Chapter 34: Soaked in desire

She sat before her laptop, FaceTime turned on, waiting for the call to connect. The FaceTime chime assured her that it had.

Zara smiled as she saw her siblings—John and Jean. They were twins who had just graduated from high school.

“Sis!” Jean exclaimed, flashing her teeth to reveal silver braces. She wore a long curly wig, a pink crop top, and a miniskirt. She was stunning, with olive skin like Zara’s. College boys already toasted her; she had that undeniable main character energy.

“Hello, my babies! Oh my God,” Zara said, placing her hands on her chest. “Oh my God! I’ve missed y’all so much,” she added, her voice soft and almost tearful.

“We’ve missed you more,” they echoed comically, mocking her babyish tone.

John, a straight-A student and classic nerd, had a calm, harmless demeanor, but beneath it lay a scrutinizing, hawk-eyed watchfulness. He had no girlfriend; his loves were his books. He was handsome,  nut-colored, with his hands tucked into his “GOD IS GOOD” inscribed hoodie.

“You all look so grown,” Zara said, marveling at the change. She had last seen them two years ago—it amazed her how much could happen in that time.

“Thank you. You look good, Zara,” Jean said admiringly, her thick Southern accent coloring her words. She could lapse into Ebonics at any moment.

“And a bit fatter,” John added bluntly.

“Really?” Zara pretended not to notice the new tightness of her clothes or the roundness of her belly. Better get back to the gym, she thought. “Well… what can I say? I’ve been stepping up on my carbs and junk. Got calories to burn.”

“There was a pause, followed by a nod from both of them.”

Zara heaved a breath.

“Guys, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your graduation. I’m sorry I couldn’t be in Philly. I’ve been caught up in a lot.”

“We get that. At least you’ve been taking care of us since Mom died. We get you,” Jean said.

“Thank you,” Zara replied softly.

“So when are you going to come visit?”

“Ummm…” She began thinking, excitement bubbling at the thought of seeing them after all these years. She imagined having them at her new mansion, telling them about Nat—they were grown-ups now, after all, not kids who wouldn’t understand. Perhaps they could come during Christmas break.

“Guys! What about coming up to New York in December, during Christmas break?”

“Yes!” John exclaimed, clenching both fists in delight. “Can’t wait to see you!”

“We can’t wait,” Jean said. “Finna tour that city!”

“On whose money?” Zara asked, slightly repulsed.

They looked at her like she was a fascinating case study.

“Zara! We know you’re stinking rich,” Jean said confidently.

“Who told you? Me?” Zara laughed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jean replied. “Plus the $5,000 you sent recently. You be making bank.” She shot accusatory glances at Zara while John nodded in agreement.

“Exactly,” John confirmed.

“If you must know, I have a boyfriend,” Zara blurted. “He’s rich. Like, super rich.”

“Mmm. What’s his name?”

“Nat Wolfe. Look him up.”

They did, and Zara urged them to calm down. It seemed like a mirage, but she had indeed bagged a billionaire and was completely owned by him. Jean teased her that she had hit the jackpot, while Zara silently wondered if anyone knew it wasn’t exactly perfect—what with the baby mama and son looming in the background.

When they hung up, she looked at herself in the mirror and realized she had become someone else—someone specially admitted into a coveted elite club, someone who could soon be identified as part of the ‘Rich Housewives of Manhattan.’

Meanwhile, Billionaire Nat sat in the sleek, glass-walled meeting room, wrapping up his brief cameo at the new intake orientation. The room was filled with fresh college graduates, bright-eyed and eager, each wearing the same expression of cautious excitement—the kind that screams, I’m ready to prove myself.

One by one, they had introduced themselves:

“I’m Phil.”

“Casper.”

“Eleanor.”

“Susan.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Nat said, rising from his chair. “My partners and the department heads will take it from here.”

He reached for an apple at the center table, sinking his teeth into it as he strode toward the door. The bite left a rough, jagged arc, a tiny signature of effortless dominance.

Later, when Zara picked up his call, Nat’s voice was already in motion. “I have a warm bath for you,” he said—no greetings, no small talk, just direct and commanding.

Zara chuckled. “What could be in the bath?” she teased, arching an eyebrow.

“Let’s say… a tall glass of chocolate. A large eggplant you could sit on,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in that sly, knowing smile.

Zara pressed the phone closer to her ear. “Sounds… enticing. But I’d pass. I don’t like chocolate,” she lied effortlessly.

“No one rejects Nat’s chocolate,” he countered smoothly. His tone rolled over her like silk.

“See you there, mademoiselle.” The word mademoiselle rolled off his tongue, funneled in a coiled, seductive tone.

- - - -

The jacuzzi brimmed with warmth, water trembling softly at the edge. Nat was already inside, relaxed like a king in a bath of soapy water with a floral fragrance. The low light softened everything and set the tone for the moment.

Zara stood before the mirror gathering her hair into a loose bun. The towel slipped from her shoulders with such ease, as if it had never truly belonged there. She moved calmly like a cat in a slowed, unhurried pace, revealing her features. She was a Nubian goddess with the perfect round breasts, and curves. Her soft round ass enticing in the open. It looked like perhaps she was about to perform a cleansing ritual, some sort of purification.

Nat watched her without speaking. He lit his cigar; the ember flared briefly before dimming. He blew a few puffs into the air, infatuated by her charm. His gaze never left her. There was complete astonishment, reverence, and possessiveness too.

She eased into the water and settled against him, her back resting into his chest. The heat was wrapped around them both. His hands found their way to her body as he dropped his cigar down, squeezing her breast sensually. Her nipples were hard, pointed and erect. He sucked her lower lip; she felt his fingers trickle their way down her vagina.

“I almost forgot,” she murmured, her voice softer now, “how good you are with your hands”.

He laughed, his evil baritone laugh that made her feel more submissive. Safe and claimed.

He continued fingering her, this time with three fingers while she moaned pleasurably, on top of him like a sacrificial lamb. He groaned in her ears as she closed her eyes, drawing her head back, surrendering to sensation rather than thought. Her clit throbbed, slippery wet as an ocean.

Nat turned her over to sit on his dick. He stretched his hands and pressed the play button on his phone. The room buzzed with the sound of a sensual song which Zara had once described as her sex jam.

He fucked her, she felt the golden dick, suspend her in a moment where she couldn’t think but only feel.

Later, he placed her on the bathroom counter beneath the mirror, turning her ass to the side, as he curled like a snake. He entered her. She could see the scene herself through the mirror. A huge coffee-skinned man going vigorously into a submissive olive-skinned goddess. She felt fragile, like she was going to break. She had the urge to bow down and worship him. Each thrust from the seven- inch dick more brutalizing to her ego than the last.

“Come to dinner tomorrow” Nat said calmly, decisive at last. “Meet my mum”.

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be.

Zara nodded, already half asleep, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The warmth, the scent, the certainty of him—it all wrapped around her like a promise she didn’t yet understand, but somehow trusted. His sultry calm cooed her into sleep.”

“Nat, the colonizer.”