𝙨𝙖𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙚 𝙭 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣. ❦ | 𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 .
ᶜʰʳⁱᵃᵐᵒⁿᵗᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡ ᵍʰᵉᵗᵗᵒ
𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 is a haunting, slow burn descent into the kind of love that feels mo...
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⌖ I'M READY | O54. ‹ ⚜ › ❝ i need you to fucking promise me. we got all damn night for you to get it right. ❞
— DECEMBER NINETEENTH, FOUR MONTHS LATER 8:OO A.M. ᐟ
"Does my jet have gas in it?" Iris asked from the passenger seat, watching Jasiah walk back from the tarmac where he'd just spoken with her pilot.
He gave a quick nod, pulling the back door open. "Yea, he just had to top it off. We straight."
Inside, baby Asiah sat wide eyed in his car seat, his face turned toward the sunlight as if trying to make sense of the world outside the car window. His first real glimpse of life beyond the hospital walls & the quiet hush of home.
Jasiah leaned in, unbuckling the car seat from the car's seatbelt. "You know how lucky you is?" He said, lifting Asiah's car seat. "Flying in a PJ to a beach house in another country at four months old? Spoiled already, huh, Eggo?"
Iris twisted around in her seat, giving him a pointed look. "You still calling him that?"
Jasiah laughed under his breath, pushing the door closed with his free hand before walking around to open hers. "Girl, I don't care what you say. This my son too." He looked down at Asiah.
He extended a hand toward her. "Come on. The faster we get this jet outta Cali, the more I can goddamn breathe." His eyes stayed on her as she slipped her hand into his before she stepped out of the car in a pair of crystal embellished Jimmy Choo suede pumps that caught the light like they had something to say.
She was dressed in all black. Real casual, down dressed, but hers. A look that said comfort without compromise. Black skinny jeans hugged her hips, paired with a matching fitted tank top, along with her array of chains adorning her neck. It was her version of laid back luxury. Still very much mob wife.
Jasiah gave her a slow once over, his gaze slowly dragging from her feet to her face. She didn't catch it & he didn't need her to. His eyes lingered, a second too long at the curve of her waist, the soft slope of her thighs, the way her top clung to her breasts like a second skin. She looked fine as fuck, but he knew better. Every detail was intentional. Every angle lethal.
