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Please continue reading if you’ve read the story starter – a very long Chapter 1 – and you’re ready to dive into the story with me.

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About the story: (short description. Click here for longer)

“Let Me Love You” is a tale of love and sacrifice and a poignant story of self-discovery, celebrating the human capacity to find love in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Please enjoy the current WIP of Iris and El. This will be published freely up to a point, like in the old days, and then the entire book will be posted for full download. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. And don’t forget to check out the companion stories. (Wicked Chances, Dreams of Reality, The Convenient Wife, The Other Side of Love, She Works Hard for the Money & Ravenous)

Enjoy, Your Author, Sylvia Hubbard

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Read more: Let Me Love You – Chapter 29✍🏾📚❤️ #SylLit #WIP #livestory 📖💓 #marriedwife #demandedconsensual #darkromance

A lot of crap from the past and future was put in this chapter. Ernest will be in a continuation story from Sweet Justice, but that’s a long story. Make sure you catch up on that one. And if I didn’t mention it before, Tyler has his own story, which is Black’s Innocence.

Something yanked him out of his sleep, but he wished he had been yanked sooner. El had never slept so hard in his entire life, but lying there next to her body brought something for the first time—silence and nothing. 
He’d only ever experienced silence when he was with his father. Being next to his father or just being in the same room with him made El’s rapid overthinking brain go quiet, and time seemed to go still. 
Nothing was new to him.
Smelling nothing when he seemed to pick up everything, and anything was always his way of life, but her taste overcame him. 
It was true the more he sucked, the thicker the clear liquid came from her breast. That was his reward when he latched on correctly, but he never expected the sweetness when she had an orgasm. That was a bonus. Damn, he found himself thirsty for more.
But she wasn’t there! 
She was gone! But for how long? 
El jumped out of bed, not caring he was naked, and grabbed his pants to semi-cover himself. He went out into the hallway to see where Iris could have gone. 
Immediately, he returned to the room they had been in the night before and panicked, seeing her purse and shawl gone. 
“Iris!” he called out just to be sure. 
How long had it been? 
El rushed to the front door just in time to see a black Honda driving away. At the same time, a tinted Diamond Gray GM Yukon pulled into the driveway, and immediately, he knew who it was. 
This was not the time, and dammit, how did the man find out where he was? 
His phone buzzed, and he looked at the text from Iris. 
“Went home. See you Monday.”
Was that her way of letting him know she’d left the door and gate open? Irritated, El left the front door unlocked and went to the bedroom to get dressed. 
Last night, he had gotten out of bed and cleaned himself up while she slept. His shaft had a mind of its own and had slipped out, but he was glad he’d left her underwear in place. Damn! She’d been so wet, and the feel of her hot, slick womanhood pulsing against him was too much. He couldn’t stop himself. Losing control was not in his book but with Iris – the moans, the lactation, the trembles. All of her was infectious, and he couldn’t stop himself.
He intended to wake her in the morning, shower with her, have some clothes delivered, and then take her out to breakfast. It was a Saturday. What could she possibly have to do on a Saturday? 
Dammit, her nephew! 
He wasn’t used to sharing his women with anyone, let alone a kid. 
El couldn’t threaten the little bastard away or give him a warning shot. 
Fuck!
The driver exited the large SUV and went to the passenger side. 
Taking the stairs two at a time, El returned to the bedroom to get dressed. 
Why would a politician from Detroit track El down in the suburbs? They had no business together. That was why he’d refused the councilperson’s request to meet with him when he met with the Bellini family. One network event didn’t sway El to want to do business with this prick.
Picking up his phone again, he started to text Iris but stopped himself. What would he say? Was he still thirsty? He needed to see her, but why? It was the weekend. According to her work contract, there was really no reason for him to bother her unless it was a business emergency.
She was obligated to her nephew; El understood that, but living where she was and his inability to see her when he desired didn’t sit well with him. 
He texted his partner. 
“Do you still have that connection in The Charlotte?” 
The Charlotte was one of the first private communities in Detroit, where many wealthy families chose to live in condos, flats, and two—to five-bedroom houses. Most were extra places to stay when they were in town, but more and more families and couples were choosing to stay there long-term for the amenities that Detroit offered. 
Surprisingly, X replied in a reply text, “Dag’s working on new construction with the owner. The waitlist is four years. Brother just applied.”
Knowing X could move mountains when he felt like it; El said, “I’m looking for a three-bedroom. Let me know what you can do.”
That would be the end of the conversation. X wouldn’t reply, and El knew this about his partner. 
There wasn’t a need to ask when it came to X. He was like the universe and chose to pick up what was put out if he wanted to. 
Since this had nothing to do with the business, El knew it would not be immediate. Moreover, X was dealing with his brother’s needs before his partner’s needs. 
Someone entering the place broke El out of his thoughts, so he straightened his clothes on his body the best he could without looking at a mirror before proceeding down the steps. 
“You aren’t trying to steal Jaelen Gates from Detroit, are you? Who are you in cahoots with? Suburban city councils? County officials? What? El?” Councilman Ernest Washington’s smoke-ridden voice rubbed El’s gut to irritation. And the son of a bitch had the nerve to be personable when El had never given him permission to be called by his first name. 
