The Siren.

unbridled, erotic energy in its purest, most tantalizing form. .

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[an7body]

☽◯☾

ᶠᵁᴸᴸ ᴹᴼᴼᴺ ; '⁰²

| ʙʀᴀɴᴅʏ |

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...

Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic

Part Seven

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[myheartsaysyes]

The Mixtape: Part 7 (Smoke’s Interlude)

Summary: After eight years, Smoke finally listens to what Annie has to say… through a mixtape of her own. What begins as stubborn curiosity becomes a night of memories, revelations, and one undeniable truth: some people never stop being home.

A/N: Thank you @waitingtobreatheagain for the subtitle. 🤭

W/C: 11k+

Smoke left Aunt Cheryl’s without a second glance backwards.

The gravel crunched beneath the truck tires as he pulled onto the road, the familiar stretch of Mississippi highway unfolding beneath a sky slowly bleeding gold into orange. His knuckles ached every time he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, a steady reminder of the punch he’d thrown and the argument that had come before it. The pain should have made him feel foolish.

Instead, it mostly made him feel tired.

The entire afternoon weighed on him. Annie’s tears. Her yelling. The way she’d looked at him like he had personally ruined eight years of her life. How she stood in the middle of Aunt Cheryl’s yard and told him she’d spent all those years waiting for him to fight for her.

Then Stack’s voice showed up right behind the memory.

You punched him because she grabbed that suitcase again.

Smoke swore under his breath.

Unfortunately, his brother hadn’t stopped there.

The first person she reached for wasn’t you.

That part irritated him most because Stack had said it with the confidence of somebody who already knew the answer. Smoke had wanted to tell him he was wrong, and say Isoo got punched because he should’ve kept his fucking mouth shut. He wanted to tell him it had nothing to do with Annie. The problem was every time he replayed the moment in his head, he arrived at the same conclusion Stack already had.

The punch was never about Isoo.

His jaw tightened.

The road curved gently ahead. Smoke followed it automatically, barely paying attention to where he was going. He’d driven these roads his entire life. He could’ve found his way home blindfolded. His eyes drifted toward the passenger seat. The mixtape sat there. Quiet. Innocent. Like it hadn’t caused a damn thing. Annie’s handwriting stretched across the cover exactly the way it always had. Uneven in places. Slanted slightly to the right. Familiar enough that he recognized it before he’d even registered what he was holding.

Two weeks.

That’s what she said. Two weeks making the fucking thing. Choosing songs while thinking about him. The thought annoyed him, confused him. Then irritated him again because confusion felt entirely too close to hope.

His phone vibrated against the center console. Smoke glanced at the screen and sighed. He knew where this conversation was headed.

LEWIS JONES.

For a moment he considered letting it ring. Then he answered. “Uncle Lewis.”

“You done?”

The corner of Smoke’s mouth twitched despite himself. “Done what?”

“Actin’ stupid.”

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Small. Brief. Then it was gone. 

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How bad do his face look?”

The answer came without hesitation. “Bad enough.”

Smoke nodded once. “Aight.”

Silence stretched between them. One of the things Smoke appreciated most about Uncle Lewis was the man’s refusal to fill every empty space with noise. Most people got nervous when conversations slowed down. They rushed to fill the gaps with questions, opinions, or advice nobody asked for.

Lewis never did. 

The older man let the silence breathe before speaking again. “You know everybody saw through that shit, right?”

Smoke looked out the windshield. “Saw through what?”

“You ain’t punch that boy ‘cause he butted in.”

There it was. Smoke should’ve known. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and watched a pair of headlights pass in the opposite direction.

“You ain’t even know that boy was there half the afternoon.”

Smoke huffed quietly. “That ain’t true.”

“Who you lyin’ to?” 

The question came so quickly Smoke almost laughed.

“You been mad for a long time.”

The words sank in a little deeper. Lewis wasn’t talking about the cookout anymore. Smoke knew it. Lewis knew it. Hell, everybody who loved him knew it.

The older man sighed softly through the phone. “You ever get tired?”

Smoke frowned. “Of what?”

“Being mad.”

The question caught him off guard, because it wasn’t complicated. For a while all he heard was the hum of tires against pavement and the low growl of the engine beneath him. Eventually he shrugged. “I guess.”

Lewis made a low sound. The kind that meant he wasn’t buying the answer. “You know how many arguments me and Cheryl survived because one of us was too stubborn to shut up?”

A smile tugged briefly at Smoke’s mouth. “Too many.”

“Exactly.” A pause followed. Then Lewis added quietly, “You know how many we survived because one of us was too stubborn to talk?”

The smile disappeared. Smoke’s eyes turned to the passenger seat again. To the mixtape and Annie’s handwriting. He looked back at the road. Neither man spoke. The silence stretched longer this time. Thoughtful and heavy at the same time.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about?” Lewis asked eventually.

Smoke already knew. Still— “No, sir?”

“That girl flew all the way back to Mississippi.”

Smoke swallowed.

Lewis continued. “Three states.”

The truck rolled forward through the fading evening light.

“Three states and two weeks makin’ some CD.”

Smoke let the words sit with him.

“You think folks do that for somebody they don’t love?”

The question sat heavy between them. The answer coming fast. No. Of course not. But saying it out loud felt dangerous somehow. So he didn’t.

Lewis didn’t push either. He never had to, but he still continued— “You ain’t gotta forgive her tonight.”

Smoke stared ahead.

“You ain’t gotta fix everything tonight either.”

The road stretched empty before him. Fields on one side. Trees on the other. Home getting closer with every mile.

“But don’t spend another eight years punishin’ yourself.”

Something about the way Lewis said it made Smoke’s chest tighten unexpectedly. Yourself. The distinction mattered more than Smoke wanted to admit. Because if he was honest, truly honest, the years hadn’t only hurt Annie. They’d hurt him too. More than he’d ever admit.

The truck grew quiet again. The sky darkened another shade.

Eventually Lewis cleared his throat. “You headed home?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

Smoke waited.

Lewis chuckled. “Go home.”

“That’s yo’ advice?”

“Yep.”

Smoke rolled his eyes. “You called me for that?”

Uncle Lewis chuckled. “I taught you construction. Might as well teach you common sense too.”

Despite himself, Smoke laughed. “Yes sir.”

The word left before he thought about it. A habit nearly as old as he was. For a minute he considered ending the call. Instead, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. 

“Thank you.”

The line went quiet. Then Lewis answered simply. “Welcome, son.”

There was a tightening in Smoke’s chest. It wasn’t that Uncle Lewis had never called him ”son” before. He had. A handful of times over the years. Usually when Smoke showed up to help with a project around the house or worked alongside him on a jobsite. Small moments. Easy moments. The kind that never seemed important until later. But hearing it now felt different. Maybe because there hadn’t been many men in Smoke’s life who earned the right to say it.

His father certainly hadn’t. Most of Smoke’s memories of his own father involved whiskey on his breath, anger in his voice, and the sound of boots crossing a porch that made two little boys tense before he even opened the door.

Uncle Lewis had been the opposite. Patient where his father had been cruel. Steady where his father had been unpredictable. The man who taught him how to frame a wall, read a tape measure, show up on time, and finish what he started. Uncle Lewis handed him his first construction job and expected him to work for every dollar of it. He was who Smoke thought about whenever people talked about good fathers.

His throat felt tight suddenly. “Yes sir,” he said again.

For a while neither of them spoke. Then, like always, Lewis broke the tension before it could become something either of them had to acknowledge.

“Get home safe.”

“I will.”

“And Smoke?”

“Yeah?”

Uncle Lewis paused. “Listen to that damn CD.”

The line went dead before Smoke could answer. For the rest of the drive, Uncle Lewis’s words followed him home. Not about Isoo or even the part about Annie. It was Uncle Lewis’ question that stayed with him.

You ever get tired?

At the time Smoke had brushed it off. Gave him a half-answer and kept driving. But the farther he got from Uncle Lewis and Aunt Cheryl’s house, the harder it became to ignore. Somewhere between North Carolina and Mississippi, between missed calls and unanswered letters, pride and hurt and eight years of silence, carrying it all had become exhausting.

And for the first time, Smoke found himself wondering what it might feel like to finally put some of it down.

By the time Smoke pulled into his driveway, the anger had given way to something heavier than it had been when he left the cookout. It still sat in his chest, still burned every time he replayed parts of the afternoon, but it no longer felt sharp. Sharp things cut quickly. This felt more like a weight. Something dense and stubborn that had followed him all the way across town and climbed into the truck beside him.

The engine idled for a moment after he parked. Smoke rested both hands on the steering wheel and stared through the windshield at the dark outline of his house. Usually coming home felt like relief. Quiet. Predictable. A place where nobody needed anything from him for a few hours. Tonight it felt different. Maybe because he knew exactly what was waiting on the passenger seat. And Stack’s voice had still managed to survive the entire drive.

You punched him because she grabbed that suitcase again.

Smoke exhaled slowly through his nose.

The worst part wasn’t that Stack had said it. The worst part was that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He replayed the argument, Annie calling for Isoo, and the look on her face when she said she wanted to leave. He still arrived at the same conclusion. The punch hadn’t been about Isoo. It hadn’t even been about whatever smart ass shit came out of Isoo’s mouth. It had been about Annie reaching for somebody else when everything inside him had been screaming for her to stop running to any and everything, but him.

Eventually he killed the engine and climbed out. The house was quiet when he stepped inside. Not peaceful, quiet. Empty quiet. The kind that made every creak of the floorboards sound louder than it actually was. Uncle Lewis and Aunt Cheryl’s house had always been full. Full of people, conversations, and yelling from one room to another. Even when nobody was talking, there was always the feeling that somebody might start. Smoke’s place wasn’t like that. Most days he preferred it. Tonight it gave him too much room to think.

The mixtape landed on the kitchen counter while he headed for the refrigerator. He opened the door and stared inside, as though something useful might appear if he gave it enough time. A container of leftovers sat on the top shelf beside eggs, sandwich meat, and vegetables he’d bought because he told himself he was going to start eating cleaner. None of it looked particularly appealing. Smoke shut the refrigerator and got pissed all over again.

Aunt Cheryl had probably made enough food to feed half the county. There had been ribs, potato salad, baked beans and rolls. Even Pearline’s nasty ass Mac and cheese was there. And at least five desserts. Normally he’d have left carrying enough leftovers to survive the next several days. Instead he’d left carrying a bruised hand and a damn mixtape.

“Ain’t even get to bring no fuckin’ plate home.”

The complaint sounded stupid the second it left his mouth. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it less true.

For half a second he considered getting back his truck, driving to Aunt Cheryl’s, and fixing himself a plate like a grown man with priorities. Then he pictured Annie sitting in that house, Stack there with a stupid ass look on his face, and Aunt Cheryl looking at him like she had a sermon ready.

Hell nah.

A little while later he found himself standing over the stove making a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. The entire situation felt ridiculous. He’d spent the afternoon arguing with Annie, punching Isoo, getting lectured by Stack, and receiving life advice from Uncle Lewis, only to end the night standing in his kitchen cooking like a man who hadn’t just had his entire emotional foundation kicked in. The sandwich wasn’t terrible. It also wasn’t Aunt Cheryl’s ribs.

Smoke ate anyway.

Afterward he grabbed a beer, stared at it for a second, then put it back. The whiskey seemed like a better idea. He poured himself a glass and carried it into the living room. A few minutes later, he looked down and found it untouched. His attention kept drifting back to the kitchen counter. To the mixtape. That pissed him off too.

At some point he found himself wiping down countertops that weren’t dirty. Then reorganizing a drawer that hadn’t bothered him in months. Then checking laundry that didn’t need checking. 

The thought arrived slowly enough to make him feel stupid. He was avoiding the mixtape. A grown ass nigga avoiding a CD. Worse, Annie would probably find it hilarious. That thought alone nearly made him put the fuckin’ thing in the CD player just out of spite.

Instead he took a shower.

The hot water should’ve helped. Usually it did. Construction work had a way of settling into muscles and joints. A shower could wash away most of a hard day. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough hot water in Mississippi to wash away Annie. She showed up anyway—crying, yelling, and saying she’d waited. 

And she called him Elijah. 

That always stayed with him. Most people call him Smoke now. Some folks probably forgot Elijah existed. The nickname had become easier over the years. Simpler. Safer. Smoke belonged to everybody. Smoke was the man people expected him to be.

Elijah belonged to Annie. 

Always had.

After the shower, Smoke dried off and pulled on a pair of sweatpants before catching sight of his hand in the bathroom mirror. The knuckles looked worse now than they had at Aunt Cheryl’s. Adrenaline had carried him through the drive home, but it wasn’t doing him any favors anymore. Swelling had already begun to set across the back of his hand, and purple bruising was working its way beneath the skin.

“Shit.”

He flexed his fingers once and instantly regretted it. The punch felt good for about three seconds. Now it just hurt like hell.

Smoke dug through the bathroom cabinet until he found peroxide and a box of bandages his mom had practically forced him to buy after splitting his hand open at a construction site a few months earlier. At the time she’d fussed at him for nearly twenty minutes about keeping basic first-aid supplies in the house. Standing here now, pouring peroxide across busted knuckles, he hated admitting she might’ve had a point. A few minutes later he found himself sitting on the edge of the bathtub while the antiseptic fizzed against broken skin. The sting should have kept his attention. Instead, his mind wandered right back where it had been all evening.

Annie.

It seemed like no matter what he was doing, every road eventually led back to her. The tears. The yelling. The way she’d looked at him in the middle of the yard. Then, inevitably, his thoughts landed on the part he hated most.

Isoo.

The punch? Nah. Not even the argument that led to said punch. It was the moment before it. The moment Annie grabbed that suitcase and looked past him. Smoke lowered his head and rubbed a hand across his jaw. By the time he’d wrapped the worst of the damage and tossed the used bandages into the trash, he was in a perpetual state of irritation. Because Stack had been right. And so was Uncle Lewis.

A cigarette seemed like a logical next step. Then whiskey. Then sitting on the back porch convincing himself he wasn’t thinking about the mixtape while doing exactly that.

The Mississippi night wrapped around him warm and familiar. Crickets chirped somewhere beyond the fence. A dog barked in the distance. His neighbor several houses over was playing music low enough that only the bass reached him. Smoke sat there until his cigarette burned almost to the filter and the whiskey glass sat empty beside him.

Eventually he ran out of things to do. He’d exhausted every distraction available.

The house felt different when he walked back inside. It was later now and the whiskey had finally done its job. But now there was no avoiding the fact that Annie’s mixtape was still sitting exactly where he’d left it. Waiting. Patient in the way Annie never was. Smoke shook his head and picked it up off the counter. The plastic case felt surprisingly light in his hands. His thumb brushed across the writing on the cover before he could stop himself.

For Elijah.

Never Smoke.

The version of him she always seemed able to find no matter how deeply he buried it. For a moment he simply stood there staring at the words. Then Uncle Lewis’s voice echoed in his head.

Listen to the damn CD.

Smoke sighed heavily. “Yeah, yeah.”

He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was answering Uncle Lewis or Annie.

Maybe both.

The disc disappeared into the stereo. Smoke stood there with one hand resting on the shelf beside it, seriously considering taking it back out. The thought lasted right up until he remembered the few hours of his evening had been spent avoiding it.

Enough was enough. He pressed play and static crackled softly through the speakers.

Then Annie’s voice filled the room. “Elijah, if you’re listenin’ to this, it means you finally stopped bein’ hardheaded.”

Smoke froze. All he could do was stare at the stereo. Then Annie laughed. Not a big laugh or one of the loud ones that made everybody else join in. This was smaller, the one that usually appeared when she thought she’d gotten away with something. Her voice came through the speakers again, pleased with herself.

“Good.”

A click followed.

Seconds later the opening notes of Can We Talk came through the living room.

Smoke closed his eyes and laughed despite himself. “Oh, she got jokes.”

The song continued playing.

Track 1: Can We Talk

The opening notes of Can We Talk filled the room as Smoke leaned back into the couch. At first he listened the way most people listened to old songs. Half paying attention. Half letting familiarity do the work. The melody was recognizable, pulling up memories he hadn’t thought about in years. He could already hear Annie laughing at herself for choosing it. Shit, he was laughing too. Of all the songs she could’ve started with, she picked the one that practically came with a flashing sign attached to it.

The thing was though, the joke stopped being funny about halfway through. The song didn’t change, but he did.

The longer he listened, the harder it became to separate the music from the message underneath it. Annie had never been the type to do anything halfway when she cared. If she baked a cake, she spent three days finding the right recipe. If she bought somebody a gift, she’d somehow remember a throwaway comment they made six months earlier and build the entire thing around it. Every meaningful thing Annie had ever done came with intention attached to it. Looking back, maybe that was why the last eight years had hurt so much. Neither of them had ever stopped caring enough to become indifferent. 

They’d simply found different ways to carry the hurt.

Smoke clenched his jaw until the muscle ticked, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The whiskey sat forgotten on the coffee table. At some point he’d stopped drinking it. He wasn’t sure when. His attention had been entirely on the stereo, which was annoying because it meant Annie had managed to hijack his evening without even being in the room.

A bitter laugh escaped him. That sounded about right.

The song continued playing, and with every passing minute Smoke found himself thinking less about the argument at the cookout and more about the years before it. Not the breakup or the misunderstandings. The good parts. 

Annie stretched across his couch with textbooks scattered around her. Annie stealing fries off his plate after claiming she wasn’t hungry. Her singing along to songs she only knew half the words to and making up the rest with complete confidence. There had been a time when talking to her felt as natural as breathing. Somewhere along the way they’d lost that. Or maybe they hadn’t lost it at all. Maybe they’d simply buried it beneath years of pride, hurt, and assumptions until neither of them remembered where it was.

By the time the song ended, Smoke hadn’t moved in several minutes. The room felt quieter afterward, though that probably had more to do with the absence of Annie’s chosen soundtrack than actual silence. He sat there waiting without meaning to. Waiting for the next song and for whatever she’d decided came next, because curiosity had quietly replaced resistance along the way.

Annie’s voice returned before the next track started. Something in his chest tightened. It wasn’t the recording itself. It was how normal she sounded. She wasn’t crying, there wasn’t any anger in it or heartbreak.

Just Annie.

There was amusement in her voice before she even spoke, the same amusement she’d carried since she was fourteen years old and entirely too pleased with herself. “Before you start rollin’ your eyes, yes, I know that one was obvious.”

Smoke shook his head and rolled his eyes despite himself. 

There she was. 

Since she’d stepped back into Mississippi, he wasn’t thinking about the woman standing in Aunt Cheryl’s yard with tears streaming down her face. He was hearing the girl he’d fallen in love with. The girl who always had something to say, and who could make him laugh when he was trying his hardest not to.

Annie laughed softly on the recording. “If I gotta suffer through eight years of your stubbornness, you can survive one Tevin Campbell song.”

The smile lingered longer this time. She wasn’t wrong, because she’d always known exactly which nerve to touch. Or maybe hearing her like this reminded him of something he’d forgotten. The Annie sitting safely inside this recording wasn’t trying to win an argument. She wasn’t defending herself and not asking him to choose between his version of the past and hers. She was simply trying to talk to him. Really talk to him. And judging by the fact that he was sitting alone in his living room listening this closely, it was working. 

The knowledge came over him slowly as Annie exhaled on the recording and fell quiet for a moment. She hadn’t made him a playlist. She’d built him a conversation.

And Smoke was finally listening.

Track 2: Truth Is

The silence that followed Annie’s recording didn’t last long. A few seconds later another song began to play.

Smoke recognized Fantasia instantly. That alone made him sit back. Annie had always loved Fantasia. Not casually either. That girl treated Fantasia songs like scripture. Back in high school, he’d spent an entire semester listening to Annie defend her against people who insisted she sang too many sad songs. Annie always disagreed.

“They ain’t sad,” she’d argued one afternoon from the passenger seat of his car. “People just don’t like the truth.”

At the time he’d rolled his eyes and told her she sounded fifty years old. At sixteen, he’d thought she was being dramatic. At twenty-six, he wasn’t so sure.

The song continued playing while Smoke leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. At some point he’d stopped treating the mixtape like background noise. His attention remained fixed on every word, every transition, every choice she’d made. Annie had spent two weeks putting this thing together. Two weeks deciding what came first and what came next. Nothing about that sounded accidental.

Which meant Truth Is was here for a reason. The message wasn’t difficult to understand.

The truth is. Three simple words. Words capable of ruining an otherwise peaceful evening.

Smoke closed his eyes.

The memory arrived before he could stop it.

It was years ago. Long enough that he couldn’t remember the exact date anymore. Stack had talked him into going out after work. A restaurant on the other side of town. Some female Stack was messing with at the time had a cousin or a friend she insisted would be perfect for him. Smoke remembered almost none of the details now. Not her name, what she ordered, or what they talked about.

He only remembered the feeling.

The woman was beautiful. Smart too, and easy enough to talk to. The conversation never stalled. She asked questions and listened to the answers. By every measurable standard, the night should’ve been a success. Stack certainly thought it was. The first thing out of his mouth the next day had been, “So when you seein’ her again?”

Smoke remembered shrugging. Remembered saying, “I don’t know.” At the time he’d blamed work, timing, then the fact that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. The same excuse he’d been feeding everybody for years. Listening to Fantasia now, he found himself wondering if that had ever really been true, because the part he remembered most wasn’t the woman.

It was the moment she’d laughed.

For one brief second she’d tilted her head back and smiled, and before he could stop himself he’d thought about Annie. The thought had simply appeared. 

Uninvited and Automatic.

Annie would’ve laughed louder. Annie would’ve made fun of him afterward. Annie would’ve stolen something off his plate and then argued about why it didn’t count as stealing.

The comparison lasted all of three seconds. The date never stood a chance after that.

Smoke rubbed a hand across his mouth.

The song continued. Another memory surfaced. Then another. Different women. Different years. Different cities. Every single one ending exactly the same way. Nothing wrong with them. Nothing he could point to and say that’s why this didn’t work. Just a persistent feeling that something wasn’t there.

Or maybe somebody.

The thought crept up on him so gradually he almost missed it. For years he’d told himself Annie was the exception. The first love. The one that got away. The person everybody compared others to for a little while before eventually moving on. The problem was “a little while” wasn’t supposed to last eight years. “A little while” wasn’t supposed to survive multiple relationships, birthdays, holidays, and entire stages of life. “A little while” wasn’t supposed to follow somebody into adulthood.

Yet Annie had.

The song was still playing when Smoke lowered his head and stared at the floor. Across the room, the stereo glowed softly in the darkness. The house felt smaller now. Quieter. Like Annie was sitting somewhere nearby saying all the things neither of them had been brave enough to say before.

Truth is.

The words echoed through his head. Not the lyrics—the title. The confession hidden inside it, because the longer he listened, the harder it became to ignore the possibility that Annie wasn’t the only person this song belonged to. Maybe that was why it bothered him. Why he hadn’t reached for the whiskey in nearly twenty minutes, because for the first time all night, the mixtape wasn’t asking him to think about Annie.

It was forcing him to think about himself and that was a much harder conversation.

Track 3: Garden (Say It Like Dat)

The transition into the next song happened so smooth Smoke almost missed it. Almost. SZA’s voice eased through the speakers, and he understood Annie wasn’t done telling the truth.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Of course she picked this one. Of all the songs on the radio, Annie had always gravitated toward the ones that sounded like confessions. Songs that peeled back ugly feelings people normally tried to hide. Songs that admitted things most folks would’ve rather kept to themselves.

Garden was one of those songs.

Smoke reclined a little further into the couch. Outside, the Mississippi night continued without him. Crickets. Distant traffic. The dog was still barking. The sounds filtered through the screened window above the sink, familiar enough to disappear into the background. His attention remained fixed on the stereo. On what Annie was trying to say. At first he thought the song was about vulnerability. It was about fear.

There was a difference.

What it meant became clear slowly. The way most important things did. Piece by piece. Memory by memory.

Smoke found himself thinking about a night during their sophomore year. Football practice had run late, leaving him sore, exhausted, and running almost entirely on instinct by the time he finally met Annie outside the library. She’d talked nearly the whole walk home, telling him about a history article she’d read, Pearline getting written up in chemistry for arguing with the teacher, and some recipe she'd seen on a cooking show that she was convinced she could make better.

Smoke had listened the way he usually did after practice. One-word answers. A nod here. A quiet laugh there. Enough to let her know he was listening. Or at least he’d thought so.

Along the walk Annie got quiet. He barely noticed at first. She always had something to say. The silence felt strange enough that he eventually looked over at her.

“You alright?”

She shrugged.“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine.”

Smoke frowned. He knew better. Annie wasn’t the type to stop talking unless something was bothering her. 

He tried again. “What happened?”

“Nothin’.”

The answer annoyed him instantly because it was obvious she was lying. They went back and forth for nearly twenty minutes, Annie insisting she was fine while Smoke insisted she wasn’t, until she finally stopped walking altogether. He’d taken another few steps before he looked over. She wasn’t beside him anymore. When he turned around, Annie was standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring at the ground.

“You still like me?”

The question caught him so off guard that he laughed. It wasn’t that it was funny, it didn’t make any sense to him.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Where’d that come from?”

She shrugged again, refusing to look at him. “I don’t know.”

Smoke walked back toward her. “Annie.” “You serious?”

Another shrug.

He remembered reaching out and tipping her chin up until she finally looked at him. “Of course I still like you.”

“You do?”

“Man, what…” He laughed again, shaking his head. “I thought that was obvious.”

She searched his face for another second before finally smiling, small and almost embarrassed. “Okay.”

Then, just like that, she started walking again.

At sixteen, Smoke thought that had settled it.

He’d chalked the whole conversation up to Annie overthinking things the way Annie sometimes did. He never stopped to ask what had made her question it in the first place. Didn’t consider that spending one evening distracted by football and fatigue had been enough to make her wonder if she’d done something wrong. Sitting in his living room now, listening to a woman who had flown across state lines carrying a mixtape and eight years’ worth of unresolved feelings, Smoke felt that memory differently. Back then he’d blamed Annie’s insecurities. Now he wondered if he’d been looking at them wrong the entire time.

Maybe Annie wasn’t asking because she doubted him. Maybe she was asking because she needed to hear it. Needed confirmation, reassurance, and needed something he wasn’t particularly good at giving. Now, he wondered how many times she’d needed words and never gotten them. Because if there was one thing Annie had been asking for their entire relationship, it wasn’t grand gestures, gifts or promises.

It was words.

And words had always been the thing Smoke struggled with most.

Track 4: Damage

The next song started before Smoke could talk himself into getting another drink. He recognized the voice. But the artist? No idea. Couldn’t have told anybody if they paid him. But he’d heard the song plenty of times on the radio. At the time, he’d never paid much attention to it. 

Now he did.

That seemed to be happening a lot tonight.

By the second verse, Smoke was on his feet. He didn’t mean to stand. He just found himself moving. Restless. The same way he’d been restless beneath the pecan tree earlier. The way he’d been restless sitting on the porch pretending he wasn’t thinking about Annie while thinking about nothing else. He crossed into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, one hand rubbing absently across his jaw.

The song continued—and unfortunately, so did his memory. 

Standing in Aunt Cheryl’s yard crying.

“I came to yo’ house so excited to see you.”

The words hit differently now than they had a few hours ago. At the time he’d been too busy defending himself to really hear them.

Now he couldn’t stop hearing them.

“You acted like you couldn’t wait for me to get the fuck outta Mississippi.”

Smoke closed his eyes, because that wasn’t what happened. He knew that. Annie knew that now too. At least part of it. But knowing she misunderstood him didn’t erase the hurt she’d carried all these years. For years he’d been focused on the fact that Annie left. Focused on the unanswered phone calls, unreturned letters… silence. The feeling of being abandoned. He’d spent so much time staring at his own wound that he’d never stopped to consider hers. Didn’t stop to think about what it must’ve felt like walking out of his house that day believing she was saying goodbye to somebody she loved.

Believing he didn’t care.

Smoke exhaled slowly and looked down at his bandaged hand. The irony wasn’t lost on him. All afternoon he’d accused Annie of running, but the more he thought about it, the less that word fit. Annie hadn’t run from hard things. She stayed through grief, through loneliness. Shit, she’d spent seven years carrying around his mixtape.

Seven years. 

Through college. Through apartments. Through every version of herself she’d become since leaving Mississippi. She’d been too afraid to listen to it. Too afraid it would confirm the thing she’d feared most. That he’d already said goodbye. Yet she kept it anyway. Like some part of her couldn’t bear to hear him let her go, but couldn’t bring herself to let him go either.

That wasn’t somebody running. That was somebody hurting. The thought lingered long after the song ended. Smoke found himself looking at the damage between them and recognizing something he’d spent almost a decade avoiding.

Not all of it belonged to Annie.

Some of it belonged to him too.

That—that left him restless.

Smoke pushed himself away from the kitchen counter and crossed the living room without thinking. He grabbed his cigarettes off the end table, slipped through the back door, and stepped onto the porch. The night air met him immediately, thick with humidity and the familiar chorus of crickets beyond the fence. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the porch railing, hoping the nicotine would quiet the thoughts Annie had spent the last four songs stirring up.

Track 5: Say Yes

By the time Smoke came back inside, the cigarette had done absolutely nothing to help. The night had grown later while he stood on the porch. The sounds of the neighborhood had thinned considerably. The dog that had been barking earlier was finally quiet. The bass from music farther out disappeared. Even the crickets seemed softer now.

The house felt still when he stepped back through the door. Still and entirely too empty. Smoke shut the door behind him and stood there for a moment, looking towards the stereo. Part of him considered calling it a night. 

The smarter part. 

The part that understood Annie had already managed to drag him through memories he’d spent years avoiding. Unfortunately, the smarter part hadn’t been winning much tonight. A few minutes later he crossed the room and sat back down. He pressed play on the stereo remote. The stereo clicked. Then Annie’s voice returned. For a moment she didn’t say anything. Smoke could hear movement in the background. Paper rustling. A quiet breath. 

When she finally spoke, her voice sounded different. Softer. “You know what’s really embarrassing?” 

A soft laugh escaped her. Smoke could hear the smile in it, because sometimes Annie laughed when she was nervous.

“I almost didn’t put this song on here.” A pause followed. “Actually, that’s a lie.” Another small laugh. “I knew I was gonna put it on here. I just kept trying to talk myself out of it.”

Smoke’s attention shifted completely on the stereo. Her voice sounded less playful. More exposed.

“I think what bothers me most is that I know better.” The words came quietly. “I know people probably gonna hear this and think I lost my mind.” Another pause. “Maybe I have.”

Smoke dragged a hand over his chin.

“I called you.” The words landed softly. “I tried to talk to you.” A longer pause. “And you made it real clear that whatever we used to be ain’t what we are now….”

Smoke closed his eyes.

“Maybe that’s true.” Her voice dropped. “There really is no us anymore.” 

The sentence sat between them.  Heavy. Honest.

“But…” A breath. “If somebody asked me today.” Another breath. “Knowing all that.” 

The next words came without hesitation.

“I’d still choose you.”

Smoke stared at the floor.

“I’d still say yes.”

The click sounded. Then the song began. Smoke closed his eyes. For a long moment he didn’t move. Didn’t think. He didn’t do much of anything except listen. The music filled the room, wrapping around everything Annie had just admitted.

I’d still choose you.

The words lingered because they carried a weight he wasn’t prepared for. Yet here Annie was. Still choosing him.

The thought followed him into memories of her. 

Annie asleep on his shoulder during a movie she’d sworn she wanted to watch. The way she’d automatically reach for his hand whenever they crossed a crowded room. How she’d laugh when something genuinely caught her off guard. How she’d curl her feet beneath her whenever she sat on the couch. 

The way she’d say his name.

After she gave herself to him that first time, it was like a dam broke. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Every stolen moment, every quiet hour they managed to find, he wanted her again and again—wanted to feel the way her body softened and fit against his, the way her breath would catch as she cried out his name while her fingers would dig into his back like she was trying to keep him there forever. He had never known hunger like that. He couldn’t get enough of her skin, her scent, her warmth, or the quiet sounds she made when it was just the two of them and the rest of the world disappeared.

Smoke rubbed a hand across his jaw. 

That was the part nobody ever talked about. It wasn’t just the attraction or the chemistry. It was the familiarity. The comfort. The ease of being understood without having to explain himself. Even as kids, Annie had a way of making his world feel quieter simply by being in it.

His mind went there anyway. Annie now. Grown ass woman. Hips thicker, body filled out in all the right ways. She had that steady confidence in her voice on the tape now, even with the tiredness underneath. He wondered how it would feel to take his time peeling her out of her clothes, no more rushed teenage shit. Slow. Thorough. Learning every new inch of her.

He could picture it— her looking up at him without that old nervousness, hands sure as hell when she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down. The way she’d probably arch into him, legs around his waist, knowing exactly how she wanted it. Deep strokes. Heavy breathing. The kind of sex that came with history and hunger and the quiet understanding that they’d already lost too much time.

There had only ever been one person for him. The only person who felt woven into the fabric of his life so completely that imagining a future without her felt unnatural. The only person who understood his silences without demanding explanations, and who could sit beside him for hours without needing to fill every quiet moment. Somehow, she had always managed to make a room feel less empty simply by existing inside it.

Smoke let out a slow breath, trying to shake the image.

It wasn’t just about sex. It never had been.

Annie.

The name moved through him quietly.

The song continued playing. Smoke lowered his head and stared at his hands. One knuckle was still swollen beneath the bandage. His skin still carried the faint scent of cigarette smoke.

The house remained empty. Yet for the first time all night it didn’t feel quite as lonely. Maybe because Annie’s voice still lingered in the room. Or maybe because she’d just admitted something he’d spent trying not to admit himself.

Given the chance, he’d still choose her too.

He’d say yes.

Track 6: Made For Me

The last song ended, but Smoke didn’t reach for the remote. He remained where he was, forearms resting on his thighs, staring at nothing in particular, letting the last few minutes sink in. The house had gone completely quiet again. The clock above the stove ticked steadily behind him. The ice in his abandoned whiskey glass had melted into cloudy water. Outside, the darkness pressed against the windows.

It was late.

Later than he’d thought. The mixtape had stolen most of his night. The thought should’ve made him mad. Instead, he found himself reaching for the remote before he could talk himself out of it.

The stereo hummed softly.

Then Annie laughed.

The sound caught him off guard. It wasn’t loud, but it was familiar. The kind of laugh that always sounded like she was smiling at her own thoughts.

“You know what annoys me…again?”

Smoke shook his head. Despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitched. Annie had been starting conversations that way for most of her life. “You know what annoys me?” usually meant Annie was about to say something she’d spent entirely too much time thinking about.

“I spent years trying to figure out what was wrong with me.”

The smile disappeared. His attention fully on the stereo.

“I thought maybe I was comparing everybody to some impossible version of you that didn’t even exist anymore.”

Something tightened in his chest. Her words didn’t surprise him. The older he got, the harder it became to ignore how often he’d done the same thing.

The recording continued.

“But the older I got…” Her voice softened. “The more I realized there wasn’t nothin’ wrong with me.”

The room seemed to grow quieter.

“I was just lookin’ for you.”

The click sounded. Then the song began. Smoke leaned back slowly against the couch. For a long moment he didn’t do much of anything except listen. The song floated through the room while his attention slipped somewhere he usually tried not to let it go.

Years. Entire years. Twenty-six wasn’t old. At least that was what everybody kept saying. Yet somehow adulthood had arrived anyway. Careers. Responsibilities. Bills. Funerals. Relationships. Life kept moving whether you were ready for it or not. That was the strange part. Somewhere inside all those years, Smoke had convinced himself he’d eventually wake up one day and Annie would stop being the standard. The way people claimed first loves were supposed to fade. Time, distance, and life were supposed to handle it. 

Instead, life kept handing him reminders. Jada had been a good woman. She was funny. Easy to talk to. Pretty. He enjoyed being around her, and for a while he’d convinced himself that was enough.

So he tried. 

He tried to ignore the feeling that something wasn’t quite clicking. Tried to believe that whatever he’d shared with Annie belonged to another lifetime, another version of himself that had long since grown up and moved on. But every time he started thinking maybe this could work, something held him back.

It wasn’t anything Jada did. That was the problem. She’d done nothing wrong. Yet every goodbye came too easily. A few days could pass without seeing her and it never really bothered him. When she left, he missed her company, but never her presence.

Annie was different. She could leave a room and somehow take the room with her. Annie wasn’t perfect. Lord knew she wasn’t. She overthought things. Jumped to conclusions. Held onto hurt longer than she should’ve, and when she got angry enough, she could say things sharp enough to leave scars. Yet somehow none of that changed the fact that she’d always felt right.

Right.

Such a simple word. But it explained more than all the others combined. 

Annie fit.

It wasn’t that loving her had been easy. Quite the opposite. There had been moments when loving Annie felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done. But even then, she still felt right. Like the missing piece of a conversation he’d been having his entire life. Like somebody he’d been searching for long before he knew enough to search.

The song continued. Smoke lowered his gaze toward the floor. For years he’d told himself he was protecting his peace. Protecting his heart and himself from disappointment.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Maybe he’d simply been protecting a place nobody else had ever managed to reach. A place Annie had occupied so completely that every attempt to replace her had failed before it truly began. The thought should’ve bothered him.

Instead, it felt suspiciously close to relief.

For years he’d told himself there had to be a reason nobody else ever felt right. There had to be a reason he kept comparing Jada and other women to somebody who lived three states away. A reason eight years had passed and Anissa Marie Landry still occupied more space in his head than she had any right to.

It wasn’t because something was wrong with him. He wasn’t stuck, he didn’t believe. He'd simply spent years looking for something he’d already found once. 

Annie was right. Maybe she had just been looking for him. And maybe he’d been looking for her too.

The thought lingered. Then, before he could stop it, another one followed.

Maybe she was made for him too.

Not maybe.

She was.

Track 7: Thinking Out Loud

The track began so quietly Smoke almost missed it.

For a second he simply sat there, one arm stretched across the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and whiskey and the emotional beating Annie had spent the last several hours delivering through a collection of songs. The house had gone quiet around him hours ago. The kitchen clock ticked steadily somewhere behind him. Outside, the night pressed against the windows in a blanket of darkness broken only by the occasional passing headlights.

Then the opening notes drifted through the speakers. Smoke’s eyes opened completely. Recognition arrived immediately. Not because he remembered the title. Shit, if somebody had asked him what the song was called, he probably couldn’t have answered. But he knew the song. More importantly, he knew exactly where he knew it from.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Man.”

The word escaped quietly into the empty house.

Out of every song Annie could’ve chosen, somehow she’d found this one.

The memory came so fast it almost felt like being pulled backward through time. One minute he was twenty-six years old sitting in the middle of his living room. The next he was fourteen years old standing inside Rollers Skating Rink with rented skates laced too tight around his ankles and half the church youth group packed inside.

The place smelled like floor wax, popcorn, sweat, and stale nacho cheese. Colored lights swept across the rink while music echoed through speakers that had probably been outdated before any of them were born. Every few minutes, somebody crashed into somebody else, and laughter erupted from somewhere across the building.

Smoke had spent most of the evening regretting coming. Skating wasn’t his thing. If he’d had his way, he’d be sitting at home. But his mama informed him that sitting in the house all weekend wasn’t a personality trait and practically shoved him out the door. Stack had spent the entire ride there acting like the church had personally organized the event for his entertainment.

Unfortunately, the night had gone exactly the way Stack wanted. He was in his element. He was showing off and making a fucking fool of himself while a cluster of girls laughed at everything he said. Every time Smoke looked up, Stack was somehow at the center of another conversation.

Smoke had no interest in any of that. He’d been perfectly content skating slow laps around the edge of the rink and counting down the minutes until their mama decided they’d stayed long enough.

Then the youth pastor announced a partner challenge.

Looking back now, he couldn’t remember what the challenge actually was. He couldn’t tell you the rules, the prize, or whether anybody even won. What he remembered was standing near the wall when the youth leader started pairing people together and noticing there weren’t enough partners left.

The youth leader barely finished explaining the challenge before everybody started scrambling for partners. Stack wasted no time, calling dibs on a girl before half the room even understood the rules. Across the rink, Pearline laughed as one of the girls from church grabbed her arm and claimed her for their team. Within seconds everybody seemed to have found somebody. 

Everybody except Smoke and Annie. 

Smoke noticed it at the exact same time Annie did. Her eyes met his briefly before darting away.

Neither moved.

The youth leader looked between them and laughed. “Boom, there you go.”

Annie dropped her gaze to her skates. Smoke rolled his eyes.

The youth leader sighed dramatically. “Y’all act like I told you to get married.”

That only made things worse. 

A few minutes later they found themselves skating side by side. The awkwardness lasting all of ten minutes. Annie talked too much for awkwardness to survive around her. Every time the conversation threatened to die, she dragged it back to life with another question. Another observation. Another completely random thought that somehow made perfect sense inside her head. By the third lap she’d gotten him talking. By the fourth they were arguing about music. By the fifth Smoke found himself looking forward to whatever ridiculous thing was about to come out of her mouth next.

The crazy part was that Annie wasn’t even trying. She wasn’t flirting, showing off, or doing any of the things girls usually did when they wanted his attention. She was simply being herself. At one point she started skating backwards while carrying on an entire conversation.

Smoke stared at her. “You gon’ break yo’ neck.”

“I’m fine.”

“You ain’t even lookin’.”

“I know where I’m goin’.”

“Do you?”

Annie laughed. The sound followed him halfway around the rink. 

The music changed a few minutes later.

Smoke didn’t think much of it at first. Songs had been rotating all night. Some people cheered when they recognized one. Others groaned dramatically before continuing whatever conversation they were already having. The speakers crackled slightly as the next track started, and for a second nobody paid much attention.

Then Annie gasped. The sound caught his attention.

“Oh, I love this song.”

Smoke glanced toward the ceiling speakers before looking back at her. “Nah.”

Annie blinked. “Nah what?”

“I ain’t skatin’ to this.”

Her expression shifted instantly. Confusion first. Then suspicion. “Why?”

Smoke pointed vaguely toward the music overhead. “Cause this some white people shit.”

She shot him such an offended look that he almost laughed.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“If you actually listened to the words, they’re beautiful.”

Smoke snorted. “Aight.”

“No. Not aight.” Annie folded her arms.

The movement nearly threw her off balance and she corrected herself with an irritated little skate adjustment that only made her look more annoyed.

“Sorry, this ain’t Lil Wayne. 

Now it was Smoke’s turn to be offended. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Weezy F. Baby, girl.”

“Of course you’d say that. Every song can’t be about sex, selling drugs and threatening people, you know.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“There is when it’s all you listen to.”

“It ain’t all I listen to.”

“Sure it ain’t.”

The argument continued for another lap around the rink before Annie finally threw her hands into the air.

“You know what? Forget it.”

Smoke didn’t like that tone. “What?”

“I’m done arguing with you.” Then she pointed toward the center of the floor where couples were beginning to gather. “I’m gonna skate by myself.”

The words shouldn’t have mattered. Looking back now, Smoke knew that. She wasn’t leaving, going home, or disappearing. She was moving maybe twenty feet away. Yet something unpleasant sat low in his stomach anyway.

Annie started pushing off before he could fully understand why.

For the first time all evening, the thought of her not being beside him felt wrong. The thought arrived quietly. So quietly that fourteen-year-old Smoke almost missed it. Somewhere over the last hour he’d gotten used to her. The questions, her laughter and used to looking over and finding her beside him. The idea of spending the rest of the night without any of that suddenly felt far less appealing than it should have.

“Annie.”

She stopped and turned. “What?”

Smoke regretted speaking, because now he had to explain himself. His ears felt warm.

“I mean…”

Annie waited. One eyebrow slowly rising.

“If you wanna skate…”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “You wanna skate to the white people  music?”

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Man, shut up.”

Annie laughed. “No, answer the question.”

The smile she was trying to hide made it difficult to stay annoyed.

Smoke shook his head. Then finally looked at her. “I wanna skate… with you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Before he could make them sound cooler, or could pretend they meant something else.

For a moment Annie just stared at him. She wasn’t laughing or teasing him. Just looking. Then something flickered in her expression. Surprise. The honest kind. Then, slowly, she smiled. The smile was different from the others she’d given him all night. Smaller…softer. Like she’d suddenly become aware of something she couldn’t quite name.

Without saying another word, she held out her hand. Smoke looked at it for half a second before taking it. Her fingers were warm.

That was all.

Nothing dramatic happened. The lights didn’t get brighter. The music didn’t swell. Nobody stopped skating. The world continued exactly as it had thirty seconds earlier. Yet Smoke became painfully aware of the fact that he was holding Annie’s hand. The awareness followed him straight into the slow skate.

Around them, teenagers paired off beneath the colored lights while the song echoed through the speakers. Some couples talked. Others didn’t. A few boys looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Annie looked delighted. She quietly sang along to parts of the song under her breath, mouthing words she clearly knew by heart. Smoke pretended not to notice. He noticed. Every single time.

“See?” she asked after a minute.

Smoke frowned. “See what?”

“The lyrics.”

He groaned. “Oh Lord.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“They aight.”

Annie gasped dramatically. “‘Aight’?”

“They ain’t Lil Wayne.”

That earned another laugh. The sound landed deep in his chest.

The song continued. The conversation flowed. At some point Annie stopped trying to convince him the song was amazing and started talking about something else entirely. A teacher she didn’t like. A test she thought she’d failed. Pearline threatening to fight somebody earlier that week.

Smoke couldn’t remember most of it anymore. What he remembered was how easy it felt. The strange comfort of it. The way an hour had somehow turned into two without him noticing. How being around Annie required less effort than being around almost anybody else.

That was the part that stayed.

Her.

The way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she cared about. How she laughed with her whole body, and she always looked directly at whoever she was speaking to. The way she made ordinary things feel interesting simply because she was the one talking about them. And somewhere along the way, he found himself wishing the night wouldn’t end. The thought surprised him enough that he almost looked around to make sure nobody had heard it. When the song finally faded and another one took its place, Annie released his hand and skated ahead a few feet before turning back toward him.

“You survived.”

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Barely.”

Annie laughed again, then she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “C’mon.”

Before he could ask where they were going, she pulled him towards the middle of the rink.

To this day, Smoke couldn’t even remember what they were supposed to be doing the rest of the night. But he remembered everything about Annie that night. Her laughing, singing along to a song he’d spent years pretending he hated. Annie grabbing his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

And maybe that was the night it started.

A week later he would be standing in a crowded school parking lot listening to Jada talking about something, when Stack yelled from across the pavement.

He’d turned automatically. Not towards Stack—

Towards Annie.

She stood near the curb laughing with Pearline, her backpack hanging from one shoulder. The sight of her found its place in his chest with the same ease it had at Rollers. Familiar. Comfortable. Natural.

Annie looked up. Their eyes met. Surprise crossed her face first. Then a smile. Small and quick before it disappeared again.

Smoke looked away before she did, but the feeling stayed.

Looking back now, Smoke he’d spent years mistaking the feeling for coincidence. The parking lot after school. Football games on Friday nights. Church on Sundays. Cookouts at Aunt Cheryl’s house. Hallways crowded with students rushing to class. 

Somehow his eyes always found Annie.

At the time, he never questioned it. Annie had simply become part of the landscape of his life. As familiar as Stack, his Mama, and Uncle Lewis. As familiar as home. If he arrived somewhere and she was there, his attention naturally went her way sooner or later. If she wasn’t there, he noticed that too.

Back then he thought it meant nothing.

Now he knew better.

A fourteen-year-old boy standing beneath colored lights at a skating rink had looked at a shy girl with a quick smile and a laugh he couldn’t seem to get enough of. Somewhere between arguing about music, holding her hand, and wishing the song would last a little longer had quietly taken root inside him.

It wasn’t love—yet. Just the first fragile beginnings of it. The kind of feeling that grows so slowly you don’t notice it’s happening until years later, when you look up and find it’s woven itself through nearly every important memory you have.

Smoke leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. A fourteen-year-old boy had taken Annie Landry’s hand and thought the night was better when she was in it.

And whether he’d understood it or not, he’d been looking for her ever since.

Sometime during the night, Smoke fell asleep. He wasn’t entirely sure when it happened. One minute he had been lying on the couch staring at the ceiling while Thinking Out Loud drifted through the speakers. The next he was fourteen again, with Annie’s hand in his and her laughter ringing through the air. Even asleep, the memory lingered.

The sound of music pulled him back toward consciousness.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

Smoke frowned before he even opened his eyes. Sunlight pressed against his eyelids. His neck ached from sleeping on the couch. One arm had gone numb during the night and the stiffness in his shoulders reminded him that thirty-minute naps and sleeping in an actual bed were two very different things.

Music continued as he laid there listening without really hearing it. His mind was still caught somewhere between sleep and memory. Then different lyrics rolled through the room and his eyes finally opened.

My face turns to gold

Hoping to find my way home

This place I don't know

No yellow brick road to follow

The living room looked different in daylight. The whiskey glass still sat on the coffee table. His bandaged hand rested against his stomach. The CD case remained exactly where he’d left it the night before. Smoke pushed himself upright and rubbed a hand across his face.

The song continued. Unfamiliar to him. At least he thought it was. Frowning, he looked toward his phone. It was lying face up on the coffee table with the screen illuminated.

Spotify.

The CD must’ve ended hours ago. At some point the stereo had switched back to the playlist he’d been listening to earlier while he spent half the evening finding excuses not to press play.

Mmm, take me home, let’s make love, real love

Take me home, let's make real love, real love

Take me home, let's make real love, real love

Take me out of the blue

Smoke glanced at the screen.

Green Papaya — Lianne La Havas

The title meant nothing to him. Still, he found himself listening to the words. Really listening.

Our hearts overgrown

Longing for peace of our own

Found heaven in you

Promise to be pure and true

The house remained quiet except for the music and the occasional creak of old wood settling beneath the morning heat. Sunlight spilled through the windows, painting bright rectangles across the floor while the song floated through the room with an easy warmth that reminded him entirely too much of Annie.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop listening.

Still mountains to climb

We will survive, still got time

Or maybe everything reminded him of Annie now.

The thought would’ve pissed him off yesterday. This morning it felt suspiciously close to acceptance.

Smoke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The lyrics continued, soft and thoughtful and intimate in a way that felt less like a performance and more like a conversation. Not a desperate one.

Just someone who knew another person completely.

My partner-in-crime

Hoping you'll love me till we die

The kind of knowing that couldn’t be built overnight— that came from years. The kind that came from paying attention.

And suddenly he thought about Annie knowing he hated tomatoes, but loved tomato sandwiches. How he ate slowly, always taking twice as long as everybody else to finish a meal. How, when he was angry, she never pushed him to talk. She’d simply sit beside him in comfortable silence because she knew her presence mattered more than her words. She remembered the houses he used to draw in the margins of his notebooks. She knew he always reached for the corner piece of cornbread. She could tell when he was lying before he’d even finished the sentence.

She knew him. 

The truth quietly fell into place. Even after everything that had happened, and the years between them, Annie still knew him. His gaze went towards the CD case again. Towards the careful handwriting on the front—to the evidence of an entire night spent listening to a woman explain herself in every way she knew how.

Something shifted. Not another revelation. Those had come all night long. A decision. Clear, certain and simple. Smoke stood so quickly he nearly knocked the coffee table with his knee.

He needed to see her, not call or text. See her. 

Today. 

Now. 

Before fear had another chance to talk and pride convinced him to stay home. Before he could come up with a single excuse not to go. The urgency surprised him. One minute he was sitting on the couch and the next he was looking for his keys. 

The kitchen counter. Nothing. Coffee table. Nothing. End table. Nope…not there either.

Smoke frowned. “Where the fuck…”

He checked the kitchen again. Then checked the coffee table again. Then stopped. The keys were already in his hand. For a moment he simply stared at them. Annoyed. Half awake. Entirely too tired to be trusted.

A laugh escaped him. His shirt was still missing. He was standing in the middle of his house wearing nothing but sweatpants and determination.

He didn’t care.

For the first time in years, he knew exactly what he wanted. And for once, he intended to do something about it.

Then came the knock. Three soft taps against the front door. Smoke froze, he thought he’d imagined it. Then the sound came again. Softer this time. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. Because somehow he already knew. The distance between the living room and the front door had never felt longer. He crossed it anyway. Slowly at first. Then faster. His hand closed around the knob. For one brief second he simply stood there. Then he opened the door—

And there she was.

Morning sunlight spilled across the porch behind her. She stood there with her braids pulled into a high ponytail and a pale yellow dress that made it entirely too easy to stare. The color shouldn’t have done anything for him. It was just yellow. Yet somehow it made her look more beautiful against her smooth chocolate skin. Brighter. Like she’d carried a piece of the morning with her. 

Her hands were clasped loosely in front of her, fingers lacing and unlacing together while uncertainty flickered across her face. It had been a long time since he’d seen Annie look this nervous around him. Then again, maybe she wasn’t nervous around him. Maybe she was nervous about what came next.

Neither spoke. They simply stared at each other. Two people who had spent eight years carrying the same thing in different ways.

Then Annie swallowed. A small smile appeared.

“Hi.”

Smoke forgot every single thing he’d planned to say.

End Note: Y'all know Smoke is about to fuck Annie into a coma, right? Right. K, byeeee! ✌🏾💜

Tag List:

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[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Camera 0ff…

Summary: watching turns into wanting…and wanting turns into control

Warnings: Obsession /Voyeurism / Possessive Male / Hood romance grit / Daddy kink / Provider dynamic / Dirty talk + cum fixation / Unprotected, raw, dominant sex / Slow burn tension / Crime Drama + Thiller / Stalking / Urban Erotica

[ Part Three ]

Smoke knew which window was hers without looking at the house number.

He’d parked three houses down tonight, far enough that nobody would remember his charger if they happened to glance outside, close enough that he could catch movement behind the second-floor curtains. The position wasn’t accidental. Nothing about these nights was.

His gaze stayed fixed on the duplex.

He wasn’t focused on the building or the street.

It was her.

The television flashed blue against the curtains. A shadow crossed the room and disappeared again.

LaceyBlaze69

Malaya.

By now, smoke could recognize her silhouette faster than he recognized most faces. A tilt of her head. The swing of her hair. The way she crossed a room carrying a cup or a phone or a basket of laundry.

The curtains concealed most of her, but they didn’t need to show much. Smoke’s mind supplied the rest.

He watched the second-floor window and waited for her to pass again.

Smoke should’ve left forty minutes ago.

He knew it.

The job waiting on his laptop knew it.

The burner phone sitting untouched in the center console knew it.

But he remained exactly where he was, one hand resting against the steering wheel as his attention drifted back to the same upstairs windows for the hundredth time that night.

She had been back for over an hour. Alone. At least, as far as he could tell.

Smoke’s gazes lingered on the window. The surveillance feed mounted beside the dash displayed nothing useful now, only the quiet exterior of the building and a timestamp counting steadily forward. Smoke barely looked at it. He didn’t need technology to watch her anymore.

