[midnightmemoirsofher]

The Man He Became

Elias Pov

Summary: A year after finding his son on his doorstep, Elias has settled into fatherhood, leaving his reckless past behind. But when a chance encounter at the park with a captivating new woman sparks hope for the future, the past he thought he'd escaped reappears, watching from the shadows.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, abandonment, mental health issues, postpartum depression, past toxic relationship, stalking, angst.

you got the worst timing

The sun was warm on my neck, but the weight on my lap was warmer. "Eli, buddy, you gotta let go of my leg for a second," I grunted, trying to stand up from the bench. He just tightened his grip, babbling some nonsense that sounded suspiciously like "no" and "dada" all mushed together. A year. A whole damn year had passed since he'd been dropped on my doorstep like a forgotten Amazon package. The apartment was long gone, traded for a two-story house in a gated community with a backyard big enough for the slide set Smoke had insisted on buying. The name "Stack" felt like a ghost from another life, a loud, reckless kid who didn't know shit about anything that mattered. Now, I was just Elias. Dad. And this little dude, my son Elijah, was my whole world.

He was a walker now, all wobbly legs and determination, a true velcro baby who attached himself to me the moment I walked into a room. I wouldn't trade it for anything. "Alright, alright, you win," I laughed, scooping him up. His little fists immediately went to my chain, his favorite toy. "Let's go hit the slide before your uncle gets here and shows you how to do it all wrong."

I set him down in the woodchips at the base of the playground structure, and he took off, a tiny chocolate bolt of energy. I leaned against the fence, watching him, that quiet hum in my chest—the one that was always there now—keeping time with his happy squeals. That's when I saw her. Walking the path that circled the park. She gave off those black earthy girl vibes, the type who probably talks to her plants and has fresh lavender hanging in her kitchen. Her deep mocha skin seemed to drink in the sunlight, and her head wrap was a swirl of deep purples and golds. She wore a flowing dress that brushed the ground, and when she got closer, I saw her eyes were this light, warm brown, like honey. She was thick in all my favorite places, moving with a kind of easy confidence that had me standing up a little straighter.

She must've felt me staring 'cause her eyes met mine, and she gave me a small, polite smile before her attention was captured by Eli, who had stopped his mad dash to the slide. He was standing frozen by the fence, staring right at her. His mouth fell open. Then, he let out a string of excited babbling, pointing a chubby finger right at her. It was his official "I approve, come talk to me" signal.

The woman laughed, a sound like wind chimes. She stopped and walked over to the fence, crouching down so she was eye-level with my son. "Well, hello there," she cooed. "Aren't you just the cutest thing?"

Eli, completely smitten, babbled back, slapping his hand against the chain-link fence like he was telling her his entire life story. She giggled, nodding along like she understood every word. I just stood there, confused as hell. I don't even know what he's saying most of the time, and this random stranger is having a full-on conversation with him?

"He's very talkative," she said, looking up at me. Those light brown eyes.

"Only when he sees something he likes," I found myself saying, my voice smoother than it had any right to be.

"I'm Skylar," she said, pushing herself up gracefully.

"Elias. And this little charmer is Elijah."

"Elijah," she repeated, and the way she said it, soft and warm, had my son grinning like he'd just been told he could eat ice cream for dinner. "I'm a daycare teacher over at Little Sprouts. I have a soft spot for them when they're this age. All personality and no filter."

"No filter is right," I laughed, running a hand over Eli's curls. "He keeps me on my toes."

"I bet he does," she said, her smile lingering. "Well, it was nice meeting you both, Elijah."

As she turned to walk away, Eli let out a disappointed whine. "Da-da! Da!" he yelled, pointing at her retreating back.

Skylar stopped, turned back, and her face broke into the widest, most genuine grin I'd ever seen. She walked back to the fence. "Okay, okay, I get it," she laughed. "I can't leave without saying goodbye properly." She blew him a kiss, and my son, my little player, caught it right out of the air and pressed it to his cheek.

I was laughing. Skylar was laughing. Eli was giggling, completely enchanted by this woman who had appeared out of nowhere. And in that moment, with the sun filtering through the trees and the sound of my son's happiness filling the air, it felt like something was starting. Something good.

—

From across the street, behind the tinted window of a parked car, I watched them. My son. My beautiful, perfect boy. He was so big now, walking, talking in his secret language. He looked happy. Healthy. Loved. Elias had changed. The reckless, toxic energy I remembered from our last fight—the energy that had me blocked on every platform, ignored, erased—that had softened into something steady, something warm. He looked like a father. He looked like he was giving my son everything I couldn't. Everything I begged him to give me.

A sharp, bitter pain twisted in my gut. I'd made the right choice. I knew I had. Leaving him there was the only way. We were in such a bad spot, a vicious cycle of fucking and fighting. I wanted more. I told him I wanted to be his girl, to settle down, to start a family that was already growing inside me. He laughed. He actually laughed right in my face, because I'd lied about being pregnant before, a desperate, stupid attempt to get him to just look at me, to see me as something more than a warm body for the night. So when I told him the truth, he just shook his head and said I wasn't the only one and he wasn't ready to be tied down. He wanted to keep running the streets, keep fucking random girls. So I did the only thing I could think of. I prayed that seeing his son, holding him, would make him see me as more than just a convenient fuck. That he'd see me as the mother of his child. After giving birth, I tried messaging him from new numbers, calling until my fingers were numb, but he was gone. So I left our son on his doorstep and prayed for the best.

The first few weeks without him were a blur. Then the silence in my apartment became too loud. The weight of my decision crushed me, and I broke. A 48-hour hold turned into six months in a place with white walls and scheduled meals. Now I'm out. Settled into a new home, trying to find my footing again. A home that, by some cruel twist of fate, is in the same damn gated community as him.

Watching them now, watching Elias laugh with that other woman, watching my son look at her with the same open joy that should be reserved for me... it hurts. It makes me angry. Pissed off. Because this is what I wanted, this is what I cried for, what I sacrificed my sanity for. This was supposed to be me. I was supposed to be the one on the other side of that fence, giggling at our son's babbling, flirting with the man I loved. I was supposed to be the one he changed for. I shouldn't have come. But I couldn't stay away.

 @blyffe @transparentphantomface @daddysmoke @championshipshade @christinabae @og-goddesstrill @writingsbytee @bananajoeclone @psychicafrorainbow @blowmymbackout @storiesbyasl  @bananajoeclone @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @nayys-world @monstaxmomma0 @kimmiedream @hotebonynearby @underated345-blog @xeniaonvenus @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kindofaintrovert @mmbee675 @bestleowoman2exist @justazzi @christinabae @gunznroses4life @xeebop

[thebumblebeesworld]

FORGIVE • ME

annie x stack

summary: after feeling neglected, annie is angry, and stack has some making up to do.

cw: smut, lil angst, insecurity, he'd die bout that pussy and annie would die bout that tongue, use of the nword

a/n: this is if annie and smoke were never together and if annie gravitated to stack more!

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only thing Annie liked about Stack was that he ate it like his life depended on it.

I mean, he’d have her ass folded up on that bed, trying to get to the deepest, warmest, most secret parts of her body, and she’d let him—because why wouldn’t she? She may have hated every other thing about him—like his stupid face and his stupid dimples when he smiles down at her and his stupid eyes that she swears glimmer with mischief just when she’s already about to cave and his stupid outfits and that stupid ass voice that makes her pussy thump violently—but that tongue was magic.

Annie hated that when her family moved to the Delta, she was introduced to Stack Moore. She hated even more that he’d flirt with her, thinking she was like any of the other easy ass girls he fucked with. It took seven years of growing and some distance when he went away to Chicago for her to actually entertain his advances, and now she understood what had bitches fawning over him.

Annie grappled with the fact that when Stack was with you, you had one hundred percent of his attention. He could take care of you in every way that made you feel special, but when he was finished with you, he’d leave and hardly ever return. He was a good time—a great time—a nigga of empty promises masked by a slick tongue, but the woman couldn’t contend with the truth that she was different.

With Annie, Stack would care for her, pouring every ounce of love and affection into her, and when he’d leave, the feeling would linger—in the clothes he left behind, in the kiss to her inner thigh, in the smell of his sweat and sex, in his promises to see her the next day no matter how spirited she was when telling him she was done with him for good. With Annie, he always came back.

With Annie, Stack was consistent. Consistently annoying. Consistently caring. Consistently good at eating her out. Consistently good at coming back for more. And she definitely hated that part about him the most.

Annie wanted him inconsistent so that she wouldn’t become attached to him. If he was as flaky with her as he was with every other girl from Clarksdale to Little Rock to Chicago, then she’d be able to rationalize allowing him access to her and her body when he did show up again—because then it would feel like a treat rather than a reminder of her own shortcomings.

