Christmas with a Bad Boy (Feuding Hearts Christmas)

7. Your My Type

SEVEN

YOUR MY TYPE

ZALE

I stand outside Saraiyah's apartment door, my hand poised to knock. The hallway is quiet, the soft glow of wall sconces casting shadows on the worn carpet. My heart pounds, a mix of anticipation and guilt churning in my gut.

I shouldn't be here. I should be at the office, finalizing the deal that will bring down the Henrys and restore my family's legacy. Instead, I'm about to spend the night with the woman whose life I'm about to upend.

I knock, three sharp raps that echo in the empty corridor. There's a moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swings open, and there she is.

Saraiyah stands before me, a vision in a soft, oversized sweater and leggings. Her hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun, and she's wearing glasses.

She looks comfortable, relaxed. Beautiful.

"Zale," she says, surprise coloring her voice. "I wasn't expecting you."

I clear my throat, suddenly unsure of myself. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just a thrilling night of Netflix and takeout. Want to come in?"

I nod, following her into the apartment. It's small but cozy, filled with personal touches that scream Saraiyah. Colorful throw pillows on the couch, plants dotting every available surface, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon hanging in the air.

"Thanks for sending your driver earlier," she says, gesturing for me to sit on the couch. "That was... unexpected."

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "It was nothing. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

Saraiyah raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing. "Is that all it was?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with unspoken implications. I want to tell her the truth—that I can't stop thinking about her, that she's gotten under my skin in a way no one ever has before. But the words stick in my throat.

"How was your day?" I ask instead, deflecting.

She sighs, sinking onto the couch beside me. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body, but not quite touching. "Busy. The holiday rush is in full swing at the shop."

I nod, encouraging her to continue. She talks about Ruth's Brew, her eyes lighting up as she describes her plans for expanding their holiday menu. I listen, captivated by her passion, even as guilt gnaws at my insides.

"Sorry," she says suddenly, cutting herself off mid-sentence. "I'm rambling. You probably don't want to hear about coffee shop logistics."

"No, I do," I insist, leaning in closer. "I like hearing you talk about it. It's clear how much you care."

Saraiyah's eyes glisten with unshed tears, and a vulnerability I've never seen before creeps into her expression. "Sometimes I worry I'm not doing enough to keep it alive."

The confession hits me like a punch to the gut. I think of the contracts sitting on my desk, waiting for my signature. Contracts that will strip Saraiyah of everything she's worked for.

The plan is to return the building to its rightful state. Back to my father's dream and not a retail space.

"You're doing amazing," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Anyone can see how much heart you put into that place."

She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks. It's just... there's so much pressure, you know? To live up to her memory, to keep the business thriving in a neighborhood that's changing so fast."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The urge to confess everything, to beg for her forgiveness, is overwhelming. But I can't. This moment was fated well before I met her.

Back when Luther stripped my father of everything. I promised I'd get that building back. And I am.

Saraiyah shifts on the couch, turning to face me fully. Her knee brushes against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my body.

"Can I ask you something?" she says, her voice low.

"Anything," I reply, meaning it more than I should.

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "What's your type?"

The question catches me off guard. "My type?"

Saraiyah nods, her eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah. I, uh... I Googled you."

My stomach drops. "Oh?"

"Yeah. There were a lot of articles about you and your... relationships. Models, actresses, socialites. I guess I'm just wondering where I fit into all that."

The vulnerability in her voice is like a knife to my heart. I want to reach out, to pull her close and tell her she's nothing like those women. That she's so much more.

Instead, I say, "You don't."

Hurt flashes across her face, and I realize how my words must have sounded. I rush to clarify.

"You don't fit into that category because you're not them, Saraiyah. You're... different ."

She scoffs, but there's no real heat behind it. "Different how? Because I'm Black? Is this some kind of fetish for you?"

"No," I say firmly, reaching out to take her hand. She doesn't pull away. "It's not about that at all. You're different because you challenge me. You see through my bullshit. You make me wish I was a better man. The kind of man that deserved you."