That realization should have bothered him. Instead, it settled somewhere deep inside him with a deep seeded satisfaction.

Smoke was close. He was so close. Closer than he’d ever been. The distance between them no longer felt measured in blocks or city streets. It felt measured in moments. One decision. One knock at the door. One conversation that would make him real to her inside of invisible.

His jaw tightened.

Then, the second phone lit up. Smoke’s eyes cut to the device.

Stack.

Smoke stared at the screen for a moment as it vibrated against the center console. Once. Twice. A third time.

Only then did he answer.

“Yeah.”

“You held up?”

In the background, the bass of some slow, thumping trap track rumbled through the phone. A song made for strip clubs. There was laughter in the background. Glass clinks. A woman’s voice sweet and blurred called someone “baby” before fading out.

Smoke’s eyes remained on the upstairs window. “What you want?”

“I need a favor.”

The request immediately irritated him. It wasn’t because his brother was asking for his help. It was when.

Smoke watched Malaya cross the window again before she disappeared out of view.

“It’s important,” Stack said.

“Ain’t say it wasn’t.” Smoke replied.

For a moment, only music filled the line. Then, Stack sighed, abandoning whatever charm he usually wrapped around these conversations.

“One of my clients is gettin’ cold feet. That one skincare influencer from the LA contract.”

Smoke already knew which one.

“What she do?”

“Started stashing files. Extra backups. Personal cloud storage I ain’t authorize.”

That got Smoke’s attention. His fingers drifted toward the burner phone resting beside him.

“Who she talking to?”

“Cybersecurity blogger outta Chicago. Small-time, but connected enough to be annoying. Might have federal contacts. Might not. I don’t plan on finding out.”

Smoke’s expression darkened. “You think she gon’ leak?”

“I think she already scheduled it.”

The answer settled heavy in Smoke’s blacked out charger. He hated leaving but business was business. And he refused to let some lame ass influencer hoe fuck up his operation.

“She got backups?” Smoke asked.

“Probably. Cloud storage. Maybe more.”

Smoke nodded once. “Send me everything.”

“It’s already there”

“Where?”

“Your RED folder.”

A humorless smile touched Smoke’s mouth. “What’s it labeled?”

“RATTED.”

The charger started beneath him. Headlights swept briefly across the curb as he pulled away from the spot.

“So, I’m cleaning your mess?” Smoke said with a dry chuckle.

“Technically ours.”

“How the fuck this my mess? You let this bitch get slick.”

The city rolled past outside the windows in an array of colors. From the outside looking in, Smoke had tints on his windows. Like a two-way mirror.

“Aight. I’m heading over now. I’ll let you know how it go.”

“No need. I know you got it.” Stack said.

Smoke hung up.

By the time Smoke reached the bypass, Malaya’s neighborhood had disappeared behind him. The only light inside the charger came from the glow of the encrypted software spreading across his console.

Data streams began populating the screen.

Passwords. Access points. Recovery keys. A file opened automatically.

RATTED.zip

DECRYPTING…

Smoke settled deeper into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. The disappointment of leaving her lingered beneath his ribs, sharp and unwelcome. But work had always been easier than desire. Cleaner. Simpler. Systems made sense.

People didn’t.

Especially not women like Malaya.

For now, Ghost mode is engaged.

No fingerprints. No trail. No mercy.

01:47 AM

Buckhead high-rise. Top floor.

Concierge waved her in with a smile hours ago. The girl had champagne taste and too many secrets tucked inside her rose-gold phone. Smoke didn’t go through the lobby. He was already inside. The building’s maintenance access was laughably unsecured, just a four-digit pin Smoke could decode in his sleep. Smoke took the elevator to the service hall. Wore gloves. Footsteps inaudible. By the time he reached her door, he’d already looped the hallway feed and disabled the motion sensor near her unit.

She was home. Asleep.

Smoke pulled a small matte device from his hoodie. A USB merged with a scalpel. He presssd it against the bottom of the keypad lock. Held it there. Then…

Click.

The door slid open and he stepped inside stealthily. From a quick sweep of his dark eyes. Glass table. Dried fruit tray. Rolled yoga mat. Everything curated for a minimalist Instagram aesthetic.

But her tech? Messy.

She left her iPad on the couch and a pink MacBook on the table, lid cracked, camera covered with a sticker that read GIRLS RULE AND BOYS DROOL.

Smoke moved like he’d been there before. He sat on the couch, pulled out his own gear. He wasn’t interested in stealing her data. He was here to rewrite it.

Booting: SpoofStack_Protocol_V2

Within seconds, her MacBook mirrored on his screen. Password broken. The cloud decrypted.

And there it was.

A folder labeled: CLIENT ARCHIVE (PRIVATE)

Inside: Screenshots of bank transfers. Server access logs. Snippets of phone calls. Metadata from custom scripts that Smoke himself had built.

She hadn’t just collected proof. She’d built a timeline.

“Cute,” Smoke muttered.

He selected the folder. Duplicated the entire contents. Then deleted the original.

But that wasn’t enough.

Now feeding: FALSE_Archive_v1.3

He uploaded an altered copy. The fake archive had the same names. Same structure. But every file told a new story:

Stack was just a consultant.

Smoke’s code was purchased legally.

All server logs showed compliance with DMCA and data privacy.

Her “receipts” now made her look like a willing accomplice to digital blackmail and influencer manipulation.

He encrypted the fake archive to match the original hash key. No one could tell the difference.

Not even her.

But if she leaked it now? She’d bury herself.

Smoke stood. He wiped the couch armrest and tucked the cloned drive into a pocket. On his way out, he paused by her bedroom door was cracked. He didn’t bother opening it further. He could hear her breathing in her sleep. Then, he was gone. Hallway feed reactivated. Fingerprint spray already dissipating. By the time she woke up, only thing that would feel different was her own guilt.

Outside, Smoke shut the car door with a soft thunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and let the rumble of the Charger settle around him like armor. The inside was pitch-black. No dome light. Just the red glow from the dashboard and the faint buzz of encrypted sync across the Bluetooth rig.

He sat there a second. Gloved hands resting on the wheel. The digital drive in his inner jacket pocket, warm with all the shit he’d just buried.

Job done.

He tapped the hands-free.

“Call Stack.”

Three rings. Then bass. Deep, strip-club bass. Slow trap low like lust wrapped in a haze.

“Talk to me.” Stack said.

“It’s handled.”

“She won’t double back?”

If she try to, she leakin’ her own stains.” Smoke replied.

“Beautiful. Like poetry, bruh.”

Smoke reached for the gearshift. “I’m out.”

“Nah, hold up. Slide through.”

Smoke paused. “Where you at?”

“The rotation spot. Underground. Off Decatur. You remember the one. Black light entrance, heat sensor door, only take crypto at the bar?”

Smoke exhaled. Already annoyed.

“Ain’t this your pussy-and-patron circuit?”

“Tonight it’s business, bruh. Private room. Need to talk clientele. Tighten things.”

“At a strip club?” Smoke quirked a brow.

“At my strip club,” Stack corrected. “I trust the walls.”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed once on the wheel. His mind had already started drifting. To home.

To his command center.

To Malaya’s face half-lit by LED strips…

To the way she bit her lip when she thought no one noticed…

“Mmm, fuck…I’m rubbing this clit just for you…can you see it? I’m sliding my fingers deep inside my pussy…imagining it’s your dick filling me up instead. I want you so bad, Daddy…I want you to watch me cum for you…”

“I’m such a slut for you, ain’t I? Look at me…look at how I’m opening myself up. I’m soaking wet, Daddy…I’m just a little toy for you to watch and play with…does it make you hard seeing me fuck myself like this?”

Smoke…yes…unh…Smoke…

Smoke…Smoke…

“Smoke?” Stack called through the phone.

“…I’m listening.”

“Slide through. I’ll pour somethin’ strong. You can smoke somethin’. Then we talk.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose. “Security tight?”

“Locked like your vault. Don’t worry ‘bout whispering the code at the entrance. The floor girl ‘ol walk you in.”

There was another pause. Then, Smoke shifted into drive.

“Be there in thirty.”

“Atta boy.”

The line went dead.

Smoke pulled onto the road, tires smooth, engine low and sleek like a predator in motion. The city lights blinked across his windshield—blues, reds, golds—but his focus stayed cold.

When he got there, Smoke pulled up slow. The charger came to a stop at the edge of an unmarked building with blacked-out windows and no signage. Just a single narrow door inset into the concrete, painted deep charcoal, smooth and flat. No velvet rope. No line. No noise from outside. It wasn’t a place you found, you were brought there.

Smoke stepped out into the thick night air, the heat of Atlanta still pressing close even after midnight. His matte black leather biker boots touched down on the curb. Every corner of the block appeared to have no motion but watched. You could feel it. Eyes behind tinted glass. A red security light blinked from somewhere above the doorframe, invisible until it caught the metal button of his sleeve. As he approached, the door cracked open just wide enough to let the glow spill out.

Blue. Blacklight.

Inside, the world looked dipped in ultraviolet. Silhouettes moved in slow motion. Melanin Skin glowed in neon, oil-slicked and glistening under the lights. Purple thongs. Fluorescent green heels. The gleam of diamond chains across collarbones and ankle bones and down spines. The bass hit in a deep, sexual crawl. A low trap track chopped with moans and heavy kicks. A sound you could fuck to, kill to, drown in.

The girl standing just inside the door was fine enough to alter a man’s path. Maybe five-foot-six. Rich brown skin slicked to perfection, waist snatched in a sheer one-piece with nothing underneath. Her lips were glossy, her eyelashes long and cruel. She looked him up and down once.

She smiled slow. “Hey Twin? This way.”

Her voice was warm but lined with danger. Like if he turned the wrong way, she’d cut him with it. She turned, hips rolling high and slow in front of him as she led him deeper into the space. The walls curved inward, black-lit murals dancing with movement as bodies passed. Women kissed women on leather couches. Men sat back with cigars while girls bent over laps, bare and grinning, high off liquor and deeper things.

The layout was designed for maximum intimacy and voyeurism. A wide, circular perimeter of plush, midnight-black velvet booths surrounded a central stage area where polished chrome poles rise like silver pillars toward the dark ceiling. The floor is a polished obsidian that mirrors the flashing neon, making it feel as though the dancers are floating on a sea of dark glass.

No phones. No cameras. Only shadows and memory.

One room opened to his left, curtains drawn but not closed. Inside, a woman was tied to a black rope swing, heels still on, one man kissing her thighs while another licked her breast. She was moaning loud, head thrown back. Her body glowed in the light like something caught between reality and pleasure. No one in the hallway stared. This was normal here. Routine.

On the poles, the women are masterpieces of motion and melanin. They represent a breathtaking spectrum of Black beauty, from deep, midnight and rich mahogany to warm honey and golden bronze. Their attire is minimal, designed to leave nothing to the imagination. Some wear sheer, neon-trimmed lace thongs that disappear into the crease of their cheeks. Others are in strappy, high-cut leather sets that push up their breasts and cinch their waists, leaving their midriffs bare and glistening with body oil.

One dancer, a woman with skin the color of dark umber and a towering afro grips the pole with practiced strength. She slides down the chrome in a slow, controlled descent, her thighs gripping the metal tightly before she snaps into a perfect, flat split on the stage. As she holds the position, she arches her back, thrusting her chest forward and grinding her hips in a tantalizing, circular motion that makes the thin fabric of her G-string vanish between her plump, shaking cheeks.

Another performer, a golden-brown beauty with long, flowing braids is a whirlwind of erotic energy. She spins rapidly, her body a blur of glowing skin before suddenly stopping to drop into a deep squat. She turns her back to the crowd, bending over until her chest nearly touches the floor, and begins to shake her ass with a thunderous motion. The muscles in her glutes worked to make that ass ripple and bounce under the black lights, a hypnotic vibration that keeps the patrons mesmerized.

Money flowed like a river. Crisp bills were tucked into the waistbands of thongs, slapped against oiled thighs and rained down from the booths in a constant, fluttering descent. The tactile experience is one of luxury and an erotica. The patrons—all black folks—lean back in the shadows, their eyes locked on the stage. The vibe is heavy with desire and explicit intent. It’s a space of unapologetic Black eroticism, where the scent of money and lust rains down like the bandz that littered the stage and floor.

Women noticed. They always did.

Smoke kept his face unreadable as they moved through. His gait stayed measured, heavy boots on obsidian tile. Charcoal henley pulled tight over his chest. Silver chain resting low, cool against his collarbone. One ringed hand hung loose at his side while the other stayed near his hip. He wasn’t here for indulgence. But eyes followed him anyway.

One dancer paused mid-pour, licking foam from the rim of a glass as she watched him. Another girl leaned against a wall in mesh, nipples pierced and glowing, her mouth parting just slightly as he passed.

He didn’t return the looks. He moved like everything around him was already beneath his notice. Like he could take any one of them home, or none of them, and it would all mean the same.

The floor girl finally stopped at a black velvet curtain that looked like it led nowhere. She turned, looked at him again, then reached out and slid her fingers across his chest.

“Stack’s waiting in the back. Said don’t keep him too long. He got a mood on tonight.”

Then, she stepped aside.

Smoke slipped through the curtain.

The back room hit different.

The music lowered but stayed thick with bass. The lighting shifted to a red-blue gradient that danced over leather booths and mirrored walls. A private bar lined with obsidian shelves glinted with high-shelf bottles and decanters carved like diamonds.

Stack was seated in the center booth like a man who owned everything. Suit jacket off. Cigar in hand. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the rise of his chest and the sliver of a tattoo that disappeared beneath it. A woman was sitting next to him, pretty and thick, wearing nothing but chains and red panties. But she wasn’t talking. Just pressing close like she knew her position.

Stack looked up and grinned when he saw his brother.

“Bout time.”

Smoke slid into the booth across from him, not saying shit at first. He leaned back, eyes tracing slow as they scanned the room. Then he pulled out the drive and slid it across the table.

“It’s done.”

Stack tapped ash off the end of his cigar and took a sip of something gold from a crystal glass.

“You rewrite her whole digital memory?”

Smoke nodded once. “She leaks now, she burns herself.”

Stack let out a low, satisfied sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval. More like pleasure at watching the chessboard bend.

“See, that’s why I keep you in the cut. All these pretty tech boys with degrees out here movin’ loud. You? You just fuck around and disappear a bitch.”

Smoke didn’t react. He just sat there with a stony expression.

The woman next to Stack traced the rim of his glass and leaned in to whisper something, but Stack waved her off without looking. His attention was locked.

“You didn’t have to come out tonight,” Stack said after a beat. “But I appreciate it. Had to talk to you about tightening the loop.”

Smoke raised a brow. “Clientele?”

Stack nodded. “Some of these influencer types? They playin’ messy. Takin’ our tools and runnin’ off at the mouth. I need cleaner boundaries. Higher vetting.”

Smoke’s gaze sharpened. “You getting soft, Stack?”

“Not soft,” Stack said, leaning forward. “Selective.”

Another girl danced across the far room, naked except for heels and a diamond chain around her throat. She locked eyes with Smoke for a moment. Bold.

“This empire we buildin’?” Stack said. “It don’t grow if the wrong bitch flips. That one tonight? Could’ve got real ugly.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “It almost did.”

Stack took that in. Sat back. “We tighten up now,” he said, voice lower. “Or we lose what we got.”

“I’ll send a new vetting protocol. You run names past me first. You don’t, we both lose.”

Stack smirked. “Look at you. Big boss energy.”

Stack leaned back in the booth, one arm thrown over the leather like it belonged to him. Alizé was at the private bar, hips rolling slow as she poured herself a drink. She licked stray cognac from her fingers like she tasted herself in it. Across the room, Nova stood near the edge of a low platform, dancing in a slow whine to the music bleeding through the walls. Her hands trailed her own thighs, eyes locked on Smoke the second he stepped through the curtain. She didn’t wave, she just smiled and kept moving like she wanted him to watch.

Smoke pulled out his phone. He tapped the encrypted drive. Brought up a blacked-out screen with layers of local and foreign pings.

“Any word about the three that came lookin’ for me?”

Stack took a puff of his cigar resting between two fingers, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Nah. And if I had, you know I would’ve said.”

Smoke nodded once. No accusation, just calculation. His fingers moved quick, swiping through location data, blurred screenshots from party feeds, AI-enhanced license plate reads.

“They ain’t from here.”

“Obviously.”

“Cheap suits. Bad diamonds. But they knew the lingo.” Smoke paused, looking down at the screen. “Knew enough to know about me. The real me.”

Stack’s jaw tightened. “You pull names?”

Smoke tapped again.

The table glowed blue with the light from his screen.

“Yeah. Pulled prints from the glass that lanky one touched. Traced a rental car from the valet logs. Hacked the damn building’s guest Wi-Fi and cross-checked MAC addresses. Got two of their burner IDs off bounce-back signals.”

Stack chuckled low. “My brother.”

Smoke’s eyes were locked on the screen.

“Names are Harold Kray, Zino Atakni, and the older one? Conrad Fielding. Fielding’s got history in Marseille. Organized pipeline moves through West Africa, black-market acquisition networks. Used to work under de Costa before that shit collapsed. He’s the head.”

“And the others?”

“Soldiers. Hired muscle with decent resumes. One of them, Zino, used to run messages for a Libyan collector who’s since disappeared.”

Stack’s lips pressed together. “You think they freelance?”

Smoke shook his head. “Not with how Conrad was talkin’. That wasn’t freelance energy. That was sanctioned. He was too damn calm. Too rehearsed.”

Stack poured more bourbon.

“They wanted access,” Smoke said. “They didn’t come for art. They came for me. For the Ghost.”

Stack’s grin faded completely. “Somebody sent ‘em.”

“I know.”

“Who?”

Smoke’s silence deepened.

“Don’t know yet,” he said, but his voice had changed. Lower. Sharper. “But whoever it is…they want me out the game.”

“Dead?”

“Dead or cracked open.”

Stack blew out smoke through his nose. “That’s bigger than art theft.”

“That’s bigger than us.”

There was a faint moan of the bassline from the next room, a synth-heavy R&B loop wrapped in drum kicks and whispered filth.

Stack’s voice dropped, the way it always did when he shifted from business to indulgence. That smile of his curved slow across his lips, just enough to show the gold cap when he spoke.

“You remember Alizé, right?”

The thick, honey-toned woman next to him looked up. Her lips were glossy. Her eyes were misty with a need to be fucked and whatever liquor she drank. She was fine in that round, sultry way. Thick thighs, soft belly, ass too big for most dresses, face too sweet to say no. She blinked up at him and licked her lips once before turning toward his lap.

Stack didn’t stop her. He leaned back in the booth, legs spread, cigar held loose between two fingers while she unbuckled his slacks with practiced care. She looked up once, then dipped down.

Smoke sat still across from him, watching.

The second girl—Nova, the one who had been watching Smoke earlier from the far corner—stepped forward now. Her body was carved like temptation, all sharp cheekbones and waist-length curls. Her skin shimmered under the light. Her nipples were pierced, rings glinting. She lowered herself to her knees next to Alizé. Alizé giggled, gave Stack’s dick one final lick before passing it off to Nova. She reached out, took Stack’s dick in her hand, and started sucking it.

Two mouths.

One thick, wet dick.

They took turns. One sucking slow, the other licking along the shaft. Then both at once, lips brushing as they slurped and moaned around him, messy and devoted. Alizé cradled his balls like they were holy. Nova spat and stroked, her eyes rolling when he twitched against her tongue.

Stack exhaled, his head tilted back slightly. He shut his eyes.

Smoke turned away, unfazed. But the sound of slurping and licking remained.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Stack asked, voice lazy. “Alizé got that throat, but Nova? She know how to make a man forget he got enemies.”

Smoke picked up a blunt, lighting it, his other hand rested on his thigh. His rings caught the low light. His expression still unreadable. But his eyes slid from the women back to Stack, cold and steady.

“I’m good.”

Stack smirked. “You always say that.”

Smoke leaned forward just slightly. “It’s been a minute,” he admitted, voice rough with quiet restraint.

Stack raised an eyebrow, surprised at the honesty.

Smoke’s gaze didn’t move. “But the only mouth I want on me like that?” His jaw tightened. “She don’t even know yet.”

Stack grinned wider. “Damn. She got you pressed like that?”

Smoke ignored him, blowing smoke ahead of him.

The wet sounds between them grew. Alizé moaned deep in her throat, face glossy, nose running. Nova licked him like she was tasting secrets. They didn’t even look up. Just switched angles. Spit dripping. Hands cradling. Tongues sharing.

Stack groaned low, his head falling back against the booth cushion.

Smoke stood. “You done?”

Stack looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. His voice was a quiet dare.

“I ain’t never done.”

Smoke gave a slow nod. “Handle yours.”

He turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the tile with impatient steps.

And behind him, the club kept spinning. Lights pulsing. Girls moaning. Music thumping under blacklight like a heartbeat you weren’t supposed to hear.

———

11:45 PM—His Den

Smoke sat back in his leather chair, the pungent aroma of the blunt between his fingers circulating his head like a menacing fog. He was stripped down, shirtless, skin gleaming under the recess lights of his command center. A black durag was tied tight across his head and his shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his V-taper.

Four curved monitors dominated his vision, but only one mattered. He watched the screen, his eyes locked on Malaya. She had logged on late. No fancy lighting, no ring light to wash out the imperfections. Just a dim, yellow bedside lamp that cast long, jagged shadows across the room. The frame was messy. There was a hoodie thrown over a chair, the edge of a baby’s blanket peeking out from behind her.

It was raw. It was honest. And it was killing him.

She looked exhausted. Smoke couldn’t see her eyes but he knew they had to be droopy with a vacant expression. She wasn’t wearing a wig or a drop of makeup. Her long twists were draped over her shoulders, her skin matte and real. She wore an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, exposing a glimpse of her collarbone, and simple cotton panties that looked like they’d been worn all day.

She didn’t greet the room with her usual practiced smile and seductive lip bite. She didn’t tease. She just laid there, half-propped up against her pillows, thighs spread wide in a way that felt less like an invitation and more like surrender.

Smoke took a deep drag of the blunt, the cherry glowing bright orange, and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned.

He watched her yawn, a genuine, tired stretch that arched her back and pulled the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her breasts, revealing perk nipples. She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, looking less like LaceyBlaze69 and more like a woman who was drowning in her own life.

“Mmm…hey loves…sorry I’m late…I can’t even tell what time it is anymore,” she dragged a single finger over her pussy through her cotton panties, rolling her hips in a lazy circle. “I was having the best dream about getting fucked out of my sleep…but I think I’d rather have the real thing,” Malaya bit her lip. “I’m still so warm from the sheets…can you tell? I’m barely awake, but this pussy is dripping for you. Come on…tip me something to wake me up.” She released a soft chuckle. “Help me hit the goal, I’ll show you exactly where I was rubbing myself before I drifted off…”

The chat was moving fast. Men were demanding more. They wanted her to scream, to arch, to play the part of the hungry slut they paid for.

DangerDick84_: Come on Lacey, show that pussy baby.

WillyMoProblems: Take them panties off.

PhantomDweller$: You have pretty toes. I wanna suck ‘em.

100 Tokens. 300 Tokens. 150 Tokens. 80 Tokens

Malaya didn’t react to them. She didn’t even seem to be reading. She reached down, her fingers sliding under the elastic of her panties, tugging them aside with a movement that was mechanical, devoid of passion. She began to touch herself, her fingers moving in circles, but her body language was unfocused, and Smoke just knew she was staring past the lens, eyes heavy and uninterested.

Then, she started to moan.

Smoke leaned forward, his chest nearly touching the glass desk. He knew that sound. He knew the difference between her desire and her hustle. These moans were hollow. They were a performance for the bills, a fake melody played to keep the tips flowing. She was faking the pleasure, her voice pitching up in a way that didn’t match the deadness in her eyes.

It was a lie, and it made his blood boil.

He hated that she had to do it. He hated that she was forced to pretend to be turned on by the gaze of hundreds of nameless, horny men just to keep a roof over her and Messiah’s heads. The sight of her vulnerability, the way she looked so small and broken in that big, messy bed, hit him harder than any physical blow.

Smoke didn’t type or use YungCipher to talk dirty or GoodBodyAnon to be sweet. He stayed as Camera0ff. The silent watcher.

Smoke reached for his mouse and clicked the tip button. He didn’t send a small amount. He sent a massive sum, a number that would make the rest of the chat go silent, a number that meant she could turn the camera off right now and not worry about money for a month.

He watched her body language change.

She paused.

Her fingers that were circling her clit slowed down. He could actually see her shoulders drop. Like she was relieved.

Smoke exhaled a cloud of grey, gaze darkening.

He wanted to reach through the screen, grab her by the back of her neck, and pull her into his own bed. He wanted to strip that oversized shirt off and replace her fingers with his tongue.

He wanted to give her a reason to moan that wasn’t a lie.

Smoke watched her finish, a quiet, unceremonious climax that left her looking even more depleted than before. As she reached out to end the stream, her shoulders slumped, and for a split second, she looked like she might cry.

The screen set went black.

Smoke sat in the dark, the only light coming from the remaining monitors. He stared at the empty black square where she had been, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair so hard the leather groaned.

He wasn’t just obsessed. He was addicted. And the fact that she was breaking right in front of him only made him want to own every shattered piece.

Smoke leaned back in his leather chair, the embers of the blunt glowing. He shifted, shorts riding lower on his hips, his mind drifting back to the time he’d tried to bridge the gap between the screen and the skin.

He’d used YungCipher for it.

Out of all his personas, YungCipher was the one that carried the most of his actual hunger. He wasn’t the quiet ghost of Camera0ff of the protective shadow of GoodBodyAnon.

YungCipher was the raw edge.

He was the one who talked dirty. The one who tipped when she hit a peak, the one who let her know exactly what a real man would do to her if he had her pinned beneath him.

He remembered the messages he’d sent. He hadn’t been playing a character then. Every word had been the truth. She didn’t need those silicone toys. The tips from strangers was pocket change compared to the life he could provide. He’d been explicit, his words painting a picture of exactly how he’d handle her. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t just another viewer with a credit card; he was the real thing.

You don’t need those dildos, baby. I got the real thing waiting for you. I’ll be your favorite big dick. I’ll give that pretty pussy exactly what it deserves.

Smoke could almost feel the weight of her in his hands, the way her tired body would melt under his dominance. He wanted to replace the fake pleasure she performed for the masses with a visceral, bone-deep satisfaction that would leave her shaking and speechless. He wanted to be the only thing she craved.

But she had turned him down.

The rejection hadn’t been angry or disgusted. It had been a firm, practiced wall. She’d declined the offer to meet, citing her rules.

Smoke didn’t feel slighted or insulted. Instead, he felt a dark, twisted sense of pride. He understood. Malaya was guarded for a reason. She was a mother, a survivor, a woman who knew exactly how dangerous the world was. The fact that she wouldn’t dare meet a stranger from a chat room, no matter how much he promised or how high he tipped, only made her more precious in his eyes. It meant she was disciplined. It meant she was protecting herself and Messiah.

It also meant that if he wanted her, he not only had to ask for her.

He had to take her.

He had to weave himself into the fabric of her life until he was the only safety she had left.

Since that night, he’d dialed back YungCipher. He’d stepped away from the aggressive pursuit, retreating into the shadows of his other accounts. He stopped pushing for the meet-up, stopped the overt demands. He went back to being the silent provider, the gentle protector, the ghost in the machine.

He took another stage of the blunt, exhaling a thick cloud that obscured the monitors. He played the long game. He had tested her boundaries and found them strong.

But boundaries were just lines waiting to be crossed.

Smoke looked at the silver laptop on his glass desk, his encrypted phone sitting beside it. He knew everything about her. Where she lived, where she worked, the exact moment she turned off her lights at night.

Smoke just needed the right moment to show her that everything he’d promised as a persona was a reality as a man.

And then Jordan became a name Smoke saw too often.

At first, it had meant nothing to him. A man’s name in a woman’s phone was not enough to move him. Malaya was beautiful, delicate in ways she tried to hide and sweet in ways that slipped out when she forgot to guard herself. Men noticed. Men always noticed. Some sent her messages with too many hearts eyes on social media. Some tried to be funny and failed. Some waited for her cam shows and spent money they didn’t have just to make her look toward the screen for half a second. Smoke knew the difference between noise and a threat. Most men were noise.

Jordan had been noise until Malaya started smiling at him.

Edge & Thread—Location: North Side 9:05PM

Smoke sat in his private office above Edge & Thread, the monitors casting a cold sheen over the angles of his face. Below him, the barbershop had closed for the day. The last chair had been swept, the last cape shaken out, the last customer sent into the Atlanta night with a fresh line. Up here, everything belonged to Smoke. The locked door. The black desk. The encrypted drives. The wall safe behind a framed print no one but him was allowed to touch.

Malaya’s phone activity was open in front of him.

Smoke told himself it was maintenance. That was the lie he used when he needed one. He had put enough invisible architecture around her life to know when something went wrong, and checking the structure was part of keeping it intact. Messages. Unknown numbers. Strange links. Men who became too aggrsssivd when she ignored them. Clients who thought a tip bought access. He watched for threats because threats had a way of hiding themselves in charm.

But Jordan was not charming in a way Smoke could easily condemn. That was the problem.

The latest message sat near the top of the thread.

Jordan: You still up?

Malaya had answered three minutes later.

Malaya: Unfortunately lol. My sleep schedule is a joke.

Jordan replied with a laughing emoji then a picture of a little boy sprawled across a couch with one sock on, one sock missing, and a Black Panther toy tucked under his arm.

Jordan: Shiloh knocked out like he pay bills lol

Malaya’s response came with three laughing emojis.

Malaya: 😂😂😂 He is SO CUTE. Look at him holding T’Challa!

Smoke’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the words. It was the ease of it all. Malaya didn’t overthink that response. She didn’t perform. She didn’t angle herself toward seduction or sweetness. She was simply there, amused and unguarded, letting some man send her pieces of his life as if he had a right to place them in her hands.

Smoke scrolled back.

Jordan didn’t text too much. That made him worse. A desperate man revealed himself fast. He pressed for pictures, attention, reassurance. Jordan did none of that. He appeared every few days at first, then more often, then with enough to become expected. A joke in the afternoon to ease the tension while she was at work. A check-in after she’d clocked out to pick up her son when her baby daddy was supposed to do it. A quick call that lasted eight minutes, then another that lasted twenty-three. One night forty-one.

Forty-one minutes.

Smoke stared at that number longer than he wanted to. He clicked into the call metadata, though he already knew what it would show him. Incoming. Answered. Late evening. Malaya had let it ring once before picking up. It wasn’t long enough to avoid him but long enough to see his name and decide what to do with herself before she answered.

Smoke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along the side of his index finger.

He could picture it too easily. Malaya in her apartment, curled up somewhere, bonnet on or hair loose, she home pressed to her ear. Her voice lower because she didn’t wanna wake Messiah. Jordan on the other end with that easy patience Smoke was beginning to dislike. No rush. No pressure. Just conversation.

Smoke opened another window.

Jordan Ellis.

Smoke preferred men with mess. Meds gave shape to intent. Mess gave him handles. An unpaid judgement. A sealed charge. Old warrants. Bitter women in comments. Something. Anything. He searched with the meditated focus of a man taking apart a machine piece by piece.

Jordan gave him almost nothing.

Thirty. Atlanta born. Local employment, steady enough. Rental history clean. No obvious criminal record. No restraining orders. No heavy social media presence. His pages were mostly private, but not hidden well enough to keep Smoke out. Photos loaded one by one. Jordan at a cookout. Jordan holding Shiloh on his hip in front of an aquarium tank, the boy’s small hand spread against his father’s cheek. Jordan at his son’s outdoor birthday party with a paper cone sitting crooked over his tapered curly fro. Jordan at a convention, grinning beside a wall of anime figures, posing like Sukuna.

Smoke’s eyes narrowed.

Malaya: Same smile 😍 he’s so sweet. Really grew into himself from high school.

Sweet.

Smoke hated that word the most. Sweet men were dangerous when they were real. Not the kind who used softness as bait, but the ones who had grown into patience because life had required it. Jordan had a son. Jordan had responsibilities. A man like that didn’t need to impress a woman with volume. He impressed her with being consistent. With remembering. By calling when he said he would. By laughing at old things from school and asking new questions like he actually cares about the answers.

He returned to the messages.

Jordan had asked about her day. Malaya had told him it was long. He sent a voice note instead. Smoke played it once through the isolated feed. Jordan’s voice came through with a smile in it.

“Well, I hope you eat something and get some rest, Malaya. You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered. Don’t stay up too late watching Love Island knowing your ass need to be asleep. Then get mad when Messiah wakes up hahaha.”

Malaya had answered with a voice note of her own. Smoke didn’t play hers right away. He sat there with his hand nese the mouse, looking at the little audio bar as if it had done something personal to him. Her voice belonged to her, but he had collected so much of it that some part of him had begun treating it like a private possession. Her sleepy voice. Her irritated voice. Her calm voice; honeyed and controlled. Her real laugh when she forgot herself. Her little sigh when something made her feel seen. He knew them. He knew the difference.

Now Jordan was learning them too.

Smoke played it. Malaya’s voice spilled into the room with amusement and faint embarrassment.

“First of all, don’t be clockin’ me! Second, I ate. Kind of. I had fries.”

Jordan replied almost immediately.

Jordan: That’s all you eat is fries. You gonna turn into a damn fry 😂

Malaya: They are when you mind your business 😒

Smoke stared at the exchange. It was nothing. That was what made it something. No naked pictures. No heavy flirting. No late-night confession. Just easy back-and-forth. Smoke could have handled vulgarity. He understood men who wanted a body before they understood the woman inside it. He knew how to deal with that kind. This was worse because Jordan seemed interested in the ordinary parts. Her meals. Her sleep. Her memories. Her jokes. The parts Smoke had been studying from the outside like a locked house with the lights on.

A line of texts appeared farther down, from two days ago.

Jordan: I forgot you used to draw Sailor Moon characters in your notebook.

Malaya: Don’t expose me 😭

Jordan: Never. I thought it was cute then too lol

Smoke’s hand closed once. There it was. History. He couldn’t hack history. He couldn’t purchase it, threaten it, erase it, or outrank it. Jordan stood somewhere in Malaya’s past. Some version of her Smoke would never get to see. Drawing girls with moon wands in the corners of her notebook. Smiling at things before life taught her which pieces of herself to hide.

Smoke had files. Jordan had memories. The distinction scraped against something low in him.

He opened Jordan’s background again, harder this time, less patient. He checked financials. Associates. Old addresses. Known relationships. Family connections. He looked for bitterness, instability, some ugliness hidden beneath the calm surface. An angry ex. A custody dispute with teeth. Gambling. Pills. Anything he could name and place between Jordan and Malaya as proof that his instinct was not jealousy but protection. Contentment was a language Smoke did not trust.

He closed the file and returned to Malaya. Her last message to Jordan was from twenty minutes ago.

Malaya: You still watching that show you told me about?

Jordan: Yeah. You were right. It got good after episode three.

Malaya: Told you. You just had to stop being stubborn.

Jordan: 😂 I’m working on that.

Malaya: Liar.

Jordan: Maybe. But I listen when it matters.

Smoke read that line twice. Then three times. The words were not much on their own. A soft little flirt, maybe. A door left open. Jordan had not shoved his way through it. He had simply set the sentence down and let Malaya decide what to do with it. She had not answered right away. Smoke watched the timestamp as if he could will it backward. Four minutes. Seven. Twelve. Then the little mark appeared.

Malaya: You always did 😌

Smoke went very still. Then, he sat forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled near his mouth. Jordan had not become a problem because he wanted Malaya. Jordan had become a problem because Malaya was beginning to let him matter.

The next message came a few minutes later.

Jordan: We should get together one of these days. Catch up for real.

Smoke’s eyes fixed on it. The typing bubble appeared beneath Jordan’s message, pulsed, disappeared, then returned. Malaya was thinking. He could imagine her biting her lip, not in the way men begged to see on camera, in the way she did when something made her nervous. He had seen that before. She would glance away from the screen, then back. She would smile at herself as if she needed permission to want something simple.

The response came through.

Malaya: I’d like that.

Smoke did not move. The monitors continued their work around him. Servers blinked. The city passed outside with sirens in the distance and tires whispering over damp pavement. Downstairs, the barbershop slept beneath him, all mirrors and empty chairs, all the day’s voices and buzzing gone. On the screen, Malaya’s words sat beneath Jordan’s.

I’d like that.

Smoke read them until they stopped looking like words and started looking like a hand placed somewhere it did not belong. Jordan was not a client. Not a faceless watcher. Not a man begging for pieces of her through a screen. Jordan was warm skin and a familiar smile. A son named Shiloh. A soft-eyed anime nerd who remembered what Malaya used to draw in school and had the patience to wait between messages.

Smoke exhaled through his nose.

He could ruin him.

The thought came cleanly. It sat there like a tool laid on the table. Smoke knew how. He could make Jordan’s life inconvenient by morning and unbearable by the end of the week. A few pressure points. A little disruption. Nothing dramatic enough to point back to him. Men were easy to move when you knew what they loved and what they feared losing.

Malaya had said she would like that.

Smoke leaned back in his chair, the darkness behind his eyes becoming something colder than anger. He had been patient because patience had always worked for him. He had watched, learned, mapped, waited. He had known her patterns so well that knowledge had begun to feel like intimacy. But Jordan was showing him the insult hidden inside that belief. Knowing where Malaya bought groceries was not the same as being the man she called when she was tired. Knowing what time she went live was not the same as being remembered from school. Knowing what made her body respond on camera was not the same as making her smile at her phone in the middle of an ordinary night.

Smoke stared at the screen.

For the first time, distance felt less like control and more like absence. And absence, he was beginning to understand, made room.

———

Jordan’s text came just after six.

Jordan: I'm outside.

Malaya looked at her reflection one last time before grabbing her purse. She had settled on a fitted chocolate-brown ribbed midi dress that hugged her figure without feeling overly dressy. A cropped cream denim jacket rested over her shoulders in case the evening cooled off. Gold hoops framed her face, a thin layered necklace that rested against her collarbones, and her twists spilled over one shoulder. She’d kept her makeup simple, finishing with nothing more than gloss across her lips. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She just wanted to feel pretty.

When she stepped outside, Jordan was leaning against his car, one hand tucked into the pocket of dark jeans. His black T-shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders, and his beard had filled in since high school, giving his face a maturity she hadn't expected. His smile, though, hadn't changed. It was the same warm smile she remembered that always reached his expressive light-brown eyes.

For a second he simply looked at her.

“Damn.”

Malaya laughed. “What?”

“You look good.”

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” She returned the compliment.

“I had to. Couldn’t let you outshine me.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as he opened the passenger door for her.

The drive started exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Easy. The conversation slipped between them without effort. They laughed about teachers they swore had hated them, classmates they'd forgotten until one of them mentioned a name, and the anime arguments they'd somehow still remembered years later.

“So you still watch it?” Jordan asked.

She looked at him with mock offense. “You asking me that like you don't already know the answer.”

“I had to make sure adulthood hadn't changed you.”

“It definitely hasn’t.”

He grinned. “Good.”

By the time they reached the restaurant, Malaya realized she hadn't checked her phone once. Dinner felt less like a first date and more like picking up a conversation that had simply been paused for several years. Jordan listened more than he talked. When she mentioned work, he asked questions instead of waiting for his turn to speak. When she laughed, he laughed with her instead of trying to top the joke. He remembered little things she’d mentioned over the last few weeks of texting, surprising her more than once.

“You actually remembered that?”

“You told me.”

“That was like...two weeks ago.”

He shrugged. “I was listening.”

Something about that stirred inside her.

Eventually the conversation turned toward Shiloh. Jordan’s whole face changed. His smile grew and his shoulders relaxed.

For the next several minutes he told her stories about bedtime negotiations, mismatched socks, spilled cereal, and Saturday mornings spent watching cartoons. He wasn’t performing fatherhood. Watching him, Malaya understood something.

Kindness looked good on him.

After dinner, neither of them seemed ready to call it a night.

“You wanna walk for a minute?” Jordan asked.

She nodded.

The Atlanta evening had settled into that comfortable warmth where the air felt soft against her skin. They wandered the sidewalk without any destination in mind, their conversation drifting from old memories to where life had taken them since graduation.

Jordan glanced over at her. “I was nervous asking you out.”

She stopped walking. “You were?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at you.”

She laughed. “I would've never guessed.”

“I practiced asking you.”

She blinked. “You practiced?!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself. “Like...four different versions.”

Malaya burst into laughter, lightly bumping his shoulder. “You are lying.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“That’s actually kind of cute.”

“I'll take cute.” Jordan replied with. Smirk.

The drive back to her apartment was comfortable. They listened to music and debated over which anime’s were the best. Jordan eventually pulled into a visitor's space and shifted the car into park. Neither of them reached for the door.

He looked over at her. “I’m really glad you said yes.”

Malaya smiled. “So am I.”

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.

Their lips met gently. The kiss wasn't rushed or hungry. Their heads swiveled, Malaya reaching out to grip his chin to hold him steady while she damn near stole his breath with those juicy lips that tasted like maple brown sugar. Jordan felt himself getting stiff, squeezing his thighs to try and calm his erection. The kiss was warm, lingering just long enough to make them both smile when they pulled apart. Jordan rested his forehead against hers for a second before quietly laughing. They separated, Jordan licking her gloss from his lips and Malaya fixing hers since some of it got on her chin.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

“I kinda figured.” Malaya giggled.

“You gonna let me see you again?”

Malaya looked at him. “I think that can be arranged.”

She reached for the door handle. As she turned, Jordan's hand settled lightly at her waist before sliding naturally to the curve of her hip. His fingers gave her ass a playful squeeze over the fabric of her dress.

He laughed. “...Girl.”

Malaya looked back.

“You still…thick.”

Jordan started singing Bobby V Tell Me since it had come up on the playlist.

Malaya threw her head back, laughing. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You are so childish.”

“I ain't lying though. Tell me, for real cuz man…”

Malaya shook her head, unable to stop smiling.

“Goodnight, Jordan.”

“Goodnight, Malaya.”

He watched her step up, unlocking her apartment door, and glance back one last time with a small wave before disappearing inside. Only after the door closed did he finally pull away. The door clicked shut behind her, but the warmth of Jordan’s kiss still lingered on her lips. A small, genuine smile played on her face, one that didn’t have to be performed for a camera or a tip. He was different. Patient, warm, and the way he looked at her made her feel seen, not just consumed.

As she kicked off her heels and began to peel away her clothes, for the first time in a long time, the place was truly quiet. Messiah was with his father for the weekend, leaving her with a rare, unfiltered solitude. In her bedroom, She paused, her dress slipping over her head, her mind drifting back to the way Jordan’s hand had felt on the cleft of her left ass cheek. She wondered if she should have let him come inside. The thought sent a sharp, electric pulse of lust straight to her core, leaving her thighs feeling heavy and her pussy aching with a sudden, insistent throb.

Malaya was horny—deeply, viscerally horny—and the lingering adrenaline from the date had left her skin hypersensitive. She didn’t want to just sleep it off. She wanted to feel something intense, to lean into the friction of her own desire.

With a determined exhale, Malaya transitioned from the woman who had just been on a romantic date to the persona the internet paid to see. It was time for the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” set.

She transformed her space into a curated altar of simulated innocence and raw filth. First came the lighting. She clicked on the ring light, bathing her face in a professional, clinical glow, but then she layered in the atmosphere. She draped strings of warm fairy lights across the wall and turned on a bedside lamp that changed colors, creating a golden, hazy glow that blurred the edges of the room. She laid out the backdrop. It was a plush, baby-pink faux-fur blanket spread across the floor, topped with a white furry rug that looked soft enough to sink into. It was the perfect contrast to what she planned to do on top of it.

Then came the wardrobe. She slid into pastel pink lingerie with lace trimming that hugged her breasts tight, the fabric straining against her nipples. The thin lace of the crotch area barely covered the swell of her ass and the plumpness of her pussy lips. To complete the “good girl” aesthetic, she pulled on a pair of knee-high pastel socks with little bows and fastened a thin charm bracelet around her wrist, the small silver trinkets jingling as she moved. She reached for her hair, deftly styling her long twists into two high pigtails, securing them with oversized satin bows.

Malaya wears a delicate, intricate pink lace mask that clings to the curves of her face, the fabric sheer enough to tease but thick enough to create a barrier of mystery. The floral patterns of the lace cast seductive shadows across her skin, framing her eyes in a way that makes them look wider, more vulnerable, and dangerously focused.

She looked like a doll. The perfect fuck doll.

The final touches were the props. She placed a large, glossy lollipop still wrapped on the nightstand next to a high-powered Bluetooth vibrator that was gifted to her from MoTh3rL0ad88, deep, purple silicone and appeared not so intimidating. Malaya checked her camera angle, ensuring the frame captured the curve of her hips and the inviting dip of her waist, making sure the viewers would have a front-row seat to her descent.

Finally, she reached for her phone and tapped the screen. The heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty filled the room, the slow, provocative beat syncing with the thrum of blood between her legs. Malaya climbed onto the pink fur, arching her back and letting the music vibrate through her skin. She looked into the lens, her eyes darkening, the “good girl” mask sliding into place just as she prepared to go live and get filthy.

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty, nasty, nasty

Malaya clicked the “Go Live” button, and instantly, the viewer count began to climb. The screen flooded with a rush of usernames, a digital tide of hungry men eager for their fix. She leaned into the camera, her eyes wide and shimmering, a playful, shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Hi everyone,” she whispered, her voice an angelic, breathy coo. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting down on the pad of it gently, her gaze fluttering. “I...I didn’t think so many of you would be here tonight. I’m feeling a little shy.”

She giggled, a high, melodic sound, and twirled a stray twist around her finger. She looked like a doll, a pristine image of purity in her pastel pinks and white fur, but the way she let her gaze linger on the lens told a different story. She was playing the part of the innocent girl who had accidentally stumbled into a room full of hungry wolves with brick hard dicks and balls filled with cum, acting as if she were barely aware of how the thin lace of her panties clung to the swell of her ass and barely covered her pussy.

[User: BigDickEnergy99]: Look at those bows…I want to rip them right out of her hair.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing, baby. We know you a little slut for us.

[User: TipKing_X]: Tipped 50 tokens! Show us those cheeks, Good Girl.

Malaya blushed, a performative flush that crept up her neck. “You're all so mean to me,” she pouted, bouncing her tits like she was throwing a temper tantrum.

If you keep up with me

I'll keep on coming back

If you do it too good

I'm gonna get attached

'Cause it feels like Heaven when it hurts so bad

Baby, put it on me

I like it just like that…

As the heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty kicked back in, the “good girl” mask didn’t falter, it just evolved. Malaya turned on her knees slowly, the camera capturing the dip of her waist and the way her bralette strained against her hard nipples. She turned her back to the lens, glancing over her shoulder with a wide-eyed, innocent expression while her lower body began to move.

She started with a slow, hypnotic roll of her hips, the movement fluid and circular. The white fur of the rug brushed against her thighs as she began to twerk, her cheeks bouncing with a heavy vibration. She wasn’t just shaking; she was oscillating, her hips swinging in a precise, tantalizing cadence that made the lace of her panties disappear between the folds of her ass.

[User: HardCoreHustle]: Fuck, that bounce is lethal. Look at her move!

[User: LustLord]: Tipped 100 tokens! Arch that back, Miss Blaze!

[User: DeepDive_88]: She look so sweet but she moves like a fucking pro. I need to see more.

Malaya let out a, staged moan, her head tilting back as she leaned forward, planting her palms on the pink fur. She pushed her ass high into the air, creating a steep, inviting slope. She began to grind against the air, her hips rotating in a slow, agonizing circle that simulated the feeling of a thick dick sliding deep inside her. She looked back at the camera, biting her lip, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with a mixture of fake modesty and real arousal.

“Is this...is this okay?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I don't know why I’m doing this...I feel so naughty, Sir.”

Then, with a sudden, athletic grace that contradicted her fragile persona, she slid backward. In one smooth, fluid motion, she hit a full split on the plush rug, her legs extending wide, leaving her completely open to the lens. The position pushed her panties to their absolute limit, the fabric straining across her ass and her soaking wet pussy, the center of the lace darkening as her arousal leaked through.

She stayed there, chest heaving, her breasts bouncing slightly under the pink cotton. She reached down, slowly tracing the line of her thigh with a manicured nail, her eyes locked on the camera, challenging every man in the chat to tell her exactly how they would ruin her.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 200 tokens! Open those legs wider, you filthy little doll!

[User: PureSin]: I can see she's soaking through those panties. Look at that wet spot!

[User: AlphaMale_7]: I wanna see you swallow a whole dick while you in that split, slut.

Malaya slowly pulled herself out of the split, her movements languid. She crawled toward the lens on all fours, her breasts swaying under the pink lingerie, her eyes locked onto the camera with that wide, doe-eyed gaze. She stopped just inches from the lens, her face filling the frame, the soft glow of the ring light reflecting in her pupils.

“You guys are being so loud,” she whispered, a tiny, teasing smile playing on her lips. “I can’t even think...you’re making me feel so...exposed.”

She sat back on her heels and spreading her knees just enough to give them a glimpse of the lace straining against her pussy. With a slow, shaky breath, she pressed her palm flat against her crotch. She began to rub her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, her fingers circling her clit in a grinding motion. The lace was translucent from her arousal, clinging to every fold of her lips.

Malaya let out a soft, airy moan, her head tilting back as she increased the pressure, her hips lifting off the rug. “It’s so warm,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m just...I’m just a little bit wet. Is that bad?”

Then, without warning, she reached down and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg upward and outward in one fluid, athletic motion. She slid into a perfect side split, her body stretched wide across the white fur. The position was devastatingly open, her pussy centered perfectly in the frame, the pink lace of her panties pulled tight and damp, outlining the plumpness of her labia.

She looked at the camera, her expression a mask of faux-hesitation, her lip trembling slightly. “Do you...do you really want to see it?” she asked, her voice a breathy, innocent plea. “I’m so shy...I’ve never shown this many people at once.”

The chat exploded. The token count began to skyrocket as the men scrambled to pay for the reveal.

[User: KingKink]: Tipped 500 tokens! SHOW US! Open those legs and show us that pussy now!

[User: RawDogger]: I'll pay anything to see you dripping for us, you filthy doll.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing the innocent act and show us how wet you are!

Malaya giggled, a sound that was becoming increasingly hungry. She lowered her leg and reached over to the side and picked up a large, bright red lollipop, unwrapping it. She didn’t take it straight to her mouth. First, she ran the hard candy slowly along the line of her jaw, then down her neck, trailing it over the valley of her breasts. Finally, she slid the lollipop into her mouth. She began to lick it with slow, swirling motions of her tongue, her eyes half-lidded and glazed. She sucked on the candy with a wet, loud slurping sound, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the sweetness in. She looked like a corrupted piece of candy herself—sweet, colorful, and utterly decadent. As she sucked the lollipop, she began to use her free hand to tease the edge of the lace covering her crotch, hooking a manicured nail under the and pulling it just a fraction of an inch away from her skin, teasing the chat with a sliver of her glistening, deep brown lips and dark pink flesh.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 300 tokens! Suck that candy like it's a dick while you pull those panties aside!

[User: PureSin]: Look at her eyes...she loves being watched. She's a total slut.

Malaya pulled the lollipop out with a loud, sticky pop, a thin string of glistening saliva connecting the candy to her lips. She let out a breathy, exhausted tease of a laugh.

“You guys have been so patient,” she whispered, her voice sounding small and fragile in the quiet of the room. “I think it’s time I show you what a good girl I’ve been.”

She reached up, her fingers pulling the straps of her pastel pink lingerie down. She didn’t just rip it off; she played the part, sliding the fabric slowly down one shoulder, then the other, teasing the edge of the lace against her skin. As the bra fell away, her breasts spilled out, dark, gum drop nipples hard and peaking in the cool air. She let the garment rest around her waist, leaving her chest bare and heaving, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps that she knew the microphone was picking up.

Then, her hands drifted lower, her fingertips grazing the edge of the lace covering her pussy. She hooked her fingers into the lace, pausing for a heartbeat to let the anticipation build in the chat. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid the lace to the side. One by one, each slippery pussy lip revealed itself, a slimy trail of her arousal clinging to the fabric. Clit poking. Labia twitching. The knee-high pastel socks that hugged her calves, adding to the coquette aesthetic she used as a shield.

Malaya spread her legs wide, exposing the depths of her fat pussy to the lens. She was drenched, her folds glistening and plump, the pinkish-red hue of her clit peaking through the wetness. She looked engorged, exposed, and utterly vulnerable, though her face remained a mask of shy innocence. She reached for the lollipop again, but she didn’t put it back in her mouth. Instead, she pressed the sticky, sugar-coated candy directly against her pussy.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her head rolling back, her pigtails splaying across the white rug. “It tastes so sweet...I can feel the sugar melting right into me.”

She began to rub the lollipop in slow, circular motions around her clit, the glossy candy coating mixing with her own natural lubrication. The wet, slapping sound of the candy against her flesh filled the speakers. She pushed the lollipop deeper, teasing the entrance of her pussy, the sweetness of the candy contrasting with the saltiness of her own arousal.

“I feel so naughty,”she whimpered, her voice breaking as she arched her back. “I’m being such a bad girl for you, Sir…but I’m still your good girl, right?”

The chat was an absolute frenzy, a waterfall of demands and tips, but one username stood out, flashing with a generous contribution that had already changed the trajectory of the night.

Camera0ff

Malaya reached over to the side of the white fur rug, her fingers curling around a sleek, high-tech device. She held it up to the camera, bringing it close so the ring light caught every detail.

“You guys...look what I have,” she whispered, her voice airy and laced with a curated shyness. “I want to say a huge thank you to MoTh3rL0ad88. You’re so generous...you bought me this beautiful Bluetooth vibrator.”

The toy was a masterpiece of erotic engineering. A deep, midnight purple silicone that looked almost black under the lights, with a polished, ergonomic curve designed to hit every internal sweet spot. It had a smooth, seamless finish and a small, pulsing LED light at the base that glowed a soft, inviting blue, signaling it was paired and ready for remote command. It looked expensive, powerful, and utterly invasive.

“I think...I think I’m gonna use it just for you guys tonight,” she teased, her eyes hooded as she looked into the lens. “I’m gonna to let the chat decide exactly how I feel.”

Malaya spread her legs even wider on the pink blanket. She guided the rounded tip of the vibrator toward her soaking entrance. She let out a small, needy whimper as she pushed the silicone head past her outer lips, sliding it slowly into her tight, wet channel. The friction made her toes curl inside her pastel socks, and she gasped, her head falling back as she seated the toy deep inside her, leaving just the stimulating nub pressed firmly against her swollen clit.