Stack treated Annie like a number one priority, and she never went long without getting a piece of him again—she never went long without giving up a bit of herself, too.

~~~~~

Stack came to her home ready for a night doing his favorite thing. He’d had a rough day—a rough couple of days—dealing with his brother’s attitude and business fluctuating at Club Juke. It felt as if every attempt he made to fix things was being thwarted, but finally life was on track again and he could get a piece of his Annie.

Stack understood her. He understood that she didn’t want to like him as much as she did, but there was no other way of being. He poured so much into her, stayed consistent because she mattered to him. He even stopped fucking all those random girls ‘cause Annie was all he needed (she ain’t know about that though because she wouldn’t have believed him anyway; he’d rather show her with actions than words).

When she opened her door after his vigorous knocking, Annie scowled at him, a hand on her cocked hip. She trailed the length of his body, entranced and trying to remind herself that she was supposed to be upset. But the man only giggled, stepping into her home and stealing a kiss.

“I ain’t seen or heard from you in days, ‘Lias,” Annie breathed fire. It was the longest she’d gone without seeing him since the twins returned home, and it struck her ego hard. He’d been glued to her hip, a nuisance she could rid herself of, and out of nowhere, he just went ghost. Looking at him now, her arms crossed under her chest, anger making itself home in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, babydoll,” Stack hummed, stepping out of his shoes and removing his suit jacket. He huffed, remembering all the bullshit of the past week. “Smoke been barkin’ my ear off, and the juke was underwater for a while, but now that everything’s taken care of, I’m back with my favorite girl.”

And as much as he wanted the words to calm her, they couldn’t soothe the emotion creeping up the back of her throat.

“Ion like feelin’ stupid, Stack,” Annie whispered brokenly. Her feelings for the man tangled up with what she knew wasn’t real hatred for him. She really liked him, really cared for him, and she felt like an idiot for it. It was as if she’d forgotten everything she’d been taught as a girl. She was trusting him blindly. “I ain’t finna be waitin’ on you while you off doin’ God knows what,” she spat, nostrils flaring.

“Annie, baby,” he consoled, hands reaching out for her, but she pulled her hand away forcefully. Emotion dripped from his eyes—honest and heartfelt. Every bit of that slick talking man dissolved away. “Ion want you feelin’ like that. And I’m sorry I ain’t check in,” he began, unsure of what could soothe her. His eyes wandered over her posture, walls built high and refusing to let him in. “It was touch and go for a couple days, but I coulda at least sent word that I was thinkin’ ‘bout you.” With each word, his hands fluttered down the sides of her arms. His mouth shifted back into a sly grin. “You know I was thinkin’ ‘bout you every second I got,” he laughed, nudging the woman’s jaw with the tip of his nose, successfully pulling an exasperated giggle out of her chest.

Annie’s cheeks heated up as she remembered just how good it was to be around Stack. She swatted at him to feign annoyance, only pulling him in closer a second later.

“You don’t be thinkin’ of me,” she decided, coaxing endless affection from him.

“Yes, I do,” he insisted with a sharp nod. “I be thinkin’ ‘bout yo’ pretty eyes. And yo’ pretty smile. And them beautiful lips. And yo’ stomach. And yo’ titties. And them thick ass thighs wrapped ‘round my head.”

“Boy, shut up,” Annie swatted once again, laugh uncontrolled. She moved away from his wandering hands and deeper into the home. Chasing her, Stack quickly caught the edge of her dress, pulling her into him again.

“Come on, mama,” he breathed into her ear. “Lemme make it up to you.” His chest fluttered at the small whimpers she let out. For days he’d dreamt about the sound, how she was enough to soothe all of his pain, anger, and exhaustion in one fell swoop. He loved him some Annie, and he knew she loved him, too—even if she refused to admit it.

What he hadn’t expected though was for Annie’s face to drop all together. He hadn’t expected her to shut him out again despite his efforts.

“What about yo’ other girls,” she attempted jokingly, but he could hear the sadness. Annie refused to look him in the eye. She pulled at her fingers, twisting a ring gifted by the man before she choked out her next question. “Don’t you got a whole lot of makin’ up to do with them, too?”

Stack’s mouth dropped open, closing soon after because he didn’t know how to answer that. The simple answer was obviously no, but Annie had no real reason to believe him. All his life he’d been on bullshit, lying whenever it best served him, but he was truly ready to be a one woman man now.

“You my only girl, Annie,” he admitted, voice immediately turning raw. It shook with each word. His hands trembled as he reached for her. “You the only one. After I got back and we got good, I stopped fuckin’ ‘round. I stopped entertainin’ other women. And I know you probably don’t believe me, but you all I don’ ever wanted.” He stared at her with wide eyes, tears brimming.

He’d never let emotion out like this. Humor was his way of concealing his feelings and masking the hurt of—everything. But with Annie, he wanted to open up; he wanted to be honest; he wanted to show her that she could trust him.

“Ain’t no other girls, Anne,” he insisted, holding her hand to his chest.

Feeling the rapid beating of his heart, the woman’s eyes rose to meet his. Her hand curled in the fabric of his shirt as she attempted to breathe more confidently. Her tears matched his, and as frightening as it all was, he somehow managed to give her heart a little reprieve.

“Lemme make it up to ya’,” he repeated for the second time that night, gripping at her dress skirts to bring her closer. He fell to his knees, pled with his eyes, begged her to let him apologize properly. And although Annie didn’t need him to do anything else to fix the situation, she obliged him, nodding her head profusely.

In a flash of a second, Stack had Annie’s dress up over her hips and his face between her legs.

“Fuck, you smell so good, mama,” the man growled, nose nudging at the seat of her panties. He practically inhaled her, reminding himself—and her—what he’d been missing for the last week. He promised himself then that he’d never allow anything to come between him and his Annie again. So, he parted her legs wider and pushed the damp cloth to the side. Instantly, his mouth watered. “This all I need, baby,” he grunted, watching as she clenched from the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath. “You all I need.”

Arousal coated her outer lips by the time he finished speaking. It was like her body was addicted to the man, and every little thing he did brought her deep pleasure.

Annie’s head fell back as his tongue explored her. Eyes on the ceiling, she could feel everything: the warmth of his breath, the plushness of his lips, the broadness of his tongue, the strength of his arms and shoulders as he held her in place. She was already trembling, already moved to tears by his efforts. She didn’t know how long she’d last like this.

“Stack,” she moaned breathlessly, pulling his head closer by the hair at the nape of his neck. He was suckling on her clit now, grip tight as she allowed his name to slip from her lips. Every couple of seconds, he dipped his tongue down toward her entrance to taste her sweet, musky arousal, and every couple of seconds, Annie keened from the torture. “Yes,” she cried at the sensation, hips chasing it.

“Fuck, woman,” Stack shuddered, feeling his own body rapidly growing in need. Every time he found himself between Annie’s thighs, it was as if he’d been fulfilled from the inside out; He needed nothing more than this: Annie spread across his face. Even now, with his dick thumping hard in the seat of his pants, he didn’t need anything but the taste of her on his lips.

Above him, the woman trembled violently, and he held onto her hips to keep her in place while he worked.

“Let me lay down, baby,” Annie huffed, frustrated with the position. She wanted to have a surface to support her, something she could writhe against, something that she could grip onto other than herself or Stack. She pulled his head back, looking down into his eyes. “I wanna feel you better,” she whispered, bringing heat to the man’s cheeks.

Stack lifted her with ease, arms wrapped underneath her thighs as he moved them to the back of the home. Annie’s head was spinning, pleasure running amok in her body. Each kissed placed to her jaw, chest, neck, and lips as the man transported them from her front room to the bedroom had her ready to commit herself to him. Stack was hers, and she was his.

“You my only girl, Annie,” the man punctuated. He sat her in the middle of the bed, spreading kisses wherever he could reach. His voice was raw with honesty. His breath was hot with desperation.

“Yes,” she nodded, hastily reaching to remove her clothes.

“The only one who get me like this,” he cried, pulling her dress and panties away before ridding his own body of clothes. “Forgive me, babydoll,” he pleaded with a mouthful of her once more. His voice vibrated between her legs, nearly tearing her in two from how strong his emotions were. Hands clawed at her thighs, and Annie’s fingers moved to cover them—to soothe him.

“Stack,” she whispered, sitting up to watch as the man ate her. Feeling as if she were losing all function and control, she held the back of his head. As he devoured her, she stuttered out the words he needed to hear, trembling against his tongue.

“Please! Forgive me, doll,” he attempted once more, the ask coming out more like a demand. His chest hurt from how badly he needed her to trust him. He wanted to be good for her, to prove that he was worthy of all she gave him. He shifted so that their eyes could meet, his fingers reaching below to assist in her pleasure. “Please,” he tore out, immediately following the ask with his fingers sinking inside of her.

“Eli-Elias,” Annie fluttered around him.

As much as she wanted to hate him and curse his name, this is what always brought her back: the pleading, the raw emotion, the dedication to her body and her sex.

Diligently and with every effort he could muster, Stack fucked her through orgasm after orgasm; He held her together after each delicious breaking; He begged for her forgiveness, not expecting it but hoping to God that he would earn it.

Annie shivered at how well the man knew her body. She’d let him so close, had allowed him to understand her on such a deep level. Stack wasn’t just some regular man to her. He was everything, and she was his everything, too. She began to feel her body moving toward another orgasm, and from the added deep breaths to her cunt, she could tell that Stack was close, too.

God, how she loved to hate this part about him: how he could cum just from the sound of her, just from the taste of her. Annie opened her eyes and looked down into his. They were raw, rimmed with tears, and tired from refusing to look away from her.

After hearing the moans floating from his mouth—the exaltations—Annie turned inward, seeking the part of herself that could give them both what they needed.

“I forgive you, baby,” she bellowed, clawing at the sheets as her climax threatened to rip its way through her. “S-Stack,” she whined, reaching for his hand, and the man obliged, moaning just as loud as she. He rocked into her, holding onto her in a desperate attempt to calm his own ruining body.

“Cum for me again, mama,” he whimpered, hips rutting against nothing. “Please!” He felt like he was on the verge of imploding, and if he held on any longer, he’d miss the chance to cum alongside his Annie. But just as he decided that her pleasure was more important than his, Annie’s hand came to his face, and her words forced them both to erupt simultaneously.

“I love you, ‘Lias.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~2,700

a/n: the best guilty pleasureeee. i copped out at the end,,,,,

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @nifniffy @nuttyinternetprincess @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[miss-spiders-sunny-patch]

Damnit it just saw a tweet the other day about guys that finish from eating and UGH STACKY STACK!!!! Now let Annie clean you up like a mama cat 🤭

[dealore]

His Wife • (2)

C.W : infidelity, breeding kink, blowjob, cuckold, implication, dirty talk, hot wife next-door, lactation kink, cock worship, nasty, breasts expansion, kissing, aftercare sex, confession.

A/N : here is the last part of His Wife. I didn’t rush the end this time. (I think…) ; I apologize for the grammatical mistakes, typos…etc, I read twice to correct them but you never know (since I wrote my wattpad version and this one ) ; the unfamous ten inches is back…👀 THE PUNISHERRR 😈

The pressure around this table was oppressive and suffocating. Annie's heart was pounding hard in her chest, accelerating its rhythm.

Elijah's gaze, which had been fixed on her for about fifteen minutes, was unsettling. His lustful eyes were locked on her swollen tits, outlined through the shirt she was wearing. Even after months of breastfeeding, her nipples were still leaking milk, so she avoided wearing bras that would rub against them.

"Oh, thank you for joining us, Smoke. It's been a while, and I was hoping we could spend some time together, haha. You'll see, Annie is a real cordon bleu," Joseph enthused before digging into his plate.

"You have a lovely wife, Joseph. This meal looks absolutely delicious..." Elijah whispered, his eyes lingering on Annie's generous bosom, which was struggling to contain its voluptuous sweetness. "I can't wait for dessert," he added, picking up a fork.

"Come on! One thing at a time man."

The two men burst into hearty laughter, while Annie's body reacted instinctively to Smoke's insinuations.

Her fat, sticky wet clit flattened, sprawled across the cotton of her panties, soaking the fabric thoroughly.

Turned on by how risky the situation was, her pussy pumped away, unpunished. With every breath she took, her grainy tight walls squeezed and foamed with her juice.

A sudden caress on her calf made her cough nervously, trying to regain her composure despite the leering glances Elijah was giving her as he sat across from her.

Even more flustered, Annie clumsily dropped her spoon under the draped table with a dull thud.

"Be more careful, Annie..." Joseph grumbled authoritatively as she crouched on the floor, on all fours, searching for the utensil.

Then, all of a sudden, her husband's phone started ringing.

Still searching for what she'd dropped, she heard Joseph heading off after exchanging a few words with Elijah.

