Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri

“Or dislike!” I pointed out.

Rhys folded his lips. And there came a few frustrated beats before he asked, “Then why are you trying to get rid of me now?”

Why?

Why?

There was the answer I wanted to give. I don’t do boyfriends. I’m a rolling stone. Don’t try to hold on to me because I’m sand through your fingers. Cynda—not Cinderella. Because when I leave, I stay gone. Fuck you and that glass slipper you’re trying to put on my foot.

But suddenly, my mouth just took over. Performing the steps. Doing what it took to resuscitate our dying relationship.

“My mom died,” I confessed, looking down at the steering wheel. “She died right before the Queen America pageant. And my dad got remarried too soon afterward to this woman who isn’t remotely my mom and isn’t right for him. So what did that say about their marriage? Like, did he even love her as much as I thought he did, or would just anybody have done?”

I released a harsh breath. “Anyway, ever since he remarried, I’ve been I don’t know…cold. Like I don’t have relationships, I watch them play out.”

I breathed out, then in, then out again. Then I did what I’d never done with a guy since my mother died. I changed my mind.

I turned to face him still taking long breaths out and quick breaths in. Maybe that’s why I felt like I was fixed to faint as I said, “But I like you, too, at least for now. And that’s probably only going to last for an itty-bitty while—the truth is, I don’t really do boyfriends. But I do…I do like you. And that scares the shit out of me.”

We stared at each other in the aftermath of my outburst. Both of us stunned.

“So you like me too,” he repeated. A slow grin spread across his face as if that thing I said about liking him was the only part of my confession he’d heard.

And of course, I answered like any self-respecting Black girl from Missouri would. “I mean, you all right.”

“Cynda?” he said, his voice low and somber.

“What?” I asked back, my voice harsh and snide.

“Will you do me the honor of coming upstairs to my apartment? There’s something I’d like to show you there. It’s long and hard and dying to get inside of you.”

I stared at him, unable to believe his gall.

Then I let loose a smile anyway.

Because yeah…it was so on.

A few short minutes later we burst through the door of his studio apartment kissing. It was really nice by the way. Large and high up with a view overlooking Forest Park. The spacious, open concept layout made it feel more like a loft than a studio. And the furniture was spare but super modern and well made. No Ikea for The Fine Prince.

But these were all details I would clock later. My first sight of his apartment was a total blur on the way to the bed. We were so hot for each other that clothes went flying between kisses and we were both naked by the time my back hit the mattress.

And though I appreciated him reaching down for a little prime work after he got the condom on, I impatiently pushed his hand away from my core. “No foreplay. I’m ready.”

I’d been waiting so long, I was already plenty wet. And then he did that thing where he braces his hand on the bed’s backboard at the same time he thrust into me….

“Oh fuck!” I groaned, in that way women do, when the D turns out to be a long, thick surprise.

Then I got an even bigger surprise when he started taking me with rough, possessive strokes. As it turned out Rhys was a prince in the streets and a beast in the sheets. And the way he fucked left no room for anything but complete submission.

I was happy to succumb. Happy to receive his savage kisses as he pushed into me. Happy to wrap both my legs and arms around him when he dropped down and started claiming me even harder.

I would like to say I gave as good as I got. But the truth was I almost immediately lost all sense of orientation. There was no chance to be the hot nurse in bed with Rhys. No pulling out the tried and true moves or the husky, “You like that?” I gave guys when I could see they were clearly enjoying what I was doing.

No, sex with Rhys didn’t allow for sensual bon mots or even much breathing.

He invaded. And I submitted.

Yet it somehow felt like I was the one receiving all the treasure.

Especially when I came underneath him, my entire body trembling with an orgasm I could feel from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes.

“Rhys!” I cried out, scratching into his back.