She froze, her body trembling slightly, her hands gripping the edges of the fur rug. She waited, charged with an electric anticipation.

Then, it happened. A low, deep thrum vibrated through her core. It started on the lowest setting. A gentle, steady pulse that felt like a warm current flowing through her pussy. It wasn't overwhelming yet. It was a slow burn, a teasing warmth that began to wake up every nerve ending.

“Oh..” she moaned, the sound soft and breathy, barely more than a whisper.

Her hand drifted down, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles. The combination of the internal vibration and the external pressure sent a wave of heat crashing through her. She rolled her hips, her pigtails splaying across the rug, her voice dropping to a fragile, needy tone.

“It feels so warm...mmm, it’s just starting to wake me up,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “I can feel it... buzzing inside me…please, someone...make it stronger…”

———

10:42PM—Smoke’s Den

The frame is tight, a cinematic close-up focusing solely on a large, veined hand with thick fingers gripping a sleek, encrypted smartphone. The skin is smooth, the knuckles prominent, and the thumb is poised with predatory precision over the screen. On the display, a minimalist app interface glows. A simple slider and a series of preset patterns.

The atmosphere in the den is suffocating, a thick blend of Tom Ford’s masculine musk and the charred, caramel scent of Uncle Nearest 1856. The only light comes from the 120-inch laser projector, casting a ghostly, flickering glow over Smoke’s dark skin, turning the matte charcoal concrete of the wall into a living canvas of Malaya’s desperation.

Smoke is a statue of primal intent, sprawled deep in the black Nappa leather pit. His legs are spread wide, claiming every inch of the space, his chest expanded and glistening under the artificial light. He is the picture of disciplined agony. The bass from D’Angelo’s Voodoo vibrates through the floor of the den, a low, swampy auditory stimulation that mirrors the heavy pulsing in Smoke’s groin.

I feel like making dreams come true

Oh baby

When you talk to me

When you're moanin' sweet and low

When you touch me

And my feelings start to show, show, oh

That's the time

I feel like making love to you

That's the time

I feel like making dreams come true, oh baby…

Below his navel, the ferocity of his arousal is on full display. His nine-inch dick is a rigid, unyielding pillar, gorged with blood and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the fabric of his low-slung black shorts. Because of the way he’s leaning back, there is no place for his length to go but up. That dick is pressed flat against the lower wall of his abs, a heavy, thick ridge of flesh that carves a brutal path straight toward his belly button.

The athletic material of the shorts is stretched to its absolute breaking point, the fabric pulled so taut across the wide, flared head of his dick that the blunt silhouette is unmistakable. Every time he takes a slow, calculated sip of the amber whiskey, his abdominal muscles contract, causing his dick to throb violently against the cloth. It’s a heavy jump. A desperate attempt to break free from the imprisonment of the fabric. A small, dark circle of pre-cum has already begun to dampen the black material, the moisture adding a slick, friction-filled torture every time he breathes.

Smoke refuses to touch himself. The ache in his balls is a dull, heavy roar, a pressure that would drive any other man to madness, but for Smoke, it is fuel. He channels that physical torture into the digital puppetry in his hand.

Smoke leaned back into the depths of his sunken black leather pit, the fabric cool against his bare skin. He wasn’t touching himself. The arousal was purely psychological, a dark, pulsing blaze that settled deep in his gut and made his nine-inch thick dick strain against the thin fabric of his black athletic shorts. His heavy, thick shaft was rock hard, the wide flared head pulsing with every beat of his heart, but his hands remained steady. He preferred the power of the ghost in the machine.

Internally, he was a storm of possessiveness. Watching her on the 120-inch projector, her image towering over him on the matte charcoal wall, he felt a visceral surge of ownership. He knew every inch of her. The scar on her knee, the way she breathed when she was actually peaking.

His eyes narrowed, tracking every movement of her body on the screen. He watched her play the part, the faux-innocence in her voice. Good girl. The phrase tasted like iron in his mouth. He hated the act. Smoke enjoyed the tease, there was no doubt about it, but because he knew the woman beneath the costume, he knew she was a mess of need and anxiety, and he loved that he was the only one who truly saw her.

He could see it now. The way her thighs trembled, the glistening wetness coating her pussy as she rubbed that lollipop against herself. She was soaking, her body betraying her “innocent”persona. She thought she was in control of the narrative, directing the chat, managing the tips, playing the game.

You think you the one pulling the strings, Malaya, he thought, his gaze darkening. But I own the string. And after that date you had tonight, I think I need to remind you.

His plan was simple: total dismantling. Smoke didn’t want her to just orgasm. He wanted to break her composure. He wanted to strip away the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” act until there was nothing left but raw, uncontrolled desperation. He wanted the entire chat to witness the exact moment her curated performance shattered, leaving her gasping and sobbing for a release that only he could grant or deny. He was going to ruin her in front of hundreds, turning her professional show into a public execution of her modesty.

His face is a battlefield of disciplined lust and predatory hunger.

On the screen, Malaya guided the midnight purple silicone head of the vibrator into her tight, wet channel. Smoke watched her eyes flutter, her breath hitching as she seated the toy deep inside her.

The moment the device was fully submerged, Smoke’s thumb moved.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, his thumb slides the intensity bar just a fraction of an inch to the right. He keeps it on the lowest setting, a mere whisper of a vibration, designed not to satisfy, but to irritate the nerves, to create a craving that can’t be scratched.

For a while, he watched her body warm up to it. The goosebumps on her flesh. The way her moans hitched. How she rubbed her clit and bit her lip. His dick bounced within the tight constraints of his athletic shorts. A painful erection that needed tending to but Smoke would rather edge than release. He was on a mission of destroying Malaya.

For making him feel the way he does. For being so goddamn fine. For invading his mind from sun up to sun down.

I got something for you, he thought.

Smoke didn’t slide the bar this time. He flicked it. He jumped the setting from the lowest tease to a high, aggressive thrum.

He watched through the lens as Malaya’s entire body jolted. Her back arched violently, her fingers digging into the white fur rug, and a loud, genuine moan—one that wasn’t for the tips—ripped from her throat. The sudden surge of power inside her was an electric shock, a violent intrusion of pleasure that bypassed her brain and went straight to her nerves.

Smoke let out a low, guttural exhale, a predatory smirk touching his lips. The game had officially begun.

Smoke’s thumb didn’t just slide. It danced with a sadistic tempo across the encrypted screen. He began to cycle through the preset patterns, switching from a steady, aggressive drone to a series of sharp, erratic pulses. He wanted to keep her off-balance, denying her the ability to settle into the sensation, forcing her body to chase a peak that he kept just out of reach.

On the 120-inch screen, the effect was immediate and visceral. Malaya’s composure disintegrated. Her legs, still clad in those innocent pastel socks, began to shake with a violent, uncontrolled tremor. Her thighs clamped shut, then flew open in a desperate, instinctive attempt to either crush the toy deeper into her walls or push it away from the overstimulated nerves of her clit.

Smoke watched with a predatory intensity as her pussy began to weep, the glistening wetness coating the silicone head of the vibrator and leaking out in thick, clear strings that smeared across the white fur rug. He could see the internal contractions of her vaginal walls. The way her muscles gripped the device in starving spasms, trying to milk the vibration out of the machine.

He flicked the intensity to the absolute maximum.

Malaya’s reaction was primal. A guttural, strangled sound tore from her throat, a noise that was completely stripped of the “Innocent Girl” persona. Her fingers clawed at the rug, bunching the fabric into tight knots as her hips began to buck upward in jagged, uncontrolled jolts. Her chest heaved, the pastel lingerie straining against her waist as she gasped for air, her lungs failing her. Her breasts shook and her ass gyrated.

His eyes are hooded, dark voids that don’t blink, locked onto the 120-inch image of Malaya. He isn’t just watching her. He’s consuming her. Every time her thighs tremble or her back arches in a violent spasm. His pupils dilate, absorbing the sight of her surrender like a sponge. There is a slight, savagely crease between his brows, a mark of intense concentration, as if he is calculating the exact millisecond her willpower snaps.

He watched her toes curl tight, her entire frame vibrating in sync with the device buried inside her. The pleasure was so intense it had crossed the line into a form of exquisite torture. Her head snapped back, her neck tendons straining, and her mouth hung open in a silent, breathless scream.

Smoke leaned forward, his eyes locked on the way her stomach rippled, access skin from birth tightening, her core bracing for the impact of the waves he was sending through her. The faint pulse pitter-pattering against her jugular, blood rushing south, pooling in her engorged clit and drenched folds.

He suddenly dropped the setting back to a low, teasing crawl.

The sudden drop caused Malaya to collapse. She slid down the rug, her body going limp for a split second before she began to writhe, her hips grinding frantically against the air, begging for the power to return. She looked wrecked, hair coming undone from the bows, makeup smudged, eyes glazed and unfocused. She was no longer performing for the chat. She was a slave to the signal in Smoke’s hand.

He let her simmer in that desperation for a few seconds, watching her pussy twitch and pulse in a void of denied pleasure. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he slammed the slider back to the top and triggered the “Chaos” pattern—a rapid-fire sequence of bursts and long, heavy vibrations.

Malaya’s body snapped taut like a bowstring. Her internal muscles clamped down on the vibrator with such force that she let out a high-pitched, sobbing moan. Her pelvis tilted sharply, back arching so hard her shoulder blades pressed into the floor, and her entire midsection shuddered in a prolonged, violent orgasm.

Smoke watched the way her pussy pulsed around the toy, the rhythmic squeezing of her walls visible even through the camera lens. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing hitches, body completely surrendered to the digital ghost he controlled. He didn’t stop it. He kept the vibration screaming inside her, pushing her past the peak, forcing her to ride the wave of an orgasm that wouldn’t end until he decided she had had enough.

That mask had been incinerated by the relentless frequency Smoke was pumping into her. She was sprawled across the white fur rug, her limbs splayed and trembling, her head lolling from side to side. A thin, glistening string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin as her jaw hung slack. She was panting, the sound wet and desperate, her chest heaving so violently that her breasts bounced with every ragged breath.

“Please…” she whimpered, the word barely a sound, more of a broken vibration in her throat. “Please, Daddy...I can’t... I can’t take it...please!”

The word Daddy hit Smoke like a physical blow. He watched her on the screen, seeing the way her eyes were out of focus,her consciousness hovering on the edge of a blackout. Her voice had devolved into a series of high-pitched, needy keens and guttural whimpers, a symphony of surrender that told him exactly who owned her in this moment.

Below her, her pussy was a disaster of arousal. It wasn’t just wet; it was overflowing. Thick, slimy trails of cream and arousal leaked from her drenched folds, soaking into the white fur of the rug in heavy, translucent patches. Every time the vibrator pulsed, more of her essence was forced out, spraying in tiny, glistening droplets against her inner thighs.

Behind the lace mask, her eyes are glazed with a heavy, shimmering layer of lust and total submission, her pupils blown wide until the irises are nearly swallowed by dark brown. Her eyes dart frantically, flickering with a mix of desperation and a total body surrender, glistening within the ring light like wet gemstones. Every time the vibrator spikes, her eyelids flutter and cross, turning her gaze into a raw, mindless expression of overstimulation that screams she is no longer in control.

The chat was a blur of chaotic energy. Tips were flooding in as the viewers watched a woman be systematically dismantled by an invisible hand. The screen was a waterfall of explicit demands and shock, but Smoke ignored them all. His world was narrowed down to the sight of her breaking.

Smoke’s dick was reacting violently. He remained still, his hands gripping the phone, but his thick length was twitching beneath the fabric of his black shorts. He felt the heavy, thick head of his dick throb in sync with her moans, the veins pulsing with a pressure that felt like it might burst. He was rock hard, strained to the absolute limit, his body buzzing with the reflected energy of her agony and ecstasy.

He saw the moment it happened. Malaya’s entire body suddenly locked. Her toes curled so tight they cramped, and her hips gave one final, desperate upward thrust, her pelvis tilting sharply toward the ceiling.

A sharp, piercing squeal tore from her throat—a sound of total overload.

Then, she erupted.

It was a flood. A massive, violent jet of clear fluid exploded from her core, a torrent of squirt so powerful it sprayed across the rug and splashed against her own stomach. The force of the release was visceral, a physical eruption that shook her entire frame. The volume of the fluid was so immense, the internal pressure so sudden and overwhelming, that it acted like a piston. With a wet, suctioning pop, the Bluetooth vibrator was physically launched out of her pussy, propelled by the sheer force of her orgasm. It flew a few inches across the rug, landing with a dull thud, still vibrating weakly.

Malaya collapsed instantly, her body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She lay there in a widening pool of her own release, her chest heaving, her eyes vacant, completely spent. She was shaking in long, slow tremors, her pussy twitching and leaking, wide open and ruined.

Smoke stared at the screen, his dick throbbing with a punishing ache. He had never seen her lose control like that. He had pushed her past the breaking point, and the sight of her—soaked, drooling, and utterly defeated—made him want to reach through the screen and claim every inch of her wreckage.

Smoke’s expression hardens. His gaze drops from her face to the glistening mess between her legs, his eyes narrowing with a possessive greed. He looks starved. He looks dangerous. The contrast is visceral: Malaya is a shattered wreck of pleasure on the scene while Smoke is a rigid, pulsing statue of restraint, his face a mask of absolute dominance, savoring the knowledge that he is the only one who truly knows how to make her scream.

He watched her weakly push herself up from the white fur rug, her movements sluggish and disjointed. She looked completely shattered, her eyes glazed and her lips parted, a thin string of saliva clinging to her chin. She looked like she’d been hit by a freight train of pleasure, her pussy gaping and leaking fluid onto the floor.

When the screen finally went black, the “Stream Ended” notification flashing across the 120-inch projection. Smoke didn’t move for a long minute. D’Angelo’s voice rushed back in through the speakers, heavy and suffocating. He stood up abruptly, the movement sharp and jagged. He began to pace the length of the sunken leather pit, his bare feet slapping against the cold, matte charcoal concrete. He was wired, his nerves screaming, his blood boiling with a cocktail of possessiveness and raw, unadulterated lust.

I need a blunt, he thought, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. I need to chill the fuck out.

But the internal command was losing the war against the impulse. Every step he took felt like he was fighting the urge to bolt out the door, jump in his car, and drive those thirty minutes to her duplex. He could almost feel it. The weight of her body as he scooped her up the second she opened the door, the smell of her sweat and pussy hitting him like a drug.

He imagined the carnage he’d leave behind in her apartment. He wanted to wreck her. He wanted to slam her against the wall, flip her over the kitchen counter, and drive his big dick balls-deep into her guts until she forgot how to breathe. He wanted to feel her tight walls gripping him, her screams echoing through the halls, marking her as his in a way a Bluetooth vibrator never could.

His chest felt tight, his lungs struggling to pull in enough air. With every breath, his stomach muscles flexed and rippled, tight with the sheer anticipation of a physical release that felt miles away. He let out a shaky, guttural exhale, his shoulders hunching.

Stop it. Chill. Play the long game, his inner voice hissed, but it sounded distant, drowned out by the throb in his groin.

Smoke stopped pacing and looked down. His black athletic shorts were stretched to their absolute limit. His dick was poked straight out, a rigid, pulsing tower that looked like a traffic cone shoved into the fabric. The wide, flared head was straining against the material, the veins thick and hard, twitching with every beat of his heart. He was rock hard, aching and heavy, the pressure in his balls becoming almost unbearable.

He stared at the protrusion, his breath hitching. He was a man of absolute control, a man who mapped out every move and monitored every variable, but looking at the sight of his own lust fueled by the image of Malaya soaked and broken on a rug, he knew he was dangerously close to the edge.

———

Elijah Moore had built his life on one principle.

Patterns rarely lied. People did.

His monitors glowed against the darkness of the office tucked above Edge & Thread. Three screens displayed different pieces of three different lives. A ransomware recovery for a music producer in Houston. Cryptocurrency movement connected to an old client in Miami. Security footage from a warehouse outside Atlanta waiting to be archived before sunrise.

Smoke moved through each task with practiced efficiency.

Windows opened. Code scrolled. Files decrypted. Logs disappeared.

By the time the eastern sky began trading black for blue, BLK TRACE had already earned more money than most people would see in a week. He leaned back from the desk, his eyes settled on a different monitor. A familiar route. A familiar vehicle. A familiar morning.

Malaya.

The timestamp rested in the corner of the screen.

Thursday—8:14 A.M.

She pulled into the daycare parking lot carrying Messiah against her shoulder. Even through grainy security footage, motherhood had its own flow. She positioned him higher with one arm while reaching for the diaper bag with the other. The little boy wrapped sleepy arms around her neck, unwilling to surrender his mama.

Smoke watched her disappear through the front entrance. Two minutes later she returned alone. She didn’t drive toward work. His gaze drifted toward another monitor displaying nothing more than a street map layered with months of routine.

Colored lines crossed the city like veins.

Home ✅

Daycare ✅

Work ✅

Grocery store ✅

Gas station ✅

Home again ✅

Most days followed the same geometry. Thursdays didn’t. Every Thursday…the route bent.

Honey & Oak.

Arrival—8:28 | Departure—9:03

Thirty-five minutes. Every week.

The pattern had repeated often enough that software no longer needed to flag it.

Smoke noticed it on his own.

He enlarged the map. The café sat on a corner between an old bookstore and a tailor shop. Nothing remarkable. No unusual visitors. No suspicious activity. No reason to investigate.

Except…

Malaya kept choosing it.

He wasn’t interested in coffee. He was interested in decisions. People revealed themselves through repetition. Through what they returned to when nobody was watching.

His fingers rested against the desk.

Thirty-five minutes. Every Thursday.

Why?

He opened another window.

Property records.

Honey & Oak.

Family owned. Nearly eighteen years in business. No police reports worth mentioning. No financial irregularities. No history of violent incidents.

He closed it again.

None of that answered the question. Addresses explained where. They never explained why.

Smoke stood and walked toward the office window.

Malaya always made time for Honey & Oak. Not once. Not occasionally. Every Thursday.

His phone buzzed across the desk.

Stack: Lunch at Mama Dee’s?

Smoke looked at the message before setting the phone back down unanswered. His attention had already drifted elsewhere.

The following Thursday he parked across the street from Honey & Oak.

He arrived early. Engine off. Windows cracked.

Coffee never crossed his mind. People did.

Teachers walked in carrying canvas totes. Construction workers had stopped for breakfast before climbing into company trucks. An elderly couple shared a newspaper at the same window table for almost forty minutes. Two nurses still wearing hospital badges laughed over something one of them read on her phone. Nobody looked out of place. Nobody seemed to be performing. The neighborhood flowed through the café as naturally as conversation.

At exactly 8:27, Malaya pulled into a parking space. She lifted Messiah from his car seat, balanced the diaper bag, and walked toward the entrance. She stayed inside thirty-six minutes. When she came back out, she looked…

Lighter. Less burdened.

Smoke frowned almost imperceptibly.

The following Thursday he returned.

Then the Thursday after that.

He never entered. He never watched Malaya once she disappeared inside. Instead, he studied Honey & Oak itself.

The pace. The customers. The owners greeting people by name. The absence of hurry. The ordinary kindness exchanged between strangers. It wasn’t just a coffee shop, it was a pause. A breather. An escape from reality passed those doors. One small piece of the week that belonged entirely to the people who stepped inside.

Smoke rested both hands on the steering wheel. For months he had believed Honey & Oak was another location on Malaya’s route. Another point on a map. Now he understood something different. This wasn’t where she bought coffee, it was where she caught her breath. He looked through the windshield toward the front door.

If he intended to become a part of her everyday world…there would never be a better place.

Nor a more dangerous one.

Smoke reached for his phone.

Brick answered on the second ring.

“You busy?”

“I got time.”

“I need to move my standing appointment.”

A brief silence settled between them.

“What day you thinkin’?”

Smoke kept his eyes on Honey & Oak.

“Thursday.”

“Aight.”

Smoke ended the call.

Across the street, the bell above Honey & Oak’s front door swung open as another customer disappeared inside.

Operation: The Familiar Stranger had begun.

@championshipshade @plan3tch1ld @lizbehave @shereeluvssinners @cloviacreem-18 @aretasreads @harleycativy @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @shanthefemalerapper @alaysiunaadams23 @shamansha @smokingangelhoe @themindfulwriter16 @venusisrising @margepimpson @fairysoulja @chromexbarbie @pinkangelwing222 @rolemodelshit @d1gitalb4rbie @astr0babez @solarssins @secretisme4 @ofwgkta-maur @shecuteforaewok @callmemckenzieee @prettypinkprincess29 @mmbee675 @vibrantlymellowknight @itsspixiedusst56 @kleighw86 @bananajoeclone @sintizc @richonne4life @dammitj4net @kaystacks17 @midnightmemoirsofher @addelinedarling @abcedfy @brownsugarcoffy @imperoyalblue @girlmath101 @dezzy154 @softy212 @overzealouszeitgeist @blaqwidow91 @christinabae @mirathebookworm @theblulife @cocochannelmoi @kindofaintrovert @tatelangdonsweater @og-goddesstrill

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Camera 0ff…

Summary: watching turns into wanting…and wanting turns into control

Warnings: Obsession /Voyeurism / Possessive Male / Hood romance grit / Daddy kink / Provider dynamic / Dirty talk + cum fixation / Unprotected, raw, dominant sex / Slow burn tension / Crime Drama + Thiller / Stalking / Urban Erotica

[ Part Three ]

Smoke knew which window was hers without looking at the house number.

He’d parked three houses down tonight, far enough that nobody would remember his charger if they happened to glance outside, close enough that he could catch movement behind the second-floor curtains. The position wasn’t accidental. Nothing about these nights was.

His gaze stayed fixed on the duplex.

He wasn’t focused on the building or the street.

It was her.

The television flashed blue against the curtains. A shadow crossed the room and disappeared again.

LaceyBlaze69

Malaya.

By now, smoke could recognize her silhouette faster than he recognized most faces. A tilt of her head. The swing of her hair. The way she crossed a room carrying a cup or a phone or a basket of laundry.

The curtains concealed most of her, but they didn’t need to show much. Smoke’s mind supplied the rest.

He watched the second-floor window and waited for her to pass again.

Smoke should’ve left forty minutes ago.

He knew it.

The job waiting on his laptop knew it.

The burner phone sitting untouched in the center console knew it.

But he remained exactly where he was, one hand resting against the steering wheel as his attention drifted back to the same upstairs windows for the hundredth time that night.

She had been back for over an hour. Alone. At least, as far as he could tell.

Smoke’s gazes lingered on the window. The surveillance feed mounted beside the dash displayed nothing useful now, only the quiet exterior of the building and a timestamp counting steadily forward. Smoke barely looked at it. He didn’t need technology to watch her anymore.

That realization should have bothered him. Instead, it settled somewhere deep inside him with a deep seeded satisfaction.

Smoke was close. He was so close. Closer than he’d ever been. The distance between them no longer felt measured in blocks or city streets. It felt measured in moments. One decision. One knock at the door. One conversation that would make him real to her inside of invisible.

His jaw tightened.

Then, the second phone lit up. Smoke’s eyes cut to the device.

Stack.

Smoke stared at the screen for a moment as it vibrated against the center console. Once. Twice. A third time.

Only then did he answer.

“Yeah.”

“You held up?”

In the background, the bass of some slow, thumping trap track rumbled through the phone. A song made for strip clubs. There was laughter in the background. Glass clinks. A woman’s voice sweet and blurred called someone “baby” before fading out.

Smoke’s eyes remained on the upstairs window. “What you want?”

“I need a favor.”

The request immediately irritated him. It wasn’t because his brother was asking for his help. It was when.

Smoke watched Malaya cross the window again before she disappeared out of view.

“It’s important,” Stack said.

“Ain’t say it wasn’t.” Smoke replied.

For a moment, only music filled the line. Then, Stack sighed, abandoning whatever charm he usually wrapped around these conversations.

“One of my clients is gettin’ cold feet. That one skincare influencer from the LA contract.”

Smoke already knew which one.

“What she do?”

“Started stashing files. Extra backups. Personal cloud storage I ain’t authorize.”

That got Smoke’s attention. His fingers drifted toward the burner phone resting beside him.

“Who she talking to?”

“Cybersecurity blogger outta Chicago. Small-time, but connected enough to be annoying. Might have federal contacts. Might not. I don’t plan on finding out.”

Smoke’s expression darkened. “You think she gon’ leak?”

“I think she already scheduled it.”

The answer settled heavy in Smoke’s blacked out charger. He hated leaving but business was business. And he refused to let some lame ass influencer hoe fuck up his operation.

“She got backups?” Smoke asked.

“Probably. Cloud storage. Maybe more.”

Smoke nodded once. “Send me everything.”

“It’s already there”

“Where?”

“Your RED folder.”

A humorless smile touched Smoke’s mouth. “What’s it labeled?”

“RATTED.”

The charger started beneath him. Headlights swept briefly across the curb as he pulled away from the spot.

“So, I’m cleaning your mess?” Smoke said with a dry chuckle.

“Technically ours.”

“How the fuck this my mess? You let this bitch get slick.”

The city rolled past outside the windows in an array of colors. From the outside looking in, Smoke had tints on his windows. Like a two-way mirror.

“Aight. I’m heading over now. I’ll let you know how it go.”

“No need. I know you got it.” Stack said.

Smoke hung up.

By the time Smoke reached the bypass, Malaya’s neighborhood had disappeared behind him. The only light inside the charger came from the glow of the encrypted software spreading across his console.

Data streams began populating the screen.

Passwords. Access points. Recovery keys. A file opened automatically.

RATTED.zip

DECRYPTING…

Smoke settled deeper into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. The disappointment of leaving her lingered beneath his ribs, sharp and unwelcome. But work had always been easier than desire. Cleaner. Simpler. Systems made sense.

People didn’t.

Especially not women like Malaya.

For now, Ghost mode is engaged.

No fingerprints. No trail. No mercy.

01:47 AM

Buckhead high-rise. Top floor.

Concierge waved her in with a smile hours ago. The girl had champagne taste and too many secrets tucked inside her rose-gold phone. Smoke didn’t go through the lobby. He was already inside. The building’s maintenance access was laughably unsecured, just a four-digit pin Smoke could decode in his sleep. Smoke took the elevator to the service hall. Wore gloves. Footsteps inaudible. By the time he reached her door, he’d already looped the hallway feed and disabled the motion sensor near her unit.

She was home. Asleep.

Smoke pulled a small matte device from his hoodie. A USB merged with a scalpel. He presssd it against the bottom of the keypad lock. Held it there. Then…

Click.

The door slid open and he stepped inside stealthily. From a quick sweep of his dark eyes. Glass table. Dried fruit tray. Rolled yoga mat. Everything curated for a minimalist Instagram aesthetic.

But her tech? Messy.

She left her iPad on the couch and a pink MacBook on the table, lid cracked, camera covered with a sticker that read GIRLS RULE AND BOYS DROOL.

Smoke moved like he’d been there before. He sat on the couch, pulled out his own gear. He wasn’t interested in stealing her data. He was here to rewrite it.

Booting: SpoofStack_Protocol_V2

Within seconds, her MacBook mirrored on his screen. Password broken. The cloud decrypted.

And there it was.

A folder labeled: CLIENT ARCHIVE (PRIVATE)

Inside: Screenshots of bank transfers. Server access logs. Snippets of phone calls. Metadata from custom scripts that Smoke himself had built.

She hadn’t just collected proof. She’d built a timeline.

“Cute,” Smoke muttered.

He selected the folder. Duplicated the entire contents. Then deleted the original.

But that wasn’t enough.

Now feeding: FALSE_Archive_v1.3

He uploaded an altered copy. The fake archive had the same names. Same structure. But every file told a new story:

Stack was just a consultant.

Smoke’s code was purchased legally.

All server logs showed compliance with DMCA and data privacy.

Her “receipts” now made her look like a willing accomplice to digital blackmail and influencer manipulation.

He encrypted the fake archive to match the original hash key. No one could tell the difference.

Not even her.

But if she leaked it now? She’d bury herself.

Smoke stood. He wiped the couch armrest and tucked the cloned drive into a pocket. On his way out, he paused by her bedroom door was cracked. He didn’t bother opening it further. He could hear her breathing in her sleep. Then, he was gone. Hallway feed reactivated. Fingerprint spray already dissipating. By the time she woke up, only thing that would feel different was her own guilt.

Outside, Smoke shut the car door with a soft thunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and let the rumble of the Charger settle around him like armor. The inside was pitch-black. No dome light. Just the red glow from the dashboard and the faint buzz of encrypted sync across the Bluetooth rig.

He sat there a second. Gloved hands resting on the wheel. The digital drive in his inner jacket pocket, warm with all the shit he’d just buried.

Job done.

He tapped the hands-free.

“Call Stack.”

Three rings. Then bass. Deep, strip-club bass. Slow trap low like lust wrapped in a haze.

“Talk to me.” Stack said.

“It’s handled.”

“She won’t double back?”

If she try to, she leakin’ her own stains.” Smoke replied.

“Beautiful. Like poetry, bruh.”

Smoke reached for the gearshift. “I’m out.”

“Nah, hold up. Slide through.”

Smoke paused. “Where you at?”

“The rotation spot. Underground. Off Decatur. You remember the one. Black light entrance, heat sensor door, only take crypto at the bar?”

Smoke exhaled. Already annoyed.

“Ain’t this your pussy-and-patron circuit?”

“Tonight it’s business, bruh. Private room. Need to talk clientele. Tighten things.”

“At a strip club?” Smoke quirked a brow.

“At my strip club,” Stack corrected. “I trust the walls.”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed once on the wheel. His mind had already started drifting. To home.

To his command center.

To Malaya’s face half-lit by LED strips…

To the way she bit her lip when she thought no one noticed…

“Mmm, fuck…I’m rubbing this clit just for you…can you see it? I’m sliding my fingers deep inside my pussy…imagining it’s your dick filling me up instead. I want you so bad, Daddy…I want you to watch me cum for you…”

“I’m such a slut for you, ain’t I? Look at me…look at how I’m opening myself up. I’m soaking wet, Daddy…I’m just a little toy for you to watch and play with…does it make you hard seeing me fuck myself like this?”

Smoke…yes…unh…Smoke…

Smoke…Smoke…

“Smoke?” Stack called through the phone.

“…I’m listening.”

“Slide through. I’ll pour somethin’ strong. You can smoke somethin’. Then we talk.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose. “Security tight?”

“Locked like your vault. Don’t worry ‘bout whispering the code at the entrance. The floor girl ‘ol walk you in.”

There was another pause. Then, Smoke shifted into drive.

“Be there in thirty.”

“Atta boy.”

The line went dead.

Smoke pulled onto the road, tires smooth, engine low and sleek like a predator in motion. The city lights blinked across his windshield—blues, reds, golds—but his focus stayed cold.

When he got there, Smoke pulled up slow. The charger came to a stop at the edge of an unmarked building with blacked-out windows and no signage. Just a single narrow door inset into the concrete, painted deep charcoal, smooth and flat. No velvet rope. No line. No noise from outside. It wasn’t a place you found, you were brought there.

Smoke stepped out into the thick night air, the heat of Atlanta still pressing close even after midnight. His matte black leather biker boots touched down on the curb. Every corner of the block appeared to have no motion but watched. You could feel it. Eyes behind tinted glass. A red security light blinked from somewhere above the doorframe, invisible until it caught the metal button of his sleeve. As he approached, the door cracked open just wide enough to let the glow spill out.

Blue. Blacklight.

Inside, the world looked dipped in ultraviolet. Silhouettes moved in slow motion. Melanin Skin glowed in neon, oil-slicked and glistening under the lights. Purple thongs. Fluorescent green heels. The gleam of diamond chains across collarbones and ankle bones and down spines. The bass hit in a deep, sexual crawl. A low trap track chopped with moans and heavy kicks. A sound you could fuck to, kill to, drown in.

The girl standing just inside the door was fine enough to alter a man’s path. Maybe five-foot-six. Rich brown skin slicked to perfection, waist snatched in a sheer one-piece with nothing underneath. Her lips were glossy, her eyelashes long and cruel. She looked him up and down once.

She smiled slow. “Hey Twin? This way.”

Her voice was warm but lined with danger. Like if he turned the wrong way, she’d cut him with it. She turned, hips rolling high and slow in front of him as she led him deeper into the space. The walls curved inward, black-lit murals dancing with movement as bodies passed. Women kissed women on leather couches. Men sat back with cigars while girls bent over laps, bare and grinning, high off liquor and deeper things.

The layout was designed for maximum intimacy and voyeurism. A wide, circular perimeter of plush, midnight-black velvet booths surrounded a central stage area where polished chrome poles rise like silver pillars toward the dark ceiling. The floor is a polished obsidian that mirrors the flashing neon, making it feel as though the dancers are floating on a sea of dark glass.

No phones. No cameras. Only shadows and memory.

One room opened to his left, curtains drawn but not closed. Inside, a woman was tied to a black rope swing, heels still on, one man kissing her thighs while another licked her breast. She was moaning loud, head thrown back. Her body glowed in the light like something caught between reality and pleasure. No one in the hallway stared. This was normal here. Routine.

On the poles, the women are masterpieces of motion and melanin. They represent a breathtaking spectrum of Black beauty, from deep, midnight and rich mahogany to warm honey and golden bronze. Their attire is minimal, designed to leave nothing to the imagination. Some wear sheer, neon-trimmed lace thongs that disappear into the crease of their cheeks. Others are in strappy, high-cut leather sets that push up their breasts and cinch their waists, leaving their midriffs bare and glistening with body oil.

One dancer, a woman with skin the color of dark umber and a towering afro grips the pole with practiced strength. She slides down the chrome in a slow, controlled descent, her thighs gripping the metal tightly before she snaps into a perfect, flat split on the stage. As she holds the position, she arches her back, thrusting her chest forward and grinding her hips in a tantalizing, circular motion that makes the thin fabric of her G-string vanish between her plump, shaking cheeks.

Another performer, a golden-brown beauty with long, flowing braids is a whirlwind of erotic energy. She spins rapidly, her body a blur of glowing skin before suddenly stopping to drop into a deep squat. She turns her back to the crowd, bending over until her chest nearly touches the floor, and begins to shake her ass with a thunderous motion. The muscles in her glutes worked to make that ass ripple and bounce under the black lights, a hypnotic vibration that keeps the patrons mesmerized.

Money flowed like a river. Crisp bills were tucked into the waistbands of thongs, slapped against oiled thighs and rained down from the booths in a constant, fluttering descent. The tactile experience is one of luxury and an erotica. The patrons—all black folks—lean back in the shadows, their eyes locked on the stage. The vibe is heavy with desire and explicit intent. It’s a space of unapologetic Black eroticism, where the scent of money and lust rains down like the bandz that littered the stage and floor.

Women noticed. They always did.

Smoke kept his face unreadable as they moved through. His gait stayed measured, heavy boots on obsidian tile. Charcoal henley pulled tight over his chest. Silver chain resting low, cool against his collarbone. One ringed hand hung loose at his side while the other stayed near his hip. He wasn’t here for indulgence. But eyes followed him anyway.

One dancer paused mid-pour, licking foam from the rim of a glass as she watched him. Another girl leaned against a wall in mesh, nipples pierced and glowing, her mouth parting just slightly as he passed.

He didn’t return the looks. He moved like everything around him was already beneath his notice. Like he could take any one of them home, or none of them, and it would all mean the same.

The floor girl finally stopped at a black velvet curtain that looked like it led nowhere. She turned, looked at him again, then reached out and slid her fingers across his chest.

“Stack’s waiting in the back. Said don’t keep him too long. He got a mood on tonight.”

Then, she stepped aside.

Smoke slipped through the curtain.

The back room hit different.

The music lowered but stayed thick with bass. The lighting shifted to a red-blue gradient that danced over leather booths and mirrored walls. A private bar lined with obsidian shelves glinted with high-shelf bottles and decanters carved like diamonds.

Stack was seated in the center booth like a man who owned everything. Suit jacket off. Cigar in hand. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the rise of his chest and the sliver of a tattoo that disappeared beneath it. A woman was sitting next to him, pretty and thick, wearing nothing but chains and red panties. But she wasn’t talking. Just pressing close like she knew her position.

Stack looked up and grinned when he saw his brother.

“Bout time.”

Smoke slid into the booth across from him, not saying shit at first. He leaned back, eyes tracing slow as they scanned the room. Then he pulled out the drive and slid it across the table.

“It’s done.”

Stack tapped ash off the end of his cigar and took a sip of something gold from a crystal glass.

“You rewrite her whole digital memory?”

Smoke nodded once. “She leaks now, she burns herself.”

Stack let out a low, satisfied sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval. More like pleasure at watching the chessboard bend.

“See, that’s why I keep you in the cut. All these pretty tech boys with degrees out here movin’ loud. You? You just fuck around and disappear a bitch.”

Smoke didn’t react. He just sat there with a stony expression.

The woman next to Stack traced the rim of his glass and leaned in to whisper something, but Stack waved her off without looking. His attention was locked.

“You didn’t have to come out tonight,” Stack said after a beat. “But I appreciate it. Had to talk to you about tightening the loop.”

Smoke raised a brow. “Clientele?”

Stack nodded. “Some of these influencer types? They playin’ messy. Takin’ our tools and runnin’ off at the mouth. I need cleaner boundaries. Higher vetting.”

Smoke’s gaze sharpened. “You getting soft, Stack?”

“Not soft,” Stack said, leaning forward. “Selective.”

Another girl danced across the far room, naked except for heels and a diamond chain around her throat. She locked eyes with Smoke for a moment. Bold.

“This empire we buildin’?” Stack said. “It don’t grow if the wrong bitch flips. That one tonight? Could’ve got real ugly.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “It almost did.”

Stack took that in. Sat back. “We tighten up now,” he said, voice lower. “Or we lose what we got.”

“I’ll send a new vetting protocol. You run names past me first. You don’t, we both lose.”

Stack smirked. “Look at you. Big boss energy.”

Stack leaned back in the booth, one arm thrown over the leather like it belonged to him. Alizé was at the private bar, hips rolling slow as she poured herself a drink. She licked stray cognac from her fingers like she tasted herself in it. Across the room, Nova stood near the edge of a low platform, dancing in a slow whine to the music bleeding through the walls. Her hands trailed her own thighs, eyes locked on Smoke the second he stepped through the curtain. She didn’t wave, she just smiled and kept moving like she wanted him to watch.

Smoke pulled out his phone. He tapped the encrypted drive. Brought up a blacked-out screen with layers of local and foreign pings.

“Any word about the three that came lookin’ for me?”

Stack took a puff of his cigar resting between two fingers, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Nah. And if I had, you know I would’ve said.”

Smoke nodded once. No accusation, just calculation. His fingers moved quick, swiping through location data, blurred screenshots from party feeds, AI-enhanced license plate reads.

“They ain’t from here.”

“Obviously.”

“Cheap suits. Bad diamonds. But they knew the lingo.” Smoke paused, looking down at the screen. “Knew enough to know about me. The real me.”

Stack’s jaw tightened. “You pull names?”

Smoke tapped again.

The table glowed blue with the light from his screen.

“Yeah. Pulled prints from the glass that lanky one touched. Traced a rental car from the valet logs. Hacked the damn building’s guest Wi-Fi and cross-checked MAC addresses. Got two of their burner IDs off bounce-back signals.”

Stack chuckled low. “My brother.”

Smoke’s eyes were locked on the screen.

“Names are Harold Kray, Zino Atakni, and the older one? Conrad Fielding. Fielding’s got history in Marseille. Organized pipeline moves through West Africa, black-market acquisition networks. Used to work under de Costa before that shit collapsed. He’s the head.”

“And the others?”

“Soldiers. Hired muscle with decent resumes. One of them, Zino, used to run messages for a Libyan collector who’s since disappeared.”

Stack’s lips pressed together. “You think they freelance?”

Smoke shook his head. “Not with how Conrad was talkin’. That wasn’t freelance energy. That was sanctioned. He was too damn calm. Too rehearsed.”

Stack poured more bourbon.

“They wanted access,” Smoke said. “They didn’t come for art. They came for me. For the Ghost.”

Stack’s grin faded completely. “Somebody sent ‘em.”

“I know.”

“Who?”

Smoke’s silence deepened.

“Don’t know yet,” he said, but his voice had changed. Lower. Sharper. “But whoever it is…they want me out the game.”

“Dead?”

“Dead or cracked open.”

Stack blew out smoke through his nose. “That’s bigger than art theft.”

“That’s bigger than us.”

There was a faint moan of the bassline from the next room, a synth-heavy R&B loop wrapped in drum kicks and whispered filth.

Stack’s voice dropped, the way it always did when he shifted from business to indulgence. That smile of his curved slow across his lips, just enough to show the gold cap when he spoke.

“You remember Alizé, right?”

The thick, honey-toned woman next to him looked up. Her lips were glossy. Her eyes were misty with a need to be fucked and whatever liquor she drank. She was fine in that round, sultry way. Thick thighs, soft belly, ass too big for most dresses, face too sweet to say no. She blinked up at him and licked her lips once before turning toward his lap.

Stack didn’t stop her. He leaned back in the booth, legs spread, cigar held loose between two fingers while she unbuckled his slacks with practiced care. She looked up once, then dipped down.

Smoke sat still across from him, watching.

The second girl—Nova, the one who had been watching Smoke earlier from the far corner—stepped forward now. Her body was carved like temptation, all sharp cheekbones and waist-length curls. Her skin shimmered under the light. Her nipples were pierced, rings glinting. She lowered herself to her knees next to Alizé. Alizé giggled, gave Stack’s dick one final lick before passing it off to Nova. She reached out, took Stack’s dick in her hand, and started sucking it.

Two mouths.

One thick, wet dick.

They took turns. One sucking slow, the other licking along the shaft. Then both at once, lips brushing as they slurped and moaned around him, messy and devoted. Alizé cradled his balls like they were holy. Nova spat and stroked, her eyes rolling when he twitched against her tongue.

Stack exhaled, his head tilted back slightly. He shut his eyes.

Smoke turned away, unfazed. But the sound of slurping and licking remained.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Stack asked, voice lazy. “Alizé got that throat, but Nova? She know how to make a man forget he got enemies.”

Smoke picked up a blunt, lighting it, his other hand rested on his thigh. His rings caught the low light. His expression still unreadable. But his eyes slid from the women back to Stack, cold and steady.

“I’m good.”

Stack smirked. “You always say that.”

Smoke leaned forward just slightly. “It’s been a minute,” he admitted, voice rough with quiet restraint.

Stack raised an eyebrow, surprised at the honesty.

Smoke’s gaze didn’t move. “But the only mouth I want on me like that?” His jaw tightened. “She don’t even know yet.”

Stack grinned wider. “Damn. She got you pressed like that?”

Smoke ignored him, blowing smoke ahead of him.

The wet sounds between them grew. Alizé moaned deep in her throat, face glossy, nose running. Nova licked him like she was tasting secrets. They didn’t even look up. Just switched angles. Spit dripping. Hands cradling. Tongues sharing.

Stack groaned low, his head falling back against the booth cushion.

Smoke stood. “You done?”

Stack looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. His voice was a quiet dare.

“I ain’t never done.”

Smoke gave a slow nod. “Handle yours.”

He turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the tile with impatient steps.

And behind him, the club kept spinning. Lights pulsing. Girls moaning. Music thumping under blacklight like a heartbeat you weren’t supposed to hear.

———

11:45 PM—His Den

Smoke sat back in his leather chair, the pungent aroma of the blunt between his fingers circulating his head like a menacing fog. He was stripped down, shirtless, skin gleaming under the recess lights of his command center. A black durag was tied tight across his head and his shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his V-taper.

Four curved monitors dominated his vision, but only one mattered. He watched the screen, his eyes locked on Malaya. She had logged on late. No fancy lighting, no ring light to wash out the imperfections. Just a dim, yellow bedside lamp that cast long, jagged shadows across the room. The frame was messy. There was a hoodie thrown over a chair, the edge of a baby’s blanket peeking out from behind her.

It was raw. It was honest. And it was killing him.

She looked exhausted. Smoke couldn’t see her eyes but he knew they had to be droopy with a vacant expression. She wasn’t wearing a wig or a drop of makeup. Her long twists were draped over her shoulders, her skin matte and real. She wore an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, exposing a glimpse of her collarbone, and simple cotton panties that looked like they’d been worn all day.

She didn’t greet the room with her usual practiced smile and seductive lip bite. She didn’t tease. She just laid there, half-propped up against her pillows, thighs spread wide in a way that felt less like an invitation and more like surrender.

Smoke took a deep drag of the blunt, the cherry glowing bright orange, and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned.

He watched her yawn, a genuine, tired stretch that arched her back and pulled the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her breasts, revealing perk nipples. She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, looking less like LaceyBlaze69 and more like a woman who was drowning in her own life.

“Mmm…hey loves…sorry I’m late…I can’t even tell what time it is anymore,” she dragged a single finger over her pussy through her cotton panties, rolling her hips in a lazy circle. “I was having the best dream about getting fucked out of my sleep…but I think I’d rather have the real thing,” Malaya bit her lip. “I’m still so warm from the sheets…can you tell? I’m barely awake, but this pussy is dripping for you. Come on…tip me something to wake me up.” She released a soft chuckle. “Help me hit the goal, I’ll show you exactly where I was rubbing myself before I drifted off…”

The chat was moving fast. Men were demanding more. They wanted her to scream, to arch, to play the part of the hungry slut they paid for.

DangerDick84_: Come on Lacey, show that pussy baby.

WillyMoProblems: Take them panties off.

PhantomDweller$: You have pretty toes. I wanna suck ‘em.

100 Tokens. 300 Tokens. 150 Tokens. 80 Tokens

Malaya didn’t react to them. She didn’t even seem to be reading. She reached down, her fingers sliding under the elastic of her panties, tugging them aside with a movement that was mechanical, devoid of passion. She began to touch herself, her fingers moving in circles, but her body language was unfocused, and Smoke just knew she was staring past the lens, eyes heavy and uninterested.

Then, she started to moan.

Smoke leaned forward, his chest nearly touching the glass desk. He knew that sound. He knew the difference between her desire and her hustle. These moans were hollow. They were a performance for the bills, a fake melody played to keep the tips flowing. She was faking the pleasure, her voice pitching up in a way that didn’t match the deadness in her eyes.

It was a lie, and it made his blood boil.

He hated that she had to do it. He hated that she was forced to pretend to be turned on by the gaze of hundreds of nameless, horny men just to keep a roof over her and Messiah’s heads. The sight of her vulnerability, the way she looked so small and broken in that big, messy bed, hit him harder than any physical blow.

Smoke didn’t type or use YungCipher to talk dirty or GoodBodyAnon to be sweet. He stayed as Camera0ff. The silent watcher.

Smoke reached for his mouse and clicked the tip button. He didn’t send a small amount. He sent a massive sum, a number that would make the rest of the chat go silent, a number that meant she could turn the camera off right now and not worry about money for a month.

He watched her body language change.

She paused.

Her fingers that were circling her clit slowed down. He could actually see her shoulders drop. Like she was relieved.

Smoke exhaled a cloud of grey, gaze darkening.

He wanted to reach through the screen, grab her by the back of her neck, and pull her into his own bed. He wanted to strip that oversized shirt off and replace her fingers with his tongue.

He wanted to give her a reason to moan that wasn’t a lie.

Smoke watched her finish, a quiet, unceremonious climax that left her looking even more depleted than before. As she reached out to end the stream, her shoulders slumped, and for a split second, she looked like she might cry.

The screen set went black.

Smoke sat in the dark, the only light coming from the remaining monitors. He stared at the empty black square where she had been, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair so hard the leather groaned.

He wasn’t just obsessed. He was addicted. And the fact that she was breaking right in front of him only made him want to own every shattered piece.

Smoke leaned back in his leather chair, the embers of the blunt glowing. He shifted, shorts riding lower on his hips, his mind drifting back to the time he’d tried to bridge the gap between the screen and the skin.

He’d used YungCipher for it.

Out of all his personas, YungCipher was the one that carried the most of his actual hunger. He wasn’t the quiet ghost of Camera0ff of the protective shadow of GoodBodyAnon.

YungCipher was the raw edge.

He was the one who talked dirty. The one who tipped when she hit a peak, the one who let her know exactly what a real man would do to her if he had her pinned beneath him.

He remembered the messages he’d sent. He hadn’t been playing a character then. Every word had been the truth. She didn’t need those silicone toys. The tips from strangers was pocket change compared to the life he could provide. He’d been explicit, his words painting a picture of exactly how he’d handle her. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t just another viewer with a credit card; he was the real thing.

You don’t need those dildos, baby. I got the real thing waiting for you. I’ll be your favorite big dick. I’ll give that pretty pussy exactly what it deserves.

Smoke could almost feel the weight of her in his hands, the way her tired body would melt under his dominance. He wanted to replace the fake pleasure she performed for the masses with a visceral, bone-deep satisfaction that would leave her shaking and speechless. He wanted to be the only thing she craved.

But she had turned him down.

The rejection hadn’t been angry or disgusted. It had been a firm, practiced wall. She’d declined the offer to meet, citing her rules.

Smoke didn’t feel slighted or insulted. Instead, he felt a dark, twisted sense of pride. He understood. Malaya was guarded for a reason. She was a mother, a survivor, a woman who knew exactly how dangerous the world was. The fact that she wouldn’t dare meet a stranger from a chat room, no matter how much he promised or how high he tipped, only made her more precious in his eyes. It meant she was disciplined. It meant she was protecting herself and Messiah.

It also meant that if he wanted her, he not only had to ask for her.

He had to take her.

He had to weave himself into the fabric of her life until he was the only safety she had left.

Since that night, he’d dialed back YungCipher. He’d stepped away from the aggressive pursuit, retreating into the shadows of his other accounts. He stopped pushing for the meet-up, stopped the overt demands. He went back to being the silent provider, the gentle protector, the ghost in the machine.

He took another stage of the blunt, exhaling a thick cloud that obscured the monitors. He played the long game. He had tested her boundaries and found them strong.

But boundaries were just lines waiting to be crossed.

Smoke looked at the silver laptop on his glass desk, his encrypted phone sitting beside it. He knew everything about her. Where she lived, where she worked, the exact moment she turned off her lights at night.

Smoke just needed the right moment to show her that everything he’d promised as a persona was a reality as a man.

And then Jordan became a name Smoke saw too often.

At first, it had meant nothing to him. A man’s name in a woman’s phone was not enough to move him. Malaya was beautiful, delicate in ways she tried to hide and sweet in ways that slipped out when she forgot to guard herself. Men noticed. Men always noticed. Some sent her messages with too many hearts eyes on social media. Some tried to be funny and failed. Some waited for her cam shows and spent money they didn’t have just to make her look toward the screen for half a second. Smoke knew the difference between noise and a threat. Most men were noise.

Jordan had been noise until Malaya started smiling at him.

Edge & Thread—Location: North Side 9:05PM

Smoke sat in his private office above Edge & Thread, the monitors casting a cold sheen over the angles of his face. Below him, the barbershop had closed for the day. The last chair had been swept, the last cape shaken out, the last customer sent into the Atlanta night with a fresh line. Up here, everything belonged to Smoke. The locked door. The black desk. The encrypted drives. The wall safe behind a framed print no one but him was allowed to touch.

Malaya’s phone activity was open in front of him.

Smoke told himself it was maintenance. That was the lie he used when he needed one. He had put enough invisible architecture around her life to know when something went wrong, and checking the structure was part of keeping it intact. Messages. Unknown numbers. Strange links. Men who became too aggrsssivd when she ignored them. Clients who thought a tip bought access. He watched for threats because threats had a way of hiding themselves in charm.

But Jordan was not charming in a way Smoke could easily condemn. That was the problem.

The latest message sat near the top of the thread.

Jordan: You still up?

Malaya had answered three minutes later.

Malaya: Unfortunately lol. My sleep schedule is a joke.

Jordan replied with a laughing emoji then a picture of a little boy sprawled across a couch with one sock on, one sock missing, and a Black Panther toy tucked under his arm.

Jordan: Shiloh knocked out like he pay bills lol

Malaya’s response came with three laughing emojis.

Malaya: 😂😂😂 He is SO CUTE. Look at him holding T’Challa!

Smoke’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the words. It was the ease of it all. Malaya didn’t overthink that response. She didn’t perform. She didn’t angle herself toward seduction or sweetness. She was simply there, amused and unguarded, letting some man send her pieces of his life as if he had a right to place them in her hands.

Smoke scrolled back.

Jordan didn’t text too much. That made him worse. A desperate man revealed himself fast. He pressed for pictures, attention, reassurance. Jordan did none of that. He appeared every few days at first, then more often, then with enough to become expected. A joke in the afternoon to ease the tension while she was at work. A check-in after she’d clocked out to pick up her son when her baby daddy was supposed to do it. A quick call that lasted eight minutes, then another that lasted twenty-three. One night forty-one.

Forty-one minutes.

Smoke stared at that number longer than he wanted to. He clicked into the call metadata, though he already knew what it would show him. Incoming. Answered. Late evening. Malaya had let it ring once before picking up. It wasn’t long enough to avoid him but long enough to see his name and decide what to do with herself before she answered.

Smoke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along the side of his index finger.

He could picture it too easily. Malaya in her apartment, curled up somewhere, bonnet on or hair loose, she home pressed to her ear. Her voice lower because she didn’t wanna wake Messiah. Jordan on the other end with that easy patience Smoke was beginning to dislike. No rush. No pressure. Just conversation.

Smoke opened another window.

Jordan Ellis.

Smoke preferred men with mess. Meds gave shape to intent. Mess gave him handles. An unpaid judgement. A sealed charge. Old warrants. Bitter women in comments. Something. Anything. He searched with the meditated focus of a man taking apart a machine piece by piece.

Jordan gave him almost nothing.

Thirty. Atlanta born. Local employment, steady enough. Rental history clean. No obvious criminal record. No restraining orders. No heavy social media presence. His pages were mostly private, but not hidden well enough to keep Smoke out. Photos loaded one by one. Jordan at a cookout. Jordan holding Shiloh on his hip in front of an aquarium tank, the boy’s small hand spread against his father’s cheek. Jordan at his son’s outdoor birthday party with a paper cone sitting crooked over his tapered curly fro. Jordan at a convention, grinning beside a wall of anime figures, posing like Sukuna.

Smoke’s eyes narrowed.

Malaya: Same smile 😍 he’s so sweet. Really grew into himself from high school.

Sweet.

Smoke hated that word the most. Sweet men were dangerous when they were real. Not the kind who used softness as bait, but the ones who had grown into patience because life had required it. Jordan had a son. Jordan had responsibilities. A man like that didn’t need to impress a woman with volume. He impressed her with being consistent. With remembering. By calling when he said he would. By laughing at old things from school and asking new questions like he actually cares about the answers.

He returned to the messages.

Jordan had asked about her day. Malaya had told him it was long. He sent a voice note instead. Smoke played it once through the isolated feed. Jordan’s voice came through with a smile in it.