Annie sighed with relief when she finally found the spoon at his feet. She arched her back a bit more, her boobs smashed against the tiles and her ass up in the air, sucking the flimsy fabric of her skirt right into the crack of her rear.

As she backed away to crawl out from under the table, she felt something hot, soggy, thick, and veiny slap against her cheek; she blinked and glanced up to see Smoke's huge, erected cock dangling over her head, its tip already flushed deep brown and oozing pre-cum.

The spoon clattered against the floor tile.

Her eyes locked onto his penis, drinking in every inch — the way the shaft curved upward, the dark brown-purple flush of his tip, the way his balls hung low and full beneath.

Lord, it's so big , she thought, her mouth watering. Every time she happened to see that man's dick, all senses seemed to leave her mind. Her husband's pathetic tiny nub couldn't even compare to half of this.

without shame, Annie lolled her tongue out and flicked it gently against his cockhead, teasingly, tasting the salty fluid of his pre-cum. A soft moan escaped her throat as she did it again, swirling her tongue around the crown, lapping voraciously at the slit.

She craved it. Every thick part of it sliding past her glossy lips, stretching her jaw, filling her throat until she suffocates.

Her lips trailed down, fluttering kisses along his massive length before she reached his balls. She cupped them, rolling the sac in her palm, kneading the withered veins on the skin, before opening her mouth.

The crown of his dick pushed past her lips and she swallowed, her jaw straining against his girth, tongue squashing against the underside of his shaft as she took him deeper. Annie's eyes watered to his size, while her head bobbed, sloppy and desperate, saliva already dripping down her chin, pooling in the hollow of her throat.

She gagged once, twice, but didn't pull away. Her spit coated his cock, making it slick and easier for her to gulp more.

Her thighs clenched beneath the table, pussy burping and queefing wet.

She was focused on her head when suddenly she heard Joseph's footsteps— that familiar, impatient cadence —and snapped from her trance.

Her husband's voice, muffled through the hallway wall, grew closer.

"Alright, Marlene, I'll have those reports on your desk tomorrow by nine."

Annie's pulse kicked and slammed against her temples. She paused for mere seconds but didn't pull her glossy lips away from Elijah's meat.

Above her, through the tablecloth's hem, she caught the blur of his body tensing.

Joseph's slippers hissed against the dining room tile while he was walking to sit back in his chair.

"Please,hang on." Her husband stilled, audibly, two feet from the table. Annie's throat cramped around Smoke's dick as she swallowed a gooey choking gurgle.

"Marlene? No, I'm back. Where did that woman go? Annie?"

Annie's heart raced in her chest. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't answer. Not with Elijah's ten inches slamming the back of her throat, her nose brushing his pubic hair.

Smoke cleared his throat, placing his forearms on the table. "She went to the garage. I think she was a bit uneasy to stay alone here with me. You got yourself a pretty shy wife Jo!"

Joseph grunted, hung the phone, smiling, then scrape his seat aside. The chair's leg hit Annie's ankle and she grimaced of pain. A bead of sweat slipped between her heavy breasts, tracking down the soft swell of her belly, disappearing into the waistband of her skirt.

"Listen. That's how it is when you know how to keep your woman in check!"

In check huh? Elijah smirked in response, mockingly. "She is very good...yeah very good." He groaned hoarsely, almost snitching on himself, as Annie's tongue sprawled against the ridge of his cockhead. She mapped the contours languidly, while freeing her lush tits from the shirt, her blooming sensitive nipples chafing against the cold tiles — milking and enormous.

"Anyway." Joseph continued, oblivious, "Marlene's been riding me all week about these accounts. I can't even dine."

Elijah chuckled raspily. "she's the boss."

Annie cupped her breasts together and squeezed them, rubbing around Elijah's soggy dick while her mouth accelerated its strokes. Joseph had never made her feel like this.

But Elijah? Jesus, she was losing her damn mind.

Still jerking him with her tits, she tilted her head, changing the angle, eating him slow this time, spasming around his length.

"I'm sorry bout how my wife behaved. That's not how you receive a damn guess," Joseph cursed."Hiding in garage like she's ten."

Smoke laughed, strangled. "Don't worry about it. I have been amazingly welcomed."

Annie's throat rippled around Elijah. Yes, she was quite a good hostess.

"Mm." Joseph's slipper tapped the floor. "if you say so. Anyway, I should probably pay Marlene a visit tonight."

Elijah's cock twitched against Annie's tongue while she drew lazy circles around the ridge of his glans, dipping into the slit.

"What? Right now?" Elijah asked with too much delight in his tone.

"Yes. I got my way to persuade her to give me a longer delay," Joseph replied, smirking.

"I see."

"Anyway. Don't mind my wife. When you are ready to go, just call her over to lock the door. She'll know I'm getting back late."

Well of course I do, Annie reacted internally, her inner walls clamping down on nothing you're barely present, you don't even—

She took Elijah harder. Her pussy was drooling — totally thrilled by the idea of being alone with him — sticky trails sliding down both thighs, matting the coils' patch between her legs. The scent of her own arousal rose in the cramped space — musky and salt-sweet, mingling with the clean linen smell of the tablecloth.

Annie never thought she had such a kinky side, but Elijah had somehow managed to bring out her wilder side.

A few minutes later, she heard the door close, and then Elijah roughly yanked the lollipop out of her mouth. He stood up, swinging his huge cock jerkily, shooting his creamy load all over the floor. Then he shoved the table a few millimeters, revealing Annie on all fours beneath it, her large breasts bouncing, milk trickling down, and her tongue coated in cum.

"Come here, my pretty princess, you want daddy's big cock, ain't you?" He rocked his hips, waving his erected penis from left to right and up and down, his balls still tightly filled.

He crouched down to her level, then whipped her face a few times with his dick before picking her up effortlessly.

"Elijah... he's still here...the car hasn't driven off yet—"

"Let's give him a little show then, gorgeous."

He turned around, still holding Annie in his arms. "You bad girl, you didn't wear any panties, did you?" he teased her before almost tearing her skirt off.

He stood up, facing the large window overlooking the parking lot across the street, spread Annie's thick thighs apart, and then rubbed his head against her clitoris.

"Damn. Look at that juicy pussy. I could fuck you for hours, mama..." he whispered in the crook of her neck as she got hotter and wetter, watching Elijah’s cock tapping against her hood.

"I'm going to show him how a woman as beautiful as you deserves to be treated, Ma'... "

Annie cried loudly, her cunt dripping with pleasure. "Please, Elijah... fuck me!" she parted her legs even farther, stretching her hole wider.

Elijah obeyed and sank her onto his cock in a single thrust. 

Her back slammed against his sturdy chest while the window seemed to shudder. 

"Shit— Annie—" His voice cracked, raw and surprised. "You're strangling my dick, mama."

His fullness stole her breath. Her inner walls stretched, struggled, then surrendered, molding around every inch clenching her pussy. From this side, impaled and suspended, she could feel him roughly in her stomach with an insistent pressure that made her eyes roll back.

In front of them, the parking lot lights glared yellow. Joseph's car was idling.

"Look at him," Elijah grunted, hitching her higher against him. His hands spanned her ass cheeks, fingers sinking into the generous, plush flesh, spreading her wider. "Right there, probably on the phone with his side chick. You better not feel bad for that son of bitch. You hear me?"

Annie couldn't answer, too overwhelmed. Her breasts spilled free, bounced, fighting the air with each subtle shift of Elijah's hips.

"Please—" she breathed, ragged. "Stop talking. Do me harder Please."

He did.

Withdrawing slowly, torturous, letting her feel every stroke, the broad flare of his cockhead catching on her rim before he slammed home again.

"Like that?" He groaned, nibbling her ear, teeth grazing her along her neck. "Tell me how you want it, pretty baby. Use your words."

"Deeper— oh fuck — Elijah, just like this—"

He braced his feet wider on the floor, adjusted his grip on her thighs, and pounded into her more possessively.

Through it all, the window watched them. She couldn't see Joseph's face. Couldn't tell if he was looking up. The ignorance coiled hot and tight in her belly, pushing her closer to the edge with terrifying speed.

"You like that, don't you?" Elijah whispered. "Knowing he might see. That he's not the only one who can freely play around."

Annie cried. "Yes—yes, that's all he deserved."

"Say it Annie. Tell me that pussy is mine."

Her guilt and whatever remained of her loyalty to her husband crumbled in this instant.

"That pussy is yours Lijah." she gasped. “I’m yours.”

"And so I am, baby." He turned her around, their faces close and nudged her nose against his, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.

What had started sneakily softened into something Annie had no name for. His lips moved against hers, so tenderly it made her forget the window and its possible voyeurs. Her fingers uncurled from his shirt and slid up, trembling, to cradle his jaw.

"Lijah—"

He pulled back just enough to look at her. His pupils were blown wide and his breathing challenged hers — ragged, uneven, like they'd both been running.

"What, sweet baby?" His thumb traced her cheekbone.

Annie's mouth opened. Closed.

How could she explain the ache spreading through her chest? She'd been so deprived, so angry — at Joseph, at herself, at years of invisible labor and cold sheets — and here Elijah came into the picture, lighting the flame.

"Nothing. Don't stop kissing me please."

He smiled, and this time, his lips brushed hers featherlight.

"Shit," he breathed against her mouth.

"Mm?"

"The way you feel." Elijah's forehead dropped to hers."Got me wanting things I shouldn't."

Annie's nails traced down the nape of his neck, over his shoulder bone. "Like what?"

"Like—" He stopped his back and forth, holding himself inside her, motionless, while his gaze searched her face. "Like putting a baby in you."

Annie hiccuped, flustered. "Wha-what are you saying?"

"I know," he tried to cool down, his voice strained. "I know you are married and you got a baby already. I shouldn't be saying this. But.." He inhaled. "That man don't appreciate the blessing he got. You deserve someone who value and respects you, Annie. Someone who'd stay."

Annie's heart hammered against her ribs.

She should have been terrified. Should have come right back to her senses and shoved him away, remembering that she was a married woman, a mother, that he was her husband's best friend. But her body didn't listen, arching into Elijah's slow, measured thrusts, their rhythm coaxing rather than punishing.

"Look at me," he whispered.

"Would you want that? If things were different. If you weren't—" He chewed his jaw.

"If I weren't married," Annie continued melancholic. "If I weren't home every night waiting for someone who was out with another woman. If things were different, Elijah—"

She broke off, tears blurring her vision.

"Hey," he murmured softly. "Pretty mama, I got you."

His dick jerked languidly in her pussy, warming her, while his mouth brushed to the corner of her eye, then her temple and the bridge of her nose —reassuring her with each kiss.

Annie's hands gripped his shirt again. "I want—" she sobbed. "I want to feel something real. Just once. Even if it's— even if it can't last."

"Can't last?" Elijah grinned smugly. "Oh, baby, there's not a thing I want and I can't have. And unfortunately for your husband, I want you. And not for single nights only."

He crushed her into his chest. His arms shut around Annie like he was afraid she'd disappear, and beneath her palms, his heart stomped frantically against her own.

She felt it the moment he edged climax — his cock swelled impossibly fuller inside her, flooding, coating her walls in waves. She buried her face in his neck, panting hard.

Smoke pressed his lips against her coils, living the moment. And, in the quiet of the dining room, with their mingled sweat cooling on her skin and his seed glazing her secret place, Annie realized she'd never felt more alive. Or more damned.

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[dealore]

His Wife •

CW : nasty, smut, missionary, infidelity, wife next door kink, after care sex, little fluff, anal, D-expansion, dirty talk.

A/N : not gon lie I rushed the end a bit. It’s a one shot of 1.2K words so pretty short. I was challenging myself lol. Enjoy 👀

Pairing : Annie and Smoke

Annie had always been the perfect spouse for Joseph, neglecting her needs to fulfill his. Her marriage was kept safe that way. Or so she thought.

She shouldn't be there, in this hotel room, moaning lecherously to her husband bestfriend's bites on her tits. She should have been at home, cooking dinner for the gruff Joseph. And so should he. But no, that bastard was certainly somewhere else with another woman.

Annie was just mirroring his actions. She wasn't at fault.

"when was the last time he fucked you like this, huh?"

"Please don't stop— Elijah—!"

He stuffed her tight pussy to his girth, jamming inside her cunt while his tongue flicked wet on her erected luscious nipples.

Annie's eyes whitened as spams of pleasure overwhelmed her body. Her walls clenched around his length, grazing sensitively along the veins of his soggy dick.

Her brain went numb each time Elijah pounded fat on her G-spot — one fistful hand gripping and sprawling the soft flesh of her ass, the free one spreading her thigh wider.

The bed creaked under their weight, and Annie's nipples twitched inside his mouth, tickling his tongue.

"You're sensitive here?" Smoke grunted, nibbling her swollen meaty buds. He flicked and swirled his tongue around her lacteous breast — lapping, guzzling, drinking each sip of her milk.  "You still breastfeeding, Annie?" He groaned, cockily — his mouth full. "Fuck you taste so good."

"Harder— oh fuck— don't stop— it's so good— oh Lord!" She cried out, her breath coming in gasps, as her fingernails dug into his back.

