Lust. || BEYNIKA

L|Chapter ELEVEN.

Onika Cookie Maraj.

SOMEHOW, Beyoncé arranged for a fresh set of clothes to be waiting for me when I opened my bedroom door earlier. They sat in a neat, folded pile, tucked in a bag that was set in front of my door. A pair of black cotton cropped pants, a bright pink T-shirt, and a pair of my favorite brand of flip-flops. All in the proper sizes, all of it cute and something I would probably pick out on my own if given the chance.

How the hell did she know my sizes? Sorta scary.

I never heard anyone pass by the door either. And I would've. I tossed and turned, hardly getting any sleep, what with my thoughts consumed by what happened between Beyoncé and me.

Images had flashed all night. The way she looked at me. How she touched me. The things she said to me.

"I can't fucking wait to be inside you."

God, I melt just remembering how dark her voice had sounded, the way she whispered those words close to my ear, her hands all over my body.

A shudder moves through me and I let loose a frustrated huff, then proceed to take a long shower in the hopes the hot water would wash away all of my useless and overwhelming feelings for a woman I have no business feeling anything over.

Unfortunately, it didn't work. Considering I'm in Beyoncé's house after being in her arms the night before, she permeates everything.

I both secretly love it and openly hate it.

I get dressed quickly, pulling my wet hair into a low ponytail with a band I found in the bottom of my purse. Slicked on some lip gloss because that's all the makeup I brought with me.

No one's called me, no Micaiah, no Beyoncé. No one has even knocked on my door, and finally curiosity gets the better of me. I open the door and peek my head out, glancing left, then right, but the hall is empty. Micaiah's door is closed. The house is quiet; it's like I'm staying in a museum or something and I step fully out of the room, contemplating going to knock on Micaiah's door.

What if he's still sleeping? It's already past nine and Micaiah isn't one to sleep in. Deciding I need to know what's up, I approach the door and knock, stumped when he doesn't answer. No way can he still be in bed. And if he is, what a total bum.

"He's outside, waiting for you."

I jump and turn at the sound of Beyoncé's deep voice, surprised to find her standing in the middle of the vast hallway. Like a ghost, she magically appeared. And what a good-looking ghost she is too. She's dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt, her dark hair is still a bit damp, as if she just came out of the shower and oh wow, she looks amazing. I'm filled with the urge to take her by the hand, drag her back into my bedroom, and strip her. Run my hands all over her delicious body. Ride her into oblivion.

Stop!

"Oh." I can't come up with anything better to say so I don't. Ridiculous how I thought a little sex between two age-old friends-acquaintances, really-would be no big deal, but it's like the giant elephant filling the entire house, sitting directly between us. I meet her gaze and all I can do is remember how close her face had been to mine a few hours ago ass he thrust deep inside my body. How I craned my neck and met her mouth with mine, our tongues sliding against each other's.

Yeah. This is... awkward.

"We're leaving for Hush soon. Are you ready?" Her velvety smooth voice sends shivers running over my skin, and I press my lips together, searching for composure.

So far, I can't really find it.

"I need to grab my purse." I gesture toward the open door, then let my hand fall helplessly at my side.

"Did you sleep all right?" Her question is innocent and courteous considering I'm her guest. But she mentions sleep, which makes me think of a bed, and then I'm remembering how she was in my bed and how fantastic she felt between my legs.

"I slept fine. Great," I lied. "Um, thank you for the clothes."

"You're welcome. You like them?"

"They're . . . perfect." I frown and she does as well. "How did you know my sizes?"

"I took a wild guess." She said this with a shrug, looking a little sheepish. This of course makes me skeptical. Just goes to show how well Beyoncé knows her way around the female body when she can guess my size accurately.

My gut clenches at the realization.

"Oh." I'm at a complete loss of words. Her explanation makes perfect sense. Our being together makes absolutely no sense. Clearly, we made a huge mistake. And now we're paying the price with the awkward silences and uncomfortable vibe between us.

"I'll get my purse and then I'll be ready."

"Meet us out front then?" she smiles at me but it's grim. And it doesn't quite light up her eyes.

"Yes. Give me just a second." I nod once, shooting into the bedroom the second he turns away from me.

Going to the bed, I sit on the edge heavily, chewing on my thumbnail as I give myself a mental pep talk.

You can handle this. So you've seen her naked. So what? And you know what she looks like when she comes. Big deal. Focus on the old days. When she used to be such a jerk to you and treated you so terribly. Remember how you felt last night at the reception, when she first talked to you and called you "chicken." Jerk. Yeah, she irritated the crap out of you. Hold on to that feeling. The Beyoncé Knowles -drives-me-out-of-my-mind-she's-such-an-asshole feeling.

Forget all about the Beyoncé Knowles-drives-me-out-of-my-mind-when-she's-kissing-me-senseless-and-fucking-me-into-oblivion feeling. That is so the wrong feeling to hold on to.

Picking up my purse, which I left on the bed, I stand, tug at the hem of my new, cute T-shirt, smooth a hand over my hair, and decide to go face my reality.

I can handle this. Because really, I don't have a choice.