“Well, I hope you eat something and get some rest, Malaya. You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered. Don’t stay up too late watching Love Island knowing your ass need to be asleep. Then get mad when Messiah wakes up hahaha.”

Malaya had answered with a voice note of her own. Smoke didn’t play hers right away. He sat there with his hand nese the mouse, looking at the little audio bar as if it had done something personal to him. Her voice belonged to her, but he had collected so much of it that some part of him had begun treating it like a private possession. Her sleepy voice. Her irritated voice. Her calm voice; honeyed and controlled. Her real laugh when she forgot herself. Her little sigh when something made her feel seen. He knew them. He knew the difference.

Now Jordan was learning them too.

Smoke played it. Malaya’s voice spilled into the room with amusement and faint embarrassment.

“First of all, don’t be clockin’ me! Second, I ate. Kind of. I had fries.”

Jordan replied almost immediately.

Jordan: That’s all you eat is fries. You gonna turn into a damn fry 😂

Malaya: They are when you mind your business 😒

Smoke stared at the exchange. It was nothing. That was what made it something. No naked pictures. No heavy flirting. No late-night confession. Just easy back-and-forth. Smoke could have handled vulgarity. He understood men who wanted a body before they understood the woman inside it. He knew how to deal with that kind. This was worse because Jordan seemed interested in the ordinary parts. Her meals. Her sleep. Her memories. Her jokes. The parts Smoke had been studying from the outside like a locked house with the lights on.

A line of texts appeared farther down, from two days ago.

Jordan: I forgot you used to draw Sailor Moon characters in your notebook.

Malaya: Don’t expose me 😭

Jordan: Never. I thought it was cute then too lol

Smoke’s hand closed once. There it was. History. He couldn’t hack history. He couldn’t purchase it, threaten it, erase it, or outrank it. Jordan stood somewhere in Malaya’s past. Some version of her Smoke would never get to see. Drawing girls with moon wands in the corners of her notebook. Smiling at things before life taught her which pieces of herself to hide.

Smoke had files. Jordan had memories. The distinction scraped against something low in him.

He opened Jordan’s background again, harder this time, less patient. He checked financials. Associates. Old addresses. Known relationships. Family connections. He looked for bitterness, instability, some ugliness hidden beneath the calm surface. An angry ex. A custody dispute with teeth. Gambling. Pills. Anything he could name and place between Jordan and Malaya as proof that his instinct was not jealousy but protection. Contentment was a language Smoke did not trust.

He closed the file and returned to Malaya. Her last message to Jordan was from twenty minutes ago.

Malaya: You still watching that show you told me about?

Jordan: Yeah. You were right. It got good after episode three.

Malaya: Told you. You just had to stop being stubborn.

Jordan: 😂 I’m working on that.

Malaya: Liar.

Jordan: Maybe. But I listen when it matters.

Smoke read that line twice. Then three times. The words were not much on their own. A soft little flirt, maybe. A door left open. Jordan had not shoved his way through it. He had simply set the sentence down and let Malaya decide what to do with it. She had not answered right away. Smoke watched the timestamp as if he could will it backward. Four minutes. Seven. Twelve. Then the little mark appeared.

Malaya: You always did 😌

Smoke went very still. Then, he sat forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled near his mouth. Jordan had not become a problem because he wanted Malaya. Jordan had become a problem because Malaya was beginning to let him matter.

The next message came a few minutes later.

Jordan: We should get together one of these days. Catch up for real.

Smoke’s eyes fixed on it. The typing bubble appeared beneath Jordan’s message, pulsed, disappeared, then returned. Malaya was thinking. He could imagine her biting her lip, not in the way men begged to see on camera, in the way she did when something made her nervous. He had seen that before. She would glance away from the screen, then back. She would smile at herself as if she needed permission to want something simple.

The response came through.

Malaya: I’d like that.

Smoke did not move. The monitors continued their work around him. Servers blinked. The city passed outside with sirens in the distance and tires whispering over damp pavement. Downstairs, the barbershop slept beneath him, all mirrors and empty chairs, all the day’s voices and buzzing gone. On the screen, Malaya’s words sat beneath Jordan’s.

I’d like that.

Smoke read them until they stopped looking like words and started looking like a hand placed somewhere it did not belong. Jordan was not a client. Not a faceless watcher. Not a man begging for pieces of her through a screen. Jordan was warm skin and a familiar smile. A son named Shiloh. A soft-eyed anime nerd who remembered what Malaya used to draw in school and had the patience to wait between messages.

Smoke exhaled through his nose.

He could ruin him.

The thought came cleanly. It sat there like a tool laid on the table. Smoke knew how. He could make Jordan’s life inconvenient by morning and unbearable by the end of the week. A few pressure points. A little disruption. Nothing dramatic enough to point back to him. Men were easy to move when you knew what they loved and what they feared losing.

Malaya had said she would like that.

Smoke leaned back in his chair, the darkness behind his eyes becoming something colder than anger. He had been patient because patience had always worked for him. He had watched, learned, mapped, waited. He had known her patterns so well that knowledge had begun to feel like intimacy. But Jordan was showing him the insult hidden inside that belief. Knowing where Malaya bought groceries was not the same as being the man she called when she was tired. Knowing what time she went live was not the same as being remembered from school. Knowing what made her body respond on camera was not the same as making her smile at her phone in the middle of an ordinary night.

Smoke stared at the screen.

For the first time, distance felt less like control and more like absence. And absence, he was beginning to understand, made room.

———

Jordan’s text came just after six.

Jordan: I'm outside.

Malaya looked at her reflection one last time before grabbing her purse. She had settled on a fitted chocolate-brown ribbed midi dress that hugged her figure without feeling overly dressy. A cropped cream denim jacket rested over her shoulders in case the evening cooled off. Gold hoops framed her face, a thin layered necklace that rested against her collarbones, and her twists spilled over one shoulder. She’d kept her makeup simple, finishing with nothing more than gloss across her lips. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She just wanted to feel pretty.

When she stepped outside, Jordan was leaning against his car, one hand tucked into the pocket of dark jeans. His black T-shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders, and his beard had filled in since high school, giving his face a maturity she hadn't expected. His smile, though, hadn't changed. It was the same warm smile she remembered that always reached his expressive light-brown eyes.

For a second he simply looked at her.

“Damn.”

Malaya laughed. “What?”

“You look good.”

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” She returned the compliment.

“I had to. Couldn’t let you outshine me.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as he opened the passenger door for her.

The drive started exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Easy. The conversation slipped between them without effort. They laughed about teachers they swore had hated them, classmates they'd forgotten until one of them mentioned a name, and the anime arguments they'd somehow still remembered years later.

“So you still watch it?” Jordan asked.

She looked at him with mock offense. “You asking me that like you don't already know the answer.”

“I had to make sure adulthood hadn't changed you.”

“It definitely hasn’t.”

He grinned. “Good.”

By the time they reached the restaurant, Malaya realized she hadn't checked her phone once. Dinner felt less like a first date and more like picking up a conversation that had simply been paused for several years. Jordan listened more than he talked. When she mentioned work, he asked questions instead of waiting for his turn to speak. When she laughed, he laughed with her instead of trying to top the joke. He remembered little things she’d mentioned over the last few weeks of texting, surprising her more than once.

“You actually remembered that?”

“You told me.”

“That was like...two weeks ago.”

He shrugged. “I was listening.”

Something about that stirred inside her.

Eventually the conversation turned toward Shiloh. Jordan’s whole face changed. His smile grew and his shoulders relaxed.

For the next several minutes he told her stories about bedtime negotiations, mismatched socks, spilled cereal, and Saturday mornings spent watching cartoons. He wasn’t performing fatherhood. Watching him, Malaya understood something.

Kindness looked good on him.

After dinner, neither of them seemed ready to call it a night.

“You wanna walk for a minute?” Jordan asked.

She nodded.

The Atlanta evening had settled into that comfortable warmth where the air felt soft against her skin. They wandered the sidewalk without any destination in mind, their conversation drifting from old memories to where life had taken them since graduation.

Jordan glanced over at her. “I was nervous asking you out.”

She stopped walking. “You were?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at you.”

She laughed. “I would've never guessed.”

“I practiced asking you.”

She blinked. “You practiced?!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself. “Like...four different versions.”

Malaya burst into laughter, lightly bumping his shoulder. “You are lying.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“That’s actually kind of cute.”

“I'll take cute.” Jordan replied with. Smirk.

The drive back to her apartment was comfortable. They listened to music and debated over which anime’s were the best. Jordan eventually pulled into a visitor's space and shifted the car into park. Neither of them reached for the door.

He looked over at her. “I’m really glad you said yes.”

Malaya smiled. “So am I.”

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.

Their lips met gently. The kiss wasn't rushed or hungry. Their heads swiveled, Malaya reaching out to grip his chin to hold him steady while she damn near stole his breath with those juicy lips that tasted like maple brown sugar. Jordan felt himself getting stiff, squeezing his thighs to try and calm his erection. The kiss was warm, lingering just long enough to make them both smile when they pulled apart. Jordan rested his forehead against hers for a second before quietly laughing. They separated, Jordan licking her gloss from his lips and Malaya fixing hers since some of it got on her chin.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

“I kinda figured.” Malaya giggled.

“You gonna let me see you again?”

Malaya looked at him. “I think that can be arranged.”

She reached for the door handle. As she turned, Jordan's hand settled lightly at her waist before sliding naturally to the curve of her hip. His fingers gave her ass a playful squeeze over the fabric of her dress.

He laughed. “...Girl.”

Malaya looked back.

“You still…thick.”

Jordan started singing Bobby V Tell Me since it had come up on the playlist.

Malaya threw her head back, laughing. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You are so childish.”

“I ain't lying though. Tell me, for real cuz man…”

Malaya shook her head, unable to stop smiling.

“Goodnight, Jordan.”

“Goodnight, Malaya.”

He watched her step up, unlocking her apartment door, and glance back one last time with a small wave before disappearing inside. Only after the door closed did he finally pull away. The door clicked shut behind her, but the warmth of Jordan’s kiss still lingered on her lips. A small, genuine smile played on her face, one that didn’t have to be performed for a camera or a tip. He was different. Patient, warm, and the way he looked at her made her feel seen, not just consumed.

As she kicked off her heels and began to peel away her clothes, for the first time in a long time, the place was truly quiet. Messiah was with his father for the weekend, leaving her with a rare, unfiltered solitude. In her bedroom, She paused, her dress slipping over her head, her mind drifting back to the way Jordan’s hand had felt on the cleft of her left ass cheek. She wondered if she should have let him come inside. The thought sent a sharp, electric pulse of lust straight to her core, leaving her thighs feeling heavy and her pussy aching with a sudden, insistent throb.

Malaya was horny—deeply, viscerally horny—and the lingering adrenaline from the date had left her skin hypersensitive. She didn’t want to just sleep it off. She wanted to feel something intense, to lean into the friction of her own desire.

With a determined exhale, Malaya transitioned from the woman who had just been on a romantic date to the persona the internet paid to see. It was time for the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” set.

She transformed her space into a curated altar of simulated innocence and raw filth. First came the lighting. She clicked on the ring light, bathing her face in a professional, clinical glow, but then she layered in the atmosphere. She draped strings of warm fairy lights across the wall and turned on a bedside lamp that changed colors, creating a golden, hazy glow that blurred the edges of the room. She laid out the backdrop. It was a plush, baby-pink faux-fur blanket spread across the floor, topped with a white furry rug that looked soft enough to sink into. It was the perfect contrast to what she planned to do on top of it.

Then came the wardrobe. She slid into pastel pink lingerie with lace trimming that hugged her breasts tight, the fabric straining against her nipples. The thin lace of the crotch area barely covered the swell of her ass and the plumpness of her pussy lips. To complete the “good girl” aesthetic, she pulled on a pair of knee-high pastel socks with little bows and fastened a thin charm bracelet around her wrist, the small silver trinkets jingling as she moved. She reached for her hair, deftly styling her long twists into two high pigtails, securing them with oversized satin bows.

Malaya wears a delicate, intricate pink lace mask that clings to the curves of her face, the fabric sheer enough to tease but thick enough to create a barrier of mystery. The floral patterns of the lace cast seductive shadows across her skin, framing her eyes in a way that makes them look wider, more vulnerable, and dangerously focused.

She looked like a doll. The perfect fuck doll.

The final touches were the props. She placed a large, glossy lollipop still wrapped on the nightstand next to a high-powered Bluetooth vibrator that was gifted to her from MoTh3rL0ad88, deep, purple silicone and appeared not so intimidating. Malaya checked her camera angle, ensuring the frame captured the curve of her hips and the inviting dip of her waist, making sure the viewers would have a front-row seat to her descent.

Finally, she reached for her phone and tapped the screen. The heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty filled the room, the slow, provocative beat syncing with the thrum of blood between her legs. Malaya climbed onto the pink fur, arching her back and letting the music vibrate through her skin. She looked into the lens, her eyes darkening, the “good girl” mask sliding into place just as she prepared to go live and get filthy.

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty, nasty, nasty

Malaya clicked the “Go Live” button, and instantly, the viewer count began to climb. The screen flooded with a rush of usernames, a digital tide of hungry men eager for their fix. She leaned into the camera, her eyes wide and shimmering, a playful, shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Hi everyone,” she whispered, her voice an angelic, breathy coo. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting down on the pad of it gently, her gaze fluttering. “I...I didn’t think so many of you would be here tonight. I’m feeling a little shy.”

She giggled, a high, melodic sound, and twirled a stray twist around her finger. She looked like a doll, a pristine image of purity in her pastel pinks and white fur, but the way she let her gaze linger on the lens told a different story. She was playing the part of the innocent girl who had accidentally stumbled into a room full of hungry wolves with brick hard dicks and balls filled with cum, acting as if she were barely aware of how the thin lace of her panties clung to the swell of her ass and barely covered her pussy.

[User: BigDickEnergy99]: Look at those bows…I want to rip them right out of her hair.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing, baby. We know you a little slut for us.

[User: TipKing_X]: Tipped 50 tokens! Show us those cheeks, Good Girl.

Malaya blushed, a performative flush that crept up her neck. “You're all so mean to me,” she pouted, bouncing her tits like she was throwing a temper tantrum.

If you keep up with me

I'll keep on coming back

If you do it too good

I'm gonna get attached

'Cause it feels like Heaven when it hurts so bad

Baby, put it on me

I like it just like that…

As the heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty kicked back in, the “good girl” mask didn’t falter, it just evolved. Malaya turned on her knees slowly, the camera capturing the dip of her waist and the way her bralette strained against her hard nipples. She turned her back to the lens, glancing over her shoulder with a wide-eyed, innocent expression while her lower body began to move.

She started with a slow, hypnotic roll of her hips, the movement fluid and circular. The white fur of the rug brushed against her thighs as she began to twerk, her cheeks bouncing with a heavy vibration. She wasn’t just shaking; she was oscillating, her hips swinging in a precise, tantalizing cadence that made the lace of her panties disappear between the folds of her ass.

[User: HardCoreHustle]: Fuck, that bounce is lethal. Look at her move!

[User: LustLord]: Tipped 100 tokens! Arch that back, Miss Blaze!

[User: DeepDive_88]: She look so sweet but she moves like a fucking pro. I need to see more.

Malaya let out a, staged moan, her head tilting back as she leaned forward, planting her palms on the pink fur. She pushed her ass high into the air, creating a steep, inviting slope. She began to grind against the air, her hips rotating in a slow, agonizing circle that simulated the feeling of a thick dick sliding deep inside her. She looked back at the camera, biting her lip, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with a mixture of fake modesty and real arousal.

“Is this...is this okay?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I don't know why I’m doing this...I feel so naughty, Sir.”

Then, with a sudden, athletic grace that contradicted her fragile persona, she slid backward. In one smooth, fluid motion, she hit a full split on the plush rug, her legs extending wide, leaving her completely open to the lens. The position pushed her panties to their absolute limit, the fabric straining across her ass and her soaking wet pussy, the center of the lace darkening as her arousal leaked through.

She stayed there, chest heaving, her breasts bouncing slightly under the pink cotton. She reached down, slowly tracing the line of her thigh with a manicured nail, her eyes locked on the camera, challenging every man in the chat to tell her exactly how they would ruin her.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 200 tokens! Open those legs wider, you filthy little doll!

[User: PureSin]: I can see she's soaking through those panties. Look at that wet spot!

[User: AlphaMale_7]: I wanna see you swallow a whole dick while you in that split, slut.

Malaya slowly pulled herself out of the split, her movements languid. She crawled toward the lens on all fours, her breasts swaying under the pink lingerie, her eyes locked onto the camera with that wide, doe-eyed gaze. She stopped just inches from the lens, her face filling the frame, the soft glow of the ring light reflecting in her pupils.

“You guys are being so loud,” she whispered, a tiny, teasing smile playing on her lips. “I can’t even think...you’re making me feel so...exposed.”

She sat back on her heels and spreading her knees just enough to give them a glimpse of the lace straining against her pussy. With a slow, shaky breath, she pressed her palm flat against her crotch. She began to rub her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, her fingers circling her clit in a grinding motion. The lace was translucent from her arousal, clinging to every fold of her lips.

Malaya let out a soft, airy moan, her head tilting back as she increased the pressure, her hips lifting off the rug. “It’s so warm,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m just...I’m just a little bit wet. Is that bad?”

Then, without warning, she reached down and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg upward and outward in one fluid, athletic motion. She slid into a perfect side split, her body stretched wide across the white fur. The position was devastatingly open, her pussy centered perfectly in the frame, the pink lace of her panties pulled tight and damp, outlining the plumpness of her labia.

She looked at the camera, her expression a mask of faux-hesitation, her lip trembling slightly. “Do you...do you really want to see it?” she asked, her voice a breathy, innocent plea. “I’m so shy...I’ve never shown this many people at once.”

The chat exploded. The token count began to skyrocket as the men scrambled to pay for the reveal.

[User: KingKink]: Tipped 500 tokens! SHOW US! Open those legs and show us that pussy now!

[User: RawDogger]: I'll pay anything to see you dripping for us, you filthy doll.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing the innocent act and show us how wet you are!

Malaya giggled, a sound that was becoming increasingly hungry. She lowered her leg and reached over to the side and picked up a large, bright red lollipop, unwrapping it. She didn’t take it straight to her mouth. First, she ran the hard candy slowly along the line of her jaw, then down her neck, trailing it over the valley of her breasts. Finally, she slid the lollipop into her mouth. She began to lick it with slow, swirling motions of her tongue, her eyes half-lidded and glazed. She sucked on the candy with a wet, loud slurping sound, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the sweetness in. She looked like a corrupted piece of candy herself—sweet, colorful, and utterly decadent. As she sucked the lollipop, she began to use her free hand to tease the edge of the lace covering her crotch, hooking a manicured nail under the and pulling it just a fraction of an inch away from her skin, teasing the chat with a sliver of her glistening, deep brown lips and dark pink flesh.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 300 tokens! Suck that candy like it's a dick while you pull those panties aside!

[User: PureSin]: Look at her eyes...she loves being watched. She's a total slut.

Malaya pulled the lollipop out with a loud, sticky pop, a thin string of glistening saliva connecting the candy to her lips. She let out a breathy, exhausted tease of a laugh.

“You guys have been so patient,” she whispered, her voice sounding small and fragile in the quiet of the room. “I think it’s time I show you what a good girl I’ve been.”

She reached up, her fingers pulling the straps of her pastel pink lingerie down. She didn’t just rip it off; she played the part, sliding the fabric slowly down one shoulder, then the other, teasing the edge of the lace against her skin. As the bra fell away, her breasts spilled out, dark, gum drop nipples hard and peaking in the cool air. She let the garment rest around her waist, leaving her chest bare and heaving, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps that she knew the microphone was picking up.

Then, her hands drifted lower, her fingertips grazing the edge of the lace covering her pussy. She hooked her fingers into the lace, pausing for a heartbeat to let the anticipation build in the chat. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid the lace to the side. One by one, each slippery pussy lip revealed itself, a slimy trail of her arousal clinging to the fabric. Clit poking. Labia twitching. The knee-high pastel socks that hugged her calves, adding to the coquette aesthetic she used as a shield.

Malaya spread her legs wide, exposing the depths of her fat pussy to the lens. She was drenched, her folds glistening and plump, the pinkish-red hue of her clit peaking through the wetness. She looked engorged, exposed, and utterly vulnerable, though her face remained a mask of shy innocence. She reached for the lollipop again, but she didn’t put it back in her mouth. Instead, she pressed the sticky, sugar-coated candy directly against her pussy.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her head rolling back, her pigtails splaying across the white rug. “It tastes so sweet...I can feel the sugar melting right into me.”

She began to rub the lollipop in slow, circular motions around her clit, the glossy candy coating mixing with her own natural lubrication. The wet, slapping sound of the candy against her flesh filled the speakers. She pushed the lollipop deeper, teasing the entrance of her pussy, the sweetness of the candy contrasting with the saltiness of her own arousal.

“I feel so naughty,”she whimpered, her voice breaking as she arched her back. “I’m being such a bad girl for you, Sir…but I’m still your good girl, right?”

The chat was an absolute frenzy, a waterfall of demands and tips, but one username stood out, flashing with a generous contribution that had already changed the trajectory of the night.

Camera0ff

Malaya reached over to the side of the white fur rug, her fingers curling around a sleek, high-tech device. She held it up to the camera, bringing it close so the ring light caught every detail.

“You guys...look what I have,” she whispered, her voice airy and laced with a curated shyness. “I want to say a huge thank you to MoTh3rL0ad88. You’re so generous...you bought me this beautiful Bluetooth vibrator.”

The toy was a masterpiece of erotic engineering. A deep, midnight purple silicone that looked almost black under the lights, with a polished, ergonomic curve designed to hit every internal sweet spot. It had a smooth, seamless finish and a small, pulsing LED light at the base that glowed a soft, inviting blue, signaling it was paired and ready for remote command. It looked expensive, powerful, and utterly invasive.

“I think...I think I’m gonna use it just for you guys tonight,” she teased, her eyes hooded as she looked into the lens. “I’m gonna to let the chat decide exactly how I feel.”

Malaya spread her legs even wider on the pink blanket. She guided the rounded tip of the vibrator toward her soaking entrance. She let out a small, needy whimper as she pushed the silicone head past her outer lips, sliding it slowly into her tight, wet channel. The friction made her toes curl inside her pastel socks, and she gasped, her head falling back as she seated the toy deep inside her, leaving just the stimulating nub pressed firmly against her swollen clit.

She froze, her body trembling slightly, her hands gripping the edges of the fur rug. She waited, charged with an electric anticipation.

Then, it happened. A low, deep thrum vibrated through her core. It started on the lowest setting. A gentle, steady pulse that felt like a warm current flowing through her pussy. It wasn't overwhelming yet. It was a slow burn, a teasing warmth that began to wake up every nerve ending.

“Oh..” she moaned, the sound soft and breathy, barely more than a whisper.

Her hand drifted down, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles. The combination of the internal vibration and the external pressure sent a wave of heat crashing through her. She rolled her hips, her pigtails splaying across the rug, her voice dropping to a fragile, needy tone.

“It feels so warm...mmm, it’s just starting to wake me up,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “I can feel it... buzzing inside me…please, someone...make it stronger…”

———

10:42PM—Smoke’s Den

The frame is tight, a cinematic close-up focusing solely on a large, veined hand with thick fingers gripping a sleek, encrypted smartphone. The skin is smooth, the knuckles prominent, and the thumb is poised with predatory precision over the screen. On the display, a minimalist app interface glows. A simple slider and a series of preset patterns.

The atmosphere in the den is suffocating, a thick blend of Tom Ford’s masculine musk and the charred, caramel scent of Uncle Nearest 1856. The only light comes from the 120-inch laser projector, casting a ghostly, flickering glow over Smoke’s dark skin, turning the matte charcoal concrete of the wall into a living canvas of Malaya’s desperation.

Smoke is a statue of primal intent, sprawled deep in the black Nappa leather pit. His legs are spread wide, claiming every inch of the space, his chest expanded and glistening under the artificial light. He is the picture of disciplined agony. The bass from D’Angelo’s Voodoo vibrates through the floor of the den, a low, swampy auditory stimulation that mirrors the heavy pulsing in Smoke’s groin.

I feel like making dreams come true

Oh baby

When you talk to me

When you're moanin' sweet and low

When you touch me

And my feelings start to show, show, oh

That's the time

I feel like making love to you

That's the time

I feel like making dreams come true, oh baby…

Below his navel, the ferocity of his arousal is on full display. His nine-inch dick is a rigid, unyielding pillar, gorged with blood and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the fabric of his low-slung black shorts. Because of the way he’s leaning back, there is no place for his length to go but up. That dick is pressed flat against the lower wall of his abs, a heavy, thick ridge of flesh that carves a brutal path straight toward his belly button.

The athletic material of the shorts is stretched to its absolute breaking point, the fabric pulled so taut across the wide, flared head of his dick that the blunt silhouette is unmistakable. Every time he takes a slow, calculated sip of the amber whiskey, his abdominal muscles contract, causing his dick to throb violently against the cloth. It’s a heavy jump. A desperate attempt to break free from the imprisonment of the fabric. A small, dark circle of pre-cum has already begun to dampen the black material, the moisture adding a slick, friction-filled torture every time he breathes.

Smoke refuses to touch himself. The ache in his balls is a dull, heavy roar, a pressure that would drive any other man to madness, but for Smoke, it is fuel. He channels that physical torture into the digital puppetry in his hand.

Smoke leaned back into the depths of his sunken black leather pit, the fabric cool against his bare skin. He wasn’t touching himself. The arousal was purely psychological, a dark, pulsing blaze that settled deep in his gut and made his nine-inch thick dick strain against the thin fabric of his black athletic shorts. His heavy, thick shaft was rock hard, the wide flared head pulsing with every beat of his heart, but his hands remained steady. He preferred the power of the ghost in the machine.

Internally, he was a storm of possessiveness. Watching her on the 120-inch projector, her image towering over him on the matte charcoal wall, he felt a visceral surge of ownership. He knew every inch of her. The scar on her knee, the way she breathed when she was actually peaking.

His eyes narrowed, tracking every movement of her body on the screen. He watched her play the part, the faux-innocence in her voice. Good girl. The phrase tasted like iron in his mouth. He hated the act. Smoke enjoyed the tease, there was no doubt about it, but because he knew the woman beneath the costume, he knew she was a mess of need and anxiety, and he loved that he was the only one who truly saw her.

He could see it now. The way her thighs trembled, the glistening wetness coating her pussy as she rubbed that lollipop against herself. She was soaking, her body betraying her “innocent”persona. She thought she was in control of the narrative, directing the chat, managing the tips, playing the game.

You think you the one pulling the strings, Malaya, he thought, his gaze darkening. But I own the string. And after that date you had tonight, I think I need to remind you.

His plan was simple: total dismantling. Smoke didn’t want her to just orgasm. He wanted to break her composure. He wanted to strip away the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” act until there was nothing left but raw, uncontrolled desperation. He wanted the entire chat to witness the exact moment her curated performance shattered, leaving her gasping and sobbing for a release that only he could grant or deny. He was going to ruin her in front of hundreds, turning her professional show into a public execution of her modesty.

His face is a battlefield of disciplined lust and predatory hunger.

On the screen, Malaya guided the midnight purple silicone head of the vibrator into her tight, wet channel. Smoke watched her eyes flutter, her breath hitching as she seated the toy deep inside her.

The moment the device was fully submerged, Smoke’s thumb moved.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, his thumb slides the intensity bar just a fraction of an inch to the right. He keeps it on the lowest setting, a mere whisper of a vibration, designed not to satisfy, but to irritate the nerves, to create a craving that can’t be scratched.

For a while, he watched her body warm up to it. The goosebumps on her flesh. The way her moans hitched. How she rubbed her clit and bit her lip. His dick bounced within the tight constraints of his athletic shorts. A painful erection that needed tending to but Smoke would rather edge than release. He was on a mission of destroying Malaya.

For making him feel the way he does. For being so goddamn fine. For invading his mind from sun up to sun down.

I got something for you, he thought.

Smoke didn’t slide the bar this time. He flicked it. He jumped the setting from the lowest tease to a high, aggressive thrum.

He watched through the lens as Malaya’s entire body jolted. Her back arched violently, her fingers digging into the white fur rug, and a loud, genuine moan—one that wasn’t for the tips—ripped from her throat. The sudden surge of power inside her was an electric shock, a violent intrusion of pleasure that bypassed her brain and went straight to her nerves.

Smoke let out a low, guttural exhale, a predatory smirk touching his lips. The game had officially begun.

Smoke’s thumb didn’t just slide. It danced with a sadistic tempo across the encrypted screen. He began to cycle through the preset patterns, switching from a steady, aggressive drone to a series of sharp, erratic pulses. He wanted to keep her off-balance, denying her the ability to settle into the sensation, forcing her body to chase a peak that he kept just out of reach.

On the 120-inch screen, the effect was immediate and visceral. Malaya’s composure disintegrated. Her legs, still clad in those innocent pastel socks, began to shake with a violent, uncontrolled tremor. Her thighs clamped shut, then flew open in a desperate, instinctive attempt to either crush the toy deeper into her walls or push it away from the overstimulated nerves of her clit.

Smoke watched with a predatory intensity as her pussy began to weep, the glistening wetness coating the silicone head of the vibrator and leaking out in thick, clear strings that smeared across the white fur rug. He could see the internal contractions of her vaginal walls. The way her muscles gripped the device in starving spasms, trying to milk the vibration out of the machine.

He flicked the intensity to the absolute maximum.

Malaya’s reaction was primal. A guttural, strangled sound tore from her throat, a noise that was completely stripped of the “Innocent Girl” persona. Her fingers clawed at the rug, bunching the fabric into tight knots as her hips began to buck upward in jagged, uncontrolled jolts. Her chest heaved, the pastel lingerie straining against her waist as she gasped for air, her lungs failing her. Her breasts shook and her ass gyrated.

His eyes are hooded, dark voids that don’t blink, locked onto the 120-inch image of Malaya. He isn’t just watching her. He’s consuming her. Every time her thighs tremble or her back arches in a violent spasm. His pupils dilate, absorbing the sight of her surrender like a sponge. There is a slight, savagely crease between his brows, a mark of intense concentration, as if he is calculating the exact millisecond her willpower snaps.

He watched her toes curl tight, her entire frame vibrating in sync with the device buried inside her. The pleasure was so intense it had crossed the line into a form of exquisite torture. Her head snapped back, her neck tendons straining, and her mouth hung open in a silent, breathless scream.

Smoke leaned forward, his eyes locked on the way her stomach rippled, access skin from birth tightening, her core bracing for the impact of the waves he was sending through her. The faint pulse pitter-pattering against her jugular, blood rushing south, pooling in her engorged clit and drenched folds.

He suddenly dropped the setting back to a low, teasing crawl.

The sudden drop caused Malaya to collapse. She slid down the rug, her body going limp for a split second before she began to writhe, her hips grinding frantically against the air, begging for the power to return. She looked wrecked, hair coming undone from the bows, makeup smudged, eyes glazed and unfocused. She was no longer performing for the chat. She was a slave to the signal in Smoke’s hand.

He let her simmer in that desperation for a few seconds, watching her pussy twitch and pulse in a void of denied pleasure. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he slammed the slider back to the top and triggered the “Chaos” pattern—a rapid-fire sequence of bursts and long, heavy vibrations.

Malaya’s body snapped taut like a bowstring. Her internal muscles clamped down on the vibrator with such force that she let out a high-pitched, sobbing moan. Her pelvis tilted sharply, back arching so hard her shoulder blades pressed into the floor, and her entire midsection shuddered in a prolonged, violent orgasm.

Smoke watched the way her pussy pulsed around the toy, the rhythmic squeezing of her walls visible even through the camera lens. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing hitches, body completely surrendered to the digital ghost he controlled. He didn’t stop it. He kept the vibration screaming inside her, pushing her past the peak, forcing her to ride the wave of an orgasm that wouldn’t end until he decided she had had enough.

That mask had been incinerated by the relentless frequency Smoke was pumping into her. She was sprawled across the white fur rug, her limbs splayed and trembling, her head lolling from side to side. A thin, glistening string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin as her jaw hung slack. She was panting, the sound wet and desperate, her chest heaving so violently that her breasts bounced with every ragged breath.

“Please…” she whimpered, the word barely a sound, more of a broken vibration in her throat. “Please, Daddy...I can’t... I can’t take it...please!”

The word Daddy hit Smoke like a physical blow. He watched her on the screen, seeing the way her eyes were out of focus,her consciousness hovering on the edge of a blackout. Her voice had devolved into a series of high-pitched, needy keens and guttural whimpers, a symphony of surrender that told him exactly who owned her in this moment.

Below her, her pussy was a disaster of arousal. It wasn’t just wet; it was overflowing. Thick, slimy trails of cream and arousal leaked from her drenched folds, soaking into the white fur of the rug in heavy, translucent patches. Every time the vibrator pulsed, more of her essence was forced out, spraying in tiny, glistening droplets against her inner thighs.

Behind the lace mask, her eyes are glazed with a heavy, shimmering layer of lust and total submission, her pupils blown wide until the irises are nearly swallowed by dark brown. Her eyes dart frantically, flickering with a mix of desperation and a total body surrender, glistening within the ring light like wet gemstones. Every time the vibrator spikes, her eyelids flutter and cross, turning her gaze into a raw, mindless expression of overstimulation that screams she is no longer in control.

The chat was a blur of chaotic energy. Tips were flooding in as the viewers watched a woman be systematically dismantled by an invisible hand. The screen was a waterfall of explicit demands and shock, but Smoke ignored them all. His world was narrowed down to the sight of her breaking.

Smoke’s dick was reacting violently. He remained still, his hands gripping the phone, but his thick length was twitching beneath the fabric of his black shorts. He felt the heavy, thick head of his dick throb in sync with her moans, the veins pulsing with a pressure that felt like it might burst. He was rock hard, strained to the absolute limit, his body buzzing with the reflected energy of her agony and ecstasy.

He saw the moment it happened. Malaya’s entire body suddenly locked. Her toes curled so tight they cramped, and her hips gave one final, desperate upward thrust, her pelvis tilting sharply toward the ceiling.

A sharp, piercing squeal tore from her throat—a sound of total overload.

Then, she erupted.

It was a flood. A massive, violent jet of clear fluid exploded from her core, a torrent of squirt so powerful it sprayed across the rug and splashed against her own stomach. The force of the release was visceral, a physical eruption that shook her entire frame. The volume of the fluid was so immense, the internal pressure so sudden and overwhelming, that it acted like a piston. With a wet, suctioning pop, the Bluetooth vibrator was physically launched out of her pussy, propelled by the sheer force of her orgasm. It flew a few inches across the rug, landing with a dull thud, still vibrating weakly.

Malaya collapsed instantly, her body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She lay there in a widening pool of her own release, her chest heaving, her eyes vacant, completely spent. She was shaking in long, slow tremors, her pussy twitching and leaking, wide open and ruined.

Smoke stared at the screen, his dick throbbing with a punishing ache. He had never seen her lose control like that. He had pushed her past the breaking point, and the sight of her—soaked, drooling, and utterly defeated—made him want to reach through the screen and claim every inch of her wreckage.

Smoke’s expression hardens. His gaze drops from her face to the glistening mess between her legs, his eyes narrowing with a possessive greed. He looks starved. He looks dangerous. The contrast is visceral: Malaya is a shattered wreck of pleasure on the scene while Smoke is a rigid, pulsing statue of restraint, his face a mask of absolute dominance, savoring the knowledge that he is the only one who truly knows how to make her scream.

He watched her weakly push herself up from the white fur rug, her movements sluggish and disjointed. She looked completely shattered, her eyes glazed and her lips parted, a thin string of saliva clinging to her chin. She looked like she’d been hit by a freight train of pleasure, her pussy gaping and leaking fluid onto the floor.

When the screen finally went black, the “Stream Ended” notification flashing across the 120-inch projection. Smoke didn’t move for a long minute. D’Angelo’s voice rushed back in through the speakers, heavy and suffocating. He stood up abruptly, the movement sharp and jagged. He began to pace the length of the sunken leather pit, his bare feet slapping against the cold, matte charcoal concrete. He was wired, his nerves screaming, his blood boiling with a cocktail of possessiveness and raw, unadulterated lust.

I need a blunt, he thought, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. I need to chill the fuck out.

But the internal command was losing the war against the impulse. Every step he took felt like he was fighting the urge to bolt out the door, jump in his car, and drive those thirty minutes to her duplex. He could almost feel it. The weight of her body as he scooped her up the second she opened the door, the smell of her sweat and pussy hitting him like a drug.

He imagined the carnage he’d leave behind in her apartment. He wanted to wreck her. He wanted to slam her against the wall, flip her over the kitchen counter, and drive his big dick balls-deep into her guts until she forgot how to breathe. He wanted to feel her tight walls gripping him, her screams echoing through the halls, marking her as his in a way a Bluetooth vibrator never could.

His chest felt tight, his lungs struggling to pull in enough air. With every breath, his stomach muscles flexed and rippled, tight with the sheer anticipation of a physical release that felt miles away. He let out a shaky, guttural exhale, his shoulders hunching.

Stop it. Chill. Play the long game, his inner voice hissed, but it sounded distant, drowned out by the throb in his groin.

Smoke stopped pacing and looked down. His black athletic shorts were stretched to their absolute limit. His dick was poked straight out, a rigid, pulsing tower that looked like a traffic cone shoved into the fabric. The wide, flared head was straining against the material, the veins thick and hard, twitching with every beat of his heart. He was rock hard, aching and heavy, the pressure in his balls becoming almost unbearable.

He stared at the protrusion, his breath hitching. He was a man of absolute control, a man who mapped out every move and monitored every variable, but looking at the sight of his own lust fueled by the image of Malaya soaked and broken on a rug, he knew he was dangerously close to the edge.

———

Elijah Moore had built his life on one principle.

Patterns rarely lied. People did.

His monitors glowed against the darkness of the office tucked above Edge & Thread. Three screens displayed different pieces of three different lives. A ransomware recovery for a music producer in Houston. Cryptocurrency movement connected to an old client in Miami. Security footage from a warehouse outside Atlanta waiting to be archived before sunrise.

Smoke moved through each task with practiced efficiency.

Windows opened. Code scrolled. Files decrypted. Logs disappeared.

By the time the eastern sky began trading black for blue, BLK TRACE had already earned more money than most people would see in a week. He leaned back from the desk, his eyes settled on a different monitor. A familiar route. A familiar vehicle. A familiar morning.

Malaya.

The timestamp rested in the corner of the screen.

Thursday—8:14 A.M.

She pulled into the daycare parking lot carrying Messiah against her shoulder. Even through grainy security footage, motherhood had its own flow. She positioned him higher with one arm while reaching for the diaper bag with the other. The little boy wrapped sleepy arms around her neck, unwilling to surrender his mama.

Smoke watched her disappear through the front entrance. Two minutes later she returned alone. She didn’t drive toward work. His gaze drifted toward another monitor displaying nothing more than a street map layered with months of routine.

Colored lines crossed the city like veins.

Home ✅

Daycare ✅

Work ✅

Grocery store ✅

Gas station ✅

Home again ✅

Most days followed the same geometry. Thursdays didn’t. Every Thursday…the route bent.

Honey & Oak.

Arrival—8:28 | Departure—9:03

Thirty-five minutes. Every week.

The pattern had repeated often enough that software no longer needed to flag it.

Smoke noticed it on his own.

He enlarged the map. The café sat on a corner between an old bookstore and a tailor shop. Nothing remarkable. No unusual visitors. No suspicious activity. No reason to investigate.

Except…

Malaya kept choosing it.

He wasn’t interested in coffee. He was interested in decisions. People revealed themselves through repetition. Through what they returned to when nobody was watching.

His fingers rested against the desk.

Thirty-five minutes. Every Thursday.

Why?

He opened another window.

Property records.

Honey & Oak.

Family owned. Nearly eighteen years in business. No police reports worth mentioning. No financial irregularities. No history of violent incidents.

He closed it again.

None of that answered the question. Addresses explained where. They never explained why.

Smoke stood and walked toward the office window.

Malaya always made time for Honey & Oak. Not once. Not occasionally. Every Thursday.

His phone buzzed across the desk.

Stack: Lunch at Mama Dee’s?

Smoke looked at the message before setting the phone back down unanswered. His attention had already drifted elsewhere.

The following Thursday he parked across the street from Honey & Oak.

He arrived early. Engine off. Windows cracked.

Coffee never crossed his mind. People did.

Teachers walked in carrying canvas totes. Construction workers had stopped for breakfast before climbing into company trucks. An elderly couple shared a newspaper at the same window table for almost forty minutes. Two nurses still wearing hospital badges laughed over something one of them read on her phone. Nobody looked out of place. Nobody seemed to be performing. The neighborhood flowed through the café as naturally as conversation.

At exactly 8:27, Malaya pulled into a parking space. She lifted Messiah from his car seat, balanced the diaper bag, and walked toward the entrance. She stayed inside thirty-six minutes. When she came back out, she looked…

Lighter. Less burdened.

Smoke frowned almost imperceptibly.

The following Thursday he returned.

Then the Thursday after that.

He never entered. He never watched Malaya once she disappeared inside. Instead, he studied Honey & Oak itself.

The pace. The customers. The owners greeting people by name. The absence of hurry. The ordinary kindness exchanged between strangers. It wasn’t just a coffee shop, it was a pause. A breather. An escape from reality passed those doors. One small piece of the week that belonged entirely to the people who stepped inside.

Smoke rested both hands on the steering wheel. For months he had believed Honey & Oak was another location on Malaya’s route. Another point on a map. Now he understood something different. This wasn’t where she bought coffee, it was where she caught her breath. He looked through the windshield toward the front door.

If he intended to become a part of her everyday world…there would never be a better place.

Nor a more dangerous one.

Smoke reached for his phone.

Brick answered on the second ring.

“You busy?”

“I got time.”

“I need to move my standing appointment.”

A brief silence settled between them.

“What day you thinkin’?”

Smoke kept his eyes on Honey & Oak.

“Thursday.”

“Aight.”

Smoke ended the call.

Across the street, the bell above Honey & Oak’s front door swung open as another customer disappeared inside.

Operation: The Familiar Stranger had begun.

@championshipshade @plan3tch1ld @lizbehave @shereeluvssinners @cloviacreem-18 @aretasreads @harleycativy @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @shanthefemalerapper @alaysiunaadams23 @shamansha @smokingangelhoe @themindfulwriter16 @venusisrising @margepimpson @fairysoulja @chromexbarbie @pinkangelwing222 @rolemodelshit @d1gitalb4rbie @astr0babez @solarssins @secretisme4 @ofwgkta-maur @shecuteforaewok @callmemckenzieee @prettypinkprincess29 @mmbee675 @vibrantlymellowknight @itsspixiedusst56 @kleighw86 @bananajoeclone @sintizc @richonne4life @dammitj4net @kaystacks17 @midnightmemoirsofher @addelinedarling @abcedfy @brownsugarcoffy @imperoyalblue @girlmath101 @dezzy154 @softy212 @overzealouszeitgeist @blaqwidow91 @christinabae @mirathebookworm @theblulife @cocochannelmoi @kindofaintrovert @tatelangdonsweater @og-goddesstrill

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Camera 0ff…

Summary: watching turns into wanting…and wanting turns into control

Warnings: Obsession /Voyeurism / Possessive Male / Hood romance grit / Daddy kink / Provider dynamic / Dirty talk + cum fixation / Unprotected, raw, dominant sex / Slow burn tension / Crime Drama + Thiller / Stalking / Urban Erotica

[ Part Three ]

Smoke knew which window was hers without looking at the house number.

He’d parked three houses down tonight, far enough that nobody would remember his charger if they happened to glance outside, close enough that he could catch movement behind the second-floor curtains. The position wasn’t accidental. Nothing about these nights was.

His gaze stayed fixed on the duplex.

He wasn’t focused on the building or the street.

It was her.

The television flashed blue against the curtains. A shadow crossed the room and disappeared again.

LaceyBlaze69

Malaya.

By now, smoke could recognize her silhouette faster than he recognized most faces. A tilt of her head. The swing of her hair. The way she crossed a room carrying a cup or a phone or a basket of laundry.

The curtains concealed most of her, but they didn’t need to show much. Smoke’s mind supplied the rest.

He watched the second-floor window and waited for her to pass again.

Smoke should’ve left forty minutes ago.

He knew it.

The job waiting on his laptop knew it.

The burner phone sitting untouched in the center console knew it.

But he remained exactly where he was, one hand resting against the steering wheel as his attention drifted back to the same upstairs windows for the hundredth time that night.

She had been back for over an hour. Alone. At least, as far as he could tell.

Smoke’s gazes lingered on the window. The surveillance feed mounted beside the dash displayed nothing useful now, only the quiet exterior of the building and a timestamp counting steadily forward. Smoke barely looked at it. He didn’t need technology to watch her anymore.

That realization should have bothered him. Instead, it settled somewhere deep inside him with a deep seeded satisfaction.

Smoke was close. He was so close. Closer than he’d ever been. The distance between them no longer felt measured in blocks or city streets. It felt measured in moments. One decision. One knock at the door. One conversation that would make him real to her inside of invisible.

His jaw tightened.

Then, the second phone lit up. Smoke’s eyes cut to the device.

Stack.

Smoke stared at the screen for a moment as it vibrated against the center console. Once. Twice. A third time.

Only then did he answer.

“Yeah.”

“You held up?”

In the background, the bass of some slow, thumping trap track rumbled through the phone. A song made for strip clubs. There was laughter in the background. Glass clinks. A woman’s voice sweet and blurred called someone “baby” before fading out.

Smoke’s eyes remained on the upstairs window. “What you want?”

“I need a favor.”

The request immediately irritated him. It wasn’t because his brother was asking for his help. It was when.

Smoke watched Malaya cross the window again before she disappeared out of view.

“It’s important,” Stack said.

“Ain’t say it wasn’t.” Smoke replied.

For a moment, only music filled the line. Then, Stack sighed, abandoning whatever charm he usually wrapped around these conversations.

“One of my clients is gettin’ cold feet. That one skincare influencer from the LA contract.”

Smoke already knew which one.

“What she do?”

“Started stashing files. Extra backups. Personal cloud storage I ain’t authorize.”

That got Smoke’s attention. His fingers drifted toward the burner phone resting beside him.

“Who she talking to?”

“Cybersecurity blogger outta Chicago. Small-time, but connected enough to be annoying. Might have federal contacts. Might not. I don’t plan on finding out.”

Smoke’s expression darkened. “You think she gon’ leak?”

“I think she already scheduled it.”

The answer settled heavy in Smoke’s blacked out charger. He hated leaving but business was business. And he refused to let some lame ass influencer hoe fuck up his operation.

“She got backups?” Smoke asked.

“Probably. Cloud storage. Maybe more.”

Smoke nodded once. “Send me everything.”

“It’s already there”

“Where?”

“Your RED folder.”

A humorless smile touched Smoke’s mouth. “What’s it labeled?”

“RATTED.”

The charger started beneath him. Headlights swept briefly across the curb as he pulled away from the spot.

“So, I’m cleaning your mess?” Smoke said with a dry chuckle.

“Technically ours.”

“How the fuck this my mess? You let this bitch get slick.”

The city rolled past outside the windows in an array of colors. From the outside looking in, Smoke had tints on his windows. Like a two-way mirror.

“Aight. I’m heading over now. I’ll let you know how it go.”

“No need. I know you got it.” Stack said.

Smoke hung up.

By the time Smoke reached the bypass, Malaya’s neighborhood had disappeared behind him. The only light inside the charger came from the glow of the encrypted software spreading across his console.

Data streams began populating the screen.

Passwords. Access points. Recovery keys. A file opened automatically.

RATTED.zip

DECRYPTING…

Smoke settled deeper into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. The disappointment of leaving her lingered beneath his ribs, sharp and unwelcome. But work had always been easier than desire. Cleaner. Simpler. Systems made sense.

People didn’t.

Especially not women like Malaya.

For now, Ghost mode is engaged.

No fingerprints. No trail. No mercy.

01:47 AM

Buckhead high-rise. Top floor.

Concierge waved her in with a smile hours ago. The girl had champagne taste and too many secrets tucked inside her rose-gold phone. Smoke didn’t go through the lobby. He was already inside. The building’s maintenance access was laughably unsecured, just a four-digit pin Smoke could decode in his sleep. Smoke took the elevator to the service hall. Wore gloves. Footsteps inaudible. By the time he reached her door, he’d already looped the hallway feed and disabled the motion sensor near her unit.

She was home. Asleep.

Smoke pulled a small matte device from his hoodie. A USB merged with a scalpel. He presssd it against the bottom of the keypad lock. Held it there. Then…

Click.

The door slid open and he stepped inside stealthily. From a quick sweep of his dark eyes. Glass table. Dried fruit tray. Rolled yoga mat. Everything curated for a minimalist Instagram aesthetic.

But her tech? Messy.

She left her iPad on the couch and a pink MacBook on the table, lid cracked, camera covered with a sticker that read GIRLS RULE AND BOYS DROOL.

Smoke moved like he’d been there before. He sat on the couch, pulled out his own gear. He wasn’t interested in stealing her data. He was here to rewrite it.

Booting: SpoofStack_Protocol_V2

Within seconds, her MacBook mirrored on his screen. Password broken. The cloud decrypted.

And there it was.

A folder labeled: CLIENT ARCHIVE (PRIVATE)

Inside: Screenshots of bank transfers. Server access logs. Snippets of phone calls. Metadata from custom scripts that Smoke himself had built.

She hadn’t just collected proof. She’d built a timeline.

“Cute,” Smoke muttered.

He selected the folder. Duplicated the entire contents. Then deleted the original.

But that wasn’t enough.

Now feeding: FALSE_Archive_v1.3

He uploaded an altered copy. The fake archive had the same names. Same structure. But every file told a new story:

Stack was just a consultant.

Smoke’s code was purchased legally.

All server logs showed compliance with DMCA and data privacy.

Her “receipts” now made her look like a willing accomplice to digital blackmail and influencer manipulation.

He encrypted the fake archive to match the original hash key. No one could tell the difference.

Not even her.

But if she leaked it now? She’d bury herself.

Smoke stood. He wiped the couch armrest and tucked the cloned drive into a pocket. On his way out, he paused by her bedroom door was cracked. He didn’t bother opening it further. He could hear her breathing in her sleep. Then, he was gone. Hallway feed reactivated. Fingerprint spray already dissipating. By the time she woke up, only thing that would feel different was her own guilt.

Outside, Smoke shut the car door with a soft thunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and let the rumble of the Charger settle around him like armor. The inside was pitch-black. No dome light. Just the red glow from the dashboard and the faint buzz of encrypted sync across the Bluetooth rig.

He sat there a second. Gloved hands resting on the wheel. The digital drive in his inner jacket pocket, warm with all the shit he’d just buried.

Job done.

He tapped the hands-free.

“Call Stack.”

Three rings. Then bass. Deep, strip-club bass. Slow trap low like lust wrapped in a haze.

“Talk to me.” Stack said.

“It’s handled.”

“She won’t double back?”

If she try to, she leakin’ her own stains.” Smoke replied.

“Beautiful. Like poetry, bruh.”

Smoke reached for the gearshift. “I’m out.”

“Nah, hold up. Slide through.”

Smoke paused. “Where you at?”

“The rotation spot. Underground. Off Decatur. You remember the one. Black light entrance, heat sensor door, only take crypto at the bar?”

Smoke exhaled. Already annoyed.

“Ain’t this your pussy-and-patron circuit?”

“Tonight it’s business, bruh. Private room. Need to talk clientele. Tighten things.”

“At a strip club?” Smoke quirked a brow.

“At my strip club,” Stack corrected. “I trust the walls.”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed once on the wheel. His mind had already started drifting. To home.

To his command center.

To Malaya’s face half-lit by LED strips…

To the way she bit her lip when she thought no one noticed…

“Mmm, fuck…I’m rubbing this clit just for you…can you see it? I’m sliding my fingers deep inside my pussy…imagining it’s your dick filling me up instead. I want you so bad, Daddy…I want you to watch me cum for you…”

“I’m such a slut for you, ain’t I? Look at me…look at how I’m opening myself up. I’m soaking wet, Daddy…I’m just a little toy for you to watch and play with…does it make you hard seeing me fuck myself like this?”

Smoke…yes…unh…Smoke…

Smoke…Smoke…

“Smoke?” Stack called through the phone.

“…I’m listening.”

“Slide through. I’ll pour somethin’ strong. You can smoke somethin’. Then we talk.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose. “Security tight?”

“Locked like your vault. Don’t worry ‘bout whispering the code at the entrance. The floor girl ‘ol walk you in.”

There was another pause. Then, Smoke shifted into drive.

“Be there in thirty.”

“Atta boy.”

The line went dead.

Smoke pulled onto the road, tires smooth, engine low and sleek like a predator in motion. The city lights blinked across his windshield—blues, reds, golds—but his focus stayed cold.

When he got there, Smoke pulled up slow. The charger came to a stop at the edge of an unmarked building with blacked-out windows and no signage. Just a single narrow door inset into the concrete, painted deep charcoal, smooth and flat. No velvet rope. No line. No noise from outside. It wasn’t a place you found, you were brought there.

Smoke stepped out into the thick night air, the heat of Atlanta still pressing close even after midnight. His matte black leather biker boots touched down on the curb. Every corner of the block appeared to have no motion but watched. You could feel it. Eyes behind tinted glass. A red security light blinked from somewhere above the doorframe, invisible until it caught the metal button of his sleeve. As he approached, the door cracked open just wide enough to let the glow spill out.

Blue. Blacklight.

Inside, the world looked dipped in ultraviolet. Silhouettes moved in slow motion. Melanin Skin glowed in neon, oil-slicked and glistening under the lights. Purple thongs. Fluorescent green heels. The gleam of diamond chains across collarbones and ankle bones and down spines. The bass hit in a deep, sexual crawl. A low trap track chopped with moans and heavy kicks. A sound you could fuck to, kill to, drown in.

The girl standing just inside the door was fine enough to alter a man’s path. Maybe five-foot-six. Rich brown skin slicked to perfection, waist snatched in a sheer one-piece with nothing underneath. Her lips were glossy, her eyelashes long and cruel. She looked him up and down once.

She smiled slow. “Hey Twin? This way.”

Her voice was warm but lined with danger. Like if he turned the wrong way, she’d cut him with it. She turned, hips rolling high and slow in front of him as she led him deeper into the space. The walls curved inward, black-lit murals dancing with movement as bodies passed. Women kissed women on leather couches. Men sat back with cigars while girls bent over laps, bare and grinning, high off liquor and deeper things.