Smoke abandoned her doused tits in a squelchy pop and pushed himself up, one knee pressed into the mattress — Then, he caught Annie's thick thigh, hoisted it onto his shoulder, pumped his hips faster, thrusting harder into her pussy. "Then don't  think about tapping out baby."

As if matching his deep strokes, the room's air conditioner began to blow harder. Annie's legs went limp, and her cunt clenched fiercely around Smoke's thick cock, baking cream. With a vagabonding hand, Smoke slapped her ass and groped her cheek — the doughy flesh wiggling in his palm. "I'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that, mama."

He jerked once inside her, his fat dick smacking her walls side to side. To each jam, the shape of his cock outlined on her belly, cutting her breath away.

Annie sucked her lip until bleeding, her entire body giving in to the guilty pleasures Elijah was putting her through. Her enormous milk-filled breasts bounced heavily on her chest while her eager little asshole throbbed rhythmically, craving the thick cock of her husband's coworker and best friend.

"Oh fuck—yes, Elijah, your cock is so huge—fuck me harder, please. My pussy is yours—" She begged with her tongue lolling out, a thin trickle of drool running down her lips.

Annie had already forgotten about her bastard husband's micropenis. She had never been taken like this by any man before.

She was overwhelmed by his enormous cock growing stiff and swelling even more in her creampied vagina. Then, suddenly a short popping sound cracked — The condom had snapped, flowing her womb with Elijah's hot cum.

"Shit—"

"Don't stop Elijah...take good care of me..." She panted, her holes pulsing.

Smoke's irises dilated, darkening. He hunched over her face and captured her lips, nudging, nibbling, eating them.

Annie thigh, fell back on the mattress totally boneless and he pressed her knees, gaping them to extreme before burying himself further down.

He penetrated her through her cum-flooded pussy, foaming her creampied cake. He hit her spot, once twice and thrice — his pubic hair brushing against hers as her sensitive dampened clit flattened on his mound — and she gushed, squirting on his abdomen.

"Oh Jesus—YEAAH— Gnngn— Fuck..."  Annie climaxed, her body clenching possessively around his meat.

Elijah pulled out of her squelchy cunt, stretching her hole deliciously. "Pretty needy thing." He spat onto two fingers and shoved them in her gaped foaming vagina. He drove slow then faster while her pussy spurted, queefing.

"You are so soft pretty mama. Look at how sweet your honey is." He licked her juice off his fingers. "That fool is damn lucky."

Annie stared at him with a longing gaze as her dripping wet pussy spat the used condom out of her now gaping hole. She still wasn't sated.

With his still-erect penis dangling in front of him, Smoke watched as Annie got down on all fours. She arched her back, her round ass wobbling uncontrollably. Then she grabbed her voluptuous butt cheeks and squeezed them apart, flashing her glistening, twitching asshole. "If—if please, Elijah... fuck my fat ass. Stuff my tight brown hole with your big cock, please..."

The nerves in Smoke's cock strained violently, his cock went rock-hard as he watched Annie's tight anus, his mouth watering at the sight.

In this position, her pussy was still wide open, leaking cum, and her big clit, nestled in a patch of pubic hair, was twitching.

"You've got a nice ass there, Ma." He rubbed the brown rim of Annie's hole, then slid his thumb inside. "Do you want this big cock in your ass, Ma?"

Without saying a word, Annie arched her back even more, drawing air into her pussy.

Smoke drew closer, then lined up behind her.

With his hardness, he slapped her butt cheeks, then tapped the broad tip against her rear.

"I'm going to fuck your big slutty ass, sweet baby. Don't worry. But first, I'd like to taste it..."

Smoke got on his knees and cupped Annie’s backside with his face, eating her from behind. She nearly suffocated him as she squirmed ; Then, Smoke rose up, knocking his head against her back entrance. “Hold tight baby. Don’t worry I’ll make you feel good.”

Slowly, he drove his length down her body, stroking languidly at first, then quickening his pace. “You right?”

Annie moaned, taking him as best as she could.

She’d never tried it there and it felt so good with Elijah.

After pounding fast into her, Smoke gave in, cumming endlessly.

“Shit…let me marry you instead baby.” He fell limp on her back, smooching her hair.

Annie flustered. And as if common sense suddenly hit her, she jerked away from him, padding to the bathroom. “I— I should— I should— shower and go.”

Smoke straightened up, trailing her steps. “Let me soap you.” He whispered lovingly close to her ear, enveloping her body with his strong arms.

“I can do it myself.”

“I know. But still, I want to do it baby.” He fluttered kisses along her neck, guiding her inside the bathroom.

Nine and forty at night and her husband was still not home. Annie had returned from the hotel four hours ago, fearing Joseph would come early.

Stupid thoughts.

While she lit off the lights in the house, she heard the garage open and saw from the window her husband’s Sedan parked inside.

She hurried to the bedroom and lay on the mattress.

“Oh you don’t sleep yet?” Joseph greeted, entering the room.

“No. It’s quite late, I was worried.”

He laughed gruffly and retorted. “Ha. Don’t worry darling. I was with Elijah. We stayed late night at the office today.”

Elijah, huh?

Annie smiled, shutting the lamp off. “I see. Glad you made home safe.”

Tag list : tell me if you want to be removed from it as usual.

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[emziess]

The Winter Lamb The Sheep Detectives (2026) dir. Kyle Balda

[redsakura101]

I hands down loved this film! And I’m not ashamed to say it made me sob ♥️ 😭

[blackpinup22]

This movie was so stinking cute!

[pinkkfantasy]

My girl has real bad anxiety (just like me, poor girl). No smut here, just angst (and a shorter chapter). Lmk if you want a part 3!

STICKY PT.2

Robyn’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking since that night two weeks ago. She was lucky in the sense that her most recent shifts were not as demanding as usual. But still, when she dropped boiling hot coffee on her feet in the break room, the shred of sanity she had been living on had finally obliterated itself.

Sitting in front of Francine, head of HR, she couldn’t believe it came to this. She had always kept her head on straight, her ability to keep calm under pressure in unbelievably bad circumstances. She never let her fears and anxieties get in the way of her work, her patients, these little people whom she adored with all her heart as a pediatric surgeon. And here she was, brought low, a living wreck by Stack’s outburst that still haunted her. Francine’s gentle voice droned on. She was to take leave. It was too dangerous for her to operate or diagnose anyone while she was having a…’crisis’. So she went home, a ghost in her own abode. How she was able to still go on the date with Craig, she wasn’t sure. But even Craig knew she wasn’t with him that night. Not truly, she was still in her kitchen, Stack looking at her with ruined eyes and ragged breath. And now that same gaze stared at her in the bathroom mirror. The knock on her door startled her. She debated not answering it, until she heard Mary’s voice.  ‘Robyn? I know you’re in there. Open up, baby’ Mary's voice called. 

The door opened like a whisper, not that wild swing that Robyn was known for when she knew who was waiting on the other side of her threshold. Robyn’s hair was still wrapped up,feet bare,  wearing a pair of old grey house shorts and a tattered Ole Miss t-shirt. Her skin still glowed, but she looked tired…haunted.  Robyn frowned at seeing Mary at her door. ‘What are you doing here? Robyn wondered. 

‘Smoke called me,’ Mary answered. Robyn visibly tenses at that. Mary ignores Robyn’s clearly closed off body language. 

‘You just gonna have me talk to you outside this house, or are you going to let me in?’ Mary questioned Robyn. Robyn steps aside and Mary glides in. Robyn traces the engraving of her kitchen counters. 

‘I’m assuming Stack told Smoke what happened and Smoke told you’ Robyn says tiredly. Mary

raises an eyebrow. ‘Yes Robbie, that’s exactly what happened.’ Mary acknowledges. 

‘So why are you here, Mary? You know the story.’

Mary sighs.  ‘I want to know what happened from you. You and I both know how Stack can be.’

At the mention of Stack’s name, Robyn’s hands start to shake. Mary notices immediately. ‘Oh honey. What happened?’ 

Robyn recited the entire ugly, vulnerable interaction. The yelling, the accusations, the hurtful words flung from each direction. The shock that went through Robyn when she found out that Stack and Brittany broke up. Because of her. ‘No’. Mary interjected firmly. ‘No one gets to put that on you. Brittany and Stack broke up because Stack is in love with you, always has been and for years has been too chicken shit to say anything. They broke up because he was cavalier with her feelings. Because while she was loving him, he was too busy loving someone else.’ 

‘But-’ ‘No buts, Robyn.’ Mary interrupts. ‘That shit ain’t your fault.’ Robyn takes a deep breath. Her hands are still shaking. 

‘He- he just…I didn’t know what to do. Or say.  He didn’t… he just looked at me and I knew. I just knew. But he just confessed to me. With no warning, and he claimed that I knew, and that I always did. But I didn’t! I swear I didn’t. Not until that moment.’ Robyn is shaking all over, remembering the argument, everything replaying in her head like some kind of slow motion movie. 

‘I believe you Robyn. But even if you did know how Stack felt about you, would you have given him a chance? Be honest.’ 

Robyn chewed her lip. ‘Mary you said it. We both know Stack. That man runs through women like people go through toilet paper. He says he loves me, that he always has. And I believe he believes that.  I have to. Because I don’t believe he’d purposefully hurt me. But Stack has always strived for things out of his reach. Status, money, women….all of it.  How do I know he just wants what he thinks he can’t have?’ 

Mary sighed. ‘That’s a question that I can’t answer.’ ‘I know’ Robyn whispered. Mary looks at Robyn. The women had known each other since they were children. She had never seen Robyn brought so low. She was a wreck, her eyes filled with tears, the slight rocking back and forth. Mary knew that Robyn had enough. 

ATER THAT DAY.

Stack had finally managed to get his one night stand to leave. Since the ‘incident’ with Robyn he had gotten drunk almost every night, picked up a pretty woman from his local bar and taken them home. Sometimes. Sometimes, he just fucks them in the grimy bathroom before hailing an Uber, stumbling to his home. No matter how many women he took home, and no matter how many shots of bourbon he downed, he still saw Robyn’s face- shocked, scared. He saw Robyn’s body- open and welcoming one moment, closed off and distant the next. He heard her voice, hysterical, confused, angry, fearful. He heard his name- Elias, not Stack. Anything to distance herself from him, from his words. 

She didn’t want him. 

She didn’t want him. 

She didn’t want him. 

And anytime he remembered? He wanted to throw things. Break things. He wanted to shake her, make her understand. But every time he picked up the phone, he froze. What would he say? That he regretted telling her? It would be a lie, because it wasn’t true. He didn’t regret telling her. He only regretted not telling her sooner.  Before he could spiral again, a knock on the door startled him. He knew that knock and he knew it could only be Mary, having taught her that knock when they were in college, sneaking around. He also knew he was due for a verbal ass whooping. 

And there Mary stood light brown hair pulled back, looking irritated as fuck. ‘Let me in, Stack’. He knows better than to stand in Mary’s way when she’s like this. ‘Lemme guess, you’ve come to tear me a new one? No need. Smoke already done that, so if you don’t mind-’ 

Mary raises a hand to Stack. ‘Have you seen her? Recently?’ Stack frowns at Mary’s line of questioning. ‘Because I have. She’s a wreck. I’ve never seen her like that. Scared of her own shadow, almost. You know she’s on sick leave? Apparently she dropped a pot of hot coffee on her feet, burned them up, shattered glass everywhere because her hands couldn’t stop fucking shaking. She’s staring into space, not finishing sentences, trembling all over. What the fuck, Stack!’

Stack is stunned by Mary’s outburst. She hadn’t yelled at him like that since she caught him fucking someone else in their senior year. ‘You’ve been over there?’ Stacks asks roughly. Mary just laughs derisively. 

‘That’s all you got? Man, are you deaf? Hard of hearing? You wrecked her! You dumped your trauma in her lap, called it love and then got mad at her when she didn’t fall at your feet.’ 

Stack’s jaw clenches involuntarily. ‘First of all, this is not your fucking business. Secondly, I didn’t dump a fucking thing on her! I let her know how I felt about her. How I have always felt about her. What, you think it was easy? Easy just being her friend, easy pouring her love into these other men who don’t deserve her? Huh?’

Mary doesn’t answer immediately. ‘And you do? Deserve her? Look at this place. It smells like a frat house, you’ve had bitches running through this shit like tomb raiders, meanwhile less than a month ago you told your supposed best friend right before she was going on a date with someone else, two days after you broke up with your longterm girlfriend that you were going to propose to that you were in love with her! And you always have been.’ 

Stack laughs humorlessly. ‘What does it matter anyway? She doesn’t want me.’ Mary scoffs. ‘This isn’t about you or your feelings Stack. Or at least just about your feelings. She’s hurt. And she’s scared. That does not mean she doesn’t want you.’ ‘She said-’ Stack started. 

‘I don’t give a fuck what she said. Because I know she didn’t say she didn’t love you. Stack that woman… you didn’t see what I saw. She’s terrified. She’s traumatized. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. You say you love her? Go get her.’ 

NEXT AFTERNOON. 

Robyn was filled with nervous energy. It felt like there were fire ants under her skin. This is how she ended up pulling out weeds in her small garden after days of being holed up inside. Her foot was carefully wrapped, she balanced precariously on the ground, humming to herself, examining her tulips and tigerlilies. ‘Tempermental’ she muttered to herself, lamenting the diva-like nature of her tigerlilies. All of a sudden, a shadow loomed overhead. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. 

Stack. 

Her back stiffened, something that had never happened in all her years of knowing him. She rose slowly, facing him. ‘Stack’ she whispered. Stack bit his lip. ‘Can I…can I come inside?’ Robyn nodded slowly, wiping her hands on her old sweat pants. Stack caught on to her limping,