Ernest Washington had come out of the poorest part of Detroit, just like El and his sister. They had gone to the same public elementary school and initially ran around the Brewster Douglass Housing Project as elementary pals. Once Ernest understood El was ‘mixed,’ he distanced himself slowly. Depending on the day, Ernest was or was not his friend, but only when it served his purpose. As El grew older, Ernest began to express his dislike for him more and more. Was it because Ernest’s girlfriend, who was practically Ernest’s fiance, threw herself at El, or was it because Ernest caught his mother helping El on his journey to his actual kink?
It shouldn’t matter to El now. The past was the past.
His current irritation was that Ernest smelled like sour Kool-Aid from some fake cologne and a cigar bar. And El was across the room from him, so he could imagine the smell would worsen if Ernest came closer.
“Get bent,” El growled in response as he watched Ernest circle the front room where he’d had dinner the night before with Iris. He’d forgotten to put anything under his nose, and the old smells of the house and the stench of evil politician almost made him throw up. It took everything in El to hold his composure so Ernest wouldn’t see how much his smell bothered him. 
Ernest looked El over and then slowly walked over to him. “That woman who just left? Who is she that’s got you looking like you just rolled out of bed? I’ve never seen you look disheveled in your life. Can that white dick of yours get hard for black punanny?” 
“Your momma didn’t care,” El shot off, hoping his insult would cause Ernest to become quick to anger and leave.
The politician whirled toward him, about to lose his cool, but then he smirked. “True dat, but that bitch needed a fifth of MadDog 20/20 just to get out of bed so we can account for her taste.”
Not wanting to bring Iris into any conversation, El snarled, “My new assistant is none of your business.” 
Ernest’s rather large facial features complimented his large dark brown eyes. If he worked out a bit, he could hold up the almost six-foot frame, but too much good eating and no exercise were taking a toll on his body. Just standing there sauntering around the room like he was going to own this place was already producing a sweat on his dark-colored bald head. “Answer the question,” Ernest demanded. The rough voice made each word more harsh than the previous.
Unbothered by the order, El picked up the glasses on the table and put them in the warmer tray with the rest of the plates. This was just a ploy to smoothly get away from Ernest as the man’s odor made El’s eyes almost water. “You’re out of your territory, Ernest. You have no power outside of the city. Most politicians outside of Detroit hate you. As for Jaelen Gates, he does whatever he pleases, and if you want to know his business, you’ll have to ask him. Why don’t you answer my question? Why are you here?”
Ernest snorted like a bull, complete with a faint growl as if he wanted to charge, while slowly taking out a handkerchief and wiping his face. “Ran into that ruthless mouth lawyer at the Chief of Police’s Ball, and all he could do was brag about how he sat down with the Bellini’s with Eledumare Olorun.”
Of course, Tyler had said he bragged, but what could warrant a personal visit outside city limits for this politician? “What’s it to you?”
“Don’t you think it’s offensive that you didn’t bring your brother-in-law to be with you instead of that foul lawyer?”
Knocked off his game for a second, he accessed Ernest’s words and asked, “You’re marrying Olifai?”
“Why wouldn’t I? We were childhood sweethearts. She said I was her first love. Isn’t that sweet?”
It was El’s turn to snort. More than likely, his sister found a sugar daddy for life and was willing to sacrifice herself to live comfortably. “Aren’t you already married?”
“Didn’t you hear? My dear wife was killed in a car accident three months ago. Your sister worked at the funeral home. That’s where we met. She consoled me, and now I will make her my wife.”
Narrowing his eyes at Ernest, El remembered not too long ago his sister begging him for money and not mentioning this dickwad. Olifai would have thrown it in his face if she had that type of prospect when he refused to give her a dime. “I could care less about relations. I wanted Tyler Black there, not you.”
“Don’t you think I could serve the Bellini Family better than that maligner?”
El almost chuckled but only blinked rapidly and answered, “My lawyer is in no way spreading lies about anyone. If he said something about you, I’d bet my right foot Tyler knows what he’s talking about. Furthermore, I’m under no obligation to you just because you think you’ll be family with me, Ernest. Now get the hell off my property before I call the cops and have you thrown in jail for trespassing.”
Ernest walked to the doorway but threw over his shoulder as he paused before leaving. “I’m sure Sharlie Costello would love to do an expose on you.”
“Funny how you call my lawyer the defamer when you speak about that slanderer,” El shot back. 
“She’d love to get some juicy information on you and ruin your reputation so those rich and powerful men you surround yourself with will start to run away from doing business with you. And I don’t think I can’t find any information, especially about what really happened in New York. Just like you know my enemies, I know yours.”
El narrowed his eyes even more, not worried about New York. What he did was to retaliate against a jealous husband. “Is that why you’re marrying my sister? You think the enemy of my enemy is your friend?”

“I plan on running for mayor of Detroit soon, El. You join me, and we can show these bastards what Brewster Douglass can do for this city. Stand with me, and we can -”

El cut him off with a warning. “I’d watch your threats, Ernest. No one soft ever came out of Brewster Douglass, no matter how white their father was.” Deciding to be as straightforward as possible, El growled, “And IF you actually do become Mayor of Detroit, I would rather pull my balls out through my mouth than help you, Ernest Washington. You could offer me the fucking world on a silver platter, and I’d still say no. Do your fucking worse to destroy me. I’m ready for any challenge you throw at me.”

With a tightened face, Ernest looked around the place jealously and said, “You’ll regret this.”

End of This Chapter | Post your thoughts in the comment | Let the author know what’s going on in your head

Let Me Love You (c) 2024 Sylvia Hubbard All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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