The layout was designed for maximum intimacy and voyeurism. A wide, circular perimeter of plush, midnight-black velvet booths surrounded a central stage area where polished chrome poles rise like silver pillars toward the dark ceiling. The floor is a polished obsidian that mirrors the flashing neon, making it feel as though the dancers are floating on a sea of dark glass.

No phones. No cameras. Only shadows and memory.

One room opened to his left, curtains drawn but not closed. Inside, a woman was tied to a black rope swing, heels still on, one man kissing her thighs while another licked her breast. She was moaning loud, head thrown back. Her body glowed in the light like something caught between reality and pleasure. No one in the hallway stared. This was normal here. Routine.

On the poles, the women are masterpieces of motion and melanin. They represent a breathtaking spectrum of Black beauty, from deep, midnight and rich mahogany to warm honey and golden bronze. Their attire is minimal, designed to leave nothing to the imagination. Some wear sheer, neon-trimmed lace thongs that disappear into the crease of their cheeks. Others are in strappy, high-cut leather sets that push up their breasts and cinch their waists, leaving their midriffs bare and glistening with body oil.

One dancer, a woman with skin the color of dark umber and a towering afro grips the pole with practiced strength. She slides down the chrome in a slow, controlled descent, her thighs gripping the metal tightly before she snaps into a perfect, flat split on the stage. As she holds the position, she arches her back, thrusting her chest forward and grinding her hips in a tantalizing, circular motion that makes the thin fabric of her G-string vanish between her plump, shaking cheeks.

Another performer, a golden-brown beauty with long, flowing braids is a whirlwind of erotic energy. She spins rapidly, her body a blur of glowing skin before suddenly stopping to drop into a deep squat. She turns her back to the crowd, bending over until her chest nearly touches the floor, and begins to shake her ass with a thunderous motion. The muscles in her glutes worked to make that ass ripple and bounce under the black lights, a hypnotic vibration that keeps the patrons mesmerized.

Money flowed like a river. Crisp bills were tucked into the waistbands of thongs, slapped against oiled thighs and rained down from the booths in a constant, fluttering descent. The tactile experience is one of luxury and an erotica. The patrons—all black folks—lean back in the shadows, their eyes locked on the stage. The vibe is heavy with desire and explicit intent. It’s a space of unapologetic Black eroticism, where the scent of money and lust rains down like the bandz that littered the stage and floor.

Women noticed. They always did.

Smoke kept his face unreadable as they moved through. His gait stayed measured, heavy boots on obsidian tile. Charcoal henley pulled tight over his chest. Silver chain resting low, cool against his collarbone. One ringed hand hung loose at his side while the other stayed near his hip. He wasn’t here for indulgence. But eyes followed him anyway.

One dancer paused mid-pour, licking foam from the rim of a glass as she watched him. Another girl leaned against a wall in mesh, nipples pierced and glowing, her mouth parting just slightly as he passed.

He didn’t return the looks. He moved like everything around him was already beneath his notice. Like he could take any one of them home, or none of them, and it would all mean the same.

The floor girl finally stopped at a black velvet curtain that looked like it led nowhere. She turned, looked at him again, then reached out and slid her fingers across his chest.

“Stack’s waiting in the back. Said don’t keep him too long. He got a mood on tonight.”

Then, she stepped aside.

Smoke slipped through the curtain.

The back room hit different.

The music lowered but stayed thick with bass. The lighting shifted to a red-blue gradient that danced over leather booths and mirrored walls. A private bar lined with obsidian shelves glinted with high-shelf bottles and decanters carved like diamonds.

Stack was seated in the center booth like a man who owned everything. Suit jacket off. Cigar in hand. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the rise of his chest and the sliver of a tattoo that disappeared beneath it. A woman was sitting next to him, pretty and thick, wearing nothing but chains and red panties. But she wasn’t talking. Just pressing close like she knew her position.

Stack looked up and grinned when he saw his brother.

“Bout time.”

Smoke slid into the booth across from him, not saying shit at first. He leaned back, eyes tracing slow as they scanned the room. Then he pulled out the drive and slid it across the table.

“It’s done.”

Stack tapped ash off the end of his cigar and took a sip of something gold from a crystal glass.

“You rewrite her whole digital memory?”

Smoke nodded once. “She leaks now, she burns herself.”

Stack let out a low, satisfied sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval. More like pleasure at watching the chessboard bend.

“See, that’s why I keep you in the cut. All these pretty tech boys with degrees out here movin’ loud. You? You just fuck around and disappear a bitch.”

Smoke didn’t react. He just sat there with a stony expression.

The woman next to Stack traced the rim of his glass and leaned in to whisper something, but Stack waved her off without looking. His attention was locked.

“You didn’t have to come out tonight,” Stack said after a beat. “But I appreciate it. Had to talk to you about tightening the loop.”

Smoke raised a brow. “Clientele?”

Stack nodded. “Some of these influencer types? They playin’ messy. Takin’ our tools and runnin’ off at the mouth. I need cleaner boundaries. Higher vetting.”

Smoke’s gaze sharpened. “You getting soft, Stack?”

“Not soft,” Stack said, leaning forward. “Selective.”

Another girl danced across the far room, naked except for heels and a diamond chain around her throat. She locked eyes with Smoke for a moment. Bold.

“This empire we buildin’?” Stack said. “It don’t grow if the wrong bitch flips. That one tonight? Could’ve got real ugly.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “It almost did.”

Stack took that in. Sat back. “We tighten up now,” he said, voice lower. “Or we lose what we got.”

“I’ll send a new vetting protocol. You run names past me first. You don’t, we both lose.”

Stack smirked. “Look at you. Big boss energy.”

Stack leaned back in the booth, one arm thrown over the leather like it belonged to him. Alizé was at the private bar, hips rolling slow as she poured herself a drink. She licked stray cognac from her fingers like she tasted herself in it. Across the room, Nova stood near the edge of a low platform, dancing in a slow whine to the music bleeding through the walls. Her hands trailed her own thighs, eyes locked on Smoke the second he stepped through the curtain. She didn’t wave, she just smiled and kept moving like she wanted him to watch.

Smoke pulled out his phone. He tapped the encrypted drive. Brought up a blacked-out screen with layers of local and foreign pings.

“Any word about the three that came lookin’ for me?”

Stack took a puff of his cigar resting between two fingers, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Nah. And if I had, you know I would’ve said.”

Smoke nodded once. No accusation, just calculation. His fingers moved quick, swiping through location data, blurred screenshots from party feeds, AI-enhanced license plate reads.

“They ain’t from here.”

“Obviously.”

“Cheap suits. Bad diamonds. But they knew the lingo.” Smoke paused, looking down at the screen. “Knew enough to know about me. The real me.”

Stack’s jaw tightened. “You pull names?”

Smoke tapped again.

The table glowed blue with the light from his screen.

“Yeah. Pulled prints from the glass that lanky one touched. Traced a rental car from the valet logs. Hacked the damn building’s guest Wi-Fi and cross-checked MAC addresses. Got two of their burner IDs off bounce-back signals.”

Stack chuckled low. “My brother.”

Smoke’s eyes were locked on the screen.

“Names are Harold Kray, Zino Atakni, and the older one? Conrad Fielding. Fielding’s got history in Marseille. Organized pipeline moves through West Africa, black-market acquisition networks. Used to work under de Costa before that shit collapsed. He’s the head.”

“And the others?”

“Soldiers. Hired muscle with decent resumes. One of them, Zino, used to run messages for a Libyan collector who’s since disappeared.”

Stack’s lips pressed together. “You think they freelance?”

Smoke shook his head. “Not with how Conrad was talkin’. That wasn’t freelance energy. That was sanctioned. He was too damn calm. Too rehearsed.”

Stack poured more bourbon.

“They wanted access,” Smoke said. “They didn’t come for art. They came for me. For the Ghost.”

Stack’s grin faded completely. “Somebody sent ‘em.”

“I know.”

“Who?”

Smoke’s silence deepened.

“Don’t know yet,” he said, but his voice had changed. Lower. Sharper. “But whoever it is…they want me out the game.”

“Dead?”

“Dead or cracked open.”

Stack blew out smoke through his nose. “That’s bigger than art theft.”

“That’s bigger than us.”

There was a faint moan of the bassline from the next room, a synth-heavy R&B loop wrapped in drum kicks and whispered filth.

Stack’s voice dropped, the way it always did when he shifted from business to indulgence. That smile of his curved slow across his lips, just enough to show the gold cap when he spoke.

“You remember Alizé, right?”

The thick, honey-toned woman next to him looked up. Her lips were glossy. Her eyes were misty with a need to be fucked and whatever liquor she drank. She was fine in that round, sultry way. Thick thighs, soft belly, ass too big for most dresses, face too sweet to say no. She blinked up at him and licked her lips once before turning toward his lap.

Stack didn’t stop her. He leaned back in the booth, legs spread, cigar held loose between two fingers while she unbuckled his slacks with practiced care. She looked up once, then dipped down.

Smoke sat still across from him, watching.

The second girl—Nova, the one who had been watching Smoke earlier from the far corner—stepped forward now. Her body was carved like temptation, all sharp cheekbones and waist-length curls. Her skin shimmered under the light. Her nipples were pierced, rings glinting. She lowered herself to her knees next to Alizé. Alizé giggled, gave Stack’s dick one final lick before passing it off to Nova. She reached out, took Stack’s dick in her hand, and started sucking it.

Two mouths.

One thick, wet dick.

They took turns. One sucking slow, the other licking along the shaft. Then both at once, lips brushing as they slurped and moaned around him, messy and devoted. Alizé cradled his balls like they were holy. Nova spat and stroked, her eyes rolling when he twitched against her tongue.

Stack exhaled, his head tilted back slightly. He shut his eyes.

Smoke turned away, unfazed. But the sound of slurping and licking remained.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Stack asked, voice lazy. “Alizé got that throat, but Nova? She know how to make a man forget he got enemies.”

Smoke picked up a blunt, lighting it, his other hand rested on his thigh. His rings caught the low light. His expression still unreadable. But his eyes slid from the women back to Stack, cold and steady.

“I’m good.”

Stack smirked. “You always say that.”

Smoke leaned forward just slightly. “It’s been a minute,” he admitted, voice rough with quiet restraint.

Stack raised an eyebrow, surprised at the honesty.

Smoke’s gaze didn’t move. “But the only mouth I want on me like that?” His jaw tightened. “She don’t even know yet.”

Stack grinned wider. “Damn. She got you pressed like that?”

Smoke ignored him, blowing smoke ahead of him.

The wet sounds between them grew. Alizé moaned deep in her throat, face glossy, nose running. Nova licked him like she was tasting secrets. They didn’t even look up. Just switched angles. Spit dripping. Hands cradling. Tongues sharing.

Stack groaned low, his head falling back against the booth cushion.

Smoke stood. “You done?”

Stack looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. His voice was a quiet dare.

“I ain’t never done.”

Smoke gave a slow nod. “Handle yours.”

He turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the tile with impatient steps.

And behind him, the club kept spinning. Lights pulsing. Girls moaning. Music thumping under blacklight like a heartbeat you weren’t supposed to hear.

———

11:45 PM—His Den

Smoke sat back in his leather chair, the pungent aroma of the blunt between his fingers circulating his head like a menacing fog. He was stripped down, shirtless, skin gleaming under the recess lights of his command center. A black durag was tied tight across his head and his shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his V-taper.

Four curved monitors dominated his vision, but only one mattered. He watched the screen, his eyes locked on Malaya. She had logged on late. No fancy lighting, no ring light to wash out the imperfections. Just a dim, yellow bedside lamp that cast long, jagged shadows across the room. The frame was messy. There was a hoodie thrown over a chair, the edge of a baby’s blanket peeking out from behind her.

It was raw. It was honest. And it was killing him.

She looked exhausted. Smoke couldn’t see her eyes but he knew they had to be droopy with a vacant expression. She wasn’t wearing a wig or a drop of makeup. Her long twists were draped over her shoulders, her skin matte and real. She wore an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, exposing a glimpse of her collarbone, and simple cotton panties that looked like they’d been worn all day.

She didn’t greet the room with her usual practiced smile and seductive lip bite. She didn’t tease. She just laid there, half-propped up against her pillows, thighs spread wide in a way that felt less like an invitation and more like surrender.

Smoke took a deep drag of the blunt, the cherry glowing bright orange, and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned.

He watched her yawn, a genuine, tired stretch that arched her back and pulled the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her breasts, revealing perk nipples. She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, looking less like LaceyBlaze69 and more like a woman who was drowning in her own life.

“Mmm…hey loves…sorry I’m late…I can’t even tell what time it is anymore,” she dragged a single finger over her pussy through her cotton panties, rolling her hips in a lazy circle. “I was having the best dream about getting fucked out of my sleep…but I think I’d rather have the real thing,” Malaya bit her lip. “I’m still so warm from the sheets…can you tell? I’m barely awake, but this pussy is dripping for you. Come on…tip me something to wake me up.” She released a soft chuckle. “Help me hit the goal, I’ll show you exactly where I was rubbing myself before I drifted off…”

The chat was moving fast. Men were demanding more. They wanted her to scream, to arch, to play the part of the hungry slut they paid for.

DangerDick84_: Come on Lacey, show that pussy baby.

WillyMoProblems: Take them panties off.

PhantomDweller$: You have pretty toes. I wanna suck ‘em.

100 Tokens. 300 Tokens. 150 Tokens. 80 Tokens

Malaya didn’t react to them. She didn’t even seem to be reading. She reached down, her fingers sliding under the elastic of her panties, tugging them aside with a movement that was mechanical, devoid of passion. She began to touch herself, her fingers moving in circles, but her body language was unfocused, and Smoke just knew she was staring past the lens, eyes heavy and uninterested.

Then, she started to moan.

Smoke leaned forward, his chest nearly touching the glass desk. He knew that sound. He knew the difference between her desire and her hustle. These moans were hollow. They were a performance for the bills, a fake melody played to keep the tips flowing. She was faking the pleasure, her voice pitching up in a way that didn’t match the deadness in her eyes.

It was a lie, and it made his blood boil.

He hated that she had to do it. He hated that she was forced to pretend to be turned on by the gaze of hundreds of nameless, horny men just to keep a roof over her and Messiah’s heads. The sight of her vulnerability, the way she looked so small and broken in that big, messy bed, hit him harder than any physical blow.

Smoke didn’t type or use YungCipher to talk dirty or GoodBodyAnon to be sweet. He stayed as Camera0ff. The silent watcher.

Smoke reached for his mouse and clicked the tip button. He didn’t send a small amount. He sent a massive sum, a number that would make the rest of the chat go silent, a number that meant she could turn the camera off right now and not worry about money for a month.

He watched her body language change.

She paused.

Her fingers that were circling her clit slowed down. He could actually see her shoulders drop. Like she was relieved.

Smoke exhaled a cloud of grey, gaze darkening.

He wanted to reach through the screen, grab her by the back of her neck, and pull her into his own bed. He wanted to strip that oversized shirt off and replace her fingers with his tongue.

He wanted to give her a reason to moan that wasn’t a lie.

Smoke watched her finish, a quiet, unceremonious climax that left her looking even more depleted than before. As she reached out to end the stream, her shoulders slumped, and for a split second, she looked like she might cry.

The screen set went black.

Smoke sat in the dark, the only light coming from the remaining monitors. He stared at the empty black square where she had been, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair so hard the leather groaned.

He wasn’t just obsessed. He was addicted. And the fact that she was breaking right in front of him only made him want to own every shattered piece.

Smoke leaned back in his leather chair, the embers of the blunt glowing. He shifted, shorts riding lower on his hips, his mind drifting back to the time he’d tried to bridge the gap between the screen and the skin.

He’d used YungCipher for it.

Out of all his personas, YungCipher was the one that carried the most of his actual hunger. He wasn’t the quiet ghost of Camera0ff of the protective shadow of GoodBodyAnon.

YungCipher was the raw edge.

He was the one who talked dirty. The one who tipped when she hit a peak, the one who let her know exactly what a real man would do to her if he had her pinned beneath him.

He remembered the messages he’d sent. He hadn’t been playing a character then. Every word had been the truth. She didn’t need those silicone toys. The tips from strangers was pocket change compared to the life he could provide. He’d been explicit, his words painting a picture of exactly how he’d handle her. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t just another viewer with a credit card; he was the real thing.

You don’t need those dildos, baby. I got the real thing waiting for you. I’ll be your favorite big dick. I’ll give that pretty pussy exactly what it deserves.

Smoke could almost feel the weight of her in his hands, the way her tired body would melt under his dominance. He wanted to replace the fake pleasure she performed for the masses with a visceral, bone-deep satisfaction that would leave her shaking and speechless. He wanted to be the only thing she craved.

But she had turned him down.

The rejection hadn’t been angry or disgusted. It had been a firm, practiced wall. She’d declined the offer to meet, citing her rules.

Smoke didn’t feel slighted or insulted. Instead, he felt a dark, twisted sense of pride. He understood. Malaya was guarded for a reason. She was a mother, a survivor, a woman who knew exactly how dangerous the world was. The fact that she wouldn’t dare meet a stranger from a chat room, no matter how much he promised or how high he tipped, only made her more precious in his eyes. It meant she was disciplined. It meant she was protecting herself and Messiah.

It also meant that if he wanted her, he not only had to ask for her.

He had to take her.

He had to weave himself into the fabric of her life until he was the only safety she had left.

Since that night, he’d dialed back YungCipher. He’d stepped away from the aggressive pursuit, retreating into the shadows of his other accounts. He stopped pushing for the meet-up, stopped the overt demands. He went back to being the silent provider, the gentle protector, the ghost in the machine.

He took another stage of the blunt, exhaling a thick cloud that obscured the monitors. He played the long game. He had tested her boundaries and found them strong.

But boundaries were just lines waiting to be crossed.

Smoke looked at the silver laptop on his glass desk, his encrypted phone sitting beside it. He knew everything about her. Where she lived, where she worked, the exact moment she turned off her lights at night.

Smoke just needed the right moment to show her that everything he’d promised as a persona was a reality as a man.

And then Jordan became a name Smoke saw too often.

At first, it had meant nothing to him. A man’s name in a woman’s phone was not enough to move him. Malaya was beautiful, delicate in ways she tried to hide and sweet in ways that slipped out when she forgot to guard herself. Men noticed. Men always noticed. Some sent her messages with too many hearts eyes on social media. Some tried to be funny and failed. Some waited for her cam shows and spent money they didn’t have just to make her look toward the screen for half a second. Smoke knew the difference between noise and a threat. Most men were noise.

Jordan had been noise until Malaya started smiling at him.

Edge & Thread—Location: North Side 9:05PM

Smoke sat in his private office above Edge & Thread, the monitors casting a cold sheen over the angles of his face. Below him, the barbershop had closed for the day. The last chair had been swept, the last cape shaken out, the last customer sent into the Atlanta night with a fresh line. Up here, everything belonged to Smoke. The locked door. The black desk. The encrypted drives. The wall safe behind a framed print no one but him was allowed to touch.

Malaya’s phone activity was open in front of him.

Smoke told himself it was maintenance. That was the lie he used when he needed one. He had put enough invisible architecture around her life to know when something went wrong, and checking the structure was part of keeping it intact. Messages. Unknown numbers. Strange links. Men who became too aggrsssivd when she ignored them. Clients who thought a tip bought access. He watched for threats because threats had a way of hiding themselves in charm.

But Jordan was not charming in a way Smoke could easily condemn. That was the problem.

The latest message sat near the top of the thread.

Jordan: You still up?

Malaya had answered three minutes later.

Malaya: Unfortunately lol. My sleep schedule is a joke.

Jordan replied with a laughing emoji then a picture of a little boy sprawled across a couch with one sock on, one sock missing, and a Black Panther toy tucked under his arm.

Jordan: Shiloh knocked out like he pay bills lol

Malaya’s response came with three laughing emojis.

Malaya: 😂😂😂 He is SO CUTE. Look at him holding T’Challa!

Smoke’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the words. It was the ease of it all. Malaya didn’t overthink that response. She didn’t perform. She didn’t angle herself toward seduction or sweetness. She was simply there, amused and unguarded, letting some man send her pieces of his life as if he had a right to place them in her hands.

Smoke scrolled back.

Jordan didn’t text too much. That made him worse. A desperate man revealed himself fast. He pressed for pictures, attention, reassurance. Jordan did none of that. He appeared every few days at first, then more often, then with enough to become expected. A joke in the afternoon to ease the tension while she was at work. A check-in after she’d clocked out to pick up her son when her baby daddy was supposed to do it. A quick call that lasted eight minutes, then another that lasted twenty-three. One night forty-one.

Forty-one minutes.

Smoke stared at that number longer than he wanted to. He clicked into the call metadata, though he already knew what it would show him. Incoming. Answered. Late evening. Malaya had let it ring once before picking up. It wasn’t long enough to avoid him but long enough to see his name and decide what to do with herself before she answered.

Smoke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along the side of his index finger.

He could picture it too easily. Malaya in her apartment, curled up somewhere, bonnet on or hair loose, she home pressed to her ear. Her voice lower because she didn’t wanna wake Messiah. Jordan on the other end with that easy patience Smoke was beginning to dislike. No rush. No pressure. Just conversation.

Smoke opened another window.

Jordan Ellis.

Smoke preferred men with mess. Meds gave shape to intent. Mess gave him handles. An unpaid judgement. A sealed charge. Old warrants. Bitter women in comments. Something. Anything. He searched with the meditated focus of a man taking apart a machine piece by piece.

Jordan gave him almost nothing.

Thirty. Atlanta born. Local employment, steady enough. Rental history clean. No obvious criminal record. No restraining orders. No heavy social media presence. His pages were mostly private, but not hidden well enough to keep Smoke out. Photos loaded one by one. Jordan at a cookout. Jordan holding Shiloh on his hip in front of an aquarium tank, the boy’s small hand spread against his father’s cheek. Jordan at his son’s outdoor birthday party with a paper cone sitting crooked over his tapered curly fro. Jordan at a convention, grinning beside a wall of anime figures, posing like Sukuna.

Smoke’s eyes narrowed.

Malaya: Same smile 😍 he’s so sweet. Really grew into himself from high school.

Sweet.

Smoke hated that word the most. Sweet men were dangerous when they were real. Not the kind who used softness as bait, but the ones who had grown into patience because life had required it. Jordan had a son. Jordan had responsibilities. A man like that didn’t need to impress a woman with volume. He impressed her with being consistent. With remembering. By calling when he said he would. By laughing at old things from school and asking new questions like he actually cares about the answers.

He returned to the messages.

Jordan had asked about her day. Malaya had told him it was long. He sent a voice note instead. Smoke played it once through the isolated feed. Jordan’s voice came through with a smile in it.

“Well, I hope you eat something and get some rest, Malaya. You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered. Don’t stay up too late watching Love Island knowing your ass need to be asleep. Then get mad when Messiah wakes up hahaha.”

Malaya had answered with a voice note of her own. Smoke didn’t play hers right away. He sat there with his hand nese the mouse, looking at the little audio bar as if it had done something personal to him. Her voice belonged to her, but he had collected so much of it that some part of him had begun treating it like a private possession. Her sleepy voice. Her irritated voice. Her calm voice; honeyed and controlled. Her real laugh when she forgot herself. Her little sigh when something made her feel seen. He knew them. He knew the difference.

Now Jordan was learning them too.

Smoke played it. Malaya’s voice spilled into the room with amusement and faint embarrassment.

“First of all, don’t be clockin’ me! Second, I ate. Kind of. I had fries.”

Jordan replied almost immediately.

Jordan: That’s all you eat is fries. You gonna turn into a damn fry 😂

Malaya: They are when you mind your business 😒

Smoke stared at the exchange. It was nothing. That was what made it something. No naked pictures. No heavy flirting. No late-night confession. Just easy back-and-forth. Smoke could have handled vulgarity. He understood men who wanted a body before they understood the woman inside it. He knew how to deal with that kind. This was worse because Jordan seemed interested in the ordinary parts. Her meals. Her sleep. Her memories. Her jokes. The parts Smoke had been studying from the outside like a locked house with the lights on.

A line of texts appeared farther down, from two days ago.

Jordan: I forgot you used to draw Sailor Moon characters in your notebook.

Malaya: Don’t expose me 😭

Jordan: Never. I thought it was cute then too lol

Smoke’s hand closed once. There it was. History. He couldn’t hack history. He couldn’t purchase it, threaten it, erase it, or outrank it. Jordan stood somewhere in Malaya’s past. Some version of her Smoke would never get to see. Drawing girls with moon wands in the corners of her notebook. Smiling at things before life taught her which pieces of herself to hide.

Smoke had files. Jordan had memories. The distinction scraped against something low in him.

He opened Jordan’s background again, harder this time, less patient. He checked financials. Associates. Old addresses. Known relationships. Family connections. He looked for bitterness, instability, some ugliness hidden beneath the calm surface. An angry ex. A custody dispute with teeth. Gambling. Pills. Anything he could name and place between Jordan and Malaya as proof that his instinct was not jealousy but protection. Contentment was a language Smoke did not trust.

He closed the file and returned to Malaya. Her last message to Jordan was from twenty minutes ago.

Malaya: You still watching that show you told me about?

Jordan: Yeah. You were right. It got good after episode three.

Malaya: Told you. You just had to stop being stubborn.

Jordan: 😂 I’m working on that.

Malaya: Liar.

Jordan: Maybe. But I listen when it matters.

Smoke read that line twice. Then three times. The words were not much on their own. A soft little flirt, maybe. A door left open. Jordan had not shoved his way through it. He had simply set the sentence down and let Malaya decide what to do with it. She had not answered right away. Smoke watched the timestamp as if he could will it backward. Four minutes. Seven. Twelve. Then the little mark appeared.

Malaya: You always did 😌

Smoke went very still. Then, he sat forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled near his mouth. Jordan had not become a problem because he wanted Malaya. Jordan had become a problem because Malaya was beginning to let him matter.

The next message came a few minutes later.

Jordan: We should get together one of these days. Catch up for real.

Smoke’s eyes fixed on it. The typing bubble appeared beneath Jordan’s message, pulsed, disappeared, then returned. Malaya was thinking. He could imagine her biting her lip, not in the way men begged to see on camera, in the way she did when something made her nervous. He had seen that before. She would glance away from the screen, then back. She would smile at herself as if she needed permission to want something simple.

The response came through.

Malaya: I’d like that.

Smoke did not move. The monitors continued their work around him. Servers blinked. The city passed outside with sirens in the distance and tires whispering over damp pavement. Downstairs, the barbershop slept beneath him, all mirrors and empty chairs, all the day’s voices and buzzing gone. On the screen, Malaya’s words sat beneath Jordan’s.

I’d like that.

Smoke read them until they stopped looking like words and started looking like a hand placed somewhere it did not belong. Jordan was not a client. Not a faceless watcher. Not a man begging for pieces of her through a screen. Jordan was warm skin and a familiar smile. A son named Shiloh. A soft-eyed anime nerd who remembered what Malaya used to draw in school and had the patience to wait between messages.

Smoke exhaled through his nose.

He could ruin him.

The thought came cleanly. It sat there like a tool laid on the table. Smoke knew how. He could make Jordan’s life inconvenient by morning and unbearable by the end of the week. A few pressure points. A little disruption. Nothing dramatic enough to point back to him. Men were easy to move when you knew what they loved and what they feared losing.

Malaya had said she would like that.

Smoke leaned back in his chair, the darkness behind his eyes becoming something colder than anger. He had been patient because patience had always worked for him. He had watched, learned, mapped, waited. He had known her patterns so well that knowledge had begun to feel like intimacy. But Jordan was showing him the insult hidden inside that belief. Knowing where Malaya bought groceries was not the same as being the man she called when she was tired. Knowing what time she went live was not the same as being remembered from school. Knowing what made her body respond on camera was not the same as making her smile at her phone in the middle of an ordinary night.

Smoke stared at the screen.

For the first time, distance felt less like control and more like absence. And absence, he was beginning to understand, made room.

———

Jordan’s text came just after six.

Jordan: I'm outside.

Malaya looked at her reflection one last time before grabbing her purse. She had settled on a fitted chocolate-brown ribbed midi dress that hugged her figure without feeling overly dressy. A cropped cream denim jacket rested over her shoulders in case the evening cooled off. Gold hoops framed her face, a thin layered necklace that rested against her collarbones, and her twists spilled over one shoulder. She’d kept her makeup simple, finishing with nothing more than gloss across her lips. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She just wanted to feel pretty.

When she stepped outside, Jordan was leaning against his car, one hand tucked into the pocket of dark jeans. His black T-shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders, and his beard had filled in since high school, giving his face a maturity she hadn't expected. His smile, though, hadn't changed. It was the same warm smile she remembered that always reached his expressive light-brown eyes.

For a second he simply looked at her.

“Damn.”

Malaya laughed. “What?”

“You look good.”

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” She returned the compliment.

“I had to. Couldn’t let you outshine me.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as he opened the passenger door for her.

The drive started exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Easy. The conversation slipped between them without effort. They laughed about teachers they swore had hated them, classmates they'd forgotten until one of them mentioned a name, and the anime arguments they'd somehow still remembered years later.

“So you still watch it?” Jordan asked.

She looked at him with mock offense. “You asking me that like you don't already know the answer.”

“I had to make sure adulthood hadn't changed you.”

“It definitely hasn’t.”

He grinned. “Good.”

By the time they reached the restaurant, Malaya realized she hadn't checked her phone once. Dinner felt less like a first date and more like picking up a conversation that had simply been paused for several years. Jordan listened more than he talked. When she mentioned work, he asked questions instead of waiting for his turn to speak. When she laughed, he laughed with her instead of trying to top the joke. He remembered little things she’d mentioned over the last few weeks of texting, surprising her more than once.

“You actually remembered that?”

“You told me.”

“That was like...two weeks ago.”

He shrugged. “I was listening.”

Something about that stirred inside her.

Eventually the conversation turned toward Shiloh. Jordan’s whole face changed. His smile grew and his shoulders relaxed.

For the next several minutes he told her stories about bedtime negotiations, mismatched socks, spilled cereal, and Saturday mornings spent watching cartoons. He wasn’t performing fatherhood. Watching him, Malaya understood something.

Kindness looked good on him.

After dinner, neither of them seemed ready to call it a night.

“You wanna walk for a minute?” Jordan asked.

She nodded.

The Atlanta evening had settled into that comfortable warmth where the air felt soft against her skin. They wandered the sidewalk without any destination in mind, their conversation drifting from old memories to where life had taken them since graduation.

Jordan glanced over at her. “I was nervous asking you out.”

She stopped walking. “You were?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at you.”

She laughed. “I would've never guessed.”

“I practiced asking you.”

She blinked. “You practiced?!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself. “Like...four different versions.”

Malaya burst into laughter, lightly bumping his shoulder. “You are lying.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“That’s actually kind of cute.”

“I'll take cute.” Jordan replied with. Smirk.

The drive back to her apartment was comfortable. They listened to music and debated over which anime’s were the best. Jordan eventually pulled into a visitor's space and shifted the car into park. Neither of them reached for the door.

He looked over at her. “I’m really glad you said yes.”

Malaya smiled. “So am I.”

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.

Their lips met gently. The kiss wasn't rushed or hungry. Their heads swiveled, Malaya reaching out to grip his chin to hold him steady while she damn near stole his breath with those juicy lips that tasted like maple brown sugar. Jordan felt himself getting stiff, squeezing his thighs to try and calm his erection. The kiss was warm, lingering just long enough to make them both smile when they pulled apart. Jordan rested his forehead against hers for a second before quietly laughing. They separated, Jordan licking her gloss from his lips and Malaya fixing hers since some of it got on her chin.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

“I kinda figured.” Malaya giggled.

“You gonna let me see you again?”

Malaya looked at him. “I think that can be arranged.”

She reached for the door handle. As she turned, Jordan's hand settled lightly at her waist before sliding naturally to the curve of her hip. His fingers gave her ass a playful squeeze over the fabric of her dress.

He laughed. “...Girl.”

Malaya looked back.

“You still…thick.”

Jordan started singing Bobby V Tell Me since it had come up on the playlist.

Malaya threw her head back, laughing. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You are so childish.”

“I ain't lying though. Tell me, for real cuz man…”

Malaya shook her head, unable to stop smiling.

“Goodnight, Jordan.”

“Goodnight, Malaya.”

He watched her step up, unlocking her apartment door, and glance back one last time with a small wave before disappearing inside. Only after the door closed did he finally pull away. The door clicked shut behind her, but the warmth of Jordan’s kiss still lingered on her lips. A small, genuine smile played on her face, one that didn’t have to be performed for a camera or a tip. He was different. Patient, warm, and the way he looked at her made her feel seen, not just consumed.

As she kicked off her heels and began to peel away her clothes, for the first time in a long time, the place was truly quiet. Messiah was with his father for the weekend, leaving her with a rare, unfiltered solitude. In her bedroom, She paused, her dress slipping over her head, her mind drifting back to the way Jordan’s hand had felt on the cleft of her left ass cheek. She wondered if she should have let him come inside. The thought sent a sharp, electric pulse of lust straight to her core, leaving her thighs feeling heavy and her pussy aching with a sudden, insistent throb.

Malaya was horny—deeply, viscerally horny—and the lingering adrenaline from the date had left her skin hypersensitive. She didn’t want to just sleep it off. She wanted to feel something intense, to lean into the friction of her own desire.

With a determined exhale, Malaya transitioned from the woman who had just been on a romantic date to the persona the internet paid to see. It was time for the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” set.

She transformed her space into a curated altar of simulated innocence and raw filth. First came the lighting. She clicked on the ring light, bathing her face in a professional, clinical glow, but then she layered in the atmosphere. She draped strings of warm fairy lights across the wall and turned on a bedside lamp that changed colors, creating a golden, hazy glow that blurred the edges of the room. She laid out the backdrop. It was a plush, baby-pink faux-fur blanket spread across the floor, topped with a white furry rug that looked soft enough to sink into. It was the perfect contrast to what she planned to do on top of it.

Then came the wardrobe. She slid into pastel pink lingerie with lace trimming that hugged her breasts tight, the fabric straining against her nipples. The thin lace of the crotch area barely covered the swell of her ass and the plumpness of her pussy lips. To complete the “good girl” aesthetic, she pulled on a pair of knee-high pastel socks with little bows and fastened a thin charm bracelet around her wrist, the small silver trinkets jingling as she moved. She reached for her hair, deftly styling her long twists into two high pigtails, securing them with oversized satin bows.

Malaya wears a delicate, intricate pink lace mask that clings to the curves of her face, the fabric sheer enough to tease but thick enough to create a barrier of mystery. The floral patterns of the lace cast seductive shadows across her skin, framing her eyes in a way that makes them look wider, more vulnerable, and dangerously focused.

She looked like a doll. The perfect fuck doll.

The final touches were the props. She placed a large, glossy lollipop still wrapped on the nightstand next to a high-powered Bluetooth vibrator that was gifted to her from MoTh3rL0ad88, deep, purple silicone and appeared not so intimidating. Malaya checked her camera angle, ensuring the frame captured the curve of her hips and the inviting dip of her waist, making sure the viewers would have a front-row seat to her descent.

Finally, she reached for her phone and tapped the screen. The heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty filled the room, the slow, provocative beat syncing with the thrum of blood between her legs. Malaya climbed onto the pink fur, arching her back and letting the music vibrate through her skin. She looked into the lens, her eyes darkening, the “good girl” mask sliding into place just as she prepared to go live and get filthy.

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty, nasty, nasty

Malaya clicked the “Go Live” button, and instantly, the viewer count began to climb. The screen flooded with a rush of usernames, a digital tide of hungry men eager for their fix. She leaned into the camera, her eyes wide and shimmering, a playful, shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Hi everyone,” she whispered, her voice an angelic, breathy coo. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting down on the pad of it gently, her gaze fluttering. “I...I didn’t think so many of you would be here tonight. I’m feeling a little shy.”

She giggled, a high, melodic sound, and twirled a stray twist around her finger. She looked like a doll, a pristine image of purity in her pastel pinks and white fur, but the way she let her gaze linger on the lens told a different story. She was playing the part of the innocent girl who had accidentally stumbled into a room full of hungry wolves with brick hard dicks and balls filled with cum, acting as if she were barely aware of how the thin lace of her panties clung to the swell of her ass and barely covered her pussy.

[User: BigDickEnergy99]: Look at those bows…I want to rip them right out of her hair.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing, baby. We know you a little slut for us.

[User: TipKing_X]: Tipped 50 tokens! Show us those cheeks, Good Girl.

Malaya blushed, a performative flush that crept up her neck. “You're all so mean to me,” she pouted, bouncing her tits like she was throwing a temper tantrum.

If you keep up with me

I'll keep on coming back

If you do it too good

I'm gonna get attached

'Cause it feels like Heaven when it hurts so bad

Baby, put it on me

I like it just like that…

As the heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty kicked back in, the “good girl” mask didn’t falter, it just evolved. Malaya turned on her knees slowly, the camera capturing the dip of her waist and the way her bralette strained against her hard nipples. She turned her back to the lens, glancing over her shoulder with a wide-eyed, innocent expression while her lower body began to move.

She started with a slow, hypnotic roll of her hips, the movement fluid and circular. The white fur of the rug brushed against her thighs as she began to twerk, her cheeks bouncing with a heavy vibration. She wasn’t just shaking; she was oscillating, her hips swinging in a precise, tantalizing cadence that made the lace of her panties disappear between the folds of her ass.

[User: HardCoreHustle]: Fuck, that bounce is lethal. Look at her move!

[User: LustLord]: Tipped 100 tokens! Arch that back, Miss Blaze!

[User: DeepDive_88]: She look so sweet but she moves like a fucking pro. I need to see more.

Malaya let out a, staged moan, her head tilting back as she leaned forward, planting her palms on the pink fur. She pushed her ass high into the air, creating a steep, inviting slope. She began to grind against the air, her hips rotating in a slow, agonizing circle that simulated the feeling of a thick dick sliding deep inside her. She looked back at the camera, biting her lip, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with a mixture of fake modesty and real arousal.

“Is this...is this okay?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I don't know why I’m doing this...I feel so naughty, Sir.”

Then, with a sudden, athletic grace that contradicted her fragile persona, she slid backward. In one smooth, fluid motion, she hit a full split on the plush rug, her legs extending wide, leaving her completely open to the lens. The position pushed her panties to their absolute limit, the fabric straining across her ass and her soaking wet pussy, the center of the lace darkening as her arousal leaked through.

She stayed there, chest heaving, her breasts bouncing slightly under the pink cotton. She reached down, slowly tracing the line of her thigh with a manicured nail, her eyes locked on the camera, challenging every man in the chat to tell her exactly how they would ruin her.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 200 tokens! Open those legs wider, you filthy little doll!

[User: PureSin]: I can see she's soaking through those panties. Look at that wet spot!

[User: AlphaMale_7]: I wanna see you swallow a whole dick while you in that split, slut.

Malaya slowly pulled herself out of the split, her movements languid. She crawled toward the lens on all fours, her breasts swaying under the pink lingerie, her eyes locked onto the camera with that wide, doe-eyed gaze. She stopped just inches from the lens, her face filling the frame, the soft glow of the ring light reflecting in her pupils.

“You guys are being so loud,” she whispered, a tiny, teasing smile playing on her lips. “I can’t even think...you’re making me feel so...exposed.”

She sat back on her heels and spreading her knees just enough to give them a glimpse of the lace straining against her pussy. With a slow, shaky breath, she pressed her palm flat against her crotch. She began to rub her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, her fingers circling her clit in a grinding motion. The lace was translucent from her arousal, clinging to every fold of her lips.

Malaya let out a soft, airy moan, her head tilting back as she increased the pressure, her hips lifting off the rug. “It’s so warm,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m just...I’m just a little bit wet. Is that bad?”

Then, without warning, she reached down and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg upward and outward in one fluid, athletic motion. She slid into a perfect side split, her body stretched wide across the white fur. The position was devastatingly open, her pussy centered perfectly in the frame, the pink lace of her panties pulled tight and damp, outlining the plumpness of her labia.

She looked at the camera, her expression a mask of faux-hesitation, her lip trembling slightly. “Do you...do you really want to see it?” she asked, her voice a breathy, innocent plea. “I’m so shy...I’ve never shown this many people at once.”

The chat exploded. The token count began to skyrocket as the men scrambled to pay for the reveal.

[User: KingKink]: Tipped 500 tokens! SHOW US! Open those legs and show us that pussy now!

[User: RawDogger]: I'll pay anything to see you dripping for us, you filthy doll.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing the innocent act and show us how wet you are!

Malaya giggled, a sound that was becoming increasingly hungry. She lowered her leg and reached over to the side and picked up a large, bright red lollipop, unwrapping it. She didn’t take it straight to her mouth. First, she ran the hard candy slowly along the line of her jaw, then down her neck, trailing it over the valley of her breasts. Finally, she slid the lollipop into her mouth. She began to lick it with slow, swirling motions of her tongue, her eyes half-lidded and glazed. She sucked on the candy with a wet, loud slurping sound, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the sweetness in. She looked like a corrupted piece of candy herself—sweet, colorful, and utterly decadent. As she sucked the lollipop, she began to use her free hand to tease the edge of the lace covering her crotch, hooking a manicured nail under the and pulling it just a fraction of an inch away from her skin, teasing the chat with a sliver of her glistening, deep brown lips and dark pink flesh.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 300 tokens! Suck that candy like it's a dick while you pull those panties aside!

[User: PureSin]: Look at her eyes...she loves being watched. She's a total slut.

Malaya pulled the lollipop out with a loud, sticky pop, a thin string of glistening saliva connecting the candy to her lips. She let out a breathy, exhausted tease of a laugh.

“You guys have been so patient,” she whispered, her voice sounding small and fragile in the quiet of the room. “I think it’s time I show you what a good girl I’ve been.”

She reached up, her fingers pulling the straps of her pastel pink lingerie down. She didn’t just rip it off; she played the part, sliding the fabric slowly down one shoulder, then the other, teasing the edge of the lace against her skin. As the bra fell away, her breasts spilled out, dark, gum drop nipples hard and peaking in the cool air. She let the garment rest around her waist, leaving her chest bare and heaving, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps that she knew the microphone was picking up.

Then, her hands drifted lower, her fingertips grazing the edge of the lace covering her pussy. She hooked her fingers into the lace, pausing for a heartbeat to let the anticipation build in the chat. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid the lace to the side. One by one, each slippery pussy lip revealed itself, a slimy trail of her arousal clinging to the fabric. Clit poking. Labia twitching. The knee-high pastel socks that hugged her calves, adding to the coquette aesthetic she used as a shield.

Malaya spread her legs wide, exposing the depths of her fat pussy to the lens. She was drenched, her folds glistening and plump, the pinkish-red hue of her clit peaking through the wetness. She looked engorged, exposed, and utterly vulnerable, though her face remained a mask of shy innocence. She reached for the lollipop again, but she didn’t put it back in her mouth. Instead, she pressed the sticky, sugar-coated candy directly against her pussy.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her head rolling back, her pigtails splaying across the white rug. “It tastes so sweet...I can feel the sugar melting right into me.”

She began to rub the lollipop in slow, circular motions around her clit, the glossy candy coating mixing with her own natural lubrication. The wet, slapping sound of the candy against her flesh filled the speakers. She pushed the lollipop deeper, teasing the entrance of her pussy, the sweetness of the candy contrasting with the saltiness of her own arousal.

“I feel so naughty,”she whimpered, her voice breaking as she arched her back. “I’m being such a bad girl for you, Sir…but I’m still your good girl, right?”

The chat was an absolute frenzy, a waterfall of demands and tips, but one username stood out, flashing with a generous contribution that had already changed the trajectory of the night.

Camera0ff

Malaya reached over to the side of the white fur rug, her fingers curling around a sleek, high-tech device. She held it up to the camera, bringing it close so the ring light caught every detail.

“You guys...look what I have,” she whispered, her voice airy and laced with a curated shyness. “I want to say a huge thank you to MoTh3rL0ad88. You’re so generous...you bought me this beautiful Bluetooth vibrator.”

The toy was a masterpiece of erotic engineering. A deep, midnight purple silicone that looked almost black under the lights, with a polished, ergonomic curve designed to hit every internal sweet spot. It had a smooth, seamless finish and a small, pulsing LED light at the base that glowed a soft, inviting blue, signaling it was paired and ready for remote command. It looked expensive, powerful, and utterly invasive.

“I think...I think I’m gonna use it just for you guys tonight,” she teased, her eyes hooded as she looked into the lens. “I’m gonna to let the chat decide exactly how I feel.”

Malaya spread her legs even wider on the pink blanket. She guided the rounded tip of the vibrator toward her soaking entrance. She let out a small, needy whimper as she pushed the silicone head past her outer lips, sliding it slowly into her tight, wet channel. The friction made her toes curl inside her pastel socks, and she gasped, her head falling back as she seated the toy deep inside her, leaving just the stimulating nub pressed firmly against her swollen clit.

She froze, her body trembling slightly, her hands gripping the edges of the fur rug. She waited, charged with an electric anticipation.

Then, it happened. A low, deep thrum vibrated through her core. It started on the lowest setting. A gentle, steady pulse that felt like a warm current flowing through her pussy. It wasn't overwhelming yet. It was a slow burn, a teasing warmth that began to wake up every nerve ending.

“Oh..” she moaned, the sound soft and breathy, barely more than a whisper.

Her hand drifted down, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles. The combination of the internal vibration and the external pressure sent a wave of heat crashing through her. She rolled her hips, her pigtails splaying across the rug, her voice dropping to a fragile, needy tone.

“It feels so warm...mmm, it’s just starting to wake me up,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “I can feel it... buzzing inside me…please, someone...make it stronger…”

———

10:42PM—Smoke’s Den

The frame is tight, a cinematic close-up focusing solely on a large, veined hand with thick fingers gripping a sleek, encrypted smartphone. The skin is smooth, the knuckles prominent, and the thumb is poised with predatory precision over the screen. On the display, a minimalist app interface glows. A simple slider and a series of preset patterns.

The atmosphere in the den is suffocating, a thick blend of Tom Ford’s masculine musk and the charred, caramel scent of Uncle Nearest 1856. The only light comes from the 120-inch laser projector, casting a ghostly, flickering glow over Smoke’s dark skin, turning the matte charcoal concrete of the wall into a living canvas of Malaya’s desperation.

Smoke is a statue of primal intent, sprawled deep in the black Nappa leather pit. His legs are spread wide, claiming every inch of the space, his chest expanded and glistening under the artificial light. He is the picture of disciplined agony. The bass from D’Angelo’s Voodoo vibrates through the floor of the den, a low, swampy auditory stimulation that mirrors the heavy pulsing in Smoke’s groin.

I feel like making dreams come true

Oh baby

When you talk to me

When you're moanin' sweet and low

When you touch me

And my feelings start to show, show, oh

That's the time

I feel like making love to you

That's the time

I feel like making dreams come true, oh baby…

Below his navel, the ferocity of his arousal is on full display. His nine-inch dick is a rigid, unyielding pillar, gorged with blood and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the fabric of his low-slung black shorts. Because of the way he’s leaning back, there is no place for his length to go but up. That dick is pressed flat against the lower wall of his abs, a heavy, thick ridge of flesh that carves a brutal path straight toward his belly button.

The athletic material of the shorts is stretched to its absolute breaking point, the fabric pulled so taut across the wide, flared head of his dick that the blunt silhouette is unmistakable. Every time he takes a slow, calculated sip of the amber whiskey, his abdominal muscles contract, causing his dick to throb violently against the cloth. It’s a heavy jump. A desperate attempt to break free from the imprisonment of the fabric. A small, dark circle of pre-cum has already begun to dampen the black material, the moisture adding a slick, friction-filled torture every time he breathes.

Smoke refuses to touch himself. The ache in his balls is a dull, heavy roar, a pressure that would drive any other man to madness, but for Smoke, it is fuel. He channels that physical torture into the digital puppetry in his hand.

Smoke leaned back into the depths of his sunken black leather pit, the fabric cool against his bare skin. He wasn’t touching himself. The arousal was purely psychological, a dark, pulsing blaze that settled deep in his gut and made his nine-inch thick dick strain against the thin fabric of his black athletic shorts. His heavy, thick shaft was rock hard, the wide flared head pulsing with every beat of his heart, but his hands remained steady. He preferred the power of the ghost in the machine.

Internally, he was a storm of possessiveness. Watching her on the 120-inch projector, her image towering over him on the matte charcoal wall, he felt a visceral surge of ownership. He knew every inch of her. The scar on her knee, the way she breathed when she was actually peaking.

His eyes narrowed, tracking every movement of her body on the screen. He watched her play the part, the faux-innocence in her voice. Good girl. The phrase tasted like iron in his mouth. He hated the act. Smoke enjoyed the tease, there was no doubt about it, but because he knew the woman beneath the costume, he knew she was a mess of need and anxiety, and he loved that he was the only one who truly saw her.

He could see it now. The way her thighs trembled, the glistening wetness coating her pussy as she rubbed that lollipop against herself. She was soaking, her body betraying her “innocent”persona. She thought she was in control of the narrative, directing the chat, managing the tips, playing the game.

You think you the one pulling the strings, Malaya, he thought, his gaze darkening. But I own the string. And after that date you had tonight, I think I need to remind you.

His plan was simple: total dismantling. Smoke didn’t want her to just orgasm. He wanted to break her composure. He wanted to strip away the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” act until there was nothing left but raw, uncontrolled desperation. He wanted the entire chat to witness the exact moment her curated performance shattered, leaving her gasping and sobbing for a release that only he could grant or deny. He was going to ruin her in front of hundreds, turning her professional show into a public execution of her modesty.

His face is a battlefield of disciplined lust and predatory hunger.

On the screen, Malaya guided the midnight purple silicone head of the vibrator into her tight, wet channel. Smoke watched her eyes flutter, her breath hitching as she seated the toy deep inside her.

The moment the device was fully submerged, Smoke’s thumb moved.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, his thumb slides the intensity bar just a fraction of an inch to the right. He keeps it on the lowest setting, a mere whisper of a vibration, designed not to satisfy, but to irritate the nerves, to create a craving that can’t be scratched.

For a while, he watched her body warm up to it. The goosebumps on her flesh. The way her moans hitched. How she rubbed her clit and bit her lip. His dick bounced within the tight constraints of his athletic shorts. A painful erection that needed tending to but Smoke would rather edge than release. He was on a mission of destroying Malaya.

For making him feel the way he does. For being so goddamn fine. For invading his mind from sun up to sun down.

I got something for you, he thought.

Smoke didn’t slide the bar this time. He flicked it. He jumped the setting from the lowest tease to a high, aggressive thrum.

He watched through the lens as Malaya’s entire body jolted. Her back arched violently, her fingers digging into the white fur rug, and a loud, genuine moan—one that wasn’t for the tips—ripped from her throat. The sudden surge of power inside her was an electric shock, a violent intrusion of pleasure that bypassed her brain and went straight to her nerves.

Smoke let out a low, guttural exhale, a predatory smirk touching his lips. The game had officially begun.

Smoke’s thumb didn’t just slide. It danced with a sadistic tempo across the encrypted screen. He began to cycle through the preset patterns, switching from a steady, aggressive drone to a series of sharp, erratic pulses. He wanted to keep her off-balance, denying her the ability to settle into the sensation, forcing her body to chase a peak that he kept just out of reach.

On the 120-inch screen, the effect was immediate and visceral. Malaya’s composure disintegrated. Her legs, still clad in those innocent pastel socks, began to shake with a violent, uncontrolled tremor. Her thighs clamped shut, then flew open in a desperate, instinctive attempt to either crush the toy deeper into her walls or push it away from the overstimulated nerves of her clit.

Smoke watched with a predatory intensity as her pussy began to weep, the glistening wetness coating the silicone head of the vibrator and leaking out in thick, clear strings that smeared across the white fur rug. He could see the internal contractions of her vaginal walls. The way her muscles gripped the device in starving spasms, trying to milk the vibration out of the machine.

He flicked the intensity to the absolute maximum.

Malaya’s reaction was primal. A guttural, strangled sound tore from her throat, a noise that was completely stripped of the “Innocent Girl” persona. Her fingers clawed at the rug, bunching the fabric into tight knots as her hips began to buck upward in jagged, uncontrolled jolts. Her chest heaved, the pastel lingerie straining against her waist as she gasped for air, her lungs failing her. Her breasts shook and her ass gyrated.

His eyes are hooded, dark voids that don’t blink, locked onto the 120-inch image of Malaya. He isn’t just watching her. He’s consuming her. Every time her thighs tremble or her back arches in a violent spasm. His pupils dilate, absorbing the sight of her surrender like a sponge. There is a slight, savagely crease between his brows, a mark of intense concentration, as if he is calculating the exact millisecond her willpower snaps.

He watched her toes curl tight, her entire frame vibrating in sync with the device buried inside her. The pleasure was so intense it had crossed the line into a form of exquisite torture. Her head snapped back, her neck tendons straining, and her mouth hung open in a silent, breathless scream.

Smoke leaned forward, his eyes locked on the way her stomach rippled, access skin from birth tightening, her core bracing for the impact of the waves he was sending through her. The faint pulse pitter-pattering against her jugular, blood rushing south, pooling in her engorged clit and drenched folds.

He suddenly dropped the setting back to a low, teasing crawl.

The sudden drop caused Malaya to collapse. She slid down the rug, her body going limp for a split second before she began to writhe, her hips grinding frantically against the air, begging for the power to return. She looked wrecked, hair coming undone from the bows, makeup smudged, eyes glazed and unfocused. She was no longer performing for the chat. She was a slave to the signal in Smoke’s hand.

He let her simmer in that desperation for a few seconds, watching her pussy twitch and pulse in a void of denied pleasure. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he slammed the slider back to the top and triggered the “Chaos” pattern—a rapid-fire sequence of bursts and long, heavy vibrations.

Malaya’s body snapped taut like a bowstring. Her internal muscles clamped down on the vibrator with such force that she let out a high-pitched, sobbing moan. Her pelvis tilted sharply, back arching so hard her shoulder blades pressed into the floor, and her entire midsection shuddered in a prolonged, violent orgasm.

Smoke watched the way her pussy pulsed around the toy, the rhythmic squeezing of her walls visible even through the camera lens. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing hitches, body completely surrendered to the digital ghost he controlled. He didn’t stop it. He kept the vibration screaming inside her, pushing her past the peak, forcing her to ride the wave of an orgasm that wouldn’t end until he decided she had had enough.

That mask had been incinerated by the relentless frequency Smoke was pumping into her. She was sprawled across the white fur rug, her limbs splayed and trembling, her head lolling from side to side. A thin, glistening string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin as her jaw hung slack. She was panting, the sound wet and desperate, her chest heaving so violently that her breasts bounced with every ragged breath.

“Please…” she whimpered, the word barely a sound, more of a broken vibration in her throat. “Please, Daddy...I can’t... I can’t take it...please!”