offering a hand. At first, Robyn shrugged him off until he had asked ‘please, let me help’ so softly it shocked her. 

In the living room, Robyn sat with one leg curled under her, getting comfortable in her favorite maroon sofa chair, the one with the throw pillows Stack bought her. ‘We need to talk. Properly’ Stack says lowly. Her hands start shaking again. She doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to have this conversation. ‘Stack, please.’ 

‘Robyn,just…just hear me out.’  She nods cautiously. Stack rubs his hands nervously over his dark wash jeans, trying to figure out where to start. ‘I didn’t mean to just spring all of this on you. Despite what it might seem. I heard about the sick leave. I’m sorry.’ 

Robyn laughs weakly. ‘You know my nerves are bad’. 

‘I do.’ Stack responds gently. ‘And I should have not been so careless about how I said what I did. But I don’t regret it. I do love you. I always have, and I always have. And I know that the timing is horrible. All I can really say is I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Robyn.’ 

Robyn lets out a choked sob and Stack rushes to her, kneeling on her persian rug in front of her, hugging her knees, heart in his eyes. He raises a hand to his face and he’s shocked to see it’s shaking. He cups her beautiful face gently. ‘Don’t cry. Not on account of me. I’m not worth it.’ Robyn, stubborn woman that she is ignores him ‘Shut up, of course you’re worth it. I thought-I thought that…I was just something beyond your reach. That-’

‘You’re so much more than that Robyn. You have to know that. I don’t want docile. I don’t want compliant. I want you. I have always wanted you. Since I was fifteen years old I’ve wanted you.’ Robyn wraps her hand around Stack’s wrist. ‘I’m so sorry Stack. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have been dismissive of your feelings. I was just scared. You scared me so bad’. 

‘I know, I know and I’m sorry.’ Stack murmured. Robyn let out a wet laugh. ‘We gotta stop apologizing to each other. ‘I’ll never stop apologizing to you’ Stack responds fiercely. More tears fall from Robyn’s face. ‘Stack…’ Stack takes each of Robyn’s hands and kisses them gently. He looks up at her again. ‘Can I take care of you tonight? He whispers to her. Robyn nods so fast she nearly dislodges her head from her neck. Stack laughs gently, kisses her forehead, and carries her bridal style, heading to her bathroom. 

‘Let’s go’. 

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[pinkkfantasy]

SPRUNG

CHAPTER THREE

The smut is finally here, y'all. Turned myself on with this shit, Annie is so lucky, I want to be dicked tf down like this too! There's a particular scene that's inspired by one of @nahimjustfeelingit-writes stories.

Language, Smut, degradation, praise kink, praise, rough handling, use of ‘daddy’/papa, spanking, cream pie, buttplay, slight exhibition, being put through the mattress, squirting.

Cheryl was rolling on the floor, gently playing with Elisha. Annie looked on with fondness, her eyes filled with a softness she often kept to herself. ‘You sure you can take Eli for the night? Cassandra already told me it’s no problem for her to watch him.’ Annie said over her mug of peppermint tea. Cheryl huffed. ‘Man, leave me and my nephew alone. We got an understanding going on, don’t we baby?’Cheryl cooed at Elisha who was happily knocking over his legs, bright eyes dancing up at his Aunty. ‘Yeah!’ Elisha responded with the enthusiasm only a well adjusted toddler could. 

Just then, Annie’s phone rang. It was Cassandra. 

‘Hey girl. You ready?’

‘I am. Cheryl’s here, she’s gonna take Elisha for the night.’ 

‘Cool, come outside, I’m parked out front’. 

Annie gathered Elisha close, inhaling his cocoa butter and plastic playdoh scent. Kissing him she caught his distracted gaze. ‘Be good for TT Cheryl ok, sweetpea.?’ Elisha nods brightly. ‘K, mama.’ She kisses his round cheeks again, making him giggle and hand him off to Cheryl. ‘His wipes are in the top corner of the bathroom. Also, he’s gonna try and insist on wearing his separate pyjamas but he sleeps better in the onesies, ignore him. Remember to pack his legos and-’ Cheryl puts her hand on Annie’s shoulder. ‘I got this, Annie. You know that.’ Annie forces herself to take a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’ Cheryl squeezes Annie’s hand. ‘You don’t got to be sorry. Go fix this car, ok?’ Annie bumps Cheryl’s shoulder. ‘OK, OK.’

MOORE LIFE AUTO REPAIR SHOP- LATER THAT DAY.

Stack was having a hectic day. Well, more hectic than usual. Contractors had come in to discuss estimates with him. The garage was expanding at a rate that he couldn’t keep up with and the shop needed more space. He initially wanted to simply sell this place and buy a bigger plot of land. But he was a sentimental man, and he remembered how he had scrimped and saved to  buy this place on his own. This land represented the struggle, the discipline. He didn’t want to let it go. So if it meant dealing with contractors who were a pain in the ass to add on a second garage, so be it. 

So there he was going back and forth with these assholes when a tow truck pulled up in front of the garage. That in itself wasn’t a shock. He did own a repair shop after all. But what was a shock was who stepped out of the tow truck.  The first person was a woman he didn’t recognize, a caramel skinned full figured woman with a welcoming aura who was going back and forth with..

Night Rider. 

Just like in the strip club that fateful night, everything stopped. The voices of the contractors had muted, the only thing that mattered in that moment was her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was wearing a pair of denim pedal pushers that held her curves without apology, an off the shoulder maroon colored blouse cradled her large breasts and on her feet were matching maroon wedge heels. Her hair was in a high puff. Night Rider finally hopped out the truck herself, musical laugh coloring the air. And then she finally saw him….

ANNIE

And time stopped. She would have recognized him anywhere. He was dressed far more casually than at the club. Stack was in plain black jeans with a matching Hanes shirt. No jewelry on but he still carried an almost kingly air about him. Her heart stalled in her chest. ‘Annie? Girl, what’s wrong with you?’ Cassandra asked. Annie just shook her head, watching Stack approach the both of them. He finally reached where they were at, his gaze pinning her into place. 

‘Welcome to Moore Life. What can I help y’all with?’ He posed the question to the both of them, but Stack only had eyes for Annie, he was mentally undressing her right there in the Louisiana heat, contractors, his staff, Cassandra and whoever else be damned. Annie found her voice. ‘My car gave up the ghost a couple of days ago, can’t figure out why. My friend Cassandra said her brother got her car repaired here and-’

‘What’s your name?’ Stack asked suddenly and once again Annie’s heart stopped. She said nothing. ‘You know, for your vehicle? We need it for record keeping purposes.’ Annie cleared her throat. ‘My name is Annie. Annie Leveau.’ 

‘Annie’ Stack whispered. 

STACK

Annie was even more beautiful in the light of day. Unlike in the club, she was wearing almost no makeup. Just wispy lashes and a clear gloss, and a blush on the high apples of her cheeks. Once again it felt like Stack was in a trance. He had believed that the enchanting moment he had shared with Night Rider was a once in a lifetime encounter, a moment never to be repeated. What are the odds that the woman who had been haunting his wet dreams would wander into his shop, looking like sin and salvation all at the same time?  He didn’t know he ended up with such incredible luck, but he did know that he wouldn’t let this chance slip out of his hands again. He went through the motions himself. He refused to allow any of his mechanics to do the intake, ask the questions, figure out the problem. Every moment spent was a moment to learn who Annie was, to listen to her speak, learn her mannerisms. And Stack eagerly grabbed every moment like an eager student.

LATER 

Stack tapped his foot. ‘The motor is completely shot. Now, we can tinker with it here and there, but this issue will just come up again. It’s just kicking the can down the road. It’s got to be replaced.’ Annie blew out a tired breath. ‘And how much is that gonna set me back?.’ Stack raised an eyebrow mischievous brow. ‘It’s pretty steep, Annie. I’m not even gonna lie to you.’ Annie nervously played with an errant curl that framed her pretty face. A tick that Stack filed away. ‘Well?’ Stack pretended to consider it. ‘It’ll cost you a date.’

‘A date?’ Cassandra exclaimed. ‘Boy what the hell?-’

‘OK. A date then.’ Annie responded with a smile stretching her face. Cassandra was gobsmacked. The Annie she knew had no time for men. But ever since they stepped into this garage, it was like she and Stack were in some sort of strange dance. She had never seen anything like this, and she knew Annie pretty well. And Annie knew her pretty well, she could clearly feel the question coming on because just then she turned to face Cassandra. ‘I’ll explain later, Cassie..’ Cassandra looked between Annie and Stack and nodded. ‘Alright girl. But you got a lot of explaining to do.’ 

The car was quiet. Not out of nervousness, but with a heaviness, a weight to it. Like the vehicle knew that the inevitable was about to happen but there was no rush. Stack had his eyes on the road, jaw clenched and one hand on the steering wheel. ‘What you in the mood for?’ Annie shrugged. ‘I’m not picky. Anything warm, sticky and comforting is good with me.’ Stack chuckled. ‘Oh, I got just the spot for you.’ The silence blanketed the car again, a warm, heavy comfort. The magnolia trees whizzing past until they pulled up to a catfish spot. Annie couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. Stack’s head whipped around at the sound, a dimpled grin already forming. ‘I got it right, huh?’ Annie smiles back at him. ‘Yeah, you did. I love catfish.’ 

Stack moved through the small restaurant like he owned the space. Dapping up regulars, hollering at the workers, exchanging pleasantries with the manager. ‘And who’s this pretty lady? Usually come up here by yo’self.’ Stack’s eyes swept over Annie like a caress. ‘This is Annie.’ The manager smiled warmly at Annie. ‘Well, Annie you welcome here. You want the regular for you and Ms. Annie here?’ Stack deferred to Annie. ‘You wanna take a look at the menu?’Annie shook her head. ‘I trust you. I’ll get what you’re getting.’ Another smile graced Stack’s face.’Two regulars please.’ 

Annie slid into one of the creased booths, Stack sliding in right after her. ‘Can’t believe….’ Stack laughed. ‘Me either. I’m sorry your car done gave up on you. But I can’t be that sorry because it brought you to me.’ Annie chewed her lip and looked away. ‘How long have you owned your garage?’ Stack shrugged. ‘A little over eleven years. It’s my pride and joy. Even when it stresses me out sometimes.’ Annie was quiet for a moment. ‘I’m glad you have that.’ Stack bumped Annie’s shoulder. ‘What’s your pride and joy?’ Now it was Annie’s turn to smile. ‘My son. He’s my everything. The reason why I keep going even when I feel like I can’t anymore.’ Stack slides his hand to Annie’s, ‘if he’s anything like his mama, he must be fucking amazing.’ ‘Thank you’ Annie whispered. But before Annie could say anything more, the food came. Fried catfish with matchstick cajun fries, large ice teas and a spice mini gumbo that was big enough to be shared. 

Stack didn’t eat much, just watched Annie eat, watched her move. ‘Boy, you crazy. Watching me eat like I’m on the national geographic.’ Stack continued to watch unapologetically. ‘Sue me for wanting to keep my eye on the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Can you blame me?’ And there it was, Annie’s breath stalled in her chest again, but she ignored it. ‘You ain’t hungry?’ 

Stack’s gaze darkened. ‘Oh, I’m hungry alright. Real hungry.’ Annie was entrapped in his gaze, a mixture of lust and adoration. ‘In fact, I’ve been hungry since you swung into my garage. Hips swaying, hair bouncing. I guarantee you no bowl of gumbo gon’ leave me satisfied.’ ‘Yeah?’ Annie asked breathily. ‘Yeah’ Stack growled back, one of his big warm hands sliding up her pedal pushers to unzip her pants. ‘Stack-’  ‘Shhhh. Quiet, baby.’ Annie’s thick thighs immediately squeezed Stack’s hand, attempting to trap him there. ‘Uh-uhn. Open up for me, baby. Don’t hide. Lemme feel what I’ve been dreaming about. ‘Here?’ Annie had never heard her voice sound so small, so shaky. ‘Right fuck here. Open up, don’t make me ask again.’ Annie’s legs slowly opened at the sound of Stack’s commanding tone. Stack moved his hand to cup Annie’s mound, he could feel the wetness without even putting his hand down her cotton panties. 

‘Fuck, Annie you feel so good. You gonna let me feel this pretty pussy right here?’ Annie nodded quickly, so close to coming already, she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. ‘Nah baby, lemme hear you. Speak to me.’ ‘Yes, Stack. Touch me. Please’. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ Stack finally finally reached into her panties and just pet her at first, before sinking his pointer and middle finger into her. Annie chased the feeling before Stack’s other hand reached under the table to keep her still. ‘Don’t move. Move again and I’ll stop’. Annie whimpered. 

Stack was losing his mind. Annie was welcoming, so wet. She clenched around him, pussy greedy for him, afraid he would leave. His thumb came up to rub her clit and she gasped. ‘Fuck, Stack-’. ‘Shh. Quiet. I wanna hear this pussy speak to me, don’t interrupt. Just listen. OK, sugar?’ Annie nodded jerkily. ‘Good girl. You feel so perfect. This is what you’ve been sitting on? Fuck, you’re so good for me. She’s so good for me. Oooh you’re tightening on me? You’re gonna cum? You’re gonna make me happy and cum? Do it. Do it right now. Cum on my fingers right here.’ Annie is losing her mind, Stack’s voice in her ear a hypnotizing presence. His fingers feel so good, stroking her expertly, drawing out tiny moans from her, he presses on her clit again and she cums harder than she can remember and all the while Stack’s voice is in her ear, urging her on. 

‘Yes. Cum for me, gimme all that shit, that shit belongs to me. Goddamn girl, that feels so good.’ Annie is still cumming, she can’t stop cumming. Here, in this restaurant with people milling about. Stack doesn’t care, he prolongs it, pressing on her clit again until Annie starts to sweat, moisture frizzing her edges, her eyes growing hazier. Eventually, Stack’s guides Annie back down into reality, drawing his fingers out of her tight, perfect warmth. He puts his fingers inside his mouth and sucks, eyes closed, moaning at how good Annie tastes. Annie looks at Stack like he’s an alien. Without breaking his gaze, he flags down a waiter, pays for their food and practically drags her out of the restaurant. 

