am I here?" `

"Left side table, on the far right," Shuri gestured with an indirect wave of her arm. 

"This had better be worth it," she muttered, saving herself the annoyance of an ignored question. 

Straightening, Okoye walked over to the table she'd been directed to and found herself staring at a kimoyo bracelet. Or at least, something like a kimoyo bracelet. As opposed to the round beads of black and silver that currently encircled her wrist, these beads were bright green and made up of small cubes. She reached to pick it up, then hesitated, looking back at Shuri in askance.

"Go ahead," she answered, not looking up from her tinkering.

Okoye lifted the bracelet gingerly, bringing it up to her face in order to study it closer. She moved the cubes through her fingers, admiring the feel of them, testing their weight. They were heavier than the ones she currently wore, and if she had to guess, she would say each cube was made entirely out of jade. There was no string tying the cubes together, but between each stone, there was a small golden bead, making the entire piece glimmer in the bright lights of the lab. Peering closer, Okoye realized each of the green stones was engraved. Intricate lines of golden filigree curved and intersected to form glyphs— non-Wakandan glyphs.

Her eyes snapped up when she recognized a familiar symbol.

"Shuri, is this–?"

"Talokanil? Yeah," Shuri replied, suddenly appearing at her side with a smirk. 

Okoye blinked, wondering when she'd left her workbench, how she'd managed to carve Talokanil glyphs onto a set of specialized kimoyo beads, and, more importantly, why. 

Her little sister, who never missed an opportunity to ramble about her projects, answered before she had the chance to ask.

"It’s the same hardware as the usual kimoyos— with a few improvements, of course. The holos are interfaced for underwater visibility, and I added magnetic salinity stabilizers so they can detach individually without drifting off in the current. The gold beads can double as earbuds, and the range is fantastic, too. You could make a call from here to the deepest section of the trench without so much as a glitch," she said, smirk turning smug. 

Okoye quirked a brow, mind still working through everything Shuri had said. "The trench?" 

If Shuri heard her question, it went unacknowledged as she continued her spiel. "There’s also the added benefit of how gorgeous they are. I mean, I was a little worried about the filigree when we started, but they came out amazing. I wanted to do something flashier, but your little merman insisted that you wouldn't like it."

"My what?"

"Apparently, you don't wear your birthday present enough, so we had to ‘tone it down.’" Shuri gave Okoye a pouting glare but continued before she could get a word in edgewise. "Pure jade is a bitch to work with, by the way, so thanks for that, and the translation was a pain in the ass! Do you know how detailed Talokanil runes are? They’re almost worse than the hieroglyphs in the ancient temples! Luckily for you, though, I’m something of a genius, and creating a high-pressure water pen was a breeze," she finished with an easy flourish of her hand.

Okoye looked between the kimoyos and Shuri, silently putting the pieces of explanation together from the younger woman's somewhat nonsensical ramble, and realization struck in an instant. 

"Are these—"

"Long range, deep sea custom kimoyo beads made by yours truly? Why, yes. Yes, they are." The princess' smirk widened into a full-blown grin, and her eyes gleamed with pride. 

"Do you intend to let me finish asking a single question today?" Okoye asked, exasperated and more than ready to box the child's ears.

"You finished that one, didn't you," Shuri retorted, sticking her tongue out.

She settled for flicking her.

"Ow!"

"Hush and explain yourself."

"That's not contradictory at all– Ow!" Shuri started, then squawked when she earned another flick. 

The younger woman glared, but Okoye remained undeterred. She wanted an explanation. Her sister sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, muttering out the brief and simpler story of Attuma approaching her for a set of kimoyos— ones that would work underwater and keep him in contact with someone on the surface.

"He didn't tell me you were the one he wanted to keep in touch with until we were halfway through the design process, you know?" Shuri remarked, eyeing her carefully. "My initial plans were much simpler, but he kept going on and on about how special he wanted them to be. Elegant and expensive, but nothing too extravagant. Pretty but not flashy. Something you could wear out in the field if you wanted to. Took me almost a month to put the pieces together, and he still didn't fess up until it was time to carve the runes."

Okoye let out a soft, amused scoff, but couldn't find the words for much else. Her mind was still spinning, marveling at the lengths Attuma had gone to in order to do this for her— for them. Her throat tightened as she ran careful fingers over the golden runes. 

"He carved them himself," Shuri revealed in a quieter voice, nodding as if she was still in disbelief when Okoye's eyes shot up to meet hers. "Said the laser on the engraving machine wasn't doing it right. Or at least, not right enough. Something I doubt, obviously, considering I built it myself, but whatever."

A wet laugh escaped her this time, and Okoye smiled. That sounded like him. 

Attuma was particular in ways she'd spent almost a year learning. He liked his cocoa hot, but his coffee cold. The teeth on his helm and breastplate were blunted, but the spines on his pauldrons were just as sharp as his spear, and he always carried at least three blades on his person whenever he left his home. He preferred actions over words, goat over chicken, and honey on everything. 

And she loved him.

Bast help her; she loved him with every ounce of her being. 