The word Daddy hit Smoke like a physical blow. He watched her on the screen, seeing the way her eyes were out of focus,her consciousness hovering on the edge of a blackout. Her voice had devolved into a series of high-pitched, needy keens and guttural whimpers, a symphony of surrender that told him exactly who owned her in this moment.

Below her, her pussy was a disaster of arousal. It wasn’t just wet; it was overflowing. Thick, slimy trails of cream and arousal leaked from her drenched folds, soaking into the white fur of the rug in heavy, translucent patches. Every time the vibrator pulsed, more of her essence was forced out, spraying in tiny, glistening droplets against her inner thighs.

Behind the lace mask, her eyes are glazed with a heavy, shimmering layer of lust and total submission, her pupils blown wide until the irises are nearly swallowed by dark brown. Her eyes dart frantically, flickering with a mix of desperation and a total body surrender, glistening within the ring light like wet gemstones. Every time the vibrator spikes, her eyelids flutter and cross, turning her gaze into a raw, mindless expression of overstimulation that screams she is no longer in control.

The chat was a blur of chaotic energy. Tips were flooding in as the viewers watched a woman be systematically dismantled by an invisible hand. The screen was a waterfall of explicit demands and shock, but Smoke ignored them all. His world was narrowed down to the sight of her breaking.

Smoke’s dick was reacting violently. He remained still, his hands gripping the phone, but his thick length was twitching beneath the fabric of his black shorts. He felt the heavy, thick head of his dick throb in sync with her moans, the veins pulsing with a pressure that felt like it might burst. He was rock hard, strained to the absolute limit, his body buzzing with the reflected energy of her agony and ecstasy.

He saw the moment it happened. Malaya’s entire body suddenly locked. Her toes curled so tight they cramped, and her hips gave one final, desperate upward thrust, her pelvis tilting sharply toward the ceiling.

A sharp, piercing squeal tore from her throat—a sound of total overload.

Then, she erupted.

It was a flood. A massive, violent jet of clear fluid exploded from her core, a torrent of squirt so powerful it sprayed across the rug and splashed against her own stomach. The force of the release was visceral, a physical eruption that shook her entire frame. The volume of the fluid was so immense, the internal pressure so sudden and overwhelming, that it acted like a piston. With a wet, suctioning pop, the Bluetooth vibrator was physically launched out of her pussy, propelled by the sheer force of her orgasm. It flew a few inches across the rug, landing with a dull thud, still vibrating weakly.

Malaya collapsed instantly, her body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She lay there in a widening pool of her own release, her chest heaving, her eyes vacant, completely spent. She was shaking in long, slow tremors, her pussy twitching and leaking, wide open and ruined.

Smoke stared at the screen, his dick throbbing with a punishing ache. He had never seen her lose control like that. He had pushed her past the breaking point, and the sight of her—soaked, drooling, and utterly defeated—made him want to reach through the screen and claim every inch of her wreckage.

Smoke’s expression hardens. His gaze drops from her face to the glistening mess between her legs, his eyes narrowing with a possessive greed. He looks starved. He looks dangerous. The contrast is visceral: Malaya is a shattered wreck of pleasure on the scene while Smoke is a rigid, pulsing statue of restraint, his face a mask of absolute dominance, savoring the knowledge that he is the only one who truly knows how to make her scream.

He watched her weakly push herself up from the white fur rug, her movements sluggish and disjointed. She looked completely shattered, her eyes glazed and her lips parted, a thin string of saliva clinging to her chin. She looked like she’d been hit by a freight train of pleasure, her pussy gaping and leaking fluid onto the floor.

When the screen finally went black, the “Stream Ended” notification flashing across the 120-inch projection. Smoke didn’t move for a long minute. D’Angelo’s voice rushed back in through the speakers, heavy and suffocating. He stood up abruptly, the movement sharp and jagged. He began to pace the length of the sunken leather pit, his bare feet slapping against the cold, matte charcoal concrete. He was wired, his nerves screaming, his blood boiling with a cocktail of possessiveness and raw, unadulterated lust.

I need a blunt, he thought, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. I need to chill the fuck out.

But the internal command was losing the war against the impulse. Every step he took felt like he was fighting the urge to bolt out the door, jump in his car, and drive those thirty minutes to her duplex. He could almost feel it. The weight of her body as he scooped her up the second she opened the door, the smell of her sweat and pussy hitting him like a drug.

He imagined the carnage he’d leave behind in her apartment. He wanted to wreck her. He wanted to slam her against the wall, flip her over the kitchen counter, and drive his big dick balls-deep into her guts until she forgot how to breathe. He wanted to feel her tight walls gripping him, her screams echoing through the halls, marking her as his in a way a Bluetooth vibrator never could.

His chest felt tight, his lungs struggling to pull in enough air. With every breath, his stomach muscles flexed and rippled, tight with the sheer anticipation of a physical release that felt miles away. He let out a shaky, guttural exhale, his shoulders hunching.

Stop it. Chill. Play the long game, his inner voice hissed, but it sounded distant, drowned out by the throb in his groin.

Smoke stopped pacing and looked down. His black athletic shorts were stretched to their absolute limit. His dick was poked straight out, a rigid, pulsing tower that looked like a traffic cone shoved into the fabric. The wide, flared head was straining against the material, the veins thick and hard, twitching with every beat of his heart. He was rock hard, aching and heavy, the pressure in his balls becoming almost unbearable.

He stared at the protrusion, his breath hitching. He was a man of absolute control, a man who mapped out every move and monitored every variable, but looking at the sight of his own lust fueled by the image of Malaya soaked and broken on a rug, he knew he was dangerously close to the edge.

———

Elijah Moore had built his life on one principle.

Patterns rarely lied. People did.

His monitors glowed against the darkness of the office tucked above Edge & Thread. Three screens displayed different pieces of three different lives. A ransomware recovery for a music producer in Houston. Cryptocurrency movement connected to an old client in Miami. Security footage from a warehouse outside Atlanta waiting to be archived before sunrise.

Smoke moved through each task with practiced efficiency.

Windows opened. Code scrolled. Files decrypted. Logs disappeared.

By the time the eastern sky began trading black for blue, BLK TRACE had already earned more money than most people would see in a week. He leaned back from the desk, his eyes settled on a different monitor. A familiar route. A familiar vehicle. A familiar morning.

Malaya.

The timestamp rested in the corner of the screen.

Thursday—8:14 A.M.

She pulled into the daycare parking lot carrying Messiah against her shoulder. Even through grainy security footage, motherhood had its own flow. She positioned him higher with one arm while reaching for the diaper bag with the other. The little boy wrapped sleepy arms around her neck, unwilling to surrender his mama.

Smoke watched her disappear through the front entrance. Two minutes later she returned alone. She didn’t drive toward work. His gaze drifted toward another monitor displaying nothing more than a street map layered with months of routine.

Colored lines crossed the city like veins.

Home ✅

Daycare ✅

Work ✅

Grocery store ✅

Gas station ✅

Home again ✅

Most days followed the same geometry. Thursdays didn’t. Every Thursday…the route bent.

Honey & Oak.

Arrival—8:28 | Departure—9:03

Thirty-five minutes. Every week.

The pattern had repeated often enough that software no longer needed to flag it.

Smoke noticed it on his own.

He enlarged the map. The café sat on a corner between an old bookstore and a tailor shop. Nothing remarkable. No unusual visitors. No suspicious activity. No reason to investigate.

Except…

Malaya kept choosing it.

He wasn’t interested in coffee. He was interested in decisions. People revealed themselves through repetition. Through what they returned to when nobody was watching.

His fingers rested against the desk.

Thirty-five minutes. Every Thursday.

Why?

He opened another window.

Property records.

Honey & Oak.

Family owned. Nearly eighteen years in business. No police reports worth mentioning. No financial irregularities. No history of violent incidents.

He closed it again.

None of that answered the question. Addresses explained where. They never explained why.

Smoke stood and walked toward the office window.

Malaya always made time for Honey & Oak. Not once. Not occasionally. Every Thursday.

His phone buzzed across the desk.

Stack: Lunch at Mama Dee’s?

Smoke looked at the message before setting the phone back down unanswered. His attention had already drifted elsewhere.

The following Thursday he parked across the street from Honey & Oak.

He arrived early. Engine off. Windows cracked.

Coffee never crossed his mind. People did.

Teachers walked in carrying canvas totes. Construction workers had stopped for breakfast before climbing into company trucks. An elderly couple shared a newspaper at the same window table for almost forty minutes. Two nurses still wearing hospital badges laughed over something one of them read on her phone. Nobody looked out of place. Nobody seemed to be performing. The neighborhood flowed through the café as naturally as conversation.

At exactly 8:27, Malaya pulled into a parking space. She lifted Messiah from his car seat, balanced the diaper bag, and walked toward the entrance. She stayed inside thirty-six minutes. When she came back out, she looked…

Lighter. Less burdened.

Smoke frowned almost imperceptibly.

The following Thursday he returned.

Then the Thursday after that.

He never entered. He never watched Malaya once she disappeared inside. Instead, he studied Honey & Oak itself.

The pace. The customers. The owners greeting people by name. The absence of hurry. The ordinary kindness exchanged between strangers. It wasn’t just a coffee shop, it was a pause. A breather. An escape from reality passed those doors. One small piece of the week that belonged entirely to the people who stepped inside.

Smoke rested both hands on the steering wheel. For months he had believed Honey & Oak was another location on Malaya’s route. Another point on a map. Now he understood something different. This wasn’t where she bought coffee, it was where she caught her breath. He looked through the windshield toward the front door.

If he intended to become a part of her everyday world…there would never be a better place.

Nor a more dangerous one.

Smoke reached for his phone.

Brick answered on the second ring.

“You busy?”

“I got time.”

“I need to move my standing appointment.”

A brief silence settled between them.

“What day you thinkin’?”

Smoke kept his eyes on Honey & Oak.

“Thursday.”

“Aight.”

Smoke ended the call.

Across the street, the bell above Honey & Oak’s front door swung open as another customer disappeared inside.

Operation: The Familiar Stranger had begun.

@championshipshade @plan3tch1ld @lizbehave @shereeluvssinners @cloviacreem-18 @aretasreads @harleycativy @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @shanthefemalerapper @alaysiunaadams23 @shamansha @smokingangelhoe @themindfulwriter16 @venusisrising @margepimpson @fairysoulja @chromexbarbie @pinkangelwing222 @rolemodelshit @d1gitalb4rbie @astr0babez @solarssins @secretisme4 @ofwgkta-maur @shecuteforaewok @callmemckenzieee @prettypinkprincess29 @mmbee675 @vibrantlymellowknight @itsspixiedusst56 @kleighw86 @bananajoeclone @sintizc @richonne4life @dammitj4net @kaystacks17 @midnightmemoirsofher @addelinedarling @abcedfy @brownsugarcoffy @imperoyalblue @girlmath101 @dezzy154 @softy212 @overzealouszeitgeist @blaqwidow91 @christinabae @mirathebookworm @theblulife @cocochannelmoi @kindofaintrovert @tatelangdonsweater @og-goddesstrill

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Camera 0ff…

Summary: watching turns into wanting…and wanting turns into control

Warnings: Obsession /Voyeurism / Possessive Male / Hood romance grit / Daddy kink / Provider dynamic / Dirty talk + cum fixation / Unprotected, raw, dominant sex / Slow burn tension / Crime Drama + Thiller / Stalking / Urban Erotica

[ Part Three ]

Smoke knew which window was hers without looking at the house number.

He’d parked three houses down tonight, far enough that nobody would remember his charger if they happened to glance outside, close enough that he could catch movement behind the second-floor curtains. The position wasn’t accidental. Nothing about these nights was.

His gaze stayed fixed on the duplex.

He wasn’t focused on the building or the street.

It was her.

The television flashed blue against the curtains. A shadow crossed the room and disappeared again.

LaceyBlaze69

Malaya.

By now, smoke could recognize her silhouette faster than he recognized most faces. A tilt of her head. The swing of her hair. The way she crossed a room carrying a cup or a phone or a basket of laundry.

The curtains concealed most of her, but they didn’t need to show much. Smoke’s mind supplied the rest.

He watched the second-floor window and waited for her to pass again.

Smoke should’ve left forty minutes ago.

He knew it.

The job waiting on his laptop knew it.

The burner phone sitting untouched in the center console knew it.

But he remained exactly where he was, one hand resting against the steering wheel as his attention drifted back to the same upstairs windows for the hundredth time that night.

She had been back for over an hour. Alone. At least, as far as he could tell.

Smoke’s gazes lingered on the window. The surveillance feed mounted beside the dash displayed nothing useful now, only the quiet exterior of the building and a timestamp counting steadily forward. Smoke barely looked at it. He didn’t need technology to watch her anymore.

That realization should have bothered him. Instead, it settled somewhere deep inside him with a deep seeded satisfaction.

Smoke was close. He was so close. Closer than he’d ever been. The distance between them no longer felt measured in blocks or city streets. It felt measured in moments. One decision. One knock at the door. One conversation that would make him real to her inside of invisible.

His jaw tightened.

Then, the second phone lit up. Smoke’s eyes cut to the device.

Stack.

Smoke stared at the screen for a moment as it vibrated against the center console. Once. Twice. A third time.

Only then did he answer.

“Yeah.”

“You held up?”

In the background, the bass of some slow, thumping trap track rumbled through the phone. A song made for strip clubs. There was laughter in the background. Glass clinks. A woman’s voice sweet and blurred called someone “baby” before fading out.

Smoke’s eyes remained on the upstairs window. “What you want?”

“I need a favor.”

The request immediately irritated him. It wasn’t because his brother was asking for his help. It was when.

Smoke watched Malaya cross the window again before she disappeared out of view.

“It’s important,” Stack said.

“Ain’t say it wasn’t.” Smoke replied.

For a moment, only music filled the line. Then, Stack sighed, abandoning whatever charm he usually wrapped around these conversations.

“One of my clients is gettin’ cold feet. That one skincare influencer from the LA contract.”

Smoke already knew which one.

“What she do?”

“Started stashing files. Extra backups. Personal cloud storage I ain’t authorize.”

That got Smoke’s attention. His fingers drifted toward the burner phone resting beside him.

“Who she talking to?”

“Cybersecurity blogger outta Chicago. Small-time, but connected enough to be annoying. Might have federal contacts. Might not. I don’t plan on finding out.”

Smoke’s expression darkened. “You think she gon’ leak?”

“I think she already scheduled it.”

The answer settled heavy in Smoke’s blacked out charger. He hated leaving but business was business. And he refused to let some lame ass influencer hoe fuck up his operation.

“She got backups?” Smoke asked.

“Probably. Cloud storage. Maybe more.”

Smoke nodded once. “Send me everything.”

“It’s already there”

“Where?”

“Your RED folder.”

A humorless smile touched Smoke’s mouth. “What’s it labeled?”

“RATTED.”

The charger started beneath him. Headlights swept briefly across the curb as he pulled away from the spot.

“So, I’m cleaning your mess?” Smoke said with a dry chuckle.

“Technically ours.”

“How the fuck this my mess? You let this bitch get slick.”

The city rolled past outside the windows in an array of colors. From the outside looking in, Smoke had tints on his windows. Like a two-way mirror.

“Aight. I’m heading over now. I’ll let you know how it go.”

“No need. I know you got it.” Stack said.

Smoke hung up.

By the time Smoke reached the bypass, Malaya’s neighborhood had disappeared behind him. The only light inside the charger came from the glow of the encrypted software spreading across his console.

Data streams began populating the screen.

Passwords. Access points. Recovery keys. A file opened automatically.

RATTED.zip

DECRYPTING…

Smoke settled deeper into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. The disappointment of leaving her lingered beneath his ribs, sharp and unwelcome. But work had always been easier than desire. Cleaner. Simpler. Systems made sense.

People didn’t.

Especially not women like Malaya.

For now, Ghost mode is engaged.

No fingerprints. No trail. No mercy.

01:47 AM

Buckhead high-rise. Top floor.

Concierge waved her in with a smile hours ago. The girl had champagne taste and too many secrets tucked inside her rose-gold phone. Smoke didn’t go through the lobby. He was already inside. The building’s maintenance access was laughably unsecured, just a four-digit pin Smoke could decode in his sleep. Smoke took the elevator to the service hall. Wore gloves. Footsteps inaudible. By the time he reached her door, he’d already looped the hallway feed and disabled the motion sensor near her unit.

She was home. Asleep.

Smoke pulled a small matte device from his hoodie. A USB merged with a scalpel. He presssd it against the bottom of the keypad lock. Held it there. Then…

Click.

The door slid open and he stepped inside stealthily. From a quick sweep of his dark eyes. Glass table. Dried fruit tray. Rolled yoga mat. Everything curated for a minimalist Instagram aesthetic.

But her tech? Messy.

She left her iPad on the couch and a pink MacBook on the table, lid cracked, camera covered with a sticker that read GIRLS RULE AND BOYS DROOL.

Smoke moved like he’d been there before. He sat on the couch, pulled out his own gear. He wasn’t interested in stealing her data. He was here to rewrite it.

Booting: SpoofStack_Protocol_V2

Within seconds, her MacBook mirrored on his screen. Password broken. The cloud decrypted.

And there it was.

A folder labeled: CLIENT ARCHIVE (PRIVATE)

Inside: Screenshots of bank transfers. Server access logs. Snippets of phone calls. Metadata from custom scripts that Smoke himself had built.

She hadn’t just collected proof. She’d built a timeline.

“Cute,” Smoke muttered.

He selected the folder. Duplicated the entire contents. Then deleted the original.

But that wasn’t enough.

Now feeding: FALSE_Archive_v1.3

He uploaded an altered copy. The fake archive had the same names. Same structure. But every file told a new story:

Stack was just a consultant.

Smoke’s code was purchased legally.

All server logs showed compliance with DMCA and data privacy.

Her “receipts” now made her look like a willing accomplice to digital blackmail and influencer manipulation.

He encrypted the fake archive to match the original hash key. No one could tell the difference.

Not even her.

But if she leaked it now? She’d bury herself.

Smoke stood. He wiped the couch armrest and tucked the cloned drive into a pocket. On his way out, he paused by her bedroom door was cracked. He didn’t bother opening it further. He could hear her breathing in her sleep. Then, he was gone. Hallway feed reactivated. Fingerprint spray already dissipating. By the time she woke up, only thing that would feel different was her own guilt.

Outside, Smoke shut the car door with a soft thunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and let the rumble of the Charger settle around him like armor. The inside was pitch-black. No dome light. Just the red glow from the dashboard and the faint buzz of encrypted sync across the Bluetooth rig.

He sat there a second. Gloved hands resting on the wheel. The digital drive in his inner jacket pocket, warm with all the shit he’d just buried.

Job done.

He tapped the hands-free.

“Call Stack.”

Three rings. Then bass. Deep, strip-club bass. Slow trap low like lust wrapped in a haze.

“Talk to me.” Stack said.

“It’s handled.”

“She won’t double back?”

If she try to, she leakin’ her own stains.” Smoke replied.

“Beautiful. Like poetry, bruh.”

Smoke reached for the gearshift. “I’m out.”

“Nah, hold up. Slide through.”

Smoke paused. “Where you at?”

“The rotation spot. Underground. Off Decatur. You remember the one. Black light entrance, heat sensor door, only take crypto at the bar?”

Smoke exhaled. Already annoyed.

“Ain’t this your pussy-and-patron circuit?”

“Tonight it’s business, bruh. Private room. Need to talk clientele. Tighten things.”

“At a strip club?” Smoke quirked a brow.

“At my strip club,” Stack corrected. “I trust the walls.”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed once on the wheel. His mind had already started drifting. To home.

To his command center.

To Malaya’s face half-lit by LED strips…

To the way she bit her lip when she thought no one noticed…

“Mmm, fuck…I’m rubbing this clit just for you…can you see it? I’m sliding my fingers deep inside my pussy…imagining it’s your dick filling me up instead. I want you so bad, Daddy…I want you to watch me cum for you…”

“I’m such a slut for you, ain’t I? Look at me…look at how I’m opening myself up. I’m soaking wet, Daddy…I’m just a little toy for you to watch and play with…does it make you hard seeing me fuck myself like this?”

Smoke…yes…unh…Smoke…

Smoke…Smoke…

“Smoke?” Stack called through the phone.

“…I’m listening.”

“Slide through. I’ll pour somethin’ strong. You can smoke somethin’. Then we talk.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose. “Security tight?”

“Locked like your vault. Don’t worry ‘bout whispering the code at the entrance. The floor girl ‘ol walk you in.”

There was another pause. Then, Smoke shifted into drive.

“Be there in thirty.”

“Atta boy.”

The line went dead.

Smoke pulled onto the road, tires smooth, engine low and sleek like a predator in motion. The city lights blinked across his windshield—blues, reds, golds—but his focus stayed cold.

When he got there, Smoke pulled up slow. The charger came to a stop at the edge of an unmarked building with blacked-out windows and no signage. Just a single narrow door inset into the concrete, painted deep charcoal, smooth and flat. No velvet rope. No line. No noise from outside. It wasn’t a place you found, you were brought there.

Smoke stepped out into the thick night air, the heat of Atlanta still pressing close even after midnight. His matte black leather biker boots touched down on the curb. Every corner of the block appeared to have no motion but watched. You could feel it. Eyes behind tinted glass. A red security light blinked from somewhere above the doorframe, invisible until it caught the metal button of his sleeve. As he approached, the door cracked open just wide enough to let the glow spill out.

Blue. Blacklight.

Inside, the world looked dipped in ultraviolet. Silhouettes moved in slow motion. Melanin Skin glowed in neon, oil-slicked and glistening under the lights. Purple thongs. Fluorescent green heels. The gleam of diamond chains across collarbones and ankle bones and down spines. The bass hit in a deep, sexual crawl. A low trap track chopped with moans and heavy kicks. A sound you could fuck to, kill to, drown in.

The girl standing just inside the door was fine enough to alter a man’s path. Maybe five-foot-six. Rich brown skin slicked to perfection, waist snatched in a sheer one-piece with nothing underneath. Her lips were glossy, her eyelashes long and cruel. She looked him up and down once.

She smiled slow. “Hey Twin? This way.”

Her voice was warm but lined with danger. Like if he turned the wrong way, she’d cut him with it. She turned, hips rolling high and slow in front of him as she led him deeper into the space. The walls curved inward, black-lit murals dancing with movement as bodies passed. Women kissed women on leather couches. Men sat back with cigars while girls bent over laps, bare and grinning, high off liquor and deeper things.

The layout was designed for maximum intimacy and voyeurism. A wide, circular perimeter of plush, midnight-black velvet booths surrounded a central stage area where polished chrome poles rise like silver pillars toward the dark ceiling. The floor is a polished obsidian that mirrors the flashing neon, making it feel as though the dancers are floating on a sea of dark glass.

No phones. No cameras. Only shadows and memory.

One room opened to his left, curtains drawn but not closed. Inside, a woman was tied to a black rope swing, heels still on, one man kissing her thighs while another licked her breast. She was moaning loud, head thrown back. Her body glowed in the light like something caught between reality and pleasure. No one in the hallway stared. This was normal here. Routine.

On the poles, the women are masterpieces of motion and melanin. They represent a breathtaking spectrum of Black beauty, from deep, midnight and rich mahogany to warm honey and golden bronze. Their attire is minimal, designed to leave nothing to the imagination. Some wear sheer, neon-trimmed lace thongs that disappear into the crease of their cheeks. Others are in strappy, high-cut leather sets that push up their breasts and cinch their waists, leaving their midriffs bare and glistening with body oil.

One dancer, a woman with skin the color of dark umber and a towering afro grips the pole with practiced strength. She slides down the chrome in a slow, controlled descent, her thighs gripping the metal tightly before she snaps into a perfect, flat split on the stage. As she holds the position, she arches her back, thrusting her chest forward and grinding her hips in a tantalizing, circular motion that makes the thin fabric of her G-string vanish between her plump, shaking cheeks.

Another performer, a golden-brown beauty with long, flowing braids is a whirlwind of erotic energy. She spins rapidly, her body a blur of glowing skin before suddenly stopping to drop into a deep squat. She turns her back to the crowd, bending over until her chest nearly touches the floor, and begins to shake her ass with a thunderous motion. The muscles in her glutes worked to make that ass ripple and bounce under the black lights, a hypnotic vibration that keeps the patrons mesmerized.

Money flowed like a river. Crisp bills were tucked into the waistbands of thongs, slapped against oiled thighs and rained down from the booths in a constant, fluttering descent. The tactile experience is one of luxury and an erotica. The patrons—all black folks—lean back in the shadows, their eyes locked on the stage. The vibe is heavy with desire and explicit intent. It’s a space of unapologetic Black eroticism, where the scent of money and lust rains down like the bandz that littered the stage and floor.

Women noticed. They always did.

Smoke kept his face unreadable as they moved through. His gait stayed measured, heavy boots on obsidian tile. Charcoal henley pulled tight over his chest. Silver chain resting low, cool against his collarbone. One ringed hand hung loose at his side while the other stayed near his hip. He wasn’t here for indulgence. But eyes followed him anyway.

One dancer paused mid-pour, licking foam from the rim of a glass as she watched him. Another girl leaned against a wall in mesh, nipples pierced and glowing, her mouth parting just slightly as he passed.

He didn’t return the looks. He moved like everything around him was already beneath his notice. Like he could take any one of them home, or none of them, and it would all mean the same.

The floor girl finally stopped at a black velvet curtain that looked like it led nowhere. She turned, looked at him again, then reached out and slid her fingers across his chest.

“Stack’s waiting in the back. Said don’t keep him too long. He got a mood on tonight.”

Then, she stepped aside.

Smoke slipped through the curtain.

The back room hit different.

The music lowered but stayed thick with bass. The lighting shifted to a red-blue gradient that danced over leather booths and mirrored walls. A private bar lined with obsidian shelves glinted with high-shelf bottles and decanters carved like diamonds.

Stack was seated in the center booth like a man who owned everything. Suit jacket off. Cigar in hand. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the rise of his chest and the sliver of a tattoo that disappeared beneath it. A woman was sitting next to him, pretty and thick, wearing nothing but chains and red panties. But she wasn’t talking. Just pressing close like she knew her position.

Stack looked up and grinned when he saw his brother.

“Bout time.”

Smoke slid into the booth across from him, not saying shit at first. He leaned back, eyes tracing slow as they scanned the room. Then he pulled out the drive and slid it across the table.

“It’s done.”

Stack tapped ash off the end of his cigar and took a sip of something gold from a crystal glass.

“You rewrite her whole digital memory?”

Smoke nodded once. “She leaks now, she burns herself.”

Stack let out a low, satisfied sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval. More like pleasure at watching the chessboard bend.

“See, that’s why I keep you in the cut. All these pretty tech boys with degrees out here movin’ loud. You? You just fuck around and disappear a bitch.”

Smoke didn’t react. He just sat there with a stony expression.

The woman next to Stack traced the rim of his glass and leaned in to whisper something, but Stack waved her off without looking. His attention was locked.

“You didn’t have to come out tonight,” Stack said after a beat. “But I appreciate it. Had to talk to you about tightening the loop.”

Smoke raised a brow. “Clientele?”

Stack nodded. “Some of these influencer types? They playin’ messy. Takin’ our tools and runnin’ off at the mouth. I need cleaner boundaries. Higher vetting.”

Smoke’s gaze sharpened. “You getting soft, Stack?”

“Not soft,” Stack said, leaning forward. “Selective.”

Another girl danced across the far room, naked except for heels and a diamond chain around her throat. She locked eyes with Smoke for a moment. Bold.

“This empire we buildin’?” Stack said. “It don’t grow if the wrong bitch flips. That one tonight? Could’ve got real ugly.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “It almost did.”

Stack took that in. Sat back. “We tighten up now,” he said, voice lower. “Or we lose what we got.”

“I’ll send a new vetting protocol. You run names past me first. You don’t, we both lose.”

Stack smirked. “Look at you. Big boss energy.”

Stack leaned back in the booth, one arm thrown over the leather like it belonged to him. Alizé was at the private bar, hips rolling slow as she poured herself a drink. She licked stray cognac from her fingers like she tasted herself in it. Across the room, Nova stood near the edge of a low platform, dancing in a slow whine to the music bleeding through the walls. Her hands trailed her own thighs, eyes locked on Smoke the second he stepped through the curtain. She didn’t wave, she just smiled and kept moving like she wanted him to watch.

Smoke pulled out his phone. He tapped the encrypted drive. Brought up a blacked-out screen with layers of local and foreign pings.

“Any word about the three that came lookin’ for me?”

Stack took a puff of his cigar resting between two fingers, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Nah. And if I had, you know I would’ve said.”

Smoke nodded once. No accusation, just calculation. His fingers moved quick, swiping through location data, blurred screenshots from party feeds, AI-enhanced license plate reads.

“They ain’t from here.”

“Obviously.”

“Cheap suits. Bad diamonds. But they knew the lingo.” Smoke paused, looking down at the screen. “Knew enough to know about me. The real me.”

Stack’s jaw tightened. “You pull names?”

Smoke tapped again.

The table glowed blue with the light from his screen.

“Yeah. Pulled prints from the glass that lanky one touched. Traced a rental car from the valet logs. Hacked the damn building’s guest Wi-Fi and cross-checked MAC addresses. Got two of their burner IDs off bounce-back signals.”

Stack chuckled low. “My brother.”

Smoke’s eyes were locked on the screen.

“Names are Harold Kray, Zino Atakni, and the older one? Conrad Fielding. Fielding’s got history in Marseille. Organized pipeline moves through West Africa, black-market acquisition networks. Used to work under de Costa before that shit collapsed. He’s the head.”

“And the others?”

“Soldiers. Hired muscle with decent resumes. One of them, Zino, used to run messages for a Libyan collector who’s since disappeared.”

Stack’s lips pressed together. “You think they freelance?”

Smoke shook his head. “Not with how Conrad was talkin’. That wasn’t freelance energy. That was sanctioned. He was too damn calm. Too rehearsed.”

Stack poured more bourbon.

“They wanted access,” Smoke said. “They didn’t come for art. They came for me. For the Ghost.”

Stack’s grin faded completely. “Somebody sent ‘em.”

“I know.”

“Who?”

Smoke’s silence deepened.

“Don’t know yet,” he said, but his voice had changed. Lower. Sharper. “But whoever it is…they want me out the game.”

“Dead?”

“Dead or cracked open.”

Stack blew out smoke through his nose. “That’s bigger than art theft.”

“That’s bigger than us.”

There was a faint moan of the bassline from the next room, a synth-heavy R&B loop wrapped in drum kicks and whispered filth.

Stack’s voice dropped, the way it always did when he shifted from business to indulgence. That smile of his curved slow across his lips, just enough to show the gold cap when he spoke.

“You remember Alizé, right?”

The thick, honey-toned woman next to him looked up. Her lips were glossy. Her eyes were misty with a need to be fucked and whatever liquor she drank. She was fine in that round, sultry way. Thick thighs, soft belly, ass too big for most dresses, face too sweet to say no. She blinked up at him and licked her lips once before turning toward his lap.

Stack didn’t stop her. He leaned back in the booth, legs spread, cigar held loose between two fingers while she unbuckled his slacks with practiced care. She looked up once, then dipped down.

Smoke sat still across from him, watching.

The second girl—Nova, the one who had been watching Smoke earlier from the far corner—stepped forward now. Her body was carved like temptation, all sharp cheekbones and waist-length curls. Her skin shimmered under the light. Her nipples were pierced, rings glinting. She lowered herself to her knees next to Alizé. Alizé giggled, gave Stack’s dick one final lick before passing it off to Nova. She reached out, took Stack’s dick in her hand, and started sucking it.

Two mouths.

One thick, wet dick.

They took turns. One sucking slow, the other licking along the shaft. Then both at once, lips brushing as they slurped and moaned around him, messy and devoted. Alizé cradled his balls like they were holy. Nova spat and stroked, her eyes rolling when he twitched against her tongue.

Stack exhaled, his head tilted back slightly. He shut his eyes.

Smoke turned away, unfazed. But the sound of slurping and licking remained.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Stack asked, voice lazy. “Alizé got that throat, but Nova? She know how to make a man forget he got enemies.”

Smoke picked up a blunt, lighting it, his other hand rested on his thigh. His rings caught the low light. His expression still unreadable. But his eyes slid from the women back to Stack, cold and steady.

“I’m good.”

Stack smirked. “You always say that.”

Smoke leaned forward just slightly. “It’s been a minute,” he admitted, voice rough with quiet restraint.

Stack raised an eyebrow, surprised at the honesty.

Smoke’s gaze didn’t move. “But the only mouth I want on me like that?” His jaw tightened. “She don’t even know yet.”

Stack grinned wider. “Damn. She got you pressed like that?”

Smoke ignored him, blowing smoke ahead of him.

The wet sounds between them grew. Alizé moaned deep in her throat, face glossy, nose running. Nova licked him like she was tasting secrets. They didn’t even look up. Just switched angles. Spit dripping. Hands cradling. Tongues sharing.

Stack groaned low, his head falling back against the booth cushion.

Smoke stood. “You done?”

Stack looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. His voice was a quiet dare.

“I ain’t never done.”

Smoke gave a slow nod. “Handle yours.”

He turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the tile with impatient steps.

And behind him, the club kept spinning. Lights pulsing. Girls moaning. Music thumping under blacklight like a heartbeat you weren’t supposed to hear.

———

11:45 PM—His Den

Smoke sat back in his leather chair, the pungent aroma of the blunt between his fingers circulating his head like a menacing fog. He was stripped down, shirtless, skin gleaming under the recess lights of his command center. A black durag was tied tight across his head and his shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his V-taper.

Four curved monitors dominated his vision, but only one mattered. He watched the screen, his eyes locked on Malaya. She had logged on late. No fancy lighting, no ring light to wash out the imperfections. Just a dim, yellow bedside lamp that cast long, jagged shadows across the room. The frame was messy. There was a hoodie thrown over a chair, the edge of a baby’s blanket peeking out from behind her.

It was raw. It was honest. And it was killing him.

She looked exhausted. Smoke couldn’t see her eyes but he knew they had to be droopy with a vacant expression. She wasn’t wearing a wig or a drop of makeup. Her long twists were draped over her shoulders, her skin matte and real. She wore an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, exposing a glimpse of her collarbone, and simple cotton panties that looked like they’d been worn all day.

She didn’t greet the room with her usual practiced smile and seductive lip bite. She didn’t tease. She just laid there, half-propped up against her pillows, thighs spread wide in a way that felt less like an invitation and more like surrender.

Smoke took a deep drag of the blunt, the cherry glowing bright orange, and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned.

He watched her yawn, a genuine, tired stretch that arched her back and pulled the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her breasts, revealing perk nipples. She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, looking less like LaceyBlaze69 and more like a woman who was drowning in her own life.

“Mmm…hey loves…sorry I’m late…I can’t even tell what time it is anymore,” she dragged a single finger over her pussy through her cotton panties, rolling her hips in a lazy circle. “I was having the best dream about getting fucked out of my sleep…but I think I’d rather have the real thing,” Malaya bit her lip. “I’m still so warm from the sheets…can you tell? I’m barely awake, but this pussy is dripping for you. Come on…tip me something to wake me up.” She released a soft chuckle. “Help me hit the goal, I’ll show you exactly where I was rubbing myself before I drifted off…”

The chat was moving fast. Men were demanding more. They wanted her to scream, to arch, to play the part of the hungry slut they paid for.

DangerDick84_: Come on Lacey, show that pussy baby.

WillyMoProblems: Take them panties off.

PhantomDweller$: You have pretty toes. I wanna suck ‘em.

100 Tokens. 300 Tokens. 150 Tokens. 80 Tokens

Malaya didn’t react to them. She didn’t even seem to be reading. She reached down, her fingers sliding under the elastic of her panties, tugging them aside with a movement that was mechanical, devoid of passion. She began to touch herself, her fingers moving in circles, but her body language was unfocused, and Smoke just knew she was staring past the lens, eyes heavy and uninterested.

Then, she started to moan.

Smoke leaned forward, his chest nearly touching the glass desk. He knew that sound. He knew the difference between her desire and her hustle. These moans were hollow. They were a performance for the bills, a fake melody played to keep the tips flowing. She was faking the pleasure, her voice pitching up in a way that didn’t match the deadness in her eyes.

It was a lie, and it made his blood boil.

He hated that she had to do it. He hated that she was forced to pretend to be turned on by the gaze of hundreds of nameless, horny men just to keep a roof over her and Messiah’s heads. The sight of her vulnerability, the way she looked so small and broken in that big, messy bed, hit him harder than any physical blow.

Smoke didn’t type or use YungCipher to talk dirty or GoodBodyAnon to be sweet. He stayed as Camera0ff. The silent watcher.

Smoke reached for his mouse and clicked the tip button. He didn’t send a small amount. He sent a massive sum, a number that would make the rest of the chat go silent, a number that meant she could turn the camera off right now and not worry about money for a month.

He watched her body language change.

She paused.

Her fingers that were circling her clit slowed down. He could actually see her shoulders drop. Like she was relieved.

Smoke exhaled a cloud of grey, gaze darkening.

He wanted to reach through the screen, grab her by the back of her neck, and pull her into his own bed. He wanted to strip that oversized shirt off and replace her fingers with his tongue.

He wanted to give her a reason to moan that wasn’t a lie.

Smoke watched her finish, a quiet, unceremonious climax that left her looking even more depleted than before. As she reached out to end the stream, her shoulders slumped, and for a split second, she looked like she might cry.

The screen set went black.

Smoke sat in the dark, the only light coming from the remaining monitors. He stared at the empty black square where she had been, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair so hard the leather groaned.

He wasn’t just obsessed. He was addicted. And the fact that she was breaking right in front of him only made him want to own every shattered piece.

Smoke leaned back in his leather chair, the embers of the blunt glowing. He shifted, shorts riding lower on his hips, his mind drifting back to the time he’d tried to bridge the gap between the screen and the skin.

He’d used YungCipher for it.

Out of all his personas, YungCipher was the one that carried the most of his actual hunger. He wasn’t the quiet ghost of Camera0ff of the protective shadow of GoodBodyAnon.

YungCipher was the raw edge.

He was the one who talked dirty. The one who tipped when she hit a peak, the one who let her know exactly what a real man would do to her if he had her pinned beneath him.

He remembered the messages he’d sent. He hadn’t been playing a character then. Every word had been the truth. She didn’t need those silicone toys. The tips from strangers was pocket change compared to the life he could provide. He’d been explicit, his words painting a picture of exactly how he’d handle her. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t just another viewer with a credit card; he was the real thing.

You don’t need those dildos, baby. I got the real thing waiting for you. I’ll be your favorite big dick. I’ll give that pretty pussy exactly what it deserves.

Smoke could almost feel the weight of her in his hands, the way her tired body would melt under his dominance. He wanted to replace the fake pleasure she performed for the masses with a visceral, bone-deep satisfaction that would leave her shaking and speechless. He wanted to be the only thing she craved.

But she had turned him down.

The rejection hadn’t been angry or disgusted. It had been a firm, practiced wall. She’d declined the offer to meet, citing her rules.

Smoke didn’t feel slighted or insulted. Instead, he felt a dark, twisted sense of pride. He understood. Malaya was guarded for a reason. She was a mother, a survivor, a woman who knew exactly how dangerous the world was. The fact that she wouldn’t dare meet a stranger from a chat room, no matter how much he promised or how high he tipped, only made her more precious in his eyes. It meant she was disciplined. It meant she was protecting herself and Messiah.

It also meant that if he wanted her, he not only had to ask for her.

He had to take her.

He had to weave himself into the fabric of her life until he was the only safety she had left.

Since that night, he’d dialed back YungCipher. He’d stepped away from the aggressive pursuit, retreating into the shadows of his other accounts. He stopped pushing for the meet-up, stopped the overt demands. He went back to being the silent provider, the gentle protector, the ghost in the machine.

He took another stage of the blunt, exhaling a thick cloud that obscured the monitors. He played the long game. He had tested her boundaries and found them strong.

But boundaries were just lines waiting to be crossed.

Smoke looked at the silver laptop on his glass desk, his encrypted phone sitting beside it. He knew everything about her. Where she lived, where she worked, the exact moment she turned off her lights at night.

Smoke just needed the right moment to show her that everything he’d promised as a persona was a reality as a man.

And then Jordan became a name Smoke saw too often.

At first, it had meant nothing to him. A man’s name in a woman’s phone was not enough to move him. Malaya was beautiful, delicate in ways she tried to hide and sweet in ways that slipped out when she forgot to guard herself. Men noticed. Men always noticed. Some sent her messages with too many hearts eyes on social media. Some tried to be funny and failed. Some waited for her cam shows and spent money they didn’t have just to make her look toward the screen for half a second. Smoke knew the difference between noise and a threat. Most men were noise.

Jordan had been noise until Malaya started smiling at him.

Edge & Thread—Location: North Side 9:05PM

Smoke sat in his private office above Edge & Thread, the monitors casting a cold sheen over the angles of his face. Below him, the barbershop had closed for the day. The last chair had been swept, the last cape shaken out, the last customer sent into the Atlanta night with a fresh line. Up here, everything belonged to Smoke. The locked door. The black desk. The encrypted drives. The wall safe behind a framed print no one but him was allowed to touch.

Malaya’s phone activity was open in front of him.

Smoke told himself it was maintenance. That was the lie he used when he needed one. He had put enough invisible architecture around her life to know when something went wrong, and checking the structure was part of keeping it intact. Messages. Unknown numbers. Strange links. Men who became too aggrsssivd when she ignored them. Clients who thought a tip bought access. He watched for threats because threats had a way of hiding themselves in charm.

But Jordan was not charming in a way Smoke could easily condemn. That was the problem.

The latest message sat near the top of the thread.

Jordan: You still up?

Malaya had answered three minutes later.

Malaya: Unfortunately lol. My sleep schedule is a joke.

Jordan replied with a laughing emoji then a picture of a little boy sprawled across a couch with one sock on, one sock missing, and a Black Panther toy tucked under his arm.

Jordan: Shiloh knocked out like he pay bills lol

Malaya’s response came with three laughing emojis.

Malaya: 😂😂😂 He is SO CUTE. Look at him holding T’Challa!

Smoke’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the words. It was the ease of it all. Malaya didn’t overthink that response. She didn’t perform. She didn’t angle herself toward seduction or sweetness. She was simply there, amused and unguarded, letting some man send her pieces of his life as if he had a right to place them in her hands.

Smoke scrolled back.

Jordan didn’t text too much. That made him worse. A desperate man revealed himself fast. He pressed for pictures, attention, reassurance. Jordan did none of that. He appeared every few days at first, then more often, then with enough to become expected. A joke in the afternoon to ease the tension while she was at work. A check-in after she’d clocked out to pick up her son when her baby daddy was supposed to do it. A quick call that lasted eight minutes, then another that lasted twenty-three. One night forty-one.

Forty-one minutes.

Smoke stared at that number longer than he wanted to. He clicked into the call metadata, though he already knew what it would show him. Incoming. Answered. Late evening. Malaya had let it ring once before picking up. It wasn’t long enough to avoid him but long enough to see his name and decide what to do with herself before she answered.

Smoke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along the side of his index finger.

He could picture it too easily. Malaya in her apartment, curled up somewhere, bonnet on or hair loose, she home pressed to her ear. Her voice lower because she didn’t wanna wake Messiah. Jordan on the other end with that easy patience Smoke was beginning to dislike. No rush. No pressure. Just conversation.

Smoke opened another window.

Jordan Ellis.

Smoke preferred men with mess. Meds gave shape to intent. Mess gave him handles. An unpaid judgement. A sealed charge. Old warrants. Bitter women in comments. Something. Anything. He searched with the meditated focus of a man taking apart a machine piece by piece.

Jordan gave him almost nothing.

Thirty. Atlanta born. Local employment, steady enough. Rental history clean. No obvious criminal record. No restraining orders. No heavy social media presence. His pages were mostly private, but not hidden well enough to keep Smoke out. Photos loaded one by one. Jordan at a cookout. Jordan holding Shiloh on his hip in front of an aquarium tank, the boy’s small hand spread against his father’s cheek. Jordan at his son’s outdoor birthday party with a paper cone sitting crooked over his tapered curly fro. Jordan at a convention, grinning beside a wall of anime figures, posing like Sukuna.

Smoke’s eyes narrowed.

Malaya: Same smile 😍 he’s so sweet. Really grew into himself from high school.

Sweet.

Smoke hated that word the most. Sweet men were dangerous when they were real. Not the kind who used softness as bait, but the ones who had grown into patience because life had required it. Jordan had a son. Jordan had responsibilities. A man like that didn’t need to impress a woman with volume. He impressed her with being consistent. With remembering. By calling when he said he would. By laughing at old things from school and asking new questions like he actually cares about the answers.

He returned to the messages.

Jordan had asked about her day. Malaya had told him it was long. He sent a voice note instead. Smoke played it once through the isolated feed. Jordan’s voice came through with a smile in it.

“Well, I hope you eat something and get some rest, Malaya. You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered. Don’t stay up too late watching Love Island knowing your ass need to be asleep. Then get mad when Messiah wakes up hahaha.”

Malaya had answered with a voice note of her own. Smoke didn’t play hers right away. He sat there with his hand nese the mouse, looking at the little audio bar as if it had done something personal to him. Her voice belonged to her, but he had collected so much of it that some part of him had begun treating it like a private possession. Her sleepy voice. Her irritated voice. Her calm voice; honeyed and controlled. Her real laugh when she forgot herself. Her little sigh when something made her feel seen. He knew them. He knew the difference.

Now Jordan was learning them too.

Smoke played it. Malaya’s voice spilled into the room with amusement and faint embarrassment.

“First of all, don’t be clockin’ me! Second, I ate. Kind of. I had fries.”

Jordan replied almost immediately.

Jordan: That’s all you eat is fries. You gonna turn into a damn fry 😂

Malaya: They are when you mind your business 😒

Smoke stared at the exchange. It was nothing. That was what made it something. No naked pictures. No heavy flirting. No late-night confession. Just easy back-and-forth. Smoke could have handled vulgarity. He understood men who wanted a body before they understood the woman inside it. He knew how to deal with that kind. This was worse because Jordan seemed interested in the ordinary parts. Her meals. Her sleep. Her memories. Her jokes. The parts Smoke had been studying from the outside like a locked house with the lights on.

A line of texts appeared farther down, from two days ago.

Jordan: I forgot you used to draw Sailor Moon characters in your notebook.

Malaya: Don’t expose me 😭

Jordan: Never. I thought it was cute then too lol

Smoke’s hand closed once. There it was. History. He couldn’t hack history. He couldn’t purchase it, threaten it, erase it, or outrank it. Jordan stood somewhere in Malaya’s past. Some version of her Smoke would never get to see. Drawing girls with moon wands in the corners of her notebook. Smiling at things before life taught her which pieces of herself to hide.

Smoke had files. Jordan had memories. The distinction scraped against something low in him.

He opened Jordan’s background again, harder this time, less patient. He checked financials. Associates. Old addresses. Known relationships. Family connections. He looked for bitterness, instability, some ugliness hidden beneath the calm surface. An angry ex. A custody dispute with teeth. Gambling. Pills. Anything he could name and place between Jordan and Malaya as proof that his instinct was not jealousy but protection. Contentment was a language Smoke did not trust.

He closed the file and returned to Malaya. Her last message to Jordan was from twenty minutes ago.

Malaya: You still watching that show you told me about?

Jordan: Yeah. You were right. It got good after episode three.

Malaya: Told you. You just had to stop being stubborn.

Jordan: 😂 I’m working on that.

Malaya: Liar.

Jordan: Maybe. But I listen when it matters.

Smoke read that line twice. Then three times. The words were not much on their own. A soft little flirt, maybe. A door left open. Jordan had not shoved his way through it. He had simply set the sentence down and let Malaya decide what to do with it. She had not answered right away. Smoke watched the timestamp as if he could will it backward. Four minutes. Seven. Twelve. Then the little mark appeared.

Malaya: You always did 😌

Smoke went very still. Then, he sat forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled near his mouth. Jordan had not become a problem because he wanted Malaya. Jordan had become a problem because Malaya was beginning to let him matter.

The next message came a few minutes later.

Jordan: We should get together one of these days. Catch up for real.

Smoke’s eyes fixed on it. The typing bubble appeared beneath Jordan’s message, pulsed, disappeared, then returned. Malaya was thinking. He could imagine her biting her lip, not in the way men begged to see on camera, in the way she did when something made her nervous. He had seen that before. She would glance away from the screen, then back. She would smile at herself as if she needed permission to want something simple.

The response came through.

Malaya: I’d like that.

Smoke did not move. The monitors continued their work around him. Servers blinked. The city passed outside with sirens in the distance and tires whispering over damp pavement. Downstairs, the barbershop slept beneath him, all mirrors and empty chairs, all the day’s voices and buzzing gone. On the screen, Malaya’s words sat beneath Jordan’s.

I’d like that.

Smoke read them until they stopped looking like words and started looking like a hand placed somewhere it did not belong. Jordan was not a client. Not a faceless watcher. Not a man begging for pieces of her through a screen. Jordan was warm skin and a familiar smile. A son named Shiloh. A soft-eyed anime nerd who remembered what Malaya used to draw in school and had the patience to wait between messages.

Smoke exhaled through his nose.

He could ruin him.

The thought came cleanly. It sat there like a tool laid on the table. Smoke knew how. He could make Jordan’s life inconvenient by morning and unbearable by the end of the week. A few pressure points. A little disruption. Nothing dramatic enough to point back to him. Men were easy to move when you knew what they loved and what they feared losing.

Malaya had said she would like that.

Smoke leaned back in his chair, the darkness behind his eyes becoming something colder than anger. He had been patient because patience had always worked for him. He had watched, learned, mapped, waited. He had known her patterns so well that knowledge had begun to feel like intimacy. But Jordan was showing him the insult hidden inside that belief. Knowing where Malaya bought groceries was not the same as being the man she called when she was tired. Knowing what time she went live was not the same as being remembered from school. Knowing what made her body respond on camera was not the same as making her smile at her phone in the middle of an ordinary night.

Smoke stared at the screen.

For the first time, distance felt less like control and more like absence. And absence, he was beginning to understand, made room.

———

Jordan’s text came just after six.

Jordan: I'm outside.

Malaya looked at her reflection one last time before grabbing her purse. She had settled on a fitted chocolate-brown ribbed midi dress that hugged her figure without feeling overly dressy. A cropped cream denim jacket rested over her shoulders in case the evening cooled off. Gold hoops framed her face, a thin layered necklace that rested against her collarbones, and her twists spilled over one shoulder. She’d kept her makeup simple, finishing with nothing more than gloss across her lips. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She just wanted to feel pretty.

When she stepped outside, Jordan was leaning against his car, one hand tucked into the pocket of dark jeans. His black T-shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders, and his beard had filled in since high school, giving his face a maturity she hadn't expected. His smile, though, hadn't changed. It was the same warm smile she remembered that always reached his expressive light-brown eyes.

For a second he simply looked at her.

“Damn.”

Malaya laughed. “What?”

“You look good.”

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” She returned the compliment.

“I had to. Couldn’t let you outshine me.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as he opened the passenger door for her.

The drive started exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Easy. The conversation slipped between them without effort. They laughed about teachers they swore had hated them, classmates they'd forgotten until one of them mentioned a name, and the anime arguments they'd somehow still remembered years later.

“So you still watch it?” Jordan asked.

She looked at him with mock offense. “You asking me that like you don't already know the answer.”

“I had to make sure adulthood hadn't changed you.”

“It definitely hasn’t.”

He grinned. “Good.”

By the time they reached the restaurant, Malaya realized she hadn't checked her phone once. Dinner felt less like a first date and more like picking up a conversation that had simply been paused for several years. Jordan listened more than he talked. When she mentioned work, he asked questions instead of waiting for his turn to speak. When she laughed, he laughed with her instead of trying to top the joke. He remembered little things she’d mentioned over the last few weeks of texting, surprising her more than once.

“You actually remembered that?”

“You told me.”

“That was like...two weeks ago.”

He shrugged. “I was listening.”

Something about that stirred inside her.

Eventually the conversation turned toward Shiloh. Jordan’s whole face changed. His smile grew and his shoulders relaxed.

For the next several minutes he told her stories about bedtime negotiations, mismatched socks, spilled cereal, and Saturday mornings spent watching cartoons. He wasn’t performing fatherhood. Watching him, Malaya understood something.

Kindness looked good on him.

After dinner, neither of them seemed ready to call it a night.

“You wanna walk for a minute?” Jordan asked.

She nodded.

The Atlanta evening had settled into that comfortable warmth where the air felt soft against her skin. They wandered the sidewalk without any destination in mind, their conversation drifting from old memories to where life had taken them since graduation.

Jordan glanced over at her. “I was nervous asking you out.”

She stopped walking. “You were?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at you.”

She laughed. “I would've never guessed.”

“I practiced asking you.”

She blinked. “You practiced?!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself. “Like...four different versions.”

Malaya burst into laughter, lightly bumping his shoulder. “You are lying.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“That’s actually kind of cute.”

“I'll take cute.” Jordan replied with. Smirk.

The drive back to her apartment was comfortable. They listened to music and debated over which anime’s were the best. Jordan eventually pulled into a visitor's space and shifted the car into park. Neither of them reached for the door.

He looked over at her. “I’m really glad you said yes.”

Malaya smiled. “So am I.”

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.

Their lips met gently. The kiss wasn't rushed or hungry. Their heads swiveled, Malaya reaching out to grip his chin to hold him steady while she damn near stole his breath with those juicy lips that tasted like maple brown sugar. Jordan felt himself getting stiff, squeezing his thighs to try and calm his erection. The kiss was warm, lingering just long enough to make them both smile when they pulled apart. Jordan rested his forehead against hers for a second before quietly laughing. They separated, Jordan licking her gloss from his lips and Malaya fixing hers since some of it got on her chin.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

“I kinda figured.” Malaya giggled.

“You gonna let me see you again?”

Malaya looked at him. “I think that can be arranged.”

She reached for the door handle. As she turned, Jordan's hand settled lightly at her waist before sliding naturally to the curve of her hip. His fingers gave her ass a playful squeeze over the fabric of her dress.

He laughed. “...Girl.”

Malaya looked back.

“You still…thick.”

Jordan started singing Bobby V Tell Me since it had come up on the playlist.

Malaya threw her head back, laughing. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You are so childish.”

“I ain't lying though. Tell me, for real cuz man…”

Malaya shook her head, unable to stop smiling.

“Goodnight, Jordan.”

“Goodnight, Malaya.”

He watched her step up, unlocking her apartment door, and glance back one last time with a small wave before disappearing inside. Only after the door closed did he finally pull away. The door clicked shut behind her, but the warmth of Jordan’s kiss still lingered on her lips. A small, genuine smile played on her face, one that didn’t have to be performed for a camera or a tip. He was different. Patient, warm, and the way he looked at her made her feel seen, not just consumed.