I reach out and trace her jaw. Her skin so soft.

Saraiyah's eyes widen, and the ember of a flame dances in the depths of her eyes. "Zale..."

I can't hold back anymore. I lean in, cupping her face with my free hand. "You want to know my type? It's you, Saraiyah. Smart, passionate, stubborn as hell. Beautiful inside and out."

Her breath catches, and for a moment, we're frozen, suspended in this fragile moment of truth. Then she surges forward, closing the distance between us.

The first brush of her lips against mine is electric. Soft, tentative, a question more than a demand. I answer by deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire and conflicted emotion into it.

Saraiyah responds in kind, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair. She tastes like Chinese food and coffee, warm and familiar and intoxicating. I pull her closer, needing to feel every inch of her against me.

We break apart, both breathing heavily. Saraiyah's eyes are dark, her lips swollen. She's never looked more beautiful.

"Zale," she whispers, her voice husky. "Are you sure? I'm down with sex. But not if you're just trying to fuck a Black girl."

I growl, and take her mouth again. And in between kisses, I reminder her it's not her Blackness, it's her.

Just her .

I know I should say no. I should walk away now, before I hurt her even more than I already will. But I'm weak, selfish. I need her like I need air.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I say, and it's the truth.

She searches my face for a moment, then nods. "Okay," she says softly. "Okay."

This time when we kiss, it's slower, deeper. I take my time exploring her mouth, memorizing the taste and feel of her. My hands roam her body, tracing the curves I've been dreaming about since I saw her in that red dress at the bar.

Saraiyah arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sound goes straight to my groin, igniting a fire in my veins. I trail kisses down her neck, reveling in the way she shivers beneath me.

"Bedroom," she gasps, tugging at my shirt. "Now."

I stand, pulling Saraiyah up with me. We stumble towards her bedroom, hands roaming and lips barely parting. The tension that's been building between us for weeks finally breaks, unleashing a flood of desire.

As we cross the threshold into her room, I kick the door shut behind us. Saraiyah's back hits the wall, and I press against her, pinning her with my body. My lips find her neck, trailing hot kisses down to her collarbone. She moans, her head falling back to give me better access.

"Zale," she breathes, her fingers tangling in my hair. "God, I want you."

The words send a jolt of electricity through me. I capture her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all my pent-up longing into it. My hands find the hem of her sweater, and I break the kiss just long enough to pull it over her head.

Saraiyah's skin is smooth and warm beneath my palms. I trace the curve of her waist, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. She tugs at my shirt, impatient, and I oblige, stripping it off and tossing it aside.

When our bare chests press together, we both groan at the contact. Saraiyah's hands explore my back, her nails scraping lightly tracing the valley of my spine. The sensation sends shivers through me, and I growl low in my throat.

I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her to the bed. Laying her down gently, I take a moment to drink her in. Saraiyah is breathtaking, all smooth brown skin and soft curves.

"You're beautiful," I murmur, running my hands down her sides.

She shivers, reaching for me. "Show me," she challenges, her voice low and sultry.

"Gladly."

I start at her neck, kissing and nipping my way down her body. I lavish attention on her breasts, drawing gasps and moans from her lips. Her back arches as I swirl my tongue around a nipple, her fingers tightening in my hair.

"Zale," she whimpers, rocking her body against me.

I continue my journey downward, trailing kisses across her stomach. When I reach the waistband of her leggings, I look up, seeking permission. Saraiyah nods, lifting her hips to help me as I slide them off, taking her panties with them.

Now fully naked, Saraiyah is a vision. I take a moment to appreciate her, my eyes roaming over every curve and dip of her body. She watches me with hooded eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"You too," she says, nodding at my pants.

I smirk, standing to remove the rest of my clothes. Saraiyah's eyes widen as I reveal myself to her, and I see her swallow hard.

"Like what you see?" I tease, climbing back onto the bed.

She nods, reaching for me. "Come here."

I settle between her legs, my body covering hers. We both moan at the full skin-to-skin contact. I capture her lips in a deep kiss, my tongue exploring her mouth as my hands roam her body.