"I suppose that dopey little smile on your face means that you like them, huh?" Shuri's voice cut into her thoughts, and Okoye's eyes cut into a venomous glare. "I'll take that as a yes, then," the princess said, laughing and dancing back to avoid getting her ear flicked again. "You have an awful way of saying 'thank you'; I worked on those for months!"

Her gaze softened as she glanced at the kimoyos again, and she shook her head before smiling softly at the younger woman. "Thank you, Shuri." 

"You're welcome," Shuri replied, winding her lanky arms around Okoye's midsection and resting her head on her shoulder. They stood in silence for nearly a minute, both staring at the bracelet in Okoye’s hands as she admired the craftsmanship of the beads before the princess spoke again. "One day, when you're ready, you'll tell me why and how," Shuri murmured, arms tightening around her. Okoye squeezed her sister’s elbow, making a silent promise. "Preferably before you get married, though. I would hate to have to invent something just to find out you're engaged."

She snorted and flicked her younger sister on the ear for a third time. "Brat."

Shuri opened her mouth to protest the title but stopped short before conceding with a shrug. Okoye huffed and shook her head, patting the younger woman’s arm so she could be let go. The princess released her after another affectionate squeeze, heading back to her workstation to resume her tinkering. Okoye stood still for a moment, tracing her thumb over the runes inscribed on the inside of the bracelet. She’d have to ask Attuma what each one meant the next time they saw each other. Which begged the question—

"Shuri," she called, turning to look at the younger woman, "is this a prototype?"

"Hm? Yeah," Shuri answered, already fully immersed in her latest project, "well, one of two anyway."

"And the other one?

"Attuma came to get it while you were in Punjab. He's probably expecting you to call at some point." 

~~~

The temptation to call the moment she reached the flight deck was absurd, and it took every ounce of her self-control to keep the kimoyos tucked away in her holster. 

Nine months of dating, or courting as Attuma liked to call it, and they'd been the very picture of discretion. To the outside world, they were friends and affable work partners when situations called for it. They’d perfected their public faces, sharing secret smiles and carefully timing their exits and entrances from official functions. Things were much different in private. They traded laughs and kisses in the dark corners of sparring arenas and talked for hours using the spare set of kimoyos she’d slipped him. Private beaches and deserted islands were havens for their passion, and even with all of the sneaking around, Okoye didn’t have a single regret.

Their business was just that: theirs.

Shuri's newfound knowledge notwithstanding, Okoye wanted it to remain that way. 

So, she resigned herself to waiting—but not for long.

Her original plan had been to debrief Ayo after stopping by the lab, then hop on one of the routine cargo flights from Bashenga to Abasi so she could file her official report before going back to her apartment in Azzaria. Instead, Okoye gave Ayo an abbreviated (and distracted) rundown of the mission, consciously ignoring the suspicion in her sister's eyes and unconsciously thumbing over the hidden beads. She skipped going to Abasi altogether, knowing she'd have to redo the report later if she tried to focus on it now, and boarded a rapid train straight from the Great Mound to Azzaria. 

The kimoyos burned a hole in her holster the entire time.

She was acutely aware of their presence, and once the train had sped past the bounds of Bashenga, Okoye could no longer resist the desire to touch them again. She was discreet about it, of course, avoiding the watchful eyes of the aunties by folding the jade bracelet into her palm under the guise of loosening the straps of her holster. The towering spires of the city flattened out into grassy plains as the train raced through the Alkama Fields toward the Southern Border. She sat with her hands in her lap, one folded over the other, passing each bead through her fingers. The round beads were smooth, like the pearls he was always gifting her, and she could feel the slight downward angle where the golden inlay of the glyphs began. She longed to study them— to know what he was telling her beyond the technology. There was a giddy feeling in her chest, a fluttering underneath her heart like she'd swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep it from showing on her face and checked her regular kimoyos for the time. 

Even without stops, the journey from Bashenga to Azzaria was just over an hour. 

This one felt like ten. 

When the rounded walls of Azzaria finally came into view, she let out a slow breath and re-tightened the holster around her thigh. Sliding the beads back into their hiding place, she tried not to appear harried as the train glided to a stop at the city center, mentally counting the seconds until she'd be home. The kimoyos vibrated against her thigh as she disembarked, and she lost the battle for control of her face, her lips quirking up into a delighted grin without her permission. She pressed herself through the weekend crowd and exited the station, heading straight for her apartment building. 

If her walk home was closer to a jog, Okoye hoped no one noticed. 

~~~

She slipped the bracelet over her wrist the moment she shut her front door and checked the time. It was nearing ten p.m. in Wakanda, which meant it was close to four p.m. in the Eastern Caribbean. They kept time a little differently in Talokan, but Okoye had a rough idea of his schedule. If he didn't have patrol duty, his workday was likely coming to an end. She tapped another bead to check the alert that'd come through at the station. 

It was a short two-word message from Attuma: Two hours.

