Five
688 Words
Later, Zara asks if we can visit her dad in his study.
I hesitate, but she takes my hand and pulls me down the hall before I can argue. She pushes the door open.
I stop in the doorway. “I’m sorry, we can come back—”
Omarion is at his desk, three monitors lit in front of him. He's on a video call, speaking in that controlled, commanding tone I heard at breakfast.
“The Q4 numbers are unacceptable. I want revised projections by Monday.”
Someone on the screen tries to explain.
“Then find someone who can deliver them,” Omarion says.
Silence.
Zara walks in without a sound. She's holding a drawing, a purple elephant. She sets it on the edge of his desk.
Omarion looks down.His face softens.
“Gentlemen, we’re done,” he says, ending the call.
Zara turns to leaves. I follow her, but his voice stops me.
“Do you need something?”
I linger near the door. On a side table sit rolled blueprints, a T-square resting across them. My chest tightens. I swallow down painful memories of dropping out of college.
“Yes please. I'd prefer not to have breakfast with your family again. It’s a lot.”
His mouth curves in an amused smile.
“I’m paying you to take care of my child,” he says. “Not to enjoy my relatives.”
He leans back. His gaze flicks to me, then away.
“You saw the lingerie.”
My stomach drops.
“I’m not interested,” I say quickly.
He stands and crosses the room,to a small bar cart, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
"I haven't had a good f**k in months," he says casually. “And I don’t pretend not to want things.”
Heat floods my face. I glance at the table, changing the subject. “You do architecture?”
He follows my look. “When I have time.”
“I studied it,” I say. “Before I had to leave school.”
“Why did you leave?”
“My mom died.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. When he steps closer, it’s deliberate.
“That’s unfortunate,” he says quietly.
His hand lifts my chin. Half of my brain screams to run, but my body freezes.
He kisses me.
The first slide of his tongue deliberately tastes me and claims space. It makes me dizzy.
I feel every inch of his broad chest pressing into me, the thick, unmistakable ridge of his erection grinding slowly against my hip.
My body answers him. My hips tilt forward like they have a mind of their own, seeking more pressure.
I want to stop. But I can't.
His other hand slides down my side, curling into the fabric at my waist, then rests on my thigh. Every nerve is alive.
My hands have found their way to his shirt at some point, fisting the crisp cotton, pulling him closer even as my brain screams stop.
He breaks the kiss only to move his mouth to my jaw, my neck, open-mouthed and wet, teeth scraping just enough to make me gasp. His breath is ragged now, hot against my skin, and every exhale feels like fire.
I pull back.
“No.”
The word shakes, but it stands.
He steps back, but his eyes never leave me. He lowers himself onto his chair.
"I want you, Lisa. I mean it.”
I don’t reply. I leave.
Halfway down the hall, voices stop me.
“I don’t care who she is
Get rid of her before Beatrice arrives. She’s a distraction. The optics don’t look good.”
Another woman laughs softly. “I’ll handle it. Omarion won’t even see it coming.”
“Good. We don’t need another lowlife with access.”
Their footsteps fade.
I stand there, hand on the door, listening to the silence settle back into place.
Was that about me?
Should I tell someone? Or was I being paranoid?
And now there's Omarion kissing me in his study and telling me he wants me.
Am I even safe here?
- Writer
