𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝟏𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬

I woke up to the sound of thunder ripping through the sky like the world was coming to an end. Now, I might have lied before about not being scared of the wind, but thunder? Nah, I don’t play with that. My heart was racing as the storm raged outside. The rain was coming down hard, like someone opened up the floodgates, and each clap of thunder had me jumping out of my skin.

I turned over slowly, not wanting to wake Beyoncé. She'd built a little pillow wall between us during the night, trying to give me my own space, but that was coming down real quick now. As I peeked over the pile of pillows, I saw her laying there, sprawled out like she wasn’t hearing the sky split open outside. She was so peaceful, like nothing could wake her—not even a whole damn hurricane.

I crept closer, needing to feel her, needing to bury myself in that safety that only she seemed to have. My head found its place on her chest, and I wrapped my arm around her, holding on tight. Her skin was so warm, her heartbeat steady, and for a moment, I felt like maybe the storm wasn’t so bad after all.

“You scared?” she mumbled, her voice low and husky, still thick with sleep.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I just held her tighter, hoping she wouldn’t notice how I was trembling. She shifted slightly, her nails gently scratching along my arm. “It’s okay, baby,” she said softly, her voice like velvet in the darkness.

I froze. Did she just call me baby? My heart skipped a beat. Was she still half asleep, thinking I was Blue or something? Either way, I wasn’t complaining. I could get used to this side of Beyoncé.

She shifted again, pulling the sheets up and rolling over onto her side to face me, wrapping her arm around my waist. “You know I’m Onika, right?” I asked, my voice a little hesitant. Maybe she didn’t realize who she was holding.

“Mhh,” she murmured, not fully awake but aware enough to know who I was.

I smirked, feeling bold, and slid my hand down to her hip, then lower, my fingers brushing the curve of her ass. It was firm and soft at the same time, perfect, like everything else about her. But before I could get any further, she stopped me, her hand pushing mine away. “Off,” she said, her voice still groggy but firm.

I sighed, pulling back, feeling a little embarrassed. I turned over, my back to her, trying not to feel some type of way about it. But inside, I was pouting. I mean, come on—who could blame me? I had Beyoncé in my bed, and she was acting all distant after calling me baby? That was mixed signals, right?

“You mad?” she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. “How childish.”

I didn’t answer, still facing the other way. The thunder clapped again, loud and angry, and I fought the urge to crawl back into her arms like a scared little kid. But pride kept me still, even though I was lowkey shaking inside.

Beyoncé stood up, heading toward the bathroom. “Where are you going?” I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

“Just walking into the bathroom,” she replied, disappearing into the dim light of the hallway.