Grip Trilogy Box Set

The knife slips off the stalk, slicing into my finger, matching the tiny nick Jade just made across my heart. It’s not a big deal; rationally, I know that. Grip is contractually bound to work on Qwest’s next album, writing and producing. Hell, I negotiated the deal, but he wasn’t mine then—only he’s always been mine, even when I didn’t claim him, and it screws a wrench through my eye that I’m the one who threw them together, that Qwest knows the weight of his body because of me. That glorious fullness when he swells within me— she’s had that. The sweet heat of his panting breath in my ear when he comes—she felt that before I did. I can’t ever take that knowledge from her, but I want to strip every memory of him from her mind, body, and heart. So, I know it’s not the tiny injuries Jade inflicts now that are at the bottom of my irrational response; it’s all my old self-inflicted wounds that haven’t quite healed.

“You know it’s just a matter of time, right?” Jade tilts her head, considering me. “He’s not the first Black man turned out by some white pussy.”

“Shut the hell up.” I snap my eyes to her face. “Don’t talk about us. You have no idea.”

“You’re just a high to him.” Jade’s full lips curl around her derision. “And just like any high, he’ll come down. You’ll wear off once he gets tired of explaining his Blackness and answering your dumb questions. One day he’ll want to be understood, not just fucked.”

“I do understand him.” I’m certain of it, but in a way, she carries the same brand of charisma Grip does, the same confidence that, even twisted around a lie, entices you to believe.

“Just watch him with Qwest the next time they’re together,” she sneers. “They fit. Everyone sees it except you. She’s just waiting for him to wake up from this dream, shake off that jungle fever. Maybe you’re a Black man’s fantasy, but she’s real life, and when it comes down to it, Grip is nothing if not real. Deep down, you know it.”

Her lies and speculation circle me like rope, slowly restricting me. For a frozen moment, I can’t speak, and even though Grip’s love is gospel to me, my religion, my truth, some little voice within me whispers, What if she’s right?

Jade doesn’t say more words. She’s quiet, allowing the ones she’s already spoken to take root. I know she’s hoping she’ll get under my skin, but she won’t. Even with that tiny granule of doubt, I try not to let her. I’m still staring at the blood surging from the tiny cut on my finger when Grip walks into the kitchen.

“Babe, what’d you do?” He moves my finger under the flow of cold water, concern clumping his brows.

“It’s just a cut.” I swallow against the unreasonable hurt that he introduced Jade and Qwest.

“Well I don’t like any kind of cut on you.” His voice admonishes and caresses at once. “Jade, where are the bandages?”

“God, Grip. The girl’s fine.” Jade huffs an exasperated sigh. “It’s not like she’s gonna lose a finger.”

Grip angles a glance at her, his frown deepening. “Would you just go find a Band-Aid?”

Jade’s eyes connect with mine before she shrugs and heads out of the kitchen.

Grip watches the door for a moment, even after Jade leaves, questions queuing up in the eyes he turns back to me.

“She bothering you?” he asks. “I know she’s still coming around about us.”

Is that what he thinks? Jade shows no sign of coming around any time soon, but even irritated with her, I see the affection, the place she holds in his heart, and I really don’t want to come between them—especially not when that relationship is so newly restored.

“No, it’s cool. She’s . . . just being Jade.” I try to free my finger, but he doesn’t let me go. “My finger’s fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of when it’s fine.” He offers a lopsided grin. “And who thought it was a good idea to leave you in the kitchen with a knife?”

I know he’s teasing me about my legendary culinary ineptness, but now is not the time. I’m still a little bruised from my conversation with Jade.

“I may not be a great cook, but I’m not a child.” I snatch my finger back. “Like Jade said, it’s just a cut.”

When the words come out harsher than I mean them to, Grip grabs my finger, taking it into the warm silk of his mouth, sucking and running his tongue along the injured groove. Electric current spears me down the middle, landing in my core. He sucks all the oxygen from the room, and my lungs desperately push breath from my ches

t. He studies me under hooded lids, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Was Jade messing with you?” he asks, his voice husky, but his mouth a firm line. He’s abusing the sway he holds over my body. I know it, but he still makes me want to confess. I close my eyes and clear my head long enough to tell him only what I want him to know. I need to make my own way with Jade, and I won’t do myself any favors if she thinks I go running to Grip to complain every time we disagree.

“No.” I meet his eyes steadily. “I was just a little surprised. She was texting Qwest about a song they’re working on, and I didn’t realize they even knew each other.”

“Yeah,” Grip says. “I introduced them.”

His eyes are clear, free of discomfort or regret. I know he doesn’t think this should be problematic at all. It shouldn’t be, but I can’t resist pressing a little.

“You didn’t tell me they were working together.”

“Should I have?” Grip bites the inside of his cheek and frowns a little. “I didn’t think it was important. Qwest was looking for new material, and Jade’s looking for artists to work with.”

“And you thought they’d be a good fit.”