Slumping back against the door, she pouted like a love-struck teenager before pulling herself up and acting like the grown woman she was. Resisting the temptation to message him back, Okoye set a timer instead and distracted herself by making dinner.

~~~

Two agonizing hours, a half-eaten dinner, and a steaming hot shower later, it was finally time. 

She settled on the center of her bed, cross-legged with a bowl of grapes in her lap, and switched off the television before pulling one of the golden beads from the bracelet. The giddy feeling in her stomach returned as she popped it into her ear and pressed down, hearing the soft ping of the AI waiting for a prompt. 

"Call Attuma," she murmured into the quiet of her bedroom, biting into a grape.

Another ping sounded as it registered her command, and then the AI spoke back, "Calling: Sharkboy."

She let out an indelicate snort, rolling her eyes as the phone began to ring, and laughingly swore to box Shuri's ears for that tomorrow. The phone rang twice before the line connected, and the next thing she heard was Attuma's voice.

"Okoye?"

She smiled wide and bright, even though he couldn't see her. "Attuma."

"Hi."

"Hi."

A beat of silence passed between them, and they both laughed.

"Hello, in Chak 'Ek."

"Hello, sithandwa sam. Been busy?"

"A little," he chuckled, soft and rich. "I take it you like your gift, then?"

"I love it," Okoye said, admiring the jade and gold encircling her wrist again, "How'd you manage to keep it a secret?" 

"There wasn't much to tell on my part. Your princess did all the hard work with her nanites and computer screens," Attuma replied. "I simply sourced out the materials."

"And carved the runes," she added, popping another grape into her mouth. 

"And carved the runes," he acknowledged bashfully.

"They're beautiful, masoyina," she said after swallowing. "Thank you."

 "You're welcome, in puksi’ik’al. How was your mission?"

"Successful despite certain interruptions," Okoye replied, reclining against her headboard. "I managed to get the stolen tech without causing an international incident, which Ayo will be happy about, and it should be on its way back to New York now, which Captain Wilson will be happy about. All in all, a pretty great day. How was yours?"

"Trying," Attuma said. "I lost a wager with Namora and was forced to lead the new recruits on this month's surface excursion."

She winced in sympathy, biting a grape in half. "I take it it didn't go well?"

"They moved like starfish in the shallows and could barely keep hold of their weapons."

"That bad?"

"Worse. I doubt their ability to guard the reefs from sea slugs, never mind the kingdom," he scoffed. "It was painful to witness."

"Sounds like it," she said, finishing her grape. "But they'll get better with time— and more training."

"Are you offering to host a seminar, in puksi’ik’al?" he asked.

"Not on your life," Okoye shot back, laughing when he let out an amused groan. 

"You laugh at my misery while also denying me the pleasure of watching you thoroughly trounce these little xluklu'um [worms] in combat? The gods have made the holder of my heart a cruel woman."

Her stomach did a little somersault as she laughed at him again. "Somehow, I don't think the recruits would benefit from being 'thoroughly trounced'," Okoye said, feeling her cheeks heat at his description of her. "And you're not fooling me, indoda krebe, I know you like hearing me threaten people."

"Maybe so," Attuma admitted, letting out a deep chuckle, "But I don't think I can be blamed— you're very sexy when you threaten people."

"Is that so?" she hummed, arching a brow and eating another grape. "Was it my threats that drew you in, or do you fall in love with every woman that threatens your life?"

"I can't think of many others who would," he laughed. "But it wouldn't matter if they did. It was your light that drew me in, in Chak Ek'," he said, voice turning serious with his sincerity. "The fierce passion of your heart is like nothing else, and I'd brave any threat for the honor of loving you. There's not another soul on this earth that could possibly draw me away."

Her smile widened until her cheeks hurt from it. Gods above, she loved this man. 

"Charmer," she murmured, moving her snack bowl and hugging her knees to her chest.

He hummed in agreeance, "One who loves you."

Warmth spread through her like sunshine. "I love you, too, Attuma. More than I think I could ever say."

A comfortable silence settled between them as her declaration hung in the air. He was the more verbose one between them, never afraid to tell her all that she meant to him or reticent with his fervent (and occasionally poetic) declarations of love. Verbal expressions had never been her strong suit, however. Life had taught her that words were wind and love required action. Attuma had taught her the two weren't mutually exclusive. 

She rested her chin on her knee and held her wrist up, studying the jade beads again.

"What are you doing?" Attuma's question was quiet, and faintly, she could hear the current moving around him.

"Studying my present," Okoye answered, flipping three of the jade beads that rested on the inside of her wrist. These were the only ones with engravings on both sides, and she recognized the rune for 'storm' on one of them— his family name. "Are you going to tell me what the runes mean?"

"Yes, but not tonight, in puksi’ik’al."

"Why not tonight?" she asked with a confused laugh. "Is there something more pressing we should discuss?"

"There is. So pressing that I spent my entire journey home wondering about it."

"Mm, and what's that?"

"What color pajamas do you have on?"

A sharp cackle burst from her before she could stop it, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. 

"What?" Attuma asked, trying and failing to convey innocence, and she laughed harder, falling back against her pillows. 