Stack had thought ahead, he had parked way at the back of the parking lot. He pushed Annie up against his car, shoving his tongue into her mouth, and Annie could taste herself, just slightly on his tongue. Stack dragged his mouth across her neck,biting her ear lobe and rutting against her, before kissing back up to her mouth. Their tongues wrestle for dominance, Annie biting his lower lip and dragging it out. Stack’s hips buck up at that, his hard length pressing into Annie’s pedal pushers, moaning at Annie’s lead. Stack eventually tears himself away from her. ‘Get in the back. I can’t wait any longer. I need to taste you.’ Annie shakily opens the door, letting herself in. 

Stack drags Annie’s pedal pushers off, her panties falling away next. He kisses up her thick, plush thighs. Annie’s skin is just as silky smooth as he remembers from the club. He pushes her legs apart and is in awe of what he saw. Looking at her pussy, he knew this was it. He was fucked for life. It was perfect. Lush, with two delicate inner lips, framed by fat outer lips. She had a light sprinkling of hair all over, her clit peeked out hard and dripping with moisture, and it called to him. ‘Stack, come taste, Stack, bury yourself in me, Stack stay here until this is your home, Stack make me cum, Stack, own this, it’s yours, it’s nobody else’s baby.’ Stack spread Annie a little wider and licked her, from top to bottom. Annie’s hips immediately lifted up but not for long, because Stack immediately slammed her back down. Her cries were like music to his ears. His tongue licked, sucked, teased. He took her clit into her mouth and sucked hard and Annie screamed. ‘Stack! Fuck, fuck, fuck. I cant’t-’ Stack lifted his head from between her thighs ‘you can, and you will. Open for me, You taste so good. You gon’ feed me this pretty pussy?’ He asked Annie, his two fingers coming up to play with her again, moving them inside her with a come hither motion. ‘Yes, yes, Stack, I-’ ‘Hmmm, thank you baby. Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever had. I knew it would be, you know that? You taste so good. You feel so good’ Stack slurs, completely pussy drunk on Annie. He buries his face in Annie’s pussy, sucking everywhere, sucking her clit like a ripe plum and Annie wails, delirious from the pleasure. 

Stack rears back and spits on Annie’s pussy, the saliva dripping down her slit like a jewel before Stack slurps it up, greedy for her taste. He wiggles his head from side to side, groaning. Annie’s thighs begin to shake again. Stack can feel her orgasm coming on and he attacks her clit again before pulling back to shove his fingers into her once again so he can look up at her and watch her fluffy tummy flex. ‘Are you gonna cum for me again, Annie? C’mon, mama drown my fingers. Fuckin’ baptize me. Gimme it, it’s mine.’ Annie isn’t even moaning anymore, the pleasure has her mute, her brain is shut off and then she feels it. Heavier than before, eyes rolling back. It’s heavy, it’s lush, and then it arrives. A rush, a flood and it coats Smoke’s hand, all the way to his wrist, soaking the seats, close enough to soak Smoke’s face. ‘Fuck, mama. That’s it, drown me’.

 Stack’s mouth latches onto Annie’s pussy again, drinking down her squirt like it’s elixir from on high. Stack slowly drags her underwear up, both of them shaking. Annie reaches out and kisses Stack, the only anchor in the storm he created. ‘Take me back to your place.’ ‘Are you sure? Your-’ Annie nods. ‘He’s spending the night with a friend. Take me.’ The drive back to Stack’s house was quiet. Annie couldn’t tell you what Stack’s house looked like, her eyes were solely focused on him. He gently took her hand and led her through his house to his bedroom, undressing her slowly. He uncovered each inch of her with reverence, hands holding and molding her heavy breasts before drawing a nipple into his mouth, causing Annie to gasp and moan. ‘Fuck, you’re so responsive.’ He drags off her pedal pushers and panties again for the second time in the night, but before he could start undressing himself, Annie stopped him. 

‘I wanna do that’. Stack gave her a jerky nod. 

Annie pulls off his black hanes, his body was built, muscles created not just from pushing weight at the gym, but from lifting heavy things, a functional weight under a light layer of cushioning. A body that was built for comfort and strength. She dragged off his pants, kneeling in front of him, his dick mouth wateringly thick and long, but not overwhelming. Annie’s mouth watered, she looked up at Stack. ‘Can I?’ Annie asked, rubbing the bulge in front of her. ‘I wish you would’. Annie pulled him out, licking him from base to tip, Stack letting out a loud groan. His tip was smeared with precum and Annie lapped at him, sucking the head and his taste was heady, addicting. Something in her mind just…slipped. Annie held him at the base and sucked him all the way down. ‘Annie…shit, your mouth.’ Annie held him there for a moment, her mind going quiet, swallowing around him. She pulled off of him, strings of spit linking her lips to his dick, Annie looked up at Stack, eyes low, mouth greedy. She licked all along his length like a candy cane before sucking his tip again, Stack’s legs buckling. 

‘Fuck my face, Stack’ Annie said, voice wrecked from taking Stack deep into her mouth. ‘Annie-’ ‘Please, Stack, I want it.’ Stack growls, places both hands on Annie’s head and guides himself into Annie’s mouth again. ‘Tap me three times on my thigh if you want me to stop. OK, baby?’ Annie nods, mouth full of dick and sucks around him. ‘Hmmm you’re so good.’ Stack begins slowly fucking Annie’s face, talking the whole time. ‘This what you needed, huh? Needed someone to fuck that pretty face? Needed me to fuck that face? Pretty face to match that pretty ass pussy you got. I’m gon’ wreck that muthafucka. You hear me, Annie?’ 

Annie wasn’t hearing much of anything, too much of in a trance. She was obsessed with how he tasted, how he felt in her mouth, the continuous stream of precum in her mouth. She loved his dick and how he felt. She tapped three times and Stack pulled out immediately, ‘Are you ok, Annie-’ ‘I want my mouth to be your favorite place to cum, I’m gonna want this dick all the time. It’s so perfect, Stack, I love it, I-’ Annie cut herself off with a moan, going back to licking him up like he was her favorite dessert. Stack couldn’t believe his eyes. Annie wasn’t just sucking his dick, she was making love to it. She moved to jacking him while she sucked each of his balls into her mouth. Stack’s hands tightened in her hair. 

‘Good girl, keep doing that. You love this shit don’t you? Good little slut sucking my balls, I ain’t even gotta tell you. I know you gonna be so good for me when I have you bouncing on my dick later.’ Annie just moans in response. Eyes rolling back again, turned on by Stack’s promise. Stack notices that Annie has been dripping onto the floor this whole time. ‘Shit, you drippin’? You like sucking me that much?’ Annie pulls off again, ‘I love sucking you. Don’t want to ever stop. You gonna let me suck it when you’re stressed? When I’m bored? You gonna nut in my mouth? I want you to. I need it, I know you taste perfect’. 

Stack pulls Annie off him, dragging her off the floor and onto his mouth. ‘Not yet. When I cum, it’s gonna be deep in you, baby. I’m clean, I haven’t been with no one in a long time. ‘Me too’ Annie replied breathlessly. Stack nods, slaps Annie’s thick ass. ‘Get on the bed’. Annie crawls onto the bed and spreads herself open, rubbing her clit. Stack bites his lower lip and follows her, resting slightly on top of her. He taps his dick on her clit and her hips jump up to meet him. He keeps sliding his dick through her warm, sticky mess. ‘Please Stack. I need it.’ ‘Oh, you’re gonna get it, don’t you worry.’ 

Stack slowly makes his way into Annie’s pussy. ‘Shit baby, this pussy is amazing’. Annie is shaking beneath him, the moment he bottoms out, she’s coming. Stack’s eyes grow wide. ‘Are you fucking coming? Shit’. He rears back, gathers her legs over his shoulders and slams into her. Annie screams. ‘Oh my God. Stack!’ Stack doesn’t answer, just continues slamming into Annie. 

Over. 

And over. 

And over. 

Annie begins to lose the concept of time and space, her moans begin to climb higher in pitch. Stack drags one of her pretty toes into his mouth and sucks, and Annie squeals. ‘Oh my God, Daddy why you fucking me like that?’ Stack releases her toe with a pornographic pop. Kissing and licking her ankle, his hips continuously slamming into Annie, the sounds of flesh smacking together a surround sound. He grins down at Annie. ‘What was that, babygirl?’ He swivels his hips and Annie bucks hers. 

‘Daddyyyyy, oh my goddddddddddddd. Don’t stop, don’t stop. Don’t stop.’

‘That’s right and I ain’t gon’ stop. Why would I stop fucking my pussy? This my pussy right? Huh?’ Stack began dropping his dick into Annie in a scooping motion, Annie screamed so loud, she could wake the dead. ‘Answer me, babygirl. This my pussy?’ 

Yessssssss. It’s your pussy! Daddy! Daddy, PLEASE’. Stack pulled out abruptly, and flipped Annie onto her stomach. Stack smacks Annie’s ass, spreading it apart. He was greeted by the most beautiful sight, pussy all swollen from the pounding he blessed it with, her asshole right above it, winking at him, calling to him the way her pussy did. ‘And what about this ass? This mine too?’ He didn’t give Annie a chance to answer, he simply buried his face in her ass, tongue tapping at her asshole while Annie lost her mind beneath him, he spat on it before inserting a finger in, moving it in and out. Annie’s back arched, drool desecrating the pillow beneath her. 

‘Oh my god, Stack.’ Stack lifted up, slapping her ass. ‘Uh uhn,what’s my name?’ Stack growls. ‘Daddy! I’m sorry Daddy. Daddy, please. Daddy I wanna cum, Daddy I need to cum, I wanna cum in your mouth, I- I-.’ ‘Quiet.’ Stack responded, commanding. ‘I ain’t done tasting you.’ Stack kept eating Annie out, alternating between tonguing her down, and feeling her, like he couldn’t decide whether her loved the feel of her ass or the taste of her ass the most. Eventually, when Annie had cried so much she faced a serious threat of dehydration, he came up for air, lined himself up, and buried himself in her pussy again. 

‘Fuck yeah that ass is mine, just like this pussy is mine.’ Stack jackhammered into Annie again, entranced by her perfect fucking arch, her ass clapping against him, her back shimmering from the fine sheen of sweat. ‘Daddy, I wanna ride you. Can I ride you, pleaseeeeeee daddy?’ ‘Anything you want, babygirl, anything…’ They switched positions, Annie slowly squatted over Stack, his dick being held straight up by her. She gently lowered herself onto his dick and let out a contented sigh. She began rocking back and forth, head thrown back, when she looked down at Stack, he looked worshipful, like a man who had just kissed the foot of God. Stack gripped her thighs and Annie started bouncing in earnest. ‘Daddy you feel so good, I want you to live inside me, Papa, fuckkkkkkk.’ Annie grabbed one of her tits and sucked her nipple into her mouth and when that wasn’t enough, she dragged one of Stack’s hands off her thighs and stuck two of his fingers into her mouth.’ 

‘Look at you, my perfect slut, can’t even be without your mouth occupied. That’s ok baby, I’m gonna feed you as much as you want. I’m gon make you cum over and over, because that’s what you need and that’s what  my pussy deserves. That’s what you deserve.’ Annie chokes on a cry at Stack’s words. ‘You gonna cum again?’ Stack asks, completely aware that she’s mere moments from detonating. Annie nods frantically, Stack is mesmerized by the sight of his dick doing a disappearing act into what is now his favorite place in the world. His dick is now packed with froth at the base, his length coated in her cream, various shades of white. He pulls Annie down over him, her body and face angled towards him, taking over and pulling her down on his cream covered dick over and over again, playing in her ass again, rubbing the ring gently.

‘You’re gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make Daddy fucking cum. You gon’ cum with me, you gon’ cum while I paint this pretty, fucking perfect pussy?’ You better not give this pussy to no one, you hear me? This is MY pussy. Fuck, FUCK! Take it.’ Stack floods her pussy like a firehose, and Annie cums with him, shaking and crying. ‘Thank you Daddy, thank you, thank you, your cum feels so perfect to me papa. Drain that dick in me, daddy you feel so good, keep cumming in your pussy; it’s your pussy.’

Stack moans like he’s been punched in the gut. Annie’s greedy, welcoming warmth strangles his dick. He practically has the shakes.

Stack slowly withdraws from Annie and their cum dribbles out, so much of it, it’s impossible for it all to stay in Annie, Annie whimpers, sensitive in the comedown. ‘Shhhhh baby. I got you.’ Annie nods, too shaken to say anything. Stack goes to the bathroom, rinses a mini towel for  Annie before heading back to the bedroom. Annie is still coming down, trembling slightly. He gently pushes Annie’s legs apart and cleans her inner thighs, but not her pussy. Annie raises an eyebrow. ‘Want you to stay full of me a lil longer’ Stack says lowly. ‘Stack-’ ‘I know, I know. I’m crazy.’  Annie shakes her head. ‘Not crazy. Come up here. Hold me a little bit before we get cleaned up for real.’

Stack climbs up onto the bed, drags Annie away from the wet spot and cages her in. Warm and solid, her scent enveloping him. He cradles her face with his huge hand. ‘I meant every word I said by the way. That wasn’t some in the moment shit.’ Stack kisses her, a promise, a seal. Annie presses her palm to his steady heartbeat. ‘I know’ she responds.’ Stack reaches down and squeezes one of her ass cheeks, eyes burning into hers. ‘Good.’ And despite the fact that Annie had just had parts of her unlocked by this man she was still discovering she felt something she hadn’t felt since before the foster homes, the fickle father of her child, the isolation of her blood relatives. 

Safe.

@6783tt

@lizbehave

@bananajoeclone

@contentfiend

@underated345-blog

@shamansha

@omgffs

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

CAN’T WAIT TO READ!

[blackpinup22]

After 9 months of not so great times, I can finally say ya girl found a pretty good new job. Idk if id call it a dream job but the bill shall be paid, I like my boss/team, and I can learn alot in this role.

