Nyla Bridges has dedicated her entire life to becoming the best FBI agent the agency has seen. Working twice as hard because she's a woman... a black woman... to show that she is just as capable, if not more, than her predominantly white, male colle...
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I stood in the mirror, my bare and moisturized body glaring back at me. I flicked the camera while posing at various angles, careful not to expose the inking of Elijah's name under my right breast. I knew that as soon as he got home in the morning he'd claim every inch of my body as his. I want to see him and feel him when he notices that I took his loving and carved it into my skin -the permanent reminder of just how good it feels to be loved by him.
I looked through the roll of nudes and chose the best one before sending it off to Elijah. I walked out of the bathroom and grabbed my panties off of the bed, slipping into them before walking into the closet. I slid on a pair of distressed light denim jeans and paired them with a crispy white button up and bright yellow Steve Madden jelly sandals. I grabbed my yellow Saint Laurent purse and shut the door to the bedroom. As I was walking through the hallway I bumped into Enrico, "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were standing there. Good morning," I smiled. "Good morning. I was just about to knock and let you know that I'll be on my way."
"I'm on my way to grab coffee and a bagel before I head off to visit a friend. Why don't you come along? I would love to hear about what Elijah was like as a child and I could surely use the company." He chuckled and shook his head, "my son wants me out of here. This is his home and I respect any man's wishes when it comes to their domain."
"Elijah is aware that you'll be here when he returns if you choose to stay. Besides, aren't you a little curious as to who the strange woman in your son's home is?" He nodded his head and tapped his palm against his pants leg. "A woman should never come out of her pocket for a man. I can't pay for breakfast but if my son has an ice cube tray laying around somewhere in this fancy house, I can make us a good bowl of cereal." I chuckled at the small, yet telling similarity Elijah and Enrico shared, "there are milk cubes in the freezer. There isn't any coffee, but there are oranges in the refrigerator. I could make us a fresh cup of orange juice."
The atmosphere was fairly quiet, the only sound circulating was the crunching of the Frosted Flakes grinding in between our teeth. I decided to break the silence, no longer being able to take the awkwardness of two strangers sitting at a table eating a bowl of cereal, and not saying a word to one another. "I didn't know milk cubes were really a thing until I met Elijah."
"When you don't have much you have to get creative with what you do have. The boys loved it and the milk stayed fresher longer. Elijah doesn't have to worry about any of that now though." He looked around the high-end kitchen.
"Money only shifted his worries, it didn't erase them," I spooned another bite. He stared at me for a moment and picked up his glass of orange juice. After taking a generous gulp, he held the glass up and eyed the small bit that was left. "When my wife would receive tips from the hotel guest of the rooms she'd clean, which was far and few between, she'd drag me down to the market with her to get a great big ol' crate of navel oranges. She would sit on the stoop and juice those suckers for hours to make a gallon of orange juice. You must know what you're doing, I can't taste any bitterness from the peel. It's good," he sat the glass down. I smiled, "thank you. My mother taught me how to do it when I was younger. If I didn't remember anything else I always remembered not to squeeze them too hard."