"You have no shame!" Okoye admonished through her snickers.

"Maybe not," he chuckled, "but the question remains: what color are they?"

Her breath hitched at the gruff tenor his voice dropped into, and she curled her bottom lip in, chewing on it as she contemplated her answer. On its surface, the question was simple, but she knew where this road led. A glance at the clock on her wall told her it was far too late to even think of playing this game with him. 

It didn't mean she had the slightest intention of stopping.

She answered his question with a lick of her lips. "Red."

"Silk?"

"Yes."

"Are they–?"

"The ones I had in Seychelles?" she cut in, remembering the heat and hunger in his eyes the first time he'd seen her in the high-cut shorts and slinky little camisole she currently wore. "Yes."

Attuma hummed— a low, gravelly sound that bordered on a groan, and heat curled down her spine. It seemed he remembered as well. "And beneath them?" 

Okoye leaned over and moved her bowl of grapes to her nightstand before she answered. "Nothing."

Even without being able to see his face, she could tell the effect her words had on him. She could hear it. 

In her mind's eye, Okoye pictured his pupils blown wide, eyes so dark they were nearly black, looking as though he was going to devour her. If she were in front of him, Attuma's fists would clench at his sides as he resisted the urge to drag her closer. He could be handsy when he wanted to be— when she wanted him to be. Before him, it’d never occurred to her that she might enjoy being manhandled. Shame he was half a world away now.

"I didn't even realize when I put them on. The pajamas that is," Okoye said, her own voice growing huskier, "My mind was a little preoccupied while I was getting dressed." 

"Too preoccupied for underwear?"

"I think you know by now that I prefer to sleep without them.”

"We don't do much sleeping when we're together, in Chak Ek', and I think you know that I prefer you with nothing on." 

"It won't do much good for you now, but I can take them off if you'd like," Okoye offered, thumbing the elastic band of the silken shorts. 

"No, keep them on," Attuma said, "I want to picture you as accurately as I can."

"There is a video function," Okoye reminded him.

"You'd need your hands for that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then, no," he said, quiet and decisive like they were drawing up battle plans. "You're going to need both of your hands."

Her laugh was shaky, bordering on breathless. "Both of them? I've managed just fine with one hand before, you know," she teased playfully.

The implication in his words was enough to make her clench her thighs. She squirmed, attempting to stave off her arousal. It was pointless, of course. Attuma's voice alone was enough to get her worked up, never mind all the filthy things he liked to whisper in her ear when they were intimate. 

"I don't doubt it," Attuma said. "I also know how much you enjoy having your pretty tits sucked when my cock is inside you." 

Okoye choked, letting out an indiscernible strangled sound, and coughed as she tried to clear her throat. Gods, she’d never know how this man could go from stunning eloquence to shocking crudity in the blink of an eye. Nor did she understand her body's response to it. The quiet rumbling of Attuma's laugh told her that his words had had their intended effect, and she narrowed her eyes. If he wanted to play dirty, she was more than happy to oblige. 

She extended her legs and slid down, allowing her knees to fall apart, and slipped her hands beneath the soft silk of her camisole. "I suppose I'll just have to make do in your absence then," she murmured, tracing the raised edges of her isibeko with light fingers. They were sensitive despite their age, and the rough callouses of her fingertips glancing across the dotted scars sent goosebumps racing across her skin. Her voice dipped into a seductive rasp as she asked, "Should I narrate for you, masoyina? Tell you where and how I'm going to touch myself? How I'll be wishing for your hands the entire time?" 

Attuma groaned in her ear, a low sound positively dripping with lust. It set her blood on fire.

"Was that a yes?" The question came out in a breathless moan as her eyes slipped shut. Her hands drifted in separate directions, the right finding the underside of her breast in short order and cupping the heavy mound. Another quiet moan slipped out as her fingers brushed over the stiff peaks of her nipples. "If it were, I'd start by telling you how hard my nipples are," she sighed softly, running her thumb over one, " They're like diamonds, masoyina," she said, gasping as she pinched and pulled the hardened nub, toying with it as he would, "And so damn sensitive." 

A strained grunt came from her lover this time, and another spike of lust shot through her as her mind conjured up visions of him unbidden. She whimpered, imagining him in the seclusion of his room, legs splayed wide as he fisted the length of his thick member.

"What else, ch'ujuk ek'?" Attuma's voice cut into her fantasy, demanding her attention in a throaty growl, "What else would you tell me?"

"I... I'd tell you how wet I am," Okoye said, words tumbling out in a rush as her left hand slipped below her shorts and into her dripping folds. "Bast… Attuma… I’m soaked." Her fingers slipped over her aching clit in the barest of touches, and she let out a low whine as her hips bucked. "I think I could come right now."

"Not yet," he said, taking control of the game with a soft command— a loss that didn’t really feel like one, considering the rush of arousal she felt. "Tell me how you’re touching yourself, Okoye. Are you swirling your fingers around that sweet pearl for me?"

"Yes," she answered, drawing the word out in a low hiss as her fingers circled her clit.