As she kicked off her heels and began to peel away her clothes, for the first time in a long time, the place was truly quiet. Messiah was with his father for the weekend, leaving her with a rare, unfiltered solitude. In her bedroom, She paused, her dress slipping over her head, her mind drifting back to the way Jordan’s hand had felt on the cleft of her left ass cheek. She wondered if she should have let him come inside. The thought sent a sharp, electric pulse of lust straight to her core, leaving her thighs feeling heavy and her pussy aching with a sudden, insistent throb.

Malaya was horny—deeply, viscerally horny—and the lingering adrenaline from the date had left her skin hypersensitive. She didn’t want to just sleep it off. She wanted to feel something intense, to lean into the friction of her own desire.

With a determined exhale, Malaya transitioned from the woman who had just been on a romantic date to the persona the internet paid to see. It was time for the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” set.

She transformed her space into a curated altar of simulated innocence and raw filth. First came the lighting. She clicked on the ring light, bathing her face in a professional, clinical glow, but then she layered in the atmosphere. She draped strings of warm fairy lights across the wall and turned on a bedside lamp that changed colors, creating a golden, hazy glow that blurred the edges of the room. She laid out the backdrop. It was a plush, baby-pink faux-fur blanket spread across the floor, topped with a white furry rug that looked soft enough to sink into. It was the perfect contrast to what she planned to do on top of it.

Then came the wardrobe. She slid into pastel pink lingerie with lace trimming that hugged her breasts tight, the fabric straining against her nipples. The thin lace of the crotch area barely covered the swell of her ass and the plumpness of her pussy lips. To complete the “good girl” aesthetic, she pulled on a pair of knee-high pastel socks with little bows and fastened a thin charm bracelet around her wrist, the small silver trinkets jingling as she moved. She reached for her hair, deftly styling her long twists into two high pigtails, securing them with oversized satin bows.

Malaya wears a delicate, intricate pink lace mask that clings to the curves of her face, the fabric sheer enough to tease but thick enough to create a barrier of mystery. The floral patterns of the lace cast seductive shadows across her skin, framing her eyes in a way that makes them look wider, more vulnerable, and dangerously focused.

She looked like a doll. The perfect fuck doll.

The final touches were the props. She placed a large, glossy lollipop still wrapped on the nightstand next to a high-powered Bluetooth vibrator that was gifted to her from MoTh3rL0ad88, deep, purple silicone and appeared not so intimidating. Malaya checked her camera angle, ensuring the frame captured the curve of her hips and the inviting dip of her waist, making sure the viewers would have a front-row seat to her descent.

Finally, she reached for her phone and tapped the screen. The heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty filled the room, the slow, provocative beat syncing with the thrum of blood between her legs. Malaya climbed onto the pink fur, arching her back and letting the music vibrate through her skin. She looked into the lens, her eyes darkening, the “good girl” mask sliding into place just as she prepared to go live and get filthy.

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty, nasty, nasty

Malaya clicked the “Go Live” button, and instantly, the viewer count began to climb. The screen flooded with a rush of usernames, a digital tide of hungry men eager for their fix. She leaned into the camera, her eyes wide and shimmering, a playful, shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Hi everyone,” she whispered, her voice an angelic, breathy coo. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting down on the pad of it gently, her gaze fluttering. “I...I didn’t think so many of you would be here tonight. I’m feeling a little shy.”

She giggled, a high, melodic sound, and twirled a stray twist around her finger. She looked like a doll, a pristine image of purity in her pastel pinks and white fur, but the way she let her gaze linger on the lens told a different story. She was playing the part of the innocent girl who had accidentally stumbled into a room full of hungry wolves with brick hard dicks and balls filled with cum, acting as if she were barely aware of how the thin lace of her panties clung to the swell of her ass and barely covered her pussy.

[User: BigDickEnergy99]: Look at those bows…I want to rip them right out of her hair.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing, baby. We know you a little slut for us.

[User: TipKing_X]: Tipped 50 tokens! Show us those cheeks, Good Girl.

Malaya blushed, a performative flush that crept up her neck. “You're all so mean to me,” she pouted, bouncing her tits like she was throwing a temper tantrum.

If you keep up with me

I'll keep on coming back

If you do it too good

I'm gonna get attached

'Cause it feels like Heaven when it hurts so bad

Baby, put it on me

I like it just like that…

As the heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty kicked back in, the “good girl” mask didn’t falter, it just evolved. Malaya turned on her knees slowly, the camera capturing the dip of her waist and the way her bralette strained against her hard nipples. She turned her back to the lens, glancing over her shoulder with a wide-eyed, innocent expression while her lower body began to move.

She started with a slow, hypnotic roll of her hips, the movement fluid and circular. The white fur of the rug brushed against her thighs as she began to twerk, her cheeks bouncing with a heavy vibration. She wasn’t just shaking; she was oscillating, her hips swinging in a precise, tantalizing cadence that made the lace of her panties disappear between the folds of her ass.

[User: HardCoreHustle]: Fuck, that bounce is lethal. Look at her move!

[User: LustLord]: Tipped 100 tokens! Arch that back, Miss Blaze!

[User: DeepDive_88]: She look so sweet but she moves like a fucking pro. I need to see more.

Malaya let out a, staged moan, her head tilting back as she leaned forward, planting her palms on the pink fur. She pushed her ass high into the air, creating a steep, inviting slope. She began to grind against the air, her hips rotating in a slow, agonizing circle that simulated the feeling of a thick dick sliding deep inside her. She looked back at the camera, biting her lip, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with a mixture of fake modesty and real arousal.

“Is this...is this okay?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I don't know why I’m doing this...I feel so naughty, Sir.”

Then, with a sudden, athletic grace that contradicted her fragile persona, she slid backward. In one smooth, fluid motion, she hit a full split on the plush rug, her legs extending wide, leaving her completely open to the lens. The position pushed her panties to their absolute limit, the fabric straining across her ass and her soaking wet pussy, the center of the lace darkening as her arousal leaked through.

She stayed there, chest heaving, her breasts bouncing slightly under the pink cotton. She reached down, slowly tracing the line of her thigh with a manicured nail, her eyes locked on the camera, challenging every man in the chat to tell her exactly how they would ruin her.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 200 tokens! Open those legs wider, you filthy little doll!

[User: PureSin]: I can see she's soaking through those panties. Look at that wet spot!

[User: AlphaMale_7]: I wanna see you swallow a whole dick while you in that split, slut.

Malaya slowly pulled herself out of the split, her movements languid. She crawled toward the lens on all fours, her breasts swaying under the pink lingerie, her eyes locked onto the camera with that wide, doe-eyed gaze. She stopped just inches from the lens, her face filling the frame, the soft glow of the ring light reflecting in her pupils.

“You guys are being so loud,” she whispered, a tiny, teasing smile playing on her lips. “I can’t even think...you’re making me feel so...exposed.”

She sat back on her heels and spreading her knees just enough to give them a glimpse of the lace straining against her pussy. With a slow, shaky breath, she pressed her palm flat against her crotch. She began to rub her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, her fingers circling her clit in a grinding motion. The lace was translucent from her arousal, clinging to every fold of her lips.

Malaya let out a soft, airy moan, her head tilting back as she increased the pressure, her hips lifting off the rug. “It’s so warm,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m just...I’m just a little bit wet. Is that bad?”

Then, without warning, she reached down and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg upward and outward in one fluid, athletic motion. She slid into a perfect side split, her body stretched wide across the white fur. The position was devastatingly open, her pussy centered perfectly in the frame, the pink lace of her panties pulled tight and damp, outlining the plumpness of her labia.

She looked at the camera, her expression a mask of faux-hesitation, her lip trembling slightly. “Do you...do you really want to see it?” she asked, her voice a breathy, innocent plea. “I’m so shy...I’ve never shown this many people at once.”

The chat exploded. The token count began to skyrocket as the men scrambled to pay for the reveal.

[User: KingKink]: Tipped 500 tokens! SHOW US! Open those legs and show us that pussy now!

[User: RawDogger]: I'll pay anything to see you dripping for us, you filthy doll.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing the innocent act and show us how wet you are!

Malaya giggled, a sound that was becoming increasingly hungry. She lowered her leg and reached over to the side and picked up a large, bright red lollipop, unwrapping it. She didn’t take it straight to her mouth. First, she ran the hard candy slowly along the line of her jaw, then down her neck, trailing it over the valley of her breasts. Finally, she slid the lollipop into her mouth. She began to lick it with slow, swirling motions of her tongue, her eyes half-lidded and glazed. She sucked on the candy with a wet, loud slurping sound, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the sweetness in. She looked like a corrupted piece of candy herself—sweet, colorful, and utterly decadent. As she sucked the lollipop, she began to use her free hand to tease the edge of the lace covering her crotch, hooking a manicured nail under the and pulling it just a fraction of an inch away from her skin, teasing the chat with a sliver of her glistening, deep brown lips and dark pink flesh.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 300 tokens! Suck that candy like it's a dick while you pull those panties aside!

[User: PureSin]: Look at her eyes...she loves being watched. She's a total slut.

Malaya pulled the lollipop out with a loud, sticky pop, a thin string of glistening saliva connecting the candy to her lips. She let out a breathy, exhausted tease of a laugh.

“You guys have been so patient,” she whispered, her voice sounding small and fragile in the quiet of the room. “I think it’s time I show you what a good girl I’ve been.”

She reached up, her fingers pulling the straps of her pastel pink lingerie down. She didn’t just rip it off; she played the part, sliding the fabric slowly down one shoulder, then the other, teasing the edge of the lace against her skin. As the bra fell away, her breasts spilled out, dark, gum drop nipples hard and peaking in the cool air. She let the garment rest around her waist, leaving her chest bare and heaving, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps that she knew the microphone was picking up.

Then, her hands drifted lower, her fingertips grazing the edge of the lace covering her pussy. She hooked her fingers into the lace, pausing for a heartbeat to let the anticipation build in the chat. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid the lace to the side. One by one, each slippery pussy lip revealed itself, a slimy trail of her arousal clinging to the fabric. Clit poking. Labia twitching. The knee-high pastel socks that hugged her calves, adding to the coquette aesthetic she used as a shield.

Malaya spread her legs wide, exposing the depths of her fat pussy to the lens. She was drenched, her folds glistening and plump, the pinkish-red hue of her clit peaking through the wetness. She looked engorged, exposed, and utterly vulnerable, though her face remained a mask of shy innocence. She reached for the lollipop again, but she didn’t put it back in her mouth. Instead, she pressed the sticky, sugar-coated candy directly against her pussy.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her head rolling back, her pigtails splaying across the white rug. “It tastes so sweet...I can feel the sugar melting right into me.”

She began to rub the lollipop in slow, circular motions around her clit, the glossy candy coating mixing with her own natural lubrication. The wet, slapping sound of the candy against her flesh filled the speakers. She pushed the lollipop deeper, teasing the entrance of her pussy, the sweetness of the candy contrasting with the saltiness of her own arousal.

“I feel so naughty,”she whimpered, her voice breaking as she arched her back. “I’m being such a bad girl for you, Sir…but I’m still your good girl, right?”

The chat was an absolute frenzy, a waterfall of demands and tips, but one username stood out, flashing with a generous contribution that had already changed the trajectory of the night.

Camera0ff

Malaya reached over to the side of the white fur rug, her fingers curling around a sleek, high-tech device. She held it up to the camera, bringing it close so the ring light caught every detail.

“You guys...look what I have,” she whispered, her voice airy and laced with a curated shyness. “I want to say a huge thank you to MoTh3rL0ad88. You’re so generous...you bought me this beautiful Bluetooth vibrator.”

The toy was a masterpiece of erotic engineering. A deep, midnight purple silicone that looked almost black under the lights, with a polished, ergonomic curve designed to hit every internal sweet spot. It had a smooth, seamless finish and a small, pulsing LED light at the base that glowed a soft, inviting blue, signaling it was paired and ready for remote command. It looked expensive, powerful, and utterly invasive.

“I think...I think I’m gonna use it just for you guys tonight,” she teased, her eyes hooded as she looked into the lens. “I’m gonna to let the chat decide exactly how I feel.”

Malaya spread her legs even wider on the pink blanket. She guided the rounded tip of the vibrator toward her soaking entrance. She let out a small, needy whimper as she pushed the silicone head past her outer lips, sliding it slowly into her tight, wet channel. The friction made her toes curl inside her pastel socks, and she gasped, her head falling back as she seated the toy deep inside her, leaving just the stimulating nub pressed firmly against her swollen clit.

She froze, her body trembling slightly, her hands gripping the edges of the fur rug. She waited, charged with an electric anticipation.

Then, it happened. A low, deep thrum vibrated through her core. It started on the lowest setting. A gentle, steady pulse that felt like a warm current flowing through her pussy. It wasn't overwhelming yet. It was a slow burn, a teasing warmth that began to wake up every nerve ending.

“Oh..” she moaned, the sound soft and breathy, barely more than a whisper.

Her hand drifted down, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles. The combination of the internal vibration and the external pressure sent a wave of heat crashing through her. She rolled her hips, her pigtails splaying across the rug, her voice dropping to a fragile, needy tone.

“It feels so warm...mmm, it’s just starting to wake me up,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “I can feel it... buzzing inside me…please, someone...make it stronger…”

———

10:42PM—Smoke’s Den

The frame is tight, a cinematic close-up focusing solely on a large, veined hand with thick fingers gripping a sleek, encrypted smartphone. The skin is smooth, the knuckles prominent, and the thumb is poised with predatory precision over the screen. On the display, a minimalist app interface glows. A simple slider and a series of preset patterns.

The atmosphere in the den is suffocating, a thick blend of Tom Ford’s masculine musk and the charred, caramel scent of Uncle Nearest 1856. The only light comes from the 120-inch laser projector, casting a ghostly, flickering glow over Smoke’s dark skin, turning the matte charcoal concrete of the wall into a living canvas of Malaya’s desperation.

Smoke is a statue of primal intent, sprawled deep in the black Nappa leather pit. His legs are spread wide, claiming every inch of the space, his chest expanded and glistening under the artificial light. He is the picture of disciplined agony. The bass from D’Angelo’s Voodoo vibrates through the floor of the den, a low, swampy auditory stimulation that mirrors the heavy pulsing in Smoke’s groin.

I feel like making dreams come true

Oh baby

When you talk to me

When you're moanin' sweet and low

When you touch me

And my feelings start to show, show, oh

That's the time

I feel like making love to you

That's the time

I feel like making dreams come true, oh baby…

Below his navel, the ferocity of his arousal is on full display. His nine-inch dick is a rigid, unyielding pillar, gorged with blood and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the fabric of his low-slung black shorts. Because of the way he’s leaning back, there is no place for his length to go but up. That dick is pressed flat against the lower wall of his abs, a heavy, thick ridge of flesh that carves a brutal path straight toward his belly button.

The athletic material of the shorts is stretched to its absolute breaking point, the fabric pulled so taut across the wide, flared head of his dick that the blunt silhouette is unmistakable. Every time he takes a slow, calculated sip of the amber whiskey, his abdominal muscles contract, causing his dick to throb violently against the cloth. It’s a heavy jump. A desperate attempt to break free from the imprisonment of the fabric. A small, dark circle of pre-cum has already begun to dampen the black material, the moisture adding a slick, friction-filled torture every time he breathes.

Smoke refuses to touch himself. The ache in his balls is a dull, heavy roar, a pressure that would drive any other man to madness, but for Smoke, it is fuel. He channels that physical torture into the digital puppetry in his hand.

Smoke leaned back into the depths of his sunken black leather pit, the fabric cool against his bare skin. He wasn’t touching himself. The arousal was purely psychological, a dark, pulsing blaze that settled deep in his gut and made his nine-inch thick dick strain against the thin fabric of his black athletic shorts. His heavy, thick shaft was rock hard, the wide flared head pulsing with every beat of his heart, but his hands remained steady. He preferred the power of the ghost in the machine.

Internally, he was a storm of possessiveness. Watching her on the 120-inch projector, her image towering over him on the matte charcoal wall, he felt a visceral surge of ownership. He knew every inch of her. The scar on her knee, the way she breathed when she was actually peaking.

His eyes narrowed, tracking every movement of her body on the screen. He watched her play the part, the faux-innocence in her voice. Good girl. The phrase tasted like iron in his mouth. He hated the act. Smoke enjoyed the tease, there was no doubt about it, but because he knew the woman beneath the costume, he knew she was a mess of need and anxiety, and he loved that he was the only one who truly saw her.

He could see it now. The way her thighs trembled, the glistening wetness coating her pussy as she rubbed that lollipop against herself. She was soaking, her body betraying her “innocent”persona. She thought she was in control of the narrative, directing the chat, managing the tips, playing the game.

You think you the one pulling the strings, Malaya, he thought, his gaze darkening. But I own the string. And after that date you had tonight, I think I need to remind you.

His plan was simple: total dismantling. Smoke didn’t want her to just orgasm. He wanted to break her composure. He wanted to strip away the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” act until there was nothing left but raw, uncontrolled desperation. He wanted the entire chat to witness the exact moment her curated performance shattered, leaving her gasping and sobbing for a release that only he could grant or deny. He was going to ruin her in front of hundreds, turning her professional show into a public execution of her modesty.

His face is a battlefield of disciplined lust and predatory hunger.

On the screen, Malaya guided the midnight purple silicone head of the vibrator into her tight, wet channel. Smoke watched her eyes flutter, her breath hitching as she seated the toy deep inside her.

The moment the device was fully submerged, Smoke’s thumb moved.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, his thumb slides the intensity bar just a fraction of an inch to the right. He keeps it on the lowest setting, a mere whisper of a vibration, designed not to satisfy, but to irritate the nerves, to create a craving that can’t be scratched.

For a while, he watched her body warm up to it. The goosebumps on her flesh. The way her moans hitched. How she rubbed her clit and bit her lip. His dick bounced within the tight constraints of his athletic shorts. A painful erection that needed tending to but Smoke would rather edge than release. He was on a mission of destroying Malaya.

For making him feel the way he does. For being so goddamn fine. For invading his mind from sun up to sun down.

I got something for you, he thought.

Smoke didn’t slide the bar this time. He flicked it. He jumped the setting from the lowest tease to a high, aggressive thrum.

He watched through the lens as Malaya’s entire body jolted. Her back arched violently, her fingers digging into the white fur rug, and a loud, genuine moan—one that wasn’t for the tips—ripped from her throat. The sudden surge of power inside her was an electric shock, a violent intrusion of pleasure that bypassed her brain and went straight to her nerves.

Smoke let out a low, guttural exhale, a predatory smirk touching his lips. The game had officially begun.

Smoke’s thumb didn’t just slide. It danced with a sadistic tempo across the encrypted screen. He began to cycle through the preset patterns, switching from a steady, aggressive drone to a series of sharp, erratic pulses. He wanted to keep her off-balance, denying her the ability to settle into the sensation, forcing her body to chase a peak that he kept just out of reach.

On the 120-inch screen, the effect was immediate and visceral. Malaya’s composure disintegrated. Her legs, still clad in those innocent pastel socks, began to shake with a violent, uncontrolled tremor. Her thighs clamped shut, then flew open in a desperate, instinctive attempt to either crush the toy deeper into her walls or push it away from the overstimulated nerves of her clit.

Smoke watched with a predatory intensity as her pussy began to weep, the glistening wetness coating the silicone head of the vibrator and leaking out in thick, clear strings that smeared across the white fur rug. He could see the internal contractions of her vaginal walls. The way her muscles gripped the device in starving spasms, trying to milk the vibration out of the machine.

He flicked the intensity to the absolute maximum.

Malaya’s reaction was primal. A guttural, strangled sound tore from her throat, a noise that was completely stripped of the “Innocent Girl” persona. Her fingers clawed at the rug, bunching the fabric into tight knots as her hips began to buck upward in jagged, uncontrolled jolts. Her chest heaved, the pastel lingerie straining against her waist as she gasped for air, her lungs failing her. Her breasts shook and her ass gyrated.

His eyes are hooded, dark voids that don’t blink, locked onto the 120-inch image of Malaya. He isn’t just watching her. He’s consuming her. Every time her thighs tremble or her back arches in a violent spasm. His pupils dilate, absorbing the sight of her surrender like a sponge. There is a slight, savagely crease between his brows, a mark of intense concentration, as if he is calculating the exact millisecond her willpower snaps.

He watched her toes curl tight, her entire frame vibrating in sync with the device buried inside her. The pleasure was so intense it had crossed the line into a form of exquisite torture. Her head snapped back, her neck tendons straining, and her mouth hung open in a silent, breathless scream.

Smoke leaned forward, his eyes locked on the way her stomach rippled, access skin from birth tightening, her core bracing for the impact of the waves he was sending through her. The faint pulse pitter-pattering against her jugular, blood rushing south, pooling in her engorged clit and drenched folds.

He suddenly dropped the setting back to a low, teasing crawl.

The sudden drop caused Malaya to collapse. She slid down the rug, her body going limp for a split second before she began to writhe, her hips grinding frantically against the air, begging for the power to return. She looked wrecked, hair coming undone from the bows, makeup smudged, eyes glazed and unfocused. She was no longer performing for the chat. She was a slave to the signal in Smoke’s hand.

He let her simmer in that desperation for a few seconds, watching her pussy twitch and pulse in a void of denied pleasure. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he slammed the slider back to the top and triggered the “Chaos” pattern—a rapid-fire sequence of bursts and long, heavy vibrations.

Malaya’s body snapped taut like a bowstring. Her internal muscles clamped down on the vibrator with such force that she let out a high-pitched, sobbing moan. Her pelvis tilted sharply, back arching so hard her shoulder blades pressed into the floor, and her entire midsection shuddered in a prolonged, violent orgasm.

Smoke watched the way her pussy pulsed around the toy, the rhythmic squeezing of her walls visible even through the camera lens. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing hitches, body completely surrendered to the digital ghost he controlled. He didn’t stop it. He kept the vibration screaming inside her, pushing her past the peak, forcing her to ride the wave of an orgasm that wouldn’t end until he decided she had had enough.

That mask had been incinerated by the relentless frequency Smoke was pumping into her. She was sprawled across the white fur rug, her limbs splayed and trembling, her head lolling from side to side. A thin, glistening string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin as her jaw hung slack. She was panting, the sound wet and desperate, her chest heaving so violently that her breasts bounced with every ragged breath.

“Please…” she whimpered, the word barely a sound, more of a broken vibration in her throat. “Please, Daddy...I can’t... I can’t take it...please!”

The word Daddy hit Smoke like a physical blow. He watched her on the screen, seeing the way her eyes were out of focus,her consciousness hovering on the edge of a blackout. Her voice had devolved into a series of high-pitched, needy keens and guttural whimpers, a symphony of surrender that told him exactly who owned her in this moment.

Below her, her pussy was a disaster of arousal. It wasn’t just wet; it was overflowing. Thick, slimy trails of cream and arousal leaked from her drenched folds, soaking into the white fur of the rug in heavy, translucent patches. Every time the vibrator pulsed, more of her essence was forced out, spraying in tiny, glistening droplets against her inner thighs.

Behind the lace mask, her eyes are glazed with a heavy, shimmering layer of lust and total submission, her pupils blown wide until the irises are nearly swallowed by dark brown. Her eyes dart frantically, flickering with a mix of desperation and a total body surrender, glistening within the ring light like wet gemstones. Every time the vibrator spikes, her eyelids flutter and cross, turning her gaze into a raw, mindless expression of overstimulation that screams she is no longer in control.

The chat was a blur of chaotic energy. Tips were flooding in as the viewers watched a woman be systematically dismantled by an invisible hand. The screen was a waterfall of explicit demands and shock, but Smoke ignored them all. His world was narrowed down to the sight of her breaking.

Smoke’s dick was reacting violently. He remained still, his hands gripping the phone, but his thick length was twitching beneath the fabric of his black shorts. He felt the heavy, thick head of his dick throb in sync with her moans, the veins pulsing with a pressure that felt like it might burst. He was rock hard, strained to the absolute limit, his body buzzing with the reflected energy of her agony and ecstasy.

He saw the moment it happened. Malaya’s entire body suddenly locked. Her toes curled so tight they cramped, and her hips gave one final, desperate upward thrust, her pelvis tilting sharply toward the ceiling.

A sharp, piercing squeal tore from her throat—a sound of total overload.

Then, she erupted.

It was a flood. A massive, violent jet of clear fluid exploded from her core, a torrent of squirt so powerful it sprayed across the rug and splashed against her own stomach. The force of the release was visceral, a physical eruption that shook her entire frame. The volume of the fluid was so immense, the internal pressure so sudden and overwhelming, that it acted like a piston. With a wet, suctioning pop, the Bluetooth vibrator was physically launched out of her pussy, propelled by the sheer force of her orgasm. It flew a few inches across the rug, landing with a dull thud, still vibrating weakly.

Malaya collapsed instantly, her body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She lay there in a widening pool of her own release, her chest heaving, her eyes vacant, completely spent. She was shaking in long, slow tremors, her pussy twitching and leaking, wide open and ruined.

Smoke stared at the screen, his dick throbbing with a punishing ache. He had never seen her lose control like that. He had pushed her past the breaking point, and the sight of her—soaked, drooling, and utterly defeated—made him want to reach through the screen and claim every inch of her wreckage.

Smoke’s expression hardens. His gaze drops from her face to the glistening mess between her legs, his eyes narrowing with a possessive greed. He looks starved. He looks dangerous. The contrast is visceral: Malaya is a shattered wreck of pleasure on the scene while Smoke is a rigid, pulsing statue of restraint, his face a mask of absolute dominance, savoring the knowledge that he is the only one who truly knows how to make her scream.

He watched her weakly push herself up from the white fur rug, her movements sluggish and disjointed. She looked completely shattered, her eyes glazed and her lips parted, a thin string of saliva clinging to her chin. She looked like she’d been hit by a freight train of pleasure, her pussy gaping and leaking fluid onto the floor.

When the screen finally went black, the “Stream Ended” notification flashing across the 120-inch projection. Smoke didn’t move for a long minute. D’Angelo’s voice rushed back in through the speakers, heavy and suffocating. He stood up abruptly, the movement sharp and jagged. He began to pace the length of the sunken leather pit, his bare feet slapping against the cold, matte charcoal concrete. He was wired, his nerves screaming, his blood boiling with a cocktail of possessiveness and raw, unadulterated lust.

I need a blunt, he thought, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. I need to chill the fuck out.

But the internal command was losing the war against the impulse. Every step he took felt like he was fighting the urge to bolt out the door, jump in his car, and drive those thirty minutes to her duplex. He could almost feel it. The weight of her body as he scooped her up the second she opened the door, the smell of her sweat and pussy hitting him like a drug.

He imagined the carnage he’d leave behind in her apartment. He wanted to wreck her. He wanted to slam her against the wall, flip her over the kitchen counter, and drive his big dick balls-deep into her guts until she forgot how to breathe. He wanted to feel her tight walls gripping him, her screams echoing through the halls, marking her as his in a way a Bluetooth vibrator never could.

His chest felt tight, his lungs struggling to pull in enough air. With every breath, his stomach muscles flexed and rippled, tight with the sheer anticipation of a physical release that felt miles away. He let out a shaky, guttural exhale, his shoulders hunching.

Stop it. Chill. Play the long game, his inner voice hissed, but it sounded distant, drowned out by the throb in his groin.

Smoke stopped pacing and looked down. His black athletic shorts were stretched to their absolute limit. His dick was poked straight out, a rigid, pulsing tower that looked like a traffic cone shoved into the fabric. The wide, flared head was straining against the material, the veins thick and hard, twitching with every beat of his heart. He was rock hard, aching and heavy, the pressure in his balls becoming almost unbearable.

He stared at the protrusion, his breath hitching. He was a man of absolute control, a man who mapped out every move and monitored every variable, but looking at the sight of his own lust fueled by the image of Malaya soaked and broken on a rug, he knew he was dangerously close to the edge.

———

Elijah Moore had built his life on one principle.

Patterns rarely lied. People did.

His monitors glowed against the darkness of the office tucked above Edge & Thread. Three screens displayed different pieces of three different lives. A ransomware recovery for a music producer in Houston. Cryptocurrency movement connected to an old client in Miami. Security footage from a warehouse outside Atlanta waiting to be archived before sunrise.

Smoke moved through each task with practiced efficiency.

Windows opened. Code scrolled. Files decrypted. Logs disappeared.

By the time the eastern sky began trading black for blue, BLK TRACE had already earned more money than most people would see in a week. He leaned back from the desk, his eyes settled on a different monitor. A familiar route. A familiar vehicle. A familiar morning.

Malaya.

The timestamp rested in the corner of the screen.

Thursday—8:14 A.M.

She pulled into the daycare parking lot carrying Messiah against her shoulder. Even through grainy security footage, motherhood had its own flow. She positioned him higher with one arm while reaching for the diaper bag with the other. The little boy wrapped sleepy arms around her neck, unwilling to surrender his mama.

Smoke watched her disappear through the front entrance. Two minutes later she returned alone. She didn’t drive toward work. His gaze drifted toward another monitor displaying nothing more than a street map layered with months of routine.

Colored lines crossed the city like veins.

Home ✅

Daycare ✅

Work ✅

Grocery store ✅

Gas station ✅

Home again ✅

Most days followed the same geometry. Thursdays didn’t. Every Thursday…the route bent.

Honey & Oak.

Arrival—8:28 | Departure—9:03

Thirty-five minutes. Every week.

The pattern had repeated often enough that software no longer needed to flag it.

Smoke noticed it on his own.

He enlarged the map. The café sat on a corner between an old bookstore and a tailor shop. Nothing remarkable. No unusual visitors. No suspicious activity. No reason to investigate.

Except…

Malaya kept choosing it.

He wasn’t interested in coffee. He was interested in decisions. People revealed themselves through repetition. Through what they returned to when nobody was watching.

His fingers rested against the desk.

Thirty-five minutes. Every Thursday.

Why?

He opened another window.

Property records.

Honey & Oak.

Family owned. Nearly eighteen years in business. No police reports worth mentioning. No financial irregularities. No history of violent incidents.

He closed it again.

None of that answered the question. Addresses explained where. They never explained why.

Smoke stood and walked toward the office window.

Malaya always made time for Honey & Oak. Not once. Not occasionally. Every Thursday.

His phone buzzed across the desk.

Stack: Lunch at Mama Dee’s?

Smoke looked at the message before setting the phone back down unanswered. His attention had already drifted elsewhere.

The following Thursday he parked across the street from Honey & Oak.

He arrived early. Engine off. Windows cracked.

Coffee never crossed his mind. People did.

Teachers walked in carrying canvas totes. Construction workers had stopped for breakfast before climbing into company trucks. An elderly couple shared a newspaper at the same window table for almost forty minutes. Two nurses still wearing hospital badges laughed over something one of them read on her phone. Nobody looked out of place. Nobody seemed to be performing. The neighborhood flowed through the café as naturally as conversation.

At exactly 8:27, Malaya pulled into a parking space. She lifted Messiah from his car seat, balanced the diaper bag, and walked toward the entrance. She stayed inside thirty-six minutes. When she came back out, she looked…

Lighter. Less burdened.

Smoke frowned almost imperceptibly.

The following Thursday he returned.

Then the Thursday after that.

He never entered. He never watched Malaya once she disappeared inside. Instead, he studied Honey & Oak itself.

The pace. The customers. The owners greeting people by name. The absence of hurry. The ordinary kindness exchanged between strangers. It wasn’t just a coffee shop, it was a pause. A breather. An escape from reality passed those doors. One small piece of the week that belonged entirely to the people who stepped inside.

Smoke rested both hands on the steering wheel. For months he had believed Honey & Oak was another location on Malaya’s route. Another point on a map. Now he understood something different. This wasn’t where she bought coffee, it was where she caught her breath. He looked through the windshield toward the front door.

If he intended to become a part of her everyday world…there would never be a better place.

Nor a more dangerous one.

Smoke reached for his phone.

Brick answered on the second ring.

“You busy?”

“I got time.”

“I need to move my standing appointment.”

A brief silence settled between them.

“What day you thinkin’?”

Smoke kept his eyes on Honey & Oak.

“Thursday.”

“Aight.”

Smoke ended the call.

Across the street, the bell above Honey & Oak’s front door swung open as another customer disappeared inside.

Operation: The Familiar Stranger had begun.

@championshipshade @plan3tch1ld @lizbehave @shereeluvssinners @cloviacreem-18 @aretasreads @harleycativy @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @shanthefemalerapper @alaysiunaadams23 @shamansha @smokingangelhoe @themindfulwriter16 @venusisrising @margepimpson @fairysoulja @chromexbarbie @pinkangelwing222 @rolemodelshit @d1gitalb4rbie @astr0babez @solarssins @secretisme4 @ofwgkta-maur @shecuteforaewok @callmemckenzieee @prettypinkprincess29 @mmbee675 @vibrantlymellowknight @itsspixiedusst56 @kleighw86 @bananajoeclone @sintizc @richonne4life @dammitj4net @kaystacks17 @midnightmemoirsofher @addelinedarling @abcedfy @brownsugarcoffy @imperoyalblue @girlmath101 @dezzy154 @softy212 @overzealouszeitgeist @blaqwidow91 @christinabae @mirathebookworm @theblulife @cocochannelmoi @kindofaintrovert @tatelangdonsweater @og-goddesstrill

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Camera 0ff…

Summary: watching turns into wanting…and wanting turns into control

Warnings: Obsession /Voyeurism / Possessive Male / Hood romance grit / Daddy kink / Provider dynamic / Dirty talk + cum fixation / Unprotected, raw, dominant sex / Slow burn tension / Crime Drama + Thiller / Stalking / Urban Erotica

[ Part Three ]

Smoke knew which window was hers without looking at the house number.

He’d parked three houses down tonight, far enough that nobody would remember his charger if they happened to glance outside, close enough that he could catch movement behind the second-floor curtains. The position wasn’t accidental. Nothing about these nights was.

His gaze stayed fixed on the duplex.

He wasn’t focused on the building or the street.

It was her.

The television flashed blue against the curtains. A shadow crossed the room and disappeared again.

LaceyBlaze69

Malaya.

By now, smoke could recognize her silhouette faster than he recognized most faces. A tilt of her head. The swing of her hair. The way she crossed a room carrying a cup or a phone or a basket of laundry.

The curtains concealed most of her, but they didn’t need to show much. Smoke’s mind supplied the rest.

He watched the second-floor window and waited for her to pass again.

Smoke should’ve left forty minutes ago.

He knew it.

The job waiting on his laptop knew it.

The burner phone sitting untouched in the center console knew it.

But he remained exactly where he was, one hand resting against the steering wheel as his attention drifted back to the same upstairs windows for the hundredth time that night.

She had been back for over an hour. Alone. At least, as far as he could tell.

Smoke’s gazes lingered on the window. The surveillance feed mounted beside the dash displayed nothing useful now, only the quiet exterior of the building and a timestamp counting steadily forward. Smoke barely looked at it. He didn’t need technology to watch her anymore.

That realization should have bothered him. Instead, it settled somewhere deep inside him with a deep seeded satisfaction.

Smoke was close. He was so close. Closer than he’d ever been. The distance between them no longer felt measured in blocks or city streets. It felt measured in moments. One decision. One knock at the door. One conversation that would make him real to her inside of invisible.

His jaw tightened.

Then, the second phone lit up. Smoke’s eyes cut to the device.

Stack.

Smoke stared at the screen for a moment as it vibrated against the center console. Once. Twice. A third time.

Only then did he answer.

“Yeah.”

“You held up?”

In the background, the bass of some slow, thumping trap track rumbled through the phone. A song made for strip clubs. There was laughter in the background. Glass clinks. A woman’s voice sweet and blurred called someone “baby” before fading out.

Smoke’s eyes remained on the upstairs window. “What you want?”

“I need a favor.”

The request immediately irritated him. It wasn’t because his brother was asking for his help. It was when.

Smoke watched Malaya cross the window again before she disappeared out of view.

“It’s important,” Stack said.

“Ain’t say it wasn’t.” Smoke replied.

For a moment, only music filled the line. Then, Stack sighed, abandoning whatever charm he usually wrapped around these conversations.

“One of my clients is gettin’ cold feet. That one skincare influencer from the LA contract.”

Smoke already knew which one.

“What she do?”

“Started stashing files. Extra backups. Personal cloud storage I ain’t authorize.”

That got Smoke’s attention. His fingers drifted toward the burner phone resting beside him.

“Who she talking to?”

“Cybersecurity blogger outta Chicago. Small-time, but connected enough to be annoying. Might have federal contacts. Might not. I don’t plan on finding out.”

Smoke’s expression darkened. “You think she gon’ leak?”

“I think she already scheduled it.”

The answer settled heavy in Smoke’s blacked out charger. He hated leaving but business was business. And he refused to let some lame ass influencer hoe fuck up his operation.

“She got backups?” Smoke asked.

“Probably. Cloud storage. Maybe more.”

Smoke nodded once. “Send me everything.”

“It’s already there”

“Where?”

“Your RED folder.”

A humorless smile touched Smoke’s mouth. “What’s it labeled?”

“RATTED.”

The charger started beneath him. Headlights swept briefly across the curb as he pulled away from the spot.

“So, I’m cleaning your mess?” Smoke said with a dry chuckle.

“Technically ours.”

“How the fuck this my mess? You let this bitch get slick.”

The city rolled past outside the windows in an array of colors. From the outside looking in, Smoke had tints on his windows. Like a two-way mirror.

“Aight. I’m heading over now. I’ll let you know how it go.”

“No need. I know you got it.” Stack said.

Smoke hung up.

By the time Smoke reached the bypass, Malaya’s neighborhood had disappeared behind him. The only light inside the charger came from the glow of the encrypted software spreading across his console.

Data streams began populating the screen.

Passwords. Access points. Recovery keys. A file opened automatically.

RATTED.zip

DECRYPTING…

Smoke settled deeper into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. The disappointment of leaving her lingered beneath his ribs, sharp and unwelcome. But work had always been easier than desire. Cleaner. Simpler. Systems made sense.

People didn’t.

Especially not women like Malaya.

For now, Ghost mode is engaged.

No fingerprints. No trail. No mercy.

01:47 AM

Buckhead high-rise. Top floor.

Concierge waved her in with a smile hours ago. The girl had champagne taste and too many secrets tucked inside her rose-gold phone. Smoke didn’t go through the lobby. He was already inside. The building’s maintenance access was laughably unsecured, just a four-digit pin Smoke could decode in his sleep. Smoke took the elevator to the service hall. Wore gloves. Footsteps inaudible. By the time he reached her door, he’d already looped the hallway feed and disabled the motion sensor near her unit.

She was home. Asleep.

Smoke pulled a small matte device from his hoodie. A USB merged with a scalpel. He presssd it against the bottom of the keypad lock. Held it there. Then…

Click.

The door slid open and he stepped inside stealthily. From a quick sweep of his dark eyes. Glass table. Dried fruit tray. Rolled yoga mat. Everything curated for a minimalist Instagram aesthetic.

But her tech? Messy.

She left her iPad on the couch and a pink MacBook on the table, lid cracked, camera covered with a sticker that read GIRLS RULE AND BOYS DROOL.

Smoke moved like he’d been there before. He sat on the couch, pulled out his own gear. He wasn’t interested in stealing her data. He was here to rewrite it.

Booting: SpoofStack_Protocol_V2

Within seconds, her MacBook mirrored on his screen. Password broken. The cloud decrypted.

And there it was.

A folder labeled: CLIENT ARCHIVE (PRIVATE)

Inside: Screenshots of bank transfers. Server access logs. Snippets of phone calls. Metadata from custom scripts that Smoke himself had built.

She hadn’t just collected proof. She’d built a timeline.

“Cute,” Smoke muttered.

He selected the folder. Duplicated the entire contents. Then deleted the original.

But that wasn’t enough.

Now feeding: FALSE_Archive_v1.3

He uploaded an altered copy. The fake archive had the same names. Same structure. But every file told a new story:

Stack was just a consultant.

Smoke’s code was purchased legally.

All server logs showed compliance with DMCA and data privacy.

Her “receipts” now made her look like a willing accomplice to digital blackmail and influencer manipulation.

He encrypted the fake archive to match the original hash key. No one could tell the difference.

Not even her.

But if she leaked it now? She’d bury herself.

Smoke stood. He wiped the couch armrest and tucked the cloned drive into a pocket. On his way out, he paused by her bedroom door was cracked. He didn’t bother opening it further. He could hear her breathing in her sleep. Then, he was gone. Hallway feed reactivated. Fingerprint spray already dissipating. By the time she woke up, only thing that would feel different was her own guilt.

Outside, Smoke shut the car door with a soft thunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and let the rumble of the Charger settle around him like armor. The inside was pitch-black. No dome light. Just the red glow from the dashboard and the faint buzz of encrypted sync across the Bluetooth rig.

He sat there a second. Gloved hands resting on the wheel. The digital drive in his inner jacket pocket, warm with all the shit he’d just buried.

Job done.

He tapped the hands-free.

“Call Stack.”

Three rings. Then bass. Deep, strip-club bass. Slow trap low like lust wrapped in a haze.

“Talk to me.” Stack said.

“It’s handled.”

“She won’t double back?”

If she try to, she leakin’ her own stains.” Smoke replied.

“Beautiful. Like poetry, bruh.”

Smoke reached for the gearshift. “I’m out.”

“Nah, hold up. Slide through.”

Smoke paused. “Where you at?”

“The rotation spot. Underground. Off Decatur. You remember the one. Black light entrance, heat sensor door, only take crypto at the bar?”

Smoke exhaled. Already annoyed.

“Ain’t this your pussy-and-patron circuit?”

“Tonight it’s business, bruh. Private room. Need to talk clientele. Tighten things.”

“At a strip club?” Smoke quirked a brow.

“At my strip club,” Stack corrected. “I trust the walls.”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed once on the wheel. His mind had already started drifting. To home.

To his command center.

To Malaya’s face half-lit by LED strips…

To the way she bit her lip when she thought no one noticed…

“Mmm, fuck…I’m rubbing this clit just for you…can you see it? I’m sliding my fingers deep inside my pussy…imagining it’s your dick filling me up instead. I want you so bad, Daddy…I want you to watch me cum for you…”

“I’m such a slut for you, ain’t I? Look at me…look at how I’m opening myself up. I’m soaking wet, Daddy…I’m just a little toy for you to watch and play with…does it make you hard seeing me fuck myself like this?”

Smoke…yes…unh…Smoke…

Smoke…Smoke…

“Smoke?” Stack called through the phone.

“…I’m listening.”

“Slide through. I’ll pour somethin’ strong. You can smoke somethin’. Then we talk.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose. “Security tight?”

“Locked like your vault. Don’t worry ‘bout whispering the code at the entrance. The floor girl ‘ol walk you in.”

There was another pause. Then, Smoke shifted into drive.

“Be there in thirty.”

“Atta boy.”

The line went dead.

Smoke pulled onto the road, tires smooth, engine low and sleek like a predator in motion. The city lights blinked across his windshield—blues, reds, golds—but his focus stayed cold.

When he got there, Smoke pulled up slow. The charger came to a stop at the edge of an unmarked building with blacked-out windows and no signage. Just a single narrow door inset into the concrete, painted deep charcoal, smooth and flat. No velvet rope. No line. No noise from outside. It wasn’t a place you found, you were brought there.

Smoke stepped out into the thick night air, the heat of Atlanta still pressing close even after midnight. His matte black leather biker boots touched down on the curb. Every corner of the block appeared to have no motion but watched. You could feel it. Eyes behind tinted glass. A red security light blinked from somewhere above the doorframe, invisible until it caught the metal button of his sleeve. As he approached, the door cracked open just wide enough to let the glow spill out.

Blue. Blacklight.

Inside, the world looked dipped in ultraviolet. Silhouettes moved in slow motion. Melanin Skin glowed in neon, oil-slicked and glistening under the lights. Purple thongs. Fluorescent green heels. The gleam of diamond chains across collarbones and ankle bones and down spines. The bass hit in a deep, sexual crawl. A low trap track chopped with moans and heavy kicks. A sound you could fuck to, kill to, drown in.

The girl standing just inside the door was fine enough to alter a man’s path. Maybe five-foot-six. Rich brown skin slicked to perfection, waist snatched in a sheer one-piece with nothing underneath. Her lips were glossy, her eyelashes long and cruel. She looked him up and down once.

She smiled slow. “Hey Twin? This way.”

Her voice was warm but lined with danger. Like if he turned the wrong way, she’d cut him with it. She turned, hips rolling high and slow in front of him as she led him deeper into the space. The walls curved inward, black-lit murals dancing with movement as bodies passed. Women kissed women on leather couches. Men sat back with cigars while girls bent over laps, bare and grinning, high off liquor and deeper things.

The layout was designed for maximum intimacy and voyeurism. A wide, circular perimeter of plush, midnight-black velvet booths surrounded a central stage area where polished chrome poles rise like silver pillars toward the dark ceiling. The floor is a polished obsidian that mirrors the flashing neon, making it feel as though the dancers are floating on a sea of dark glass.

No phones. No cameras. Only shadows and memory.

One room opened to his left, curtains drawn but not closed. Inside, a woman was tied to a black rope swing, heels still on, one man kissing her thighs while another licked her breast. She was moaning loud, head thrown back. Her body glowed in the light like something caught between reality and pleasure. No one in the hallway stared. This was normal here. Routine.

On the poles, the women are masterpieces of motion and melanin. They represent a breathtaking spectrum of Black beauty, from deep, midnight and rich mahogany to warm honey and golden bronze. Their attire is minimal, designed to leave nothing to the imagination. Some wear sheer, neon-trimmed lace thongs that disappear into the crease of their cheeks. Others are in strappy, high-cut leather sets that push up their breasts and cinch their waists, leaving their midriffs bare and glistening with body oil.

One dancer, a woman with skin the color of dark umber and a towering afro grips the pole with practiced strength. She slides down the chrome in a slow, controlled descent, her thighs gripping the metal tightly before she snaps into a perfect, flat split on the stage. As she holds the position, she arches her back, thrusting her chest forward and grinding her hips in a tantalizing, circular motion that makes the thin fabric of her G-string vanish between her plump, shaking cheeks.

Another performer, a golden-brown beauty with long, flowing braids is a whirlwind of erotic energy. She spins rapidly, her body a blur of glowing skin before suddenly stopping to drop into a deep squat. She turns her back to the crowd, bending over until her chest nearly touches the floor, and begins to shake her ass with a thunderous motion. The muscles in her glutes worked to make that ass ripple and bounce under the black lights, a hypnotic vibration that keeps the patrons mesmerized.

Money flowed like a river. Crisp bills were tucked into the waistbands of thongs, slapped against oiled thighs and rained down from the booths in a constant, fluttering descent. The tactile experience is one of luxury and an erotica. The patrons—all black folks—lean back in the shadows, their eyes locked on the stage. The vibe is heavy with desire and explicit intent. It’s a space of unapologetic Black eroticism, where the scent of money and lust rains down like the bandz that littered the stage and floor.

Women noticed. They always did.

Smoke kept his face unreadable as they moved through. His gait stayed measured, heavy boots on obsidian tile. Charcoal henley pulled tight over his chest. Silver chain resting low, cool against his collarbone. One ringed hand hung loose at his side while the other stayed near his hip. He wasn’t here for indulgence. But eyes followed him anyway.

One dancer paused mid-pour, licking foam from the rim of a glass as she watched him. Another girl leaned against a wall in mesh, nipples pierced and glowing, her mouth parting just slightly as he passed.

He didn’t return the looks. He moved like everything around him was already beneath his notice. Like he could take any one of them home, or none of them, and it would all mean the same.

The floor girl finally stopped at a black velvet curtain that looked like it led nowhere. She turned, looked at him again, then reached out and slid her fingers across his chest.

“Stack’s waiting in the back. Said don’t keep him too long. He got a mood on tonight.”

Then, she stepped aside.

Smoke slipped through the curtain.

The back room hit different.

The music lowered but stayed thick with bass. The lighting shifted to a red-blue gradient that danced over leather booths and mirrored walls. A private bar lined with obsidian shelves glinted with high-shelf bottles and decanters carved like diamonds.

Stack was seated in the center booth like a man who owned everything. Suit jacket off. Cigar in hand. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the rise of his chest and the sliver of a tattoo that disappeared beneath it. A woman was sitting next to him, pretty and thick, wearing nothing but chains and red panties. But she wasn’t talking. Just pressing close like she knew her position.

Stack looked up and grinned when he saw his brother.

“Bout time.”

Smoke slid into the booth across from him, not saying shit at first. He leaned back, eyes tracing slow as they scanned the room. Then he pulled out the drive and slid it across the table.

“It’s done.”

Stack tapped ash off the end of his cigar and took a sip of something gold from a crystal glass.

“You rewrite her whole digital memory?”

Smoke nodded once. “She leaks now, she burns herself.”

Stack let out a low, satisfied sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval. More like pleasure at watching the chessboard bend.

“See, that’s why I keep you in the cut. All these pretty tech boys with degrees out here movin’ loud. You? You just fuck around and disappear a bitch.”

Smoke didn’t react. He just sat there with a stony expression.

The woman next to Stack traced the rim of his glass and leaned in to whisper something, but Stack waved her off without looking. His attention was locked.

“You didn’t have to come out tonight,” Stack said after a beat. “But I appreciate it. Had to talk to you about tightening the loop.”

Smoke raised a brow. “Clientele?”

Stack nodded. “Some of these influencer types? They playin’ messy. Takin’ our tools and runnin’ off at the mouth. I need cleaner boundaries. Higher vetting.”

Smoke’s gaze sharpened. “You getting soft, Stack?”

“Not soft,” Stack said, leaning forward. “Selective.”

Another girl danced across the far room, naked except for heels and a diamond chain around her throat. She locked eyes with Smoke for a moment. Bold.

“This empire we buildin’?” Stack said. “It don’t grow if the wrong bitch flips. That one tonight? Could’ve got real ugly.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “It almost did.”

Stack took that in. Sat back. “We tighten up now,” he said, voice lower. “Or we lose what we got.”

“I’ll send a new vetting protocol. You run names past me first. You don’t, we both lose.”

Stack smirked. “Look at you. Big boss energy.”

Stack leaned back in the booth, one arm thrown over the leather like it belonged to him. Alizé was at the private bar, hips rolling slow as she poured herself a drink. She licked stray cognac from her fingers like she tasted herself in it. Across the room, Nova stood near the edge of a low platform, dancing in a slow whine to the music bleeding through the walls. Her hands trailed her own thighs, eyes locked on Smoke the second he stepped through the curtain. She didn’t wave, she just smiled and kept moving like she wanted him to watch.

Smoke pulled out his phone. He tapped the encrypted drive. Brought up a blacked-out screen with layers of local and foreign pings.

“Any word about the three that came lookin’ for me?”

Stack took a puff of his cigar resting between two fingers, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Nah. And if I had, you know I would’ve said.”

Smoke nodded once. No accusation, just calculation. His fingers moved quick, swiping through location data, blurred screenshots from party feeds, AI-enhanced license plate reads.

“They ain’t from here.”

“Obviously.”

“Cheap suits. Bad diamonds. But they knew the lingo.” Smoke paused, looking down at the screen. “Knew enough to know about me. The real me.”

Stack’s jaw tightened. “You pull names?”

Smoke tapped again.

The table glowed blue with the light from his screen.

“Yeah. Pulled prints from the glass that lanky one touched. Traced a rental car from the valet logs. Hacked the damn building’s guest Wi-Fi and cross-checked MAC addresses. Got two of their burner IDs off bounce-back signals.”

Stack chuckled low. “My brother.”

Smoke’s eyes were locked on the screen.

“Names are Harold Kray, Zino Atakni, and the older one? Conrad Fielding. Fielding’s got history in Marseille. Organized pipeline moves through West Africa, black-market acquisition networks. Used to work under de Costa before that shit collapsed. He’s the head.”

“And the others?”

“Soldiers. Hired muscle with decent resumes. One of them, Zino, used to run messages for a Libyan collector who’s since disappeared.”

Stack’s lips pressed together. “You think they freelance?”

Smoke shook his head. “Not with how Conrad was talkin’. That wasn’t freelance energy. That was sanctioned. He was too damn calm. Too rehearsed.”

Stack poured more bourbon.

“They wanted access,” Smoke said. “They didn’t come for art. They came for me. For the Ghost.”

Stack’s grin faded completely. “Somebody sent ‘em.”

“I know.”

“Who?”

Smoke’s silence deepened.

“Don’t know yet,” he said, but his voice had changed. Lower. Sharper. “But whoever it is…they want me out the game.”

“Dead?”

“Dead or cracked open.”

Stack blew out smoke through his nose. “That’s bigger than art theft.”

“That’s bigger than us.”

There was a faint moan of the bassline from the next room, a synth-heavy R&B loop wrapped in drum kicks and whispered filth.

Stack’s voice dropped, the way it always did when he shifted from business to indulgence. That smile of his curved slow across his lips, just enough to show the gold cap when he spoke.

“You remember Alizé, right?”

The thick, honey-toned woman next to him looked up. Her lips were glossy. Her eyes were misty with a need to be fucked and whatever liquor she drank. She was fine in that round, sultry way. Thick thighs, soft belly, ass too big for most dresses, face too sweet to say no. She blinked up at him and licked her lips once before turning toward his lap.

Stack didn’t stop her. He leaned back in the booth, legs spread, cigar held loose between two fingers while she unbuckled his slacks with practiced care. She looked up once, then dipped down.

Smoke sat still across from him, watching.

The second girl—Nova, the one who had been watching Smoke earlier from the far corner—stepped forward now. Her body was carved like temptation, all sharp cheekbones and waist-length curls. Her skin shimmered under the light. Her nipples were pierced, rings glinting. She lowered herself to her knees next to Alizé. Alizé giggled, gave Stack’s dick one final lick before passing it off to Nova. She reached out, took Stack’s dick in her hand, and started sucking it.

Two mouths.

One thick, wet dick.

They took turns. One sucking slow, the other licking along the shaft. Then both at once, lips brushing as they slurped and moaned around him, messy and devoted. Alizé cradled his balls like they were holy. Nova spat and stroked, her eyes rolling when he twitched against her tongue.

Stack exhaled, his head tilted back slightly. He shut his eyes.

Smoke turned away, unfazed. But the sound of slurping and licking remained.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Stack asked, voice lazy. “Alizé got that throat, but Nova? She know how to make a man forget he got enemies.”

Smoke picked up a blunt, lighting it, his other hand rested on his thigh. His rings caught the low light. His expression still unreadable. But his eyes slid from the women back to Stack, cold and steady.

“I’m good.”

Stack smirked. “You always say that.”

Smoke leaned forward just slightly. “It’s been a minute,” he admitted, voice rough with quiet restraint.

