PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 30
MAYIBUYE SMITH
The morning light slipped softly through the curtains, brushing against my skin like a whisper. I blinked awake, the sheets cool against my bare legs. The space beside me was empty — again.
Of course, he was gone. Roy Smith never lingered in bed; his mornings belonged to business, numbers, control and night
I sighed and stretched before dragging myself up. The scent of him still lingered on my pillow — that clean, masculine mix of cedarwood and spice that always made my stomach twist
After showering, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My cheeks were still slightly flushed, my lips
I slipped on a short black dress — the wrong one, apparently, because it hugged my curves more than it should have — and slid my feet into my galaxy boy slides. My hair was a mess, so I tied my frontal into a loose bunny. Good enough. I wasn’t dressing for a meeting; I was dressing for him.
I padded down the hallway to his study, the faint sound of his deep voice leaking through the slightly open door. He was on the phone, pacing slowly behind his mahogany desk, sleeves rolled up, tie undone. That sight alone did dangerous things to my breathing.
Without a word, I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. His eyes flicked toward me, dark and unreadable, but he didn’t stop talking. I walked right up to him, tugged his shirt, and kissed him.
For a second, he froze. Then he responded — rough, demanding, and hungry. He grabbed my waist, pulled me against him, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the edge of his desk. The papers, files, and phone — all forgotten.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot on my skin, and trailed his lips down my neck, my shoulder, my thighs… until I felt his mouth where I wanted him most. My body arched, a moan escaping before I could stop it.
“Roy…” I breathed, my hands clutching his hair.
He chuckled lowly against me — a sound that sent shivers through my spine — and continued until I was trembling beneath him. His hands gripped my hips firmly, possessively. When he finally stood, his eyes were dark, almost predatory. His belt clinked as he adjusted it, and I could see the heat in his stare.
Then he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “dont make noise, Bayi.”
I didn’t even realize when his hand slid down again, fingers teasing before one slipped inside me. I gasped, gripping the edge of the desk. It hurt for a moment — a sharp sting — but then he whispered,
“Relax,” and his pace changed. Slow. Deep. Addictive.
My breath came in small, helpless sounds, his name a constant prayer on my lips.
Then his phone rang again.
He cursed under his breath but answered without pulling away. I watched him — the calm businessman voice, the complete composure — while his other hand continued to move inside me, torturously slow.
“Hmm,” he said into the phone. “Yes, I’ll be at the airport within the hour.”
When the call ended, he finally withdrew his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. My heartbeat was still wild, my body begging for more, but he was already zipping up his trouser, pretending nothing had happened.
“Get ready,” he said quietly, his tone back to business. “The plane is landing in an hour.”
I stared at him, still catching my breath. “That’s it?”
He smirked faintly.
I couldn’t help but smile, even as I rolled my eyes. He left the study, and I followed a few minutes later, still feeling his touch burning on my skin.
Upstairs, he was already packing a small suitcase. Typical Roy — precise, organized, efficient. Meanwhile, I had a whole pile of clothes, shoes, and accessories sprawled across the bed.
He gave me that raised-eyebrow look. “We’re going on a business trip, not a vacation.”
“And?” I replied innocently, folding a pair of jeans. “You never know what kind of ‘business’ might happen.”
He shook his head, clearly amused, and zipped up his small suitcase. “You’ll be the death of me”
I pouted. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it,” he teased.
When we finally headed downstairs, he took both our suitcases like the gentleman he rarely admitted to being. Outside, the guards had already loaded everything into the black Rolls-Royce. He opened the passenger door for me, and I slid in, my heart fluttering at how natural it felt — like we’d been doing this forever.
He got behind the wheel and drove fast, the city blurring past us. I leaned my head against the window, watching the sunlight dance over his face. His hand rested casually on the gearshift, the veins in his arm visible, his wedding band glinting in the morning sun.
His scent filled the car — expensive cologne, smoke, and something distinctly him. I smiled softly. No matter how complicated this man was, being near him felt like home and danger all at once.
At the airport, everything moved quickly. Guards opened doors, the private jet waited with engines humming. Reporters tried to sneak pictures, but Roy didn’t even flinch. His hand found mine, firm and protective, guiding me up the steps.
Once inside the jet, I looked around — the leather seats, the smell of luxury, the quiet hum of power. He sat down, loosening his tie again.
“Still think it’s a vacation?” he asked, watching me with that dangerous half-smile.
I grinned, sliding closer to him. “With you, Roy Smith, every trip feels like one.”
He exhaled softly, eyes darkening again. “You’re trouble, Bayi.”
I tilted my head, letting my hand rest on his thigh. “Then take me with you everywhere.”
He looked at me for a long moment before finally saying, “I just might.”
And as the plane lifted off, I realized — this wasn’t just a trip. It was another chapter of making him believe that love is not for the weaklings