“Good,” Attuma praised, “Not too fast now. You’re imagining my fingers, remember? It’s me touching you. You know I like to take my time.”

She drew in a ragged breath, stomach quivering as she fought the impulse to speed up. “You’re a tease,” she accused.

“And you love every moment of it, pretty girl,” his answering chuckle was filthy in her ear, “You can’t fool me. I’ve seen how wet you get when I make you work for it. I’ve felt how hard you come around my cock.” His voice grew thicker as he spoke, and every word stoked the flames of her arousal until her blood was alight with lust. “Are you playing with your tits too— pinching and pulling on those pretty nipples of yours? Are you imagining my teeth?”

She hissed out another answer, teasing and twisting the stiff peaks in turn while she worked herself higher and higher. From the muted grunts and groans she could hear over the phone, Attuma was right there with her. Okoye let out a hoarse moan at the visual her mind conjured up. 

“That’s it. Keep going, ko’oj,” he crooned. “Tell me how it feels, Okoye.”

The callouses on her slender fingers were a pale imitation compared to the rough pads of Attuma’s, but she did as she was bid, hips undulating against her hand. “It feels… fuck, Attuma… everything feels so slick… and swollen… my fingers keep slipping, sithandwa.”Okoye cursed, palming her breast and trying to gain more sensation. “Attuma, I… oh… I need…” her words trailed off into an insistent moan as she tweaked her nipple, sending a ripple of pain-laced pleasure through her body. 

“What do you need?” Attuma asked, urgency burning in his tone. The question morphed into a demand. “Tell me. Tell me what you need.” 

“More…” She wasn’t above begging. “Please, sithandwa… I need… need more. I– I want you inside.”

“Of course you do. You’re always so eager for me,” he husked. “Tell me, ko’oj, is your sweet cunt empty? Is it aching for me?” Okoye keened— a low, needy sound that was somehow still embarrassingly loud in the quiet of her bedroom. Attuma took it as an answer, giving her leave to fuck herself in a rough growl. “Go ahead, then, greedy girl— two fingers. Fuck that pretty pussy for me.”

Okoye didn’t hesitate, sinking two fingers into herself with abandon and moaning loud and long at the sensation of finally being filled. Her fingers glided in with ease, sliding through her folds smoother than the silk on her skin for the arousal dripping from her center. A fleeting thought of how her shorts would be ruined once the night was over crossed her mind, but Attuma’s voice overrode everything else.

“Oh, you are wet, ch’ujuk ek’— I can hear you. Gods above, you must be drenched,” he groaned, cursing in Talokanil, then began rambling, “Wish I could see you… feel you… taste you. You always taste so fucking sweet, ko’oj… sweeter than honey… fuck! I can’t wait to have you in front of me again, Okoye… I’m going to spread you open and feast on you until you scream.”

Her fingers worked faster and faster as he rambled on, and she moaned again when he commanded her to add a third finger to the mix. The stretch of it forced a strangled keen from her throat. She fucked herself harder and harder, hips canting as she gasped his name between curses and pleas all the while. 

“Are you close, ko’oj? You sound close… you sound like you’re gonna come all over those pretty fingers for me, in ch’ujuk ek’.” Attuma’s breaths grew heavier in her ear, turning into short pants, then grunts as he worked himself closer and closer to completion alongside her. “I’m gonna come too, ko’oj... Been here, listening to all the pretty sounds you’re making for me… you’re always making the prettiest sounds… I’ve been fucking my fist, imagining your sweet cunt clenching around my cock. You’re always so tight around me… so wet and hot…” he trailed off in a jumble of rapid Talokanil that she couldn’t understand.

It didn’t matter. The delicious coil of heat that’d been building in her veins was prime to snap, spurred on by the sounds of her own arousal and the broken rasp of his debauched litany. 

“Attuma… fuck, I’m gonna… Attuma, fuck!” Her voice was desperate, and her fingers were flying. “‘Tuma, I’m gonna come!”

“In wojel, ko’oj... I know… I want you to…” he groaned abruptly, guttural and deep, before continuing rough and ragged, “Come on, pretty girl… come for me… come with me.”

Her hand darted from her breast to her clit, rubbing swift, tight circles around her aching bundles of nerves, driven by the sheer need in his voice. Pleasure burned bright and hot through her entire body as she fucked herself hard and fast, ecstasy drawing closer and closer with every movement until she toppled over the edge.

Her back bowed, her hips jerked, and Okoye shrieked. 

Turning her head, she buried her face in the pillows, trying in vain to muffle the sound. Paltry as her efforts might’ve been, she couldn’t truly bring herself to care. Her entire being was consumed with blinding pleasure as she rode the high of her climax, and Attuma’s continual talking prolonged it. His words were an endless stream of vulgar praise and carnal encouragement, stopping only when the bliss of his own release overwhelmed him, and it all coalesced into a heady, unrestrained groan in her ear. 

Her body went slack— lazy and languid as the aftershocks rippled through her. Several long beats of silence passed, filled only with their heavy breathing. A small, satiated smile graced her face as she listened to Attuma catch his breath. Pulling both hands from her shorts, she grimaced slightly at the wetness staining her fingers, and the sticky trail of arousal left between her legs. Her shorts were definitely ruined. She shook her head, chuckling despite herself.

“What’s so funny, in puksi’ik’al?”

“I don’t think my shorts are quite fit for sleeping in anymore,” she said, shifting her hips and wiggling out of them, “I doubt they’re fit for anything other than the trash now.”