And im moving to a new apartment.. had to make some concessions there as well but the hour+ commute daily was kicking my ass. Im gonna miss living in the city but at least I get a gas stove for my troubles. I cant wait to get back to creating in the kitchen again.

Alls well and for that, I wont complain.

[molombo]

70% of our Kickstarter backers came from Tumblr. Now the FIRST Pan‑African steampunk fantasy TTRPG exists.

You brought ZAIROO to life. Get the game that Tumblr made real. www.zairoo.com/shop

Every sale pushes us closer to a physical print run this year.

[eunoiadoll]

౨౿ ⁺ thinking about ex-husband!smoke. the divorce yall went through was quick and straight to the chase. you dropped the papers on his desk and he signed them without a messy fight, court hearings, or anything like that. ex-husband!smoke let you have the house in the divorce and moved into his own makeshift apartment, since he never wanted for much. ex-husband!smoke still comes over yall used to be shared house to fix on things that broke or to put groceries in your fridge.

“you said the sink acting up again?”, he asked with the phone pushed up on his shoulder while grabbing his keys and toolbox. “i’ll be over there mama.”

to be honest, smoke didn’t even fully process the divorce. he got that yall weren’t legally married, but in his eyes you were still his wife. he kept pictures of yall together up on his social medias, yall weddings pictures were still framed at his apartment, and your contact stayed “wife♥️.”

ex-husband!smoke will find any excuse to be in your presence again. you sick? he’s at the house with soup already on the stove and some nice lemon tea with honey ready for you. you going out with your girls? he’s yall personal driver. you tired at your job? he callin’ your boss to tell ‘em you not coming in tomorrow and sending you double what you make in a day. he honestly didn’t give a fuck yall was divorced.

ex-husband!smoke hasn’t touched another woman since yall divorce and he wasn’t planning on either. stack would often tease him about it, but no matter how many times his younger brother took him out for a night—no other woman could compare to his beautiful ass wife.

ex-husband!smoke who honestly can’t stop yearning for you and wants to wake up to you every morning in bed again. he knew you divorced him for a reason, and he was putting in the upmost effort to fix his issues and put that rock back on your finger.

ex-husband!smoke who finds himself back in the bed yall shared together when one of yall can’t sleep. “you had a nightmare, baby? ‘m sorry”, while slipping under the silk sheets and guiding you to lay on his bare chest—head rested right below the tattoo of your name on his collarbone.

ex-husband!smoke who’s actually a little delusional about you trying to head back into the dating scene. he would kill any nigga who thought they had a chance with you . . .

© EUNOIADOLL

🐆 sev’s comments ┆chat are yall taking him back? or you standing on big business?

[midnightmemoirsofher]

Two Choices, One Consequence

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore × Paris / Elias "Stack" Moore × Gia

Summary: In the high-stakes world of the Florida drug trade, the Moore twins are kings. Smoke is the calm strategist who moves with quiet authority, while his twin brother Stack is the wild, unpredictable force of chaos. Their relationships with the women they love—Paris and Gia—are just as intense, just as passionate, just as complicated. When both women are faced with an unexpected pregnancy, they make a choice. One choice is made in fear, the other in defiance. One couple is shattered, the other is tested. But in a world where every decision has a consequence, the Moore twins are about to learn that some choices can't be unmade, and some betrayals cut deeper than a knife.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of abortion, explicit sexual content, infidelity, drug use, emotional and physical confrontation, angst, character death, and themes of grief and loss. This story deals with sensitive subject matter and is intended for mature audiences only.

wc: 17k

request from: @rollingmyeyesatyou

An: I'm back to taking requests. Lately I’ve been getting some requests that I've written for other characters. Please look through the followers request page before requesting. 🙇🏾‍♀️

The Florida sun bled orange and violent across the Gulf, painting the floor-to-ceiling windows of their high-rise condo in liquid gold. Three years they'd been up in this glass box overlooking Clearwater Beach, and the view still fucked with Elijah's head every single time. He stood there now, barefoot on the cool travertine, a Black & Mild burning slow between his fingers, watching the waves roll in like they had somewhere important to be.

Behind him, the shower cut off.

"Smoke, you gonna smoke out my whole damn house?" Paris called, her voice warm and teasing, echoing off the walls.

He grinned, taking one last long drag before crushing the cigar out in the crystal ashtray on the kitchen island. "House? Nah, baby. This ain't a house. This is your kingdom. I just pay taxes and look pretty next to you."

The bathroom door swung open, releasing a cloud of steam that smelled of her coconut-and-shea-butter body wash. Paris stepped out, wrapped in a thick white towel that did little to hide the curves of her body. Her skin, the color of warm honey, glistened with moisture, and her micro braids, dark as midnight, were piled high on her head in a messy bun. She was five-foot-nine of pure woman—thick in all the right places, with hips that could make a man forget his own name and a smile that had knocked him on his ass the first time he'd seen it three years ago at that dive bar in Ybor.

"Pretty?" She arched a brow, padding toward him. "Nigga, you know you more than pretty. You know damn well you fine."

Elijah's laugh rumbled in his chest. He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace like she'd been made to fit there. Her damp skin pressed against his bare chest, and he rested his chin on top of her head, breathing her in. She smelled like home.

"Aight, aight. I'm fine as hell," he conceded, his hands roaming down her back to rest on the towel just above her ass. "But you the one who should be on a magazine cover somewhere."

Paris tilted her head back, her dark eyes, sharp and intelligent, searching his. "You just tryna get some."

"I already had some this morning," he countered, his voice dropping lower. "Tryna get some again."

"Greedy." But she was already rising on her toes, her lips finding his.

The kiss started slow, just the soft press of mouths, but it didn't stay that way. It never did with them. Three years in, and the chemistry between them still sparked like a live wire. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting mint and the sweet remnants of the juice she'd been drinking. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the muscles of his shoulders before tangling in the low fade of his hair. He deepened the kiss, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other sliding down to grip her ass through the towel, pulling her flush against him.

He groaned as he felt himself start to harden. Paris laughed against his mouth, pulling back just enough to speak. "See? Greedy."

"You the one who came out here lookin' like a five-course meal," he shot back, nipping at her full bottom lip. "What you expect?"

She grinned, that bright, infectious smile that still made his chest feel tight. "I expect you to control yourself."

"Never been good at that when it comes to you."

Their moment was shattered by the buzz of his phone on the granite counter. Elijah ignored it. The buzzing stopped, then started again immediately. With a sigh, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

"Stack," they said in unison.

Paris rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat in it. "That boy needs to learn patience."

"He needs to learn a lot of shit," Elijah agreed, grabbing his phone. The screen lit up with a picture of his twin brother—same face, different vibe. Where Elijah was calm and observant,   

Stack was pure chaos and restless energy. "What, nigga?"

"Where you at?" Stack's voice came through the speaker, loud and obnoxious as always. "I been calling you for twenty minutes."

"I'm at home with my woman, living life. What you want?"

"We got that thing tonight. That big thing. You 'member?"

Elijah's jaw tightened slightly. "I 'member."

"Well, get your ass ready. We gotta move by midnight."

"I'll be there."

"Aight, bet. And tell Paris I said hey."

"Will do."

Elijah hung up, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He looked at Paris, whose smile had dimmed slightly. She knew what "that thing" meant. It meant drugs, and money, and risk. It meant late nights and the constant, low-grade fear that came with their chosen profession.

"You gotta go tonight?" she asked, her voice softer now.

"Yeah, baby. It's the last one for a while. Stack promised."

She nodded, tracing the intricate patterns of the gold chain around his neck. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"Always am."

"No, you're not," she countered gently. "You're careful enough, but you're not always careful. You and Stack... y'all move like nothing can touch you."

Elijah cupped her face in his hands, his dark eyes serious. "Nothing gonna touch me. I got too much to come home to."

That's what he did—made promises with his eyes, his voice, his whole presence. That's what made him Smoke. He moved through life like he already knew how it would play out, confident and unhurried, even when everything around him was moving at a hundred miles an hour. He was a man's man, dominant without being overbearing, protective without being suffocating. He knew how to take care of a woman, how to make her feel safe even when he was walking into danger.

Paris leaned into his touch, her eyes closing. "I love you."

"Love you more."

"Impossible."

He chuckled, kissing her forehead. "Nah. I just love you better."

She laughed, swatting at his chest.

The rest of the day moved in the comfortable rhythm they'd established over three years together. Paris got dressed, pulling on a pair of designer jeans and a cropped top that showed off the flat expanse of her stomach and the delicate butterfly tattooed just above her hip bone. Elijah watched her move around their bedroom, admiring the way she carried herself—all confidence and grace. She was the one thing that made sense when everything else was chaos.

They ate dinner on the balcony, watching the sun disappear completely and the city lights of Clearwater Beach spring to life across the water. Elijah told her about his day—the boring shit, the business details he knew she pretended to care about but didn't really. Paris listened, nodding in all the right places, her mind clearly somewhere else.

"What's wrong?" he asked finally, setting his fork down.

She shook her head, forcing a smile. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Bout what?"

"Us. This." She waved a hand, encompassing the condo, the view, the life they'd built together. "Sometimes it feels like a dream."

"A good dream, though, right?"

"The best," she agreed, but her smile was weak.

Elijah reached across the table, taking her hand. "Hey. Look at me." She did, her gaze searching his. "We good. Whatever you thinking about, we good. We always gonna be good."

"I know," she whispered, but there was a tremor in her voice.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Just... hormonal, I guess."

That's when he noticed it, the slight puffiness around her eyes that hadn't been there that morning, the way she kept picking at her food, the faint line of tension between her brows. He'd seen it before, the subtle shifts in her mood and behavior that signaled something was off. Paris was usually warm, open, quick to laugh and even quicker to speak her mind. Lately, though... lately she'd been quieter, more reserved. Snappy, sometimes, over small shit that wouldn't normally bother her.

"You been feeling sick?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Just tired," she said, pulling her hand back. "It's this heat, I think."

It was more than the heat, and they both knew it. But Elijah let it go, for now. He knew how to read Paris, knew when to push and when to give her space. Right now, she needed space.

Later that night, after he'd dressed in his usual uniform—designer jeans, a fitted black tee, his gold chains, and a varsity-style leather jacket—he found her in the living room, staring out at the water. The moonlight caught the waves, turning them silver.

"I gotta go," he said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

She leaned back against him, her body tense. "Be safe."

"Always."

"Smoke?"

"Yeah, baby?"

She turned in his arms, her eyes wide and serious in the dim light. "If... if something happened to you..."

"Nothing gonna happen to me."

"But if it did... would you want me to wait?"

He frowned, confused by the question. "Wait for what?"

"For you. If you were gone. Would you want me to move on someday?"

Elijah's heart did a strange little flip in his chest. This wasn't like Paris. She didn't talk like this, didn't dwell on the what-ifs. She was here, now, present and alive.

"Where this coming from?" he asked, his hands tightening on her waist.

"Just thinking," she said again, but this time her voice was thin, brittle. "About life. About how fast it can change."

"Paris, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, forcing a smile that didn't fool him for a second. "Nothing. I'm being silly. Go. Stack's waiting."

He searched her face, his observant eyes taking in every detail—the slight tremor in her bottom lip, the way she wouldn't quite meet his gaze, the frantic pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"Paris."

"Smoke, please. Just... go. We'll talk when you get back."

He wanted to push, wanted to demand that she tell him what was going on in that head of hers. But the buzz of his phone in his pocket reminded him that Stack was waiting, that business called. With a sigh, he leaned down and kissed her—deep and slow, trying to pour all the things he couldn't say into the press of his lips.

"I love you," he murmured against her mouth.

"I love you too," she whispered, but when he pulled back, he saw the tears shining in her eyes before she quickly blinked them away.

He left with a heavy feeling in his chest, a sense that something was shifting between them, something fundamental and terrifying. But he pushed it down, buried it under the layers of focus and determination he always summoned when it was time to work. Stack was waiting. The night was calling. And whatever was wrong with Paris, whatever storm was brewing in her mind, they'd face it together when he got home.

They always did.