Saraiyah's hips roll against mine, seeking friction. I groan at the sensation, but I'm not ready to give in just yet. I want to savor this, to make it last.

Breaking the kiss, I start my descent down her body once more. This time, I don't stop until I reach the apex of her thighs. Saraiyah's breath catches as I place a soft kiss on her inner thigh.

"Zale," she gasps. "You don't have to?—"

"I want to," I interrupt, looking up at her. "Let me taste you, Saraiyah."

I drag my tongue from her ass to her pussy and she cries out. Her juices coat me, and twist my tongue driving into her. I lick, in and out, in and out, savoring her first moan of pleasure.

I take my time, exploring and teasing. I use my tongue to trace patterns, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her most sensitive spots.

Saraiyah writhes beneath me, her hands fisting in the sheets. I grip her thighs feasting on her pussy.

When I slip a finger inside her, she cries out, her hips bucking against my face. I add a second finger, curling them as I suck gently on her clit. The combination of sensations pushes her closer to the edge.

"Zale…oh shit…" she pants. "I'm close. I'm gonna?—"

I double my efforts, pleased to watch her fall apart. Saraiyah's back arches off the bed as she comes, a string of curses and my name falling from her lips. I work her through it, only pulling away when she tugs gently at my hair.

I kiss my way back up her body as she comes down from her high. When I reach her lips, she kisses me deeply, tasting herself on my tongue.

"I needed that…." she trails off, still breathless.

I reach back for my pants and grab a condom from my wallet. The crackle of the package sends her smoldering gaze to mine. I hold it, as I roll the condom down my cock.

"You ready," I ask, positioning myself at her entrance.

Saraiyah nods, her eyes lock with mine as I slowly push into her.

We both groan at the sensation, the feeling of finally being joined overwhelming us. I pause when I'm fully seated, giving her time to adjust and savoring the moment.

Her pussy gripping my cock like a fist.

"Damn, you feel good," I murmur, pressing my forehead against hers.

She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.

"You gotta move, baby," she whispers. "Please…."

"Yes, ma'am."

I oblige, starting with slow, deep thrusts. Saraiyah meets me move for move, her hips rising to meet mine. The room fills with the sound of our mingled moans and the slap of skin on skin.

As our passion builds, so does our pace. I grip her hips, angling them to hit that spot inside her that makes her cry out.

"Right there…," she purrs, and I continue, driving into her.

I plant one hand on the mattress and the other on her hip and pump harder, driving deeper.

I can feel my own release building, a tight coil of pleasure in my core. But I'm determined to make Saraiyah come again first. I slip a hand between us, my thumb finding her clit.

The added stimulation is all it takes.

Saraiyah's walls clench around me as she comes for the second time, her body arching off the bed. The sight of her lost in ecstasy, combined with the feel of her pulsing around me, pushes me over the edge.

I bury my face in her neck as I shudder through my release, her name a reverent whisper on my lips. We cling to each other as we come down, our bodies slick with sweat and trembling with aftershocks.

When I finally have the strength to move, I roll to the side, pulling Saraiyah with me. She curls into my chest, her breath warm against my skin.

For a long moment, we just lie silent. I stroke her back absently. She's perfect.

"I'm glad I waited for that..." Saraiyah chuckles, and I shake my head.

"I'm glad I waited for you." I feel her stiffen and I explain. "I've been so caught up with work that I haven't entertain in a while. And I'm glad I waited for you."

I apress a kiss to the top of her head.

She props herself up on an elbow, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. "What now?" she asks softly.

The question hangs in the air between us. This is when I should be honest with her, tell her about the deal, about my plans for the building, about my history with the Henrys. But looking into her eyes, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, I can't bring myself to shatter this moment.

"Now," I say, pulling her back down for a kiss, "we do that again."

Saraiyah laughs, the sound light and carefree. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

As we lose ourselves in each other once more, I push away the nagging voice of guilt in the back of my mind. I know this can't last, that eventually, the truth will come out.

But for now, I let myself pretend that this could be our future. That I could be the man Saraiyah deserves.