“An unfortunate casualty of an otherwise perfect evening,” Attuma said, sounding genuinely somber at the prospect of never seeing them again.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Fortunately for you, I happen to have another set. In a different color, of course.”

“Oh? Care to share?”

 “Kai marar kunya!” she exclaimed, laughing this time at his shamelessness. “But since you must know— they’re blue.”

Attuma let out a pleased hum, and all she could see was his dimpled smile. “Well, you’ll have to bring those with you to Nightingale then, won’t you?”

“If you insist, sithandwa sam.”

“In fact, I do, in Chak Ek’,” he said, laughter rumbling over the line. “See you in two weeks?”

“Two weeks,” she confirmed with a bright smile. “Call me tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “In puksi'ik'al táan wéetel mantats' [You have my heart], Okoye.”

His words were sunlight, warming her down to her toes.

“I love you, too, Attuma. Ngonaphakade nangomso kwakhona [Forever, and tomorrow too].”

Okoye hugged her precious nephew, trying to quell the laughter bubbling in her chest at his decidedly underwhelmed expression. Junior had waited an eternity (nearly three weeks) to meet the triplets, and Okoye feared the three small infants (who did very little but sleep and eat) hadn’t quite lived up to his expectations. 

“I know they are, sweet boy. But they will grow; you have to give them time,” she consoled with a chuckle. “They’ve only just arrived, you know.”

He returned her embrace, sinking into her arms and sighing again. “Can I still teach them Go Fish?”

“Probably not anytime soon, ingwe enci. But when they are old enough, I’m sure they would love to learn.” Okoye lifted T’Challa into her lap, relishing the ability to hold him close without the barrier of her belly. “You will be the first cousin they know, the one they love the most. You’ll be their best friend and greatest protector, and when the time comes, I’m sure you will be the best Go Fish teacher in all of Wakanda.”

Her nephew grinned at that, chest puffing out proudly. “I will teach them Go Fish when I am–,” he paused, counting quietly to himself, “ten!” he announced, holding out both hands, fingers splayed. “I’ll know other stuff then, too, so I can teach them lots.”

“Indeed you will, chan baláam.” Attuma’s voice sounded from the doorway of the nursery, drawing both of their attention. He and Namora stepped into the large room, both still damp from escorting Ixtli and the Talokanil nursing team to the eastern side of the Continent for the journey home. 

Toussaint wriggled from Okoye’s lap and greeted them with exclamations of joy, only looking a little abashed when Nakia reminded him to keep his voice down. Nonetheless, he took a running leap toward Attuma and giggled when he was caught and hoisted onto her beloved’s waist. Attuma received an affectionate forehead press and Namora, a series of salutes followed by an enthusiastic high-five. 

Her nephew touched Attuma’s hair, taking in his and Namora’s damp appearance, and scolded them in a loud whisper. “You’re still wet, Uncle Tuna! You and Nacomora need to use the dryer better.”

His face and countenance were so serious that Okoye lost the battle with her laughter at Nakia’s unrestrained snort, the mangled combination of Namora’s title and name sending them into a fit of hushed giggles. It didn’t help that Namora refused to correct him. She claimed it was a blessing from her chan aj baláam and even prohibited them from correcting him. 

Indulging T’Challa was a crime they were all guilty of, and Okoye could already tell it would be the same, if not worse, with her children. 

Her giggles tapered off, and she shook her head at her sister as Attuma set Toussaint down, crouching before the boy and solemnly promising to use the dryers better next time. Her nephew beamed at him, offering his littlest finger and extracting a pinky promise from his uncle before darting across the room to his mother, pestering her for the cashews she was snacking on. 

Attuma rose with a quiet chuckle and crossed the room, stopping at her side and dropping a kiss on her head. Reaching up, Okoye pushed his hair out of his face and pressed their foreheads together. He’d been gone for less than an hour, but she’d missed him like it’d been days. They hadn’t been apart since the triplets were born, and if this was how she felt now, Okoye dreaded to think of what she would feel when he went back to work. 

That wouldn’t be anytime soon, of course, so she put the thought out of her mind and tilted her chin up, kissing the corner of his mouth. Attuma turned his head and caught her lips in a brief kiss, and she gave a quiet hum.

“Ts'o'ok u taktal in wilech xan, in yakunaj [I missed you too, my love],” he whispered against her lips, kissing her quickly again. 

Okoye offered him a soft smile as he drew back and settled into the reclining rocking chair beside her, then turned to Namora. “Did Ixtli and the team get out okay?” 

“Chaac has blessed the winds and the waters are calm; their journey home should be swift,” The Talokanil general replied, softening her voice as she neared the crib. She reached a careful hand in and traced the pattern on the edge of B’atz’s blanket, smiling down at her godson. 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Okoye said sincerely. “We’ll miss them— Ixtli especially. Please thank her again for me, for us.” She would always be grateful to the iyom k’exelom for helping her bring three children safely into the world. She and the Talokanil nurses had made a world of difference in the delivery room and helped immensely in the week of bed rest she’d been mandated to afterward. 