Stack raised an eyebrow, surprised at the honesty.

Smoke’s gaze didn’t move. “But the only mouth I want on me like that?” His jaw tightened. “She don’t even know yet.”

Stack grinned wider. “Damn. She got you pressed like that?”

Smoke ignored him, blowing smoke ahead of him.

The wet sounds between them grew. Alizé moaned deep in her throat, face glossy, nose running. Nova licked him like she was tasting secrets. They didn’t even look up. Just switched angles. Spit dripping. Hands cradling. Tongues sharing.

Stack groaned low, his head falling back against the booth cushion.

Smoke stood. “You done?”

Stack looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. His voice was a quiet dare.

“I ain’t never done.”

Smoke gave a slow nod. “Handle yours.”

He turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the tile with impatient steps.

And behind him, the club kept spinning. Lights pulsing. Girls moaning. Music thumping under blacklight like a heartbeat you weren’t supposed to hear.

———

11:45 PM—His Den

Smoke sat back in his leather chair, the pungent aroma of the blunt between his fingers circulating his head like a menacing fog. He was stripped down, shirtless, skin gleaming under the recess lights of his command center. A black durag was tied tight across his head and his shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his V-taper.

Four curved monitors dominated his vision, but only one mattered. He watched the screen, his eyes locked on Malaya. She had logged on late. No fancy lighting, no ring light to wash out the imperfections. Just a dim, yellow bedside lamp that cast long, jagged shadows across the room. The frame was messy. There was a hoodie thrown over a chair, the edge of a baby’s blanket peeking out from behind her.

It was raw. It was honest. And it was killing him.

She looked exhausted. Smoke couldn’t see her eyes but he knew they had to be droopy with a vacant expression. She wasn’t wearing a wig or a drop of makeup. Her long twists were draped over her shoulders, her skin matte and real. She wore an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, exposing a glimpse of her collarbone, and simple cotton panties that looked like they’d been worn all day.

She didn’t greet the room with her usual practiced smile and seductive lip bite. She didn’t tease. She just laid there, half-propped up against her pillows, thighs spread wide in a way that felt less like an invitation and more like surrender.

Smoke took a deep drag of the blunt, the cherry glowing bright orange, and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned.

He watched her yawn, a genuine, tired stretch that arched her back and pulled the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her breasts, revealing perk nipples. She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, looking less like LaceyBlaze69 and more like a woman who was drowning in her own life.

“Mmm…hey loves…sorry I’m late…I can’t even tell what time it is anymore,” she dragged a single finger over her pussy through her cotton panties, rolling her hips in a lazy circle. “I was having the best dream about getting fucked out of my sleep…but I think I’d rather have the real thing,” Malaya bit her lip. “I’m still so warm from the sheets…can you tell? I’m barely awake, but this pussy is dripping for you. Come on…tip me something to wake me up.” She released a soft chuckle. “Help me hit the goal, I’ll show you exactly where I was rubbing myself before I drifted off…”

The chat was moving fast. Men were demanding more. They wanted her to scream, to arch, to play the part of the hungry slut they paid for.

DangerDick84_: Come on Lacey, show that pussy baby.

WillyMoProblems: Take them panties off.

PhantomDweller$: You have pretty toes. I wanna suck ‘em.

100 Tokens. 300 Tokens. 150 Tokens. 80 Tokens

Malaya didn’t react to them. She didn’t even seem to be reading. She reached down, her fingers sliding under the elastic of her panties, tugging them aside with a movement that was mechanical, devoid of passion. She began to touch herself, her fingers moving in circles, but her body language was unfocused, and Smoke just knew she was staring past the lens, eyes heavy and uninterested.

Then, she started to moan.

Smoke leaned forward, his chest nearly touching the glass desk. He knew that sound. He knew the difference between her desire and her hustle. These moans were hollow. They were a performance for the bills, a fake melody played to keep the tips flowing. She was faking the pleasure, her voice pitching up in a way that didn’t match the deadness in her eyes.

It was a lie, and it made his blood boil.

He hated that she had to do it. He hated that she was forced to pretend to be turned on by the gaze of hundreds of nameless, horny men just to keep a roof over her and Messiah’s heads. The sight of her vulnerability, the way she looked so small and broken in that big, messy bed, hit him harder than any physical blow.

Smoke didn’t type or use YungCipher to talk dirty or GoodBodyAnon to be sweet. He stayed as Camera0ff. The silent watcher.

Smoke reached for his mouse and clicked the tip button. He didn’t send a small amount. He sent a massive sum, a number that would make the rest of the chat go silent, a number that meant she could turn the camera off right now and not worry about money for a month.

He watched her body language change.

She paused.

Her fingers that were circling her clit slowed down. He could actually see her shoulders drop. Like she was relieved.

Smoke exhaled a cloud of grey, gaze darkening.

He wanted to reach through the screen, grab her by the back of her neck, and pull her into his own bed. He wanted to strip that oversized shirt off and replace her fingers with his tongue.

He wanted to give her a reason to moan that wasn’t a lie.

Smoke watched her finish, a quiet, unceremonious climax that left her looking even more depleted than before. As she reached out to end the stream, her shoulders slumped, and for a split second, she looked like she might cry.

The screen set went black.

Smoke sat in the dark, the only light coming from the remaining monitors. He stared at the empty black square where she had been, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair so hard the leather groaned.

He wasn’t just obsessed. He was addicted. And the fact that she was breaking right in front of him only made him want to own every shattered piece.

Smoke leaned back in his leather chair, the embers of the blunt glowing. He shifted, shorts riding lower on his hips, his mind drifting back to the time he’d tried to bridge the gap between the screen and the skin.

He’d used YungCipher for it.

Out of all his personas, YungCipher was the one that carried the most of his actual hunger. He wasn’t the quiet ghost of Camera0ff of the protective shadow of GoodBodyAnon.

YungCipher was the raw edge.

He was the one who talked dirty. The one who tipped when she hit a peak, the one who let her know exactly what a real man would do to her if he had her pinned beneath him.

He remembered the messages he’d sent. He hadn’t been playing a character then. Every word had been the truth. She didn’t need those silicone toys. The tips from strangers was pocket change compared to the life he could provide. He’d been explicit, his words painting a picture of exactly how he’d handle her. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t just another viewer with a credit card; he was the real thing.

You don’t need those dildos, baby. I got the real thing waiting for you. I’ll be your favorite big dick. I’ll give that pretty pussy exactly what it deserves.

Smoke could almost feel the weight of her in his hands, the way her tired body would melt under his dominance. He wanted to replace the fake pleasure she performed for the masses with a visceral, bone-deep satisfaction that would leave her shaking and speechless. He wanted to be the only thing she craved.

But she had turned him down.

The rejection hadn’t been angry or disgusted. It had been a firm, practiced wall. She’d declined the offer to meet, citing her rules.

Smoke didn’t feel slighted or insulted. Instead, he felt a dark, twisted sense of pride. He understood. Malaya was guarded for a reason. She was a mother, a survivor, a woman who knew exactly how dangerous the world was. The fact that she wouldn’t dare meet a stranger from a chat room, no matter how much he promised or how high he tipped, only made her more precious in his eyes. It meant she was disciplined. It meant she was protecting herself and Messiah.

It also meant that if he wanted her, he not only had to ask for her.

He had to take her.

He had to weave himself into the fabric of her life until he was the only safety she had left.

Since that night, he’d dialed back YungCipher. He’d stepped away from the aggressive pursuit, retreating into the shadows of his other accounts. He stopped pushing for the meet-up, stopped the overt demands. He went back to being the silent provider, the gentle protector, the ghost in the machine.

He took another stage of the blunt, exhaling a thick cloud that obscured the monitors. He played the long game. He had tested her boundaries and found them strong.

But boundaries were just lines waiting to be crossed.

Smoke looked at the silver laptop on his glass desk, his encrypted phone sitting beside it. He knew everything about her. Where she lived, where she worked, the exact moment she turned off her lights at night.

Smoke just needed the right moment to show her that everything he’d promised as a persona was a reality as a man.

And then Jordan became a name Smoke saw too often.

At first, it had meant nothing to him. A man’s name in a woman’s phone was not enough to move him. Malaya was beautiful, delicate in ways she tried to hide and sweet in ways that slipped out when she forgot to guard herself. Men noticed. Men always noticed. Some sent her messages with too many hearts eyes on social media. Some tried to be funny and failed. Some waited for her cam shows and spent money they didn’t have just to make her look toward the screen for half a second. Smoke knew the difference between noise and a threat. Most men were noise.

Jordan had been noise until Malaya started smiling at him.

Edge & Thread—Location: North Side 9:05PM

Smoke sat in his private office above Edge & Thread, the monitors casting a cold sheen over the angles of his face. Below him, the barbershop had closed for the day. The last chair had been swept, the last cape shaken out, the last customer sent into the Atlanta night with a fresh line. Up here, everything belonged to Smoke. The locked door. The black desk. The encrypted drives. The wall safe behind a framed print no one but him was allowed to touch.

Malaya’s phone activity was open in front of him.

Smoke told himself it was maintenance. That was the lie he used when he needed one. He had put enough invisible architecture around her life to know when something went wrong, and checking the structure was part of keeping it intact. Messages. Unknown numbers. Strange links. Men who became too aggrsssivd when she ignored them. Clients who thought a tip bought access. He watched for threats because threats had a way of hiding themselves in charm.

But Jordan was not charming in a way Smoke could easily condemn. That was the problem.

The latest message sat near the top of the thread.

Jordan: You still up?

Malaya had answered three minutes later.

Malaya: Unfortunately lol. My sleep schedule is a joke.

Jordan replied with a laughing emoji then a picture of a little boy sprawled across a couch with one sock on, one sock missing, and a Black Panther toy tucked under his arm.

Jordan: Shiloh knocked out like he pay bills lol

Malaya’s response came with three laughing emojis.

Malaya: 😂😂😂 He is SO CUTE. Look at him holding T’Challa!

Smoke’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the words. It was the ease of it all. Malaya didn’t overthink that response. She didn’t perform. She didn’t angle herself toward seduction or sweetness. She was simply there, amused and unguarded, letting some man send her pieces of his life as if he had a right to place them in her hands.

Smoke scrolled back.

Jordan didn’t text too much. That made him worse. A desperate man revealed himself fast. He pressed for pictures, attention, reassurance. Jordan did none of that. He appeared every few days at first, then more often, then with enough to become expected. A joke in the afternoon to ease the tension while she was at work. A check-in after she’d clocked out to pick up her son when her baby daddy was supposed to do it. A quick call that lasted eight minutes, then another that lasted twenty-three. One night forty-one.

Forty-one minutes.

Smoke stared at that number longer than he wanted to. He clicked into the call metadata, though he already knew what it would show him. Incoming. Answered. Late evening. Malaya had let it ring once before picking up. It wasn’t long enough to avoid him but long enough to see his name and decide what to do with herself before she answered.

Smoke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along the side of his index finger.

He could picture it too easily. Malaya in her apartment, curled up somewhere, bonnet on or hair loose, she home pressed to her ear. Her voice lower because she didn’t wanna wake Messiah. Jordan on the other end with that easy patience Smoke was beginning to dislike. No rush. No pressure. Just conversation.

Smoke opened another window.

Jordan Ellis.

Smoke preferred men with mess. Meds gave shape to intent. Mess gave him handles. An unpaid judgement. A sealed charge. Old warrants. Bitter women in comments. Something. Anything. He searched with the meditated focus of a man taking apart a machine piece by piece.

Jordan gave him almost nothing.

Thirty. Atlanta born. Local employment, steady enough. Rental history clean. No obvious criminal record. No restraining orders. No heavy social media presence. His pages were mostly private, but not hidden well enough to keep Smoke out. Photos loaded one by one. Jordan at a cookout. Jordan holding Shiloh on his hip in front of an aquarium tank, the boy’s small hand spread against his father’s cheek. Jordan at his son’s outdoor birthday party with a paper cone sitting crooked over his tapered curly fro. Jordan at a convention, grinning beside a wall of anime figures, posing like Sukuna.

Smoke’s eyes narrowed.

Malaya: Same smile 😍 he’s so sweet. Really grew into himself from high school.

Sweet.

Smoke hated that word the most. Sweet men were dangerous when they were real. Not the kind who used softness as bait, but the ones who had grown into patience because life had required it. Jordan had a son. Jordan had responsibilities. A man like that didn’t need to impress a woman with volume. He impressed her with being consistent. With remembering. By calling when he said he would. By laughing at old things from school and asking new questions like he actually cares about the answers.

He returned to the messages.

Jordan had asked about her day. Malaya had told him it was long. He sent a voice note instead. Smoke played it once through the isolated feed. Jordan’s voice came through with a smile in it.

“Well, I hope you eat something and get some rest, Malaya. You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered. Don’t stay up too late watching Love Island knowing your ass need to be asleep. Then get mad when Messiah wakes up hahaha.”

Malaya had answered with a voice note of her own. Smoke didn’t play hers right away. He sat there with his hand nese the mouse, looking at the little audio bar as if it had done something personal to him. Her voice belonged to her, but he had collected so much of it that some part of him had begun treating it like a private possession. Her sleepy voice. Her irritated voice. Her calm voice; honeyed and controlled. Her real laugh when she forgot herself. Her little sigh when something made her feel seen. He knew them. He knew the difference.

Now Jordan was learning them too.

Smoke played it. Malaya’s voice spilled into the room with amusement and faint embarrassment.

“First of all, don’t be clockin’ me! Second, I ate. Kind of. I had fries.”

Jordan replied almost immediately.

Jordan: That’s all you eat is fries. You gonna turn into a damn fry 😂

Malaya: They are when you mind your business 😒

Smoke stared at the exchange. It was nothing. That was what made it something. No naked pictures. No heavy flirting. No late-night confession. Just easy back-and-forth. Smoke could have handled vulgarity. He understood men who wanted a body before they understood the woman inside it. He knew how to deal with that kind. This was worse because Jordan seemed interested in the ordinary parts. Her meals. Her sleep. Her memories. Her jokes. The parts Smoke had been studying from the outside like a locked house with the lights on.

A line of texts appeared farther down, from two days ago.

Jordan: I forgot you used to draw Sailor Moon characters in your notebook.

Malaya: Don’t expose me 😭

Jordan: Never. I thought it was cute then too lol

Smoke’s hand closed once. There it was. History. He couldn’t hack history. He couldn’t purchase it, threaten it, erase it, or outrank it. Jordan stood somewhere in Malaya’s past. Some version of her Smoke would never get to see. Drawing girls with moon wands in the corners of her notebook. Smiling at things before life taught her which pieces of herself to hide.

Smoke had files. Jordan had memories. The distinction scraped against something low in him.

He opened Jordan’s background again, harder this time, less patient. He checked financials. Associates. Old addresses. Known relationships. Family connections. He looked for bitterness, instability, some ugliness hidden beneath the calm surface. An angry ex. A custody dispute with teeth. Gambling. Pills. Anything he could name and place between Jordan and Malaya as proof that his instinct was not jealousy but protection. Contentment was a language Smoke did not trust.

He closed the file and returned to Malaya. Her last message to Jordan was from twenty minutes ago.

Malaya: You still watching that show you told me about?

Jordan: Yeah. You were right. It got good after episode three.

Malaya: Told you. You just had to stop being stubborn.

Jordan: 😂 I’m working on that.

Malaya: Liar.

Jordan: Maybe. But I listen when it matters.

Smoke read that line twice. Then three times. The words were not much on their own. A soft little flirt, maybe. A door left open. Jordan had not shoved his way through it. He had simply set the sentence down and let Malaya decide what to do with it. She had not answered right away. Smoke watched the timestamp as if he could will it backward. Four minutes. Seven. Twelve. Then the little mark appeared.

Malaya: You always did 😌

Smoke went very still. Then, he sat forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled near his mouth. Jordan had not become a problem because he wanted Malaya. Jordan had become a problem because Malaya was beginning to let him matter.

The next message came a few minutes later.

Jordan: We should get together one of these days. Catch up for real.

Smoke’s eyes fixed on it. The typing bubble appeared beneath Jordan’s message, pulsed, disappeared, then returned. Malaya was thinking. He could imagine her biting her lip, not in the way men begged to see on camera, in the way she did when something made her nervous. He had seen that before. She would glance away from the screen, then back. She would smile at herself as if she needed permission to want something simple.

The response came through.

Malaya: I’d like that.

Smoke did not move. The monitors continued their work around him. Servers blinked. The city passed outside with sirens in the distance and tires whispering over damp pavement. Downstairs, the barbershop slept beneath him, all mirrors and empty chairs, all the day’s voices and buzzing gone. On the screen, Malaya’s words sat beneath Jordan’s.

I’d like that.

Smoke read them until they stopped looking like words and started looking like a hand placed somewhere it did not belong. Jordan was not a client. Not a faceless watcher. Not a man begging for pieces of her through a screen. Jordan was warm skin and a familiar smile. A son named Shiloh. A soft-eyed anime nerd who remembered what Malaya used to draw in school and had the patience to wait between messages.

Smoke exhaled through his nose.

He could ruin him.

The thought came cleanly. It sat there like a tool laid on the table. Smoke knew how. He could make Jordan’s life inconvenient by morning and unbearable by the end of the week. A few pressure points. A little disruption. Nothing dramatic enough to point back to him. Men were easy to move when you knew what they loved and what they feared losing.

Malaya had said she would like that.

Smoke leaned back in his chair, the darkness behind his eyes becoming something colder than anger. He had been patient because patience had always worked for him. He had watched, learned, mapped, waited. He had known her patterns so well that knowledge had begun to feel like intimacy. But Jordan was showing him the insult hidden inside that belief. Knowing where Malaya bought groceries was not the same as being the man she called when she was tired. Knowing what time she went live was not the same as being remembered from school. Knowing what made her body respond on camera was not the same as making her smile at her phone in the middle of an ordinary night.

Smoke stared at the screen.

For the first time, distance felt less like control and more like absence. And absence, he was beginning to understand, made room.

———

Jordan’s text came just after six.

Jordan: I'm outside.

Malaya looked at her reflection one last time before grabbing her purse. She had settled on a fitted chocolate-brown ribbed midi dress that hugged her figure without feeling overly dressy. A cropped cream denim jacket rested over her shoulders in case the evening cooled off. Gold hoops framed her face, a thin layered necklace that rested against her collarbones, and her twists spilled over one shoulder. She’d kept her makeup simple, finishing with nothing more than gloss across her lips. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She just wanted to feel pretty.

When she stepped outside, Jordan was leaning against his car, one hand tucked into the pocket of dark jeans. His black T-shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders, and his beard had filled in since high school, giving his face a maturity she hadn't expected. His smile, though, hadn't changed. It was the same warm smile she remembered that always reached his expressive light-brown eyes.

For a second he simply looked at her.

“Damn.”

Malaya laughed. “What?”

“You look good.”

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” She returned the compliment.

“I had to. Couldn’t let you outshine me.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as he opened the passenger door for her.

The drive started exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Easy. The conversation slipped between them without effort. They laughed about teachers they swore had hated them, classmates they'd forgotten until one of them mentioned a name, and the anime arguments they'd somehow still remembered years later.

“So you still watch it?” Jordan asked.

She looked at him with mock offense. “You asking me that like you don't already know the answer.”

“I had to make sure adulthood hadn't changed you.”

“It definitely hasn’t.”

He grinned. “Good.”

By the time they reached the restaurant, Malaya realized she hadn't checked her phone once. Dinner felt less like a first date and more like picking up a conversation that had simply been paused for several years. Jordan listened more than he talked. When she mentioned work, he asked questions instead of waiting for his turn to speak. When she laughed, he laughed with her instead of trying to top the joke. He remembered little things she’d mentioned over the last few weeks of texting, surprising her more than once.

“You actually remembered that?”

“You told me.”

“That was like...two weeks ago.”

He shrugged. “I was listening.”

Something about that stirred inside her.

Eventually the conversation turned toward Shiloh. Jordan’s whole face changed. His smile grew and his shoulders relaxed.

For the next several minutes he told her stories about bedtime negotiations, mismatched socks, spilled cereal, and Saturday mornings spent watching cartoons. He wasn’t performing fatherhood. Watching him, Malaya understood something.

Kindness looked good on him.

After dinner, neither of them seemed ready to call it a night.

“You wanna walk for a minute?” Jordan asked.

She nodded.

The Atlanta evening had settled into that comfortable warmth where the air felt soft against her skin. They wandered the sidewalk without any destination in mind, their conversation drifting from old memories to where life had taken them since graduation.

Jordan glanced over at her. “I was nervous asking you out.”

She stopped walking. “You were?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at you.”

She laughed. “I would've never guessed.”

“I practiced asking you.”

She blinked. “You practiced?!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself. “Like...four different versions.”

Malaya burst into laughter, lightly bumping his shoulder. “You are lying.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“That’s actually kind of cute.”

“I'll take cute.” Jordan replied with. Smirk.

The drive back to her apartment was comfortable. They listened to music and debated over which anime’s were the best. Jordan eventually pulled into a visitor's space and shifted the car into park. Neither of them reached for the door.

He looked over at her. “I’m really glad you said yes.”

Malaya smiled. “So am I.”

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.

Their lips met gently. The kiss wasn't rushed or hungry. Their heads swiveled, Malaya reaching out to grip his chin to hold him steady while she damn near stole his breath with those juicy lips that tasted like maple brown sugar. Jordan felt himself getting stiff, squeezing his thighs to try and calm his erection. The kiss was warm, lingering just long enough to make them both smile when they pulled apart. Jordan rested his forehead against hers for a second before quietly laughing. They separated, Jordan licking her gloss from his lips and Malaya fixing hers since some of it got on her chin.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

“I kinda figured.” Malaya giggled.

“You gonna let me see you again?”

Malaya looked at him. “I think that can be arranged.”

She reached for the door handle. As she turned, Jordan's hand settled lightly at her waist before sliding naturally to the curve of her hip. His fingers gave her ass a playful squeeze over the fabric of her dress.

He laughed. “...Girl.”

Malaya looked back.

“You still…thick.”

Jordan started singing Bobby V Tell Me since it had come up on the playlist.

Malaya threw her head back, laughing. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You are so childish.”

“I ain't lying though. Tell me, for real cuz man…”

Malaya shook her head, unable to stop smiling.

“Goodnight, Jordan.”

“Goodnight, Malaya.”

He watched her step up, unlocking her apartment door, and glance back one last time with a small wave before disappearing inside. Only after the door closed did he finally pull away. The door clicked shut behind her, but the warmth of Jordan’s kiss still lingered on her lips. A small, genuine smile played on her face, one that didn’t have to be performed for a camera or a tip. He was different. Patient, warm, and the way he looked at her made her feel seen, not just consumed.

As she kicked off her heels and began to peel away her clothes, for the first time in a long time, the place was truly quiet. Messiah was with his father for the weekend, leaving her with a rare, unfiltered solitude. In her bedroom, She paused, her dress slipping over her head, her mind drifting back to the way Jordan’s hand had felt on the cleft of her left ass cheek. She wondered if she should have let him come inside. The thought sent a sharp, electric pulse of lust straight to her core, leaving her thighs feeling heavy and her pussy aching with a sudden, insistent throb.

Malaya was horny—deeply, viscerally horny—and the lingering adrenaline from the date had left her skin hypersensitive. She didn’t want to just sleep it off. She wanted to feel something intense, to lean into the friction of her own desire.

With a determined exhale, Malaya transitioned from the woman who had just been on a romantic date to the persona the internet paid to see. It was time for the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” set.

She transformed her space into a curated altar of simulated innocence and raw filth. First came the lighting. She clicked on the ring light, bathing her face in a professional, clinical glow, but then she layered in the atmosphere. She draped strings of warm fairy lights across the wall and turned on a bedside lamp that changed colors, creating a golden, hazy glow that blurred the edges of the room. She laid out the backdrop. It was a plush, baby-pink faux-fur blanket spread across the floor, topped with a white furry rug that looked soft enough to sink into. It was the perfect contrast to what she planned to do on top of it.

Then came the wardrobe. She slid into pastel pink lingerie with lace trimming that hugged her breasts tight, the fabric straining against her nipples. The thin lace of the crotch area barely covered the swell of her ass and the plumpness of her pussy lips. To complete the “good girl” aesthetic, she pulled on a pair of knee-high pastel socks with little bows and fastened a thin charm bracelet around her wrist, the small silver trinkets jingling as she moved. She reached for her hair, deftly styling her long twists into two high pigtails, securing them with oversized satin bows.

Malaya wears a delicate, intricate pink lace mask that clings to the curves of her face, the fabric sheer enough to tease but thick enough to create a barrier of mystery. The floral patterns of the lace cast seductive shadows across her skin, framing her eyes in a way that makes them look wider, more vulnerable, and dangerously focused.

She looked like a doll. The perfect fuck doll.

The final touches were the props. She placed a large, glossy lollipop still wrapped on the nightstand next to a high-powered Bluetooth vibrator that was gifted to her from MoTh3rL0ad88, deep, purple silicone and appeared not so intimidating. Malaya checked her camera angle, ensuring the frame captured the curve of her hips and the inviting dip of her waist, making sure the viewers would have a front-row seat to her descent.

Finally, she reached for her phone and tapped the screen. The heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty filled the room, the slow, provocative beat syncing with the thrum of blood between her legs. Malaya climbed onto the pink fur, arching her back and letting the music vibrate through her skin. She looked into the lens, her eyes darkening, the “good girl” mask sliding into place just as she prepared to go live and get filthy.

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty girl, nasty

I been a nasty, nasty, nasty

Malaya clicked the “Go Live” button, and instantly, the viewer count began to climb. The screen flooded with a rush of usernames, a digital tide of hungry men eager for their fix. She leaned into the camera, her eyes wide and shimmering, a playful, shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Hi everyone,” she whispered, her voice an angelic, breathy coo. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting down on the pad of it gently, her gaze fluttering. “I...I didn’t think so many of you would be here tonight. I’m feeling a little shy.”

She giggled, a high, melodic sound, and twirled a stray twist around her finger. She looked like a doll, a pristine image of purity in her pastel pinks and white fur, but the way she let her gaze linger on the lens told a different story. She was playing the part of the innocent girl who had accidentally stumbled into a room full of hungry wolves with brick hard dicks and balls filled with cum, acting as if she were barely aware of how the thin lace of her panties clung to the swell of her ass and barely covered her pussy.

[User: BigDickEnergy99]: Look at those bows…I want to rip them right out of her hair.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing, baby. We know you a little slut for us.

[User: TipKing_X]: Tipped 50 tokens! Show us those cheeks, Good Girl.

Malaya blushed, a performative flush that crept up her neck. “You're all so mean to me,” she pouted, bouncing her tits like she was throwing a temper tantrum.

If you keep up with me

I'll keep on coming back

If you do it too good

I'm gonna get attached

'Cause it feels like Heaven when it hurts so bad

Baby, put it on me

I like it just like that…

As the heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty kicked back in, the “good girl” mask didn’t falter, it just evolved. Malaya turned on her knees slowly, the camera capturing the dip of her waist and the way her bralette strained against her hard nipples. She turned her back to the lens, glancing over her shoulder with a wide-eyed, innocent expression while her lower body began to move.

She started with a slow, hypnotic roll of her hips, the movement fluid and circular. The white fur of the rug brushed against her thighs as she began to twerk, her cheeks bouncing with a heavy vibration. She wasn’t just shaking; she was oscillating, her hips swinging in a precise, tantalizing cadence that made the lace of her panties disappear between the folds of her ass.

[User: HardCoreHustle]: Fuck, that bounce is lethal. Look at her move!

[User: LustLord]: Tipped 100 tokens! Arch that back, Miss Blaze!

[User: DeepDive_88]: She look so sweet but she moves like a fucking pro. I need to see more.

Malaya let out a, staged moan, her head tilting back as she leaned forward, planting her palms on the pink fur. She pushed her ass high into the air, creating a steep, inviting slope. She began to grind against the air, her hips rotating in a slow, agonizing circle that simulated the feeling of a thick dick sliding deep inside her. She looked back at the camera, biting her lip, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with a mixture of fake modesty and real arousal.

“Is this...is this okay?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I don't know why I’m doing this...I feel so naughty, Sir.”

Then, with a sudden, athletic grace that contradicted her fragile persona, she slid backward. In one smooth, fluid motion, she hit a full split on the plush rug, her legs extending wide, leaving her completely open to the lens. The position pushed her panties to their absolute limit, the fabric straining across her ass and her soaking wet pussy, the center of the lace darkening as her arousal leaked through.

She stayed there, chest heaving, her breasts bouncing slightly under the pink cotton. She reached down, slowly tracing the line of her thigh with a manicured nail, her eyes locked on the camera, challenging every man in the chat to tell her exactly how they would ruin her.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 200 tokens! Open those legs wider, you filthy little doll!

[User: PureSin]: I can see she's soaking through those panties. Look at that wet spot!

[User: AlphaMale_7]: I wanna see you swallow a whole dick while you in that split, slut.

Malaya slowly pulled herself out of the split, her movements languid. She crawled toward the lens on all fours, her breasts swaying under the pink lingerie, her eyes locked onto the camera with that wide, doe-eyed gaze. She stopped just inches from the lens, her face filling the frame, the soft glow of the ring light reflecting in her pupils.

“You guys are being so loud,” she whispered, a tiny, teasing smile playing on her lips. “I can’t even think...you’re making me feel so...exposed.”

She sat back on her heels and spreading her knees just enough to give them a glimpse of the lace straining against her pussy. With a slow, shaky breath, she pressed her palm flat against her crotch. She began to rub her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, her fingers circling her clit in a grinding motion. The lace was translucent from her arousal, clinging to every fold of her lips.

Malaya let out a soft, airy moan, her head tilting back as she increased the pressure, her hips lifting off the rug. “It’s so warm,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m just...I’m just a little bit wet. Is that bad?”

Then, without warning, she reached down and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg upward and outward in one fluid, athletic motion. She slid into a perfect side split, her body stretched wide across the white fur. The position was devastatingly open, her pussy centered perfectly in the frame, the pink lace of her panties pulled tight and damp, outlining the plumpness of her labia.

She looked at the camera, her expression a mask of faux-hesitation, her lip trembling slightly. “Do you...do you really want to see it?” she asked, her voice a breathy, innocent plea. “I’m so shy...I’ve never shown this many people at once.”

The chat exploded. The token count began to skyrocket as the men scrambled to pay for the reveal.

[User: KingKink]: Tipped 500 tokens! SHOW US! Open those legs and show us that pussy now!

[User: RawDogger]: I'll pay anything to see you dripping for us, you filthy doll.

[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing the innocent act and show us how wet you are!

Malaya giggled, a sound that was becoming increasingly hungry. She lowered her leg and reached over to the side and picked up a large, bright red lollipop, unwrapping it. She didn’t take it straight to her mouth. First, she ran the hard candy slowly along the line of her jaw, then down her neck, trailing it over the valley of her breasts. Finally, she slid the lollipop into her mouth. She began to lick it with slow, swirling motions of her tongue, her eyes half-lidded and glazed. She sucked on the candy with a wet, loud slurping sound, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the sweetness in. She looked like a corrupted piece of candy herself—sweet, colorful, and utterly decadent. As she sucked the lollipop, she began to use her free hand to tease the edge of the lace covering her crotch, hooking a manicured nail under the and pulling it just a fraction of an inch away from her skin, teasing the chat with a sliver of her glistening, deep brown lips and dark pink flesh.

[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 300 tokens! Suck that candy like it's a dick while you pull those panties aside!

[User: PureSin]: Look at her eyes...she loves being watched. She's a total slut.

Malaya pulled the lollipop out with a loud, sticky pop, a thin string of glistening saliva connecting the candy to her lips. She let out a breathy, exhausted tease of a laugh.

“You guys have been so patient,” she whispered, her voice sounding small and fragile in the quiet of the room. “I think it’s time I show you what a good girl I’ve been.”

She reached up, her fingers pulling the straps of her pastel pink lingerie down. She didn’t just rip it off; she played the part, sliding the fabric slowly down one shoulder, then the other, teasing the edge of the lace against her skin. As the bra fell away, her breasts spilled out, dark, gum drop nipples hard and peaking in the cool air. She let the garment rest around her waist, leaving her chest bare and heaving, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps that she knew the microphone was picking up.

Then, her hands drifted lower, her fingertips grazing the edge of the lace covering her pussy. She hooked her fingers into the lace, pausing for a heartbeat to let the anticipation build in the chat. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid the lace to the side. One by one, each slippery pussy lip revealed itself, a slimy trail of her arousal clinging to the fabric. Clit poking. Labia twitching. The knee-high pastel socks that hugged her calves, adding to the coquette aesthetic she used as a shield.

Malaya spread her legs wide, exposing the depths of her fat pussy to the lens. She was drenched, her folds glistening and plump, the pinkish-red hue of her clit peaking through the wetness. She looked engorged, exposed, and utterly vulnerable, though her face remained a mask of shy innocence. She reached for the lollipop again, but she didn’t put it back in her mouth. Instead, she pressed the sticky, sugar-coated candy directly against her pussy.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her head rolling back, her pigtails splaying across the white rug. “It tastes so sweet...I can feel the sugar melting right into me.”

She began to rub the lollipop in slow, circular motions around her clit, the glossy candy coating mixing with her own natural lubrication. The wet, slapping sound of the candy against her flesh filled the speakers. She pushed the lollipop deeper, teasing the entrance of her pussy, the sweetness of the candy contrasting with the saltiness of her own arousal.

“I feel so naughty,”she whimpered, her voice breaking as she arched her back. “I’m being such a bad girl for you, Sir…but I’m still your good girl, right?”

The chat was an absolute frenzy, a waterfall of demands and tips, but one username stood out, flashing with a generous contribution that had already changed the trajectory of the night.

Camera0ff

Malaya reached over to the side of the white fur rug, her fingers curling around a sleek, high-tech device. She held it up to the camera, bringing it close so the ring light caught every detail.

“You guys...look what I have,” she whispered, her voice airy and laced with a curated shyness. “I want to say a huge thank you to MoTh3rL0ad88. You’re so generous...you bought me this beautiful Bluetooth vibrator.”

The toy was a masterpiece of erotic engineering. A deep, midnight purple silicone that looked almost black under the lights, with a polished, ergonomic curve designed to hit every internal sweet spot. It had a smooth, seamless finish and a small, pulsing LED light at the base that glowed a soft, inviting blue, signaling it was paired and ready for remote command. It looked expensive, powerful, and utterly invasive.

“I think...I think I’m gonna use it just for you guys tonight,” she teased, her eyes hooded as she looked into the lens. “I’m gonna to let the chat decide exactly how I feel.”

Malaya spread her legs even wider on the pink blanket. She guided the rounded tip of the vibrator toward her soaking entrance. She let out a small, needy whimper as she pushed the silicone head past her outer lips, sliding it slowly into her tight, wet channel. The friction made her toes curl inside her pastel socks, and she gasped, her head falling back as she seated the toy deep inside her, leaving just the stimulating nub pressed firmly against her swollen clit.

She froze, her body trembling slightly, her hands gripping the edges of the fur rug. She waited, charged with an electric anticipation.

Then, it happened. A low, deep thrum vibrated through her core. It started on the lowest setting. A gentle, steady pulse that felt like a warm current flowing through her pussy. It wasn't overwhelming yet. It was a slow burn, a teasing warmth that began to wake up every nerve ending.

“Oh..” she moaned, the sound soft and breathy, barely more than a whisper.

Her hand drifted down, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles. The combination of the internal vibration and the external pressure sent a wave of heat crashing through her. She rolled her hips, her pigtails splaying across the rug, her voice dropping to a fragile, needy tone.

“It feels so warm...mmm, it’s just starting to wake me up,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “I can feel it... buzzing inside me…please, someone...make it stronger…”

———

10:42PM—Smoke’s Den

The frame is tight, a cinematic close-up focusing solely on a large, veined hand with thick fingers gripping a sleek, encrypted smartphone. The skin is smooth, the knuckles prominent, and the thumb is poised with predatory precision over the screen. On the display, a minimalist app interface glows. A simple slider and a series of preset patterns.

The atmosphere in the den is suffocating, a thick blend of Tom Ford’s masculine musk and the charred, caramel scent of Uncle Nearest 1856. The only light comes from the 120-inch laser projector, casting a ghostly, flickering glow over Smoke’s dark skin, turning the matte charcoal concrete of the wall into a living canvas of Malaya’s desperation.

Smoke is a statue of primal intent, sprawled deep in the black Nappa leather pit. His legs are spread wide, claiming every inch of the space, his chest expanded and glistening under the artificial light. He is the picture of disciplined agony. The bass from D’Angelo’s Voodoo vibrates through the floor of the den, a low, swampy auditory stimulation that mirrors the heavy pulsing in Smoke’s groin.

I feel like making dreams come true

Oh baby

When you talk to me

When you're moanin' sweet and low

When you touch me

And my feelings start to show, show, oh

That's the time

I feel like making love to you

That's the time

I feel like making dreams come true, oh baby…

Below his navel, the ferocity of his arousal is on full display. His nine-inch dick is a rigid, unyielding pillar, gorged with blood and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the fabric of his low-slung black shorts. Because of the way he’s leaning back, there is no place for his length to go but up. That dick is pressed flat against the lower wall of his abs, a heavy, thick ridge of flesh that carves a brutal path straight toward his belly button.

The athletic material of the shorts is stretched to its absolute breaking point, the fabric pulled so taut across the wide, flared head of his dick that the blunt silhouette is unmistakable. Every time he takes a slow, calculated sip of the amber whiskey, his abdominal muscles contract, causing his dick to throb violently against the cloth. It’s a heavy jump. A desperate attempt to break free from the imprisonment of the fabric. A small, dark circle of pre-cum has already begun to dampen the black material, the moisture adding a slick, friction-filled torture every time he breathes.

Smoke refuses to touch himself. The ache in his balls is a dull, heavy roar, a pressure that would drive any other man to madness, but for Smoke, it is fuel. He channels that physical torture into the digital puppetry in his hand.

Smoke leaned back into the depths of his sunken black leather pit, the fabric cool against his bare skin. He wasn’t touching himself. The arousal was purely psychological, a dark, pulsing blaze that settled deep in his gut and made his nine-inch thick dick strain against the thin fabric of his black athletic shorts. His heavy, thick shaft was rock hard, the wide flared head pulsing with every beat of his heart, but his hands remained steady. He preferred the power of the ghost in the machine.

Internally, he was a storm of possessiveness. Watching her on the 120-inch projector, her image towering over him on the matte charcoal wall, he felt a visceral surge of ownership. He knew every inch of her. The scar on her knee, the way she breathed when she was actually peaking.

His eyes narrowed, tracking every movement of her body on the screen. He watched her play the part, the faux-innocence in her voice. Good girl. The phrase tasted like iron in his mouth. He hated the act. Smoke enjoyed the tease, there was no doubt about it, but because he knew the woman beneath the costume, he knew she was a mess of need and anxiety, and he loved that he was the only one who truly saw her.

He could see it now. The way her thighs trembled, the glistening wetness coating her pussy as she rubbed that lollipop against herself. She was soaking, her body betraying her “innocent”persona. She thought she was in control of the narrative, directing the chat, managing the tips, playing the game.

You think you the one pulling the strings, Malaya, he thought, his gaze darkening. But I own the string. And after that date you had tonight, I think I need to remind you.

His plan was simple: total dismantling. Smoke didn’t want her to just orgasm. He wanted to break her composure. He wanted to strip away the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” act until there was nothing left but raw, uncontrolled desperation. He wanted the entire chat to witness the exact moment her curated performance shattered, leaving her gasping and sobbing for a release that only he could grant or deny. He was going to ruin her in front of hundreds, turning her professional show into a public execution of her modesty.

His face is a battlefield of disciplined lust and predatory hunger.

On the screen, Malaya guided the midnight purple silicone head of the vibrator into her tight, wet channel. Smoke watched her eyes flutter, her breath hitching as she seated the toy deep inside her.

The moment the device was fully submerged, Smoke’s thumb moved.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, his thumb slides the intensity bar just a fraction of an inch to the right. He keeps it on the lowest setting, a mere whisper of a vibration, designed not to satisfy, but to irritate the nerves, to create a craving that can’t be scratched.

For a while, he watched her body warm up to it. The goosebumps on her flesh. The way her moans hitched. How she rubbed her clit and bit her lip. His dick bounced within the tight constraints of his athletic shorts. A painful erection that needed tending to but Smoke would rather edge than release. He was on a mission of destroying Malaya.

For making him feel the way he does. For being so goddamn fine. For invading his mind from sun up to sun down.

I got something for you, he thought.

Smoke didn’t slide the bar this time. He flicked it. He jumped the setting from the lowest tease to a high, aggressive thrum.

He watched through the lens as Malaya’s entire body jolted. Her back arched violently, her fingers digging into the white fur rug, and a loud, genuine moan—one that wasn’t for the tips—ripped from her throat. The sudden surge of power inside her was an electric shock, a violent intrusion of pleasure that bypassed her brain and went straight to her nerves.

Smoke let out a low, guttural exhale, a predatory smirk touching his lips. The game had officially begun.

Smoke’s thumb didn’t just slide. It danced with a sadistic tempo across the encrypted screen. He began to cycle through the preset patterns, switching from a steady, aggressive drone to a series of sharp, erratic pulses. He wanted to keep her off-balance, denying her the ability to settle into the sensation, forcing her body to chase a peak that he kept just out of reach.

On the 120-inch screen, the effect was immediate and visceral. Malaya’s composure disintegrated. Her legs, still clad in those innocent pastel socks, began to shake with a violent, uncontrolled tremor. Her thighs clamped shut, then flew open in a desperate, instinctive attempt to either crush the toy deeper into her walls or push it away from the overstimulated nerves of her clit.

Smoke watched with a predatory intensity as her pussy began to weep, the glistening wetness coating the silicone head of the vibrator and leaking out in thick, clear strings that smeared across the white fur rug. He could see the internal contractions of her vaginal walls. The way her muscles gripped the device in starving spasms, trying to milk the vibration out of the machine.

He flicked the intensity to the absolute maximum.

Malaya’s reaction was primal. A guttural, strangled sound tore from her throat, a noise that was completely stripped of the “Innocent Girl” persona. Her fingers clawed at the rug, bunching the fabric into tight knots as her hips began to buck upward in jagged, uncontrolled jolts. Her chest heaved, the pastel lingerie straining against her waist as she gasped for air, her lungs failing her. Her breasts shook and her ass gyrated.

His eyes are hooded, dark voids that don’t blink, locked onto the 120-inch image of Malaya. He isn’t just watching her. He’s consuming her. Every time her thighs tremble or her back arches in a violent spasm. His pupils dilate, absorbing the sight of her surrender like a sponge. There is a slight, savagely crease between his brows, a mark of intense concentration, as if he is calculating the exact millisecond her willpower snaps.

He watched her toes curl tight, her entire frame vibrating in sync with the device buried inside her. The pleasure was so intense it had crossed the line into a form of exquisite torture. Her head snapped back, her neck tendons straining, and her mouth hung open in a silent, breathless scream.

Smoke leaned forward, his eyes locked on the way her stomach rippled, access skin from birth tightening, her core bracing for the impact of the waves he was sending through her. The faint pulse pitter-pattering against her jugular, blood rushing south, pooling in her engorged clit and drenched folds.

He suddenly dropped the setting back to a low, teasing crawl.

The sudden drop caused Malaya to collapse. She slid down the rug, her body going limp for a split second before she began to writhe, her hips grinding frantically against the air, begging for the power to return. She looked wrecked, hair coming undone from the bows, makeup smudged, eyes glazed and unfocused. She was no longer performing for the chat. She was a slave to the signal in Smoke’s hand.

He let her simmer in that desperation for a few seconds, watching her pussy twitch and pulse in a void of denied pleasure. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he slammed the slider back to the top and triggered the “Chaos” pattern—a rapid-fire sequence of bursts and long, heavy vibrations.

Malaya’s body snapped taut like a bowstring. Her internal muscles clamped down on the vibrator with such force that she let out a high-pitched, sobbing moan. Her pelvis tilted sharply, back arching so hard her shoulder blades pressed into the floor, and her entire midsection shuddered in a prolonged, violent orgasm.

Smoke watched the way her pussy pulsed around the toy, the rhythmic squeezing of her walls visible even through the camera lens. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing hitches, body completely surrendered to the digital ghost he controlled. He didn’t stop it. He kept the vibration screaming inside her, pushing her past the peak, forcing her to ride the wave of an orgasm that wouldn’t end until he decided she had had enough.

That mask had been incinerated by the relentless frequency Smoke was pumping into her. She was sprawled across the white fur rug, her limbs splayed and trembling, her head lolling from side to side. A thin, glistening string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin as her jaw hung slack. She was panting, the sound wet and desperate, her chest heaving so violently that her breasts bounced with every ragged breath.

“Please…” she whimpered, the word barely a sound, more of a broken vibration in her throat. “Please, Daddy...I can’t... I can’t take it...please!”

The word Daddy hit Smoke like a physical blow. He watched her on the screen, seeing the way her eyes were out of focus,her consciousness hovering on the edge of a blackout. Her voice had devolved into a series of high-pitched, needy keens and guttural whimpers, a symphony of surrender that told him exactly who owned her in this moment.

Below her, her pussy was a disaster of arousal. It wasn’t just wet; it was overflowing. Thick, slimy trails of cream and arousal leaked from her drenched folds, soaking into the white fur of the rug in heavy, translucent patches. Every time the vibrator pulsed, more of her essence was forced out, spraying in tiny, glistening droplets against her inner thighs.

Behind the lace mask, her eyes are glazed with a heavy, shimmering layer of lust and total submission, her pupils blown wide until the irises are nearly swallowed by dark brown. Her eyes dart frantically, flickering with a mix of desperation and a total body surrender, glistening within the ring light like wet gemstones. Every time the vibrator spikes, her eyelids flutter and cross, turning her gaze into a raw, mindless expression of overstimulation that screams she is no longer in control.

The chat was a blur of chaotic energy. Tips were flooding in as the viewers watched a woman be systematically dismantled by an invisible hand. The screen was a waterfall of explicit demands and shock, but Smoke ignored them all. His world was narrowed down to the sight of her breaking.

Smoke’s dick was reacting violently. He remained still, his hands gripping the phone, but his thick length was twitching beneath the fabric of his black shorts. He felt the heavy, thick head of his dick throb in sync with her moans, the veins pulsing with a pressure that felt like it might burst. He was rock hard, strained to the absolute limit, his body buzzing with the reflected energy of her agony and ecstasy.

He saw the moment it happened. Malaya’s entire body suddenly locked. Her toes curled so tight they cramped, and her hips gave one final, desperate upward thrust, her pelvis tilting sharply toward the ceiling.

A sharp, piercing squeal tore from her throat—a sound of total overload.

Then, she erupted.

It was a flood. A massive, violent jet of clear fluid exploded from her core, a torrent of squirt so powerful it sprayed across the rug and splashed against her own stomach. The force of the release was visceral, a physical eruption that shook her entire frame. The volume of the fluid was so immense, the internal pressure so sudden and overwhelming, that it acted like a piston. With a wet, suctioning pop, the Bluetooth vibrator was physically launched out of her pussy, propelled by the sheer force of her orgasm. It flew a few inches across the rug, landing with a dull thud, still vibrating weakly.

Malaya collapsed instantly, her body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She lay there in a widening pool of her own release, her chest heaving, her eyes vacant, completely spent. She was shaking in long, slow tremors, her pussy twitching and leaking, wide open and ruined.

Smoke stared at the screen, his dick throbbing with a punishing ache. He had never seen her lose control like that. He had pushed her past the breaking point, and the sight of her—soaked, drooling, and utterly defeated—made him want to reach through the screen and claim every inch of her wreckage.

Smoke’s expression hardens. His gaze drops from her face to the glistening mess between her legs, his eyes narrowing with a possessive greed. He looks starved. He looks dangerous. The contrast is visceral: Malaya is a shattered wreck of pleasure on the scene while Smoke is a rigid, pulsing statue of restraint, his face a mask of absolute dominance, savoring the knowledge that he is the only one who truly knows how to make her scream.

He watched her weakly push herself up from the white fur rug, her movements sluggish and disjointed. She looked completely shattered, her eyes glazed and her lips parted, a thin string of saliva clinging to her chin. She looked like she’d been hit by a freight train of pleasure, her pussy gaping and leaking fluid onto the floor.

When the screen finally went black, the “Stream Ended” notification flashing across the 120-inch projection. Smoke didn’t move for a long minute. D’Angelo’s voice rushed back in through the speakers, heavy and suffocating. He stood up abruptly, the movement sharp and jagged. He began to pace the length of the sunken leather pit, his bare feet slapping against the cold, matte charcoal concrete. He was wired, his nerves screaming, his blood boiling with a cocktail of possessiveness and raw, unadulterated lust.

I need a blunt, he thought, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. I need to chill the fuck out.

But the internal command was losing the war against the impulse. Every step he took felt like he was fighting the urge to bolt out the door, jump in his car, and drive those thirty minutes to her duplex. He could almost feel it. The weight of her body as he scooped her up the second she opened the door, the smell of her sweat and pussy hitting him like a drug.

He imagined the carnage he’d leave behind in her apartment. He wanted to wreck her. He wanted to slam her against the wall, flip her over the kitchen counter, and drive his big dick balls-deep into her guts until she forgot how to breathe. He wanted to feel her tight walls gripping him, her screams echoing through the halls, marking her as his in a way a Bluetooth vibrator never could.

His chest felt tight, his lungs struggling to pull in enough air. With every breath, his stomach muscles flexed and rippled, tight with the sheer anticipation of a physical release that felt miles away. He let out a shaky, guttural exhale, his shoulders hunching.

Stop it. Chill. Play the long game, his inner voice hissed, but it sounded distant, drowned out by the throb in his groin.

Smoke stopped pacing and looked down. His black athletic shorts were stretched to their absolute limit. His dick was poked straight out, a rigid, pulsing tower that looked like a traffic cone shoved into the fabric. The wide, flared head was straining against the material, the veins thick and hard, twitching with every beat of his heart. He was rock hard, aching and heavy, the pressure in his balls becoming almost unbearable.

He stared at the protrusion, his breath hitching. He was a man of absolute control, a man who mapped out every move and monitored every variable, but looking at the sight of his own lust fueled by the image of Malaya soaked and broken on a rug, he knew he was dangerously close to the edge.

———

Elijah Moore had built his life on one principle.

Patterns rarely lied. People did.

His monitors glowed against the darkness of the office tucked above Edge & Thread. Three screens displayed different pieces of three different lives. A ransomware recovery for a music producer in Houston. Cryptocurrency movement connected to an old client in Miami. Security footage from a warehouse outside Atlanta waiting to be archived before sunrise.

Smoke moved through each task with practiced efficiency.

Windows opened. Code scrolled. Files decrypted. Logs disappeared.

By the time the eastern sky began trading black for blue, BLK TRACE had already earned more money than most people would see in a week. He leaned back from the desk, his eyes settled on a different monitor. A familiar route. A familiar vehicle. A familiar morning.

Malaya.

The timestamp rested in the corner of the screen.

Thursday—8:14 A.M.

She pulled into the daycare parking lot carrying Messiah against her shoulder. Even through grainy security footage, motherhood had its own flow. She positioned him higher with one arm while reaching for the diaper bag with the other. The little boy wrapped sleepy arms around her neck, unwilling to surrender his mama.

Smoke watched her disappear through the front entrance. Two minutes later she returned alone. She didn’t drive toward work. His gaze drifted toward another monitor displaying nothing more than a street map layered with months of routine.

Colored lines crossed the city like veins.

Home ✅

Daycare ✅

Work ✅

Grocery store ✅

Gas station ✅

Home again ✅

Most days followed the same geometry. Thursdays didn’t. Every Thursday…the route bent.

Honey & Oak.

Arrival—8:28 | Departure—9:03

Thirty-five minutes. Every week.

The pattern had repeated often enough that software no longer needed to flag it.

Smoke noticed it on his own.

He enlarged the map. The café sat on a corner between an old bookstore and a tailor shop. Nothing remarkable. No unusual visitors. No suspicious activity. No reason to investigate.

Except…

Malaya kept choosing it.

He wasn’t interested in coffee. He was interested in decisions. People revealed themselves through repetition. Through what they returned to when nobody was watching.

His fingers rested against the desk.

Thirty-five minutes. Every Thursday.

Why?

He opened another window.

Property records.

Honey & Oak.

Family owned. Nearly eighteen years in business. No police reports worth mentioning. No financial irregularities. No history of violent incidents.

He closed it again.

None of that answered the question. Addresses explained where. They never explained why.

Smoke stood and walked toward the office window.

Malaya always made time for Honey & Oak. Not once. Not occasionally. Every Thursday.

His phone buzzed across the desk.

Stack: Lunch at Mama Dee’s?

Smoke looked at the message before setting the phone back down unanswered. His attention had already drifted elsewhere.

The following Thursday he parked across the street from Honey & Oak.

He arrived early. Engine off. Windows cracked.

Coffee never crossed his mind. People did.

Teachers walked in carrying canvas totes. Construction workers had stopped for breakfast before climbing into company trucks. An elderly couple shared a newspaper at the same window table for almost forty minutes. Two nurses still wearing hospital badges laughed over something one of them read on her phone. Nobody looked out of place. Nobody seemed to be performing. The neighborhood flowed through the café as naturally as conversation.

At exactly 8:27, Malaya pulled into a parking space. She lifted Messiah from his car seat, balanced the diaper bag, and walked toward the entrance. She stayed inside thirty-six minutes. When she came back out, she looked…

Lighter. Less burdened.

Smoke frowned almost imperceptibly.

The following Thursday he returned.

Then the Thursday after that.

He never entered. He never watched Malaya once she disappeared inside. Instead, he studied Honey & Oak itself.

The pace. The customers. The owners greeting people by name. The absence of hurry. The ordinary kindness exchanged between strangers. It wasn’t just a coffee shop, it was a pause. A breather. An escape from reality passed those doors. One small piece of the week that belonged entirely to the people who stepped inside.

Smoke rested both hands on the steering wheel. For months he had believed Honey & Oak was another location on Malaya’s route. Another point on a map. Now he understood something different. This wasn’t where she bought coffee, it was where she caught her breath. He looked through the windshield toward the front door.

If he intended to become a part of her everyday world…there would never be a better place.

Nor a more dangerous one.

Smoke reached for his phone.

Brick answered on the second ring.

“You busy?”

“I got time.”

“I need to move my standing appointment.”

A brief silence settled between them.

“What day you thinkin’?”

Smoke kept his eyes on Honey & Oak.

“Thursday.”

“Aight.”

Smoke ended the call.

Across the street, the bell above Honey & Oak’s front door swung open as another customer disappeared inside.

Operation: The Familiar Stranger had begun.

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