Namora gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment, eyes fixed on B’atz, gazing down at the sleeping infant with pure adoration. The Talokanil general loved all the triplets, but Okoye knew her secondborn already held a special place in her heart. Shuri and Ayo were the same with T’Khwezi and Ixazaluoh, and between their grandparents and godparents, Okoye could proudly say her children were well loved. 

“I don’t think she heard you, diosa. Her ears have gone, along with her head,” Attuma quietly teased his fellow general. He leaned close with a smirk and interwove their fingers. “You could not have known, of course, but babies are one of Namora’s greatest weaknesses.” Okoye snickered at his antics as her beloved gave a heavy sigh and a solemn shake of his head. “I fear our formidable Yeh Kaaye’ Nacom has gone k’iinich [sun-eyed].” 

The Lionfish turned to Attuma with a glare as venomous as her way and arched a sharp brow at him. “You have little depth to tread, Uncle Tuna,” Namora spat back playfully. She leaned back on the railing of the crib and crossed her arms.“You’ve been k’iinich since a K’iino [your Sun] buried her foot in your chest.” 

Attuma let out a garbled sound of protest, trying to deny it, but Namora pressed on, shooting Okoye a conspiratorial glance. “His head has been full of ja'páak'alo' [seaweed] since he hit the water. I fear our mighty Xook Nacom hasn’t been the same since,” she finished, flashing her beloved a triumphant smile. 

The petulant look Attuma sent in Namora’s direction caused Okoye to snort gracelessly, drawing chuckles from Nakia and Namora. Their amusement was only intensified by her mother entering the nursery with a bewildered reprimand clear on her face for their somewhat raucous behavior. Her stern expression nearly caused Nakia to choke on the cashews she’d been snacking on, and Okoye’s attempts to explain sent them back into fits of uncontrollable laughter, their mouths covered in failing attempts to keep quiet. 

Okoye blew out a shaky breath as their laughs faded, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Bast as her witness, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever been this happy. Here, in this blissful bubble where smiles didn’t cease and laughter came easier than breathing, there was only joy. She was surrounded by more love now than she’d ever known, and her heart sang.  

“I leave for 10 minutes and come back to a pack of cackling hyenas,” her mother scolded, hands on her hips.

Okoye smiled at the newly minted grandmother’s unimpressed glare. “Jokes are meant to be laughed at, mama,” she replied.

“Keep it up, and you’ll have more than just me to contend with,” the matriarch said, shaking her head, but the mirth in her eyes gave her away.

Okoye pressed her lips together to smother the last bout of giggles that threatened to escape, and she looked over to the crib where her babies slept, blissfully unaware of the lively chaos surrounding them. Namora’s attention had returned to the trio as well, and she reached her hand in again, thumbing the edge of Ixazaluoh’s blanket this time as Okoye’s youngest grizzled in her sleep. 

The Lionfish hummed, smile dimming slightly, and she cleared her throat, glancing back at Okoye. “K’uk’ulkan has also sent word— he plans to be here by the afternoon.”

Okoye couldn’t hide her wince at the words, feeling the giddy atmosphere dissipate abruptly at the mention of the Talokanil king. She cast a fretful glance toward her mother, and the matriarch scoffed as if on cue.

“He plans?” came the scathing question, her voice pitching along with her brow. “Did he ask?” 

“Mama, nceda,” she pled, seeing Namora stiffen and hearing Nakia sigh. “Ndiqinisekile ukuba unqwenela ukudibana nabantwana. [I’m sure he just wishes to meet the children.]” 

“Iminqweno yakhe ichitha iimbeko ezilula ngoku, hm? [His wishes overrule simple courtesies now, hm?]” Her mother retorted with a disbelieving huff, drawing a pointed hum from Nakia.

Okoye shot her sister a chiding look, and the woman shrugged, popping another cashew into her mouth. Nakia wasn’t an avid fan of K’uk’ulkan either, but they both knew her mother needed no aid in expressing her discontent. She turned to her mother, silently imploring her to choose peace. The woman kissed her teeth in response and gave a dismissive wave of her hand, agreeing to be civil for the time being. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she shook her head and muttered a quick prayer, asking Bast for patience.

“Did he send word on how long he plans to stay?” she asked, turning back to Namora, who’d tuned them out, murmuring quiet words over the triplets instead. A dazed, questioning hum came in response, and Okoye elaborated. “I know M’Baku won’t mind, but Ayo certainly will.” 

The Talokanil woman blinked as she considered the question, and then her eyes widened almost comically. 

Okoye bit back a snort at her friend’s distressed expression. “I’m sure it’s fine. The guest chambers likely won’t need much preparation, and Nakia can go with you so she can assist the General with security protocols.” Her sister stopped mid-cashew, gaze narrowing at her, and Okoye smiled blithely.

“Well, I suppose I’ve been given my marching orders,” Nakia huffed with a roll of her eyes. She unfolded her legs and stood, passing the rest of her snack to Toussaint. “Come, Nacom. Let’s pray to Bast and Chaac that the General is in a gracious mood this morning.”

Okoye chuckled at the pained expression that crossed Namora’s face as they left the room. “You can always bribe her with baby cuddles,” she called after them, snickering when Nakia kissed her teeth in response. 

Hearing Ixazaluoh grunt softly, she glanced at the clock. If the pattern established in these first two weeks held true, they would all wake soon, and her youngest would wake first— loudly. She turned her head and found Attuma already standing and smiled as he leaned close, bracing his hands on the armrests of her chair.

“Any requests for your midday snack, na' in paalal? Fruit? Yogurt? One of your snack bowls, perhaps?”

“Can you check and see if we have more of those protein balls your mother made?” She cupped his cheeks and made her requests known through a series of chaste kisses against his lips. “The peanut butter and date ones?” A few more kisses because she couldn’t resist the smile in his eyes. “Maybe a cup of yogurt, too?”

“Bix in yaakunaj ku k'áatik,” he whispered in reply, kissing her soundly before beckoning Junior to come with him as they went to raid the kitchen for more snacks. 

Okoye rose from her seat, briefly meeting her mother’s knowing stare before rolling her eyes. “Don’t start…”

“Eh? Start what, intomba?” 

Her mother’s attempt at innocence was laughable, and Okoye snickered accordingly as she crossed behind the elder woman. 

“He’s a good man, Okoye,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and fixing her mother with the same earnest expression she’d been hit with far too often in the past few months, “He’s already an excellent father. Why not make him your husband?” 

Her mother harrumphed at the imitation and mirrored Okoye’s stance. “And why should you not?” she whispered exasperatedly. “Aside from the fact you’re both singularly devoted to one another and have three reasons to remain so, that man worships the very ground you walk on. Every day I become more convinced he believes the Sun rises and sets at your behest. And no matter what you are determined to call it, the two of you are certainly not ‘co-parenting’.”

She spat the word with such derision that Okoye couldn’t help but shake her head. Sighing, she scooped her own daughter from between her brothers, hushing her gently with sweet kisses to round cheeks. They’d had this conversation no less than ten times and would likely have it ten more until Okoye acquiesced— out loud. 

She already knew she was going to marry Attuma. She’d known even while she was pregnant. There’d been no moment of grand revelation or wonder, just a deep ease— something quiet and sure that settled over her while she’d lain in the cradle of his arms after one of their countless hammock naps. There, in the afternoon sun, the pieces of it, of them, fell together seamlessly. 

They’d be married next spring, just after the children’s first birthday. She’d wear blue, but not the blue of the Border. His blue. Attuma would wear white, as was Talokanil custom, and the children would wear a mix of both. Tradition also required they wed where land and sea met, and for that, Okoye could see no better place than Warrior Falls. It was fitting, and in some roundabout way, it would heal something in her she hadn’t quite found solace for yet. They’d create a new memory there, a better one. Yoltzin and her mother would watch the triplets, Nakia and Ayo would be her matrons of honor, and the Muscle Brain would escort her bridal procession. And she’d have henna this time. Maybe Mayan glyphs instead of the traditional patterns.

But the details weren’t so important as the man, and the man was perfect. 

Her mother’s insistent murmurings broke her from her idyllic reverie as she bustled around the room, grabbing Okoye’s support pillow and a few burping cloths while she pressed forward on her mission to secure herself a son-in-law. “I’m simply saying–”

“–as you’ve been saying–” Okoye mused, settling back into the rocking recliner and unfastening Ixazaluoh’s swaddling blanket with deft fingers. 

“–as I’ve been saying…” the matriarch looked ready to swat her with one of the burping cloths. “He would be an excellent husband. He will be an excellent husband. And you wouldn’t even be doing it just for you! Wouldn’t you like to give your mother a son-in-law? A good son-in-law?”

“Have I not just given you grandchildren?” Okoye asked in false exasperation. “Three grandchildren?” she added before her mother could protest. “Let’s adjust to them first, eh? Then, we can talk son-in-laws.”

Her mother huffed in acceptance as she stepped closer and helped Okoye arrange the baby and the support pillow for both their comfort. Ixazaluoh’s eyes blinked open slowly as she settled into Okoye’s arms. The depth of their color hadn’t fully settled yet, but they were dark and hooded, just like her brothers— just like Attuma’s. Her daughter huffed, face almost immediately scrunching into a frown, and her mother chuckled above them. 

She lifted her youngest from her swaddle and kissed her a few more times. “Good afternoon, intombi yam,” she whispered soft words against soft skin, “Your brothers are sleeping. Let’s not wake them just yet, hm?”

Ixazaluoh paid her no mind, nuzzling into Okoye’s shoulder with soft grunts. Patient was not an apt descriptor for their youngest; cuddles would come after food. 

Okoye balanced her daughter in one arm while undoing her dress with the other. Her mother kissed the side of her head, then Ixazaluoh’s, before excusing herself to go find Attuma and Toussaint. She nodded absently, repositioning Ixazaluoh, cradling her against her left breast and helping her latch before her sweet girl kicked up too much of a fuss. Okoye traced the ridge of her brow, lowly humming that same lullaby from her pregnancy. The soft woosh of the door sliding open alerted her to Attuma’s return, and she glanced up, smiling at the overflowing tray of snacks he carried. 

“I see she wasted no time,” her beloved said with a chuckle, setting down the tray on the small table between their chairs. 

“Does she ever?” Okoye replied, echoing his amusement. 

Attuma retook his seat and held out the cup of the peanut butter and date balls she’d asked for. She popped one into her mouth and smiled, humming in pure contentment. The man she loved smiled back, wide and warm, and Okoye never wanted to be anywhere else but here. 

With him and their children. 

In this space. 

In this time.

She couldn’t have prayed for anything better.  

~plus venire~