The clinic was sterile, cold, everything their warm, beachfront condo was not. Paris sat in the waiting room, her hands clenched so tightly in her lap. The air conditioning hummed overhead, pumping out frigid air that raised goosebumps on her bare arms. She'd worn a hoodie—Elijah's hoodie, the one he always threw on after a shower when the condo got too cold, but it wasn't helping. Nothing could help.

The other women in the waiting room kept their eyes down, their bodies hunched in on themselves as if to make themselves smaller, less noticeable. Paris watched them, wondering about their stories, their reasons for being here on a Tuesday morning when the sun was shining, and the world outside was moving on as if nothing was wrong.

"Paris Miller?"

A nurse in blue scrubs stood in the doorway, a clipboard in her hand. Paris stood, her legs shaking so badly she almost had to grab the chair for support. The other women didn't look up. They knew why she was here. They all knew why they were all here.

The procedure room was even colder than the waiting room. Paris lay back on the table, the paper crinkling beneath her, loud in the quiet room. The doctor—a kind-faced woman with graying hair and tired eyes—explained the procedure one more time, her voice gentle but clinical.

"You're sure about this?" the doctor asked, her eyes searching Paris's.

Paris nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

"It's okay to be scared," the doctor said softly. "It's okay to change your mind."

"I'm not changing my mind," Paris managed to say, her voice hoarse. "I can't... I can't do this. Not now. Not with his life... the way it is."

The doctor nodded, as if that was reason enough. Maybe it was. Maybe the fear that gripped Paris's heart every time Elijah walked out the door to handle "business" with Stack was reason enough. Maybe the knowledge that their life, as beautiful as it was, was built on a foundation of risk and illegality was reason enough. Maybe the certainty that bringing a child into that world would be the cruelest thing she could do to anyone, let alone someone she loved enough to die for, was reason enough.

The procedure itself was a blur of sensation—the cold instruments, the sharp cramping, the muffled sounds of the medical staff moving around her. Paris stared at the ceiling, at the fluorescent lights that seemed too bright, too harsh, and she thought about Elijah. She thought about his hands, strong and calloused but gentle when they touched her. She thought about his voice, low and rumbling, the way it sounded when he whispered her name in the dark. She thought about his eyes, dark and observant, the way they saw right through her, even when she thought she was hiding everything.

She thought about the life growing inside her, a life she'd only known about for two weeks but had already loved with a ferocity that scared her. A life that would have had his eyes, his smile, his calm, confident way of moving through the world.

A life she was ending.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, tracing paths down her temples and into her hair. She didn't wipe them away. She let them fall, silent and hot, mourning a future that would never be.

When it was over, the doctor helped her sit up, her hands gentle on Paris's arms. "Take it easy for the next few days," she said, pressing a pamphlet into Paris's hands. "Physically and emotionally."

Paris nodded, her body aching with a hollow sort of pain. She dressed slowly, her movements stiff and uncoordinated. The hoodie she'd worn felt heavier now, saturated with grief.

In the recovery room, she sat with a cup of lukewarm tea, watching other women come and go. Some cried openly, their faces blotchy and red. Others sat stoic, like her, their faces masks of composure. They all had their reasons, their stories, their heartbreaks. They were all alone together in this sterile, quiet room.

When she was finally released, Paris stepped out into the bright Florida sun, blinking against the glare. The world outside hadn't changed. The sky was still blue, the palm trees still swayed in the breeze, people still laughed and talked and lived their lives as if nothing had happened. As if a part of her soul hadn't just been carved out and left behind in that cold room.

She drove home with the windows down, the wind whipping through her hair, trying to blow away the feeling of emptiness that settled deep in her bones. But it was no use. The emptiness was a part of her now, a hollow space where something precious used to be.

Their condo was just as they'd left it—the remains of their dinner on the balcony, Elijah's cigar crushed out in the ashtray, his scent still lingering in the air. Paris walked through the rooms, touching things—a book on the coffee table, a throw pillow on the couch, the cool glass of the window overlooking the beach. Everything was the same, but everything was different.

She stood in their bedroom, looking at the king-sized bed where they'd slept together for three years, where they'd made love and fought and made up again a hundred times. She thought about the last time he'd touched her, the last time he'd looked at her with those dark eyes that saw too much. Had he known? Had he sensed the change in her, the shift in her body, the secret she was carrying?

She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over his name. She could call him. She could tell him. He would come home. He would hold her and tell her it was okay, that they would figure it out together.

But then she thought about his life, the risks he took every day, the danger that followed him like a shadow. She thought about bringing a child into that world, a child who would always be looking over its shoulder, always wondering if its father was coming home. She thought about the fear that lived in her heart every time he walked out that door, a fear that would only multiply a thousand times if a baby was waiting for him too.

No. This was better. This was cleaner. This was the only choice she could make.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and walked into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, as hot as she could stand it, and stepped under the spray, letting the water beat against her skin, trying to wash away the memory of cold instruments and sterile rooms and the sound of her own heart breaking.

She walked out of that clinic empty and decided to keep it that way.

The heavy oak door of their condo clicked shut behind Elijah, the sound swallowed by the vast expanse of the living room. Three in the morning. The Gulf was a black mirror outside the windows. He was tired down to his bones, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that settled in after a twelve-hour run with Stack, moving product, collecting debts, and cleaning up messes that weren't theirs to begin with. All he wanted was to peel off these sweat-stained clothes, crawl into bed next to his woman, and forget the world existed for a few hours.

But the condo was too quiet.

Too still.

Paris wasn't curled up on the couch waiting for him like she usually was, wrapped in a blanket with some reality show playing low on the TV. She wasn't in the kitchen, leaving him a plate of food in the microwave. Her car was in its designated spot in the underground garage, so she was home. But the air felt different. Colder.

He found her in their bedroom, sitting on the edge of their king-sized bed, staring at nothing. The moonlight cut across her face, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the two weeks since he'd first noticed them. She was wearing one of his old college hoodies, the big gray one that swallowed her frame, and her bare legs were drawn up to her chest.

"Paris?" he said, his voice low so as not to startle her.

She jumped anyway, her head whipping around like she'd been caught doing something wrong. "Smoke. You're back."

"Yeah, baby. Just got in." He shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the armchair in the corner. "Everything good? You aight?"

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice was flat, devoid of its usual warmth. "Just tired."

He crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. He'd been noticing it more and more lately, the subtle shifts in her behavior. The way she flinched when he touched her sometimes, the way she pulled away when he tried to hold her. The way she'd started sleeping on the far side of the bed, creating a chasm between them that hadn't existed before.

He knelt in front of her, his hands resting on her knees. "You don't look fine, Paris. You look like you ain't slept in a week."

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I told you. Just tired."

"Talk to me," he pressed, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of her knees. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing," she said, pulling her legs away from his touch and standing up. "I'm gonna go get some water. You want some?"

He watched her walk away, his jaw tight. This wasn't his Paris. His Paris was warm, open, quick to laugh and even quicker to speak her mind. She didn't hide things from him. They didn't do secrets. But this woman... this woman was a stranger wearing his girlfriend's skin.

The last two weeks had been a slow, agonizing descent into this strangeness. It had started small, the way she'd stopped waiting up for him when he was out with Stack, the way she'd started picking at her food until he finally asked if she was sick. She'd said no, just stressed about work, but he knew better. Paris loved her job as a third-grade teacher; stress didn't make her lose weight, didn't make the light dim in her eyes.

Then there were the nights. Nights when he'd come home to find her already asleep, or nights like this, when she was awake but a million miles away. Nights when he'd reach for her in the dark and she'd tense up, her body rigid against his until he gave up and rolled onto his other side, staring at the ceiling until the sun came up.

He stood up, stripping off his clothes and tossing them into the hamper. He could hear her in the kitchen, the clink of a glass, the hum of the refrigerator. When she came back, she handed him a bottle of water without looking at him.

"Thanks," he said, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink. "You gonna come to bed?"

"In a minute," she said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "I just need to... think."

"Think about what?"

"Things, Smoke. Just things."

He sighed, running a hand over his low fade. "Aight. I'm gonna shower. Don't wait up for me."

But he knew she would. Or at least, she'd lie there awake until he came out, pretending to be asleep when he slid into bed beside her.

The hot water did little to wash away the feeling of dread that settled heavy in his chest. He rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting the water pound against his back. He thought about the last time things had felt right between them, the last time she'd looked at him with that fire in her eyes, that hunger that still made him feel like the luckiest man on earth. It had been weeks, maybe a month, since he'd seen that look. Since she'd initiated anything, since she'd melted into his touch instead of stiffening at it.

When he came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, she was in bed, turned away from him, her breathing even and steady. Too steady. Fake.

He slid in beside her, the cool sheets a shock against his heated skin. He reached out, his hand resting on her hip, and felt her flinch.

"Paris," he whispered into the darkness.

"What?"

"Look at me."

Slowly, she rolled over, her face a pale oval in the moonlight. Her eyes were wide, but they weren't seeing him. They were looking through him, at something he couldn't see.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, his voice soft. "For real this time. No bullshit."

She shook her head, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye and tracing a path down her temple. "I can't, Smoke."

"Can't what?"

"Can't talk about it. Not yet."

"Then when?"

"Soon," she promised, but her voice was thin, brittle. "I just need some time."

He wanted to push, wanted to demand that she tell him what was eating her alive from the inside out. But he knew Paris. Knew that pushing would only make her retreat further into herself. So he nodded, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'm here," he murmured against her skin. "Whatever it is, I'm here."

She didn't respond, just turned back over, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the growing chasm between them.

The next morning, he woke up to an empty bed. The spot beside him was cold, telling him she'd been up for a while. He found her in the kitchen, standing at the counter, staring at the coffee maker like it held the secrets to the universe. She was wearing a pair of leggings and a sports bra, her workout clothes, but he knew she hadn't been to the gym. She hadn't been to the gym in weeks.

"Morning," he said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

She tensed immediately. "Morning."

"You sleep aight?"

"Fine."

He rested his chin on her shoulder, trying to ignore the way she was holding herself away from him. "You got work today?"

"Yeah. And then I'm meeting Gia for dinner."

Gia. Stack's girl. The two of them had been thick as thieves since Paris and Gia had met two years ago at a cookout Stack had dragged Elijah to. Gia was loud and wild and everything Paris wasn't, but somehow they worked. They balanced each other out.

"That's good," he said, releasing her and moving to the coffee maker. "Y'all been hanging out a lot lately."

"We needed to catch up," she said, her voice guarded.

He nodded, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You want me to come with? To dinner?"

The look of panic that flashed across her face was so brief he almost missed it. "No. That's aight. It's just... girl time. You know how it is."

"Aight," he said slowly, watching her. "But you and me... we need to talk soon, Paris. For real."

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the countertop. "I know."

He left it at that, but the feeling of wrongness followed him all day. At the warehouse where he and Stack conducted their business, he was distracted, his mind constantly drifting back to the haunted look in Paris's eyes, the way she'd flinched away from his touch.

"You good, nigga?" Stack asked, slapping him on the back. "You been spacey all day."

"I'm good," Elijah said, but they both knew it was a lie.

"Bullshit. You thinking about that girl of yours?" Stack grinned, but his eyes were sharp, observant. "She finally get tired of your boring ass?"

"Fuck you," Elijah shot back. "She's just... going through some shit."

"Women always going through some shit," Stack said dismissively. "That's what they do. You just gotta let 'em do it and be there when they come out the other side. Unless they cheating on you. Then you gotta cut they ass."

Elijah shot him a look. "She ain't cheating."

"How you know?"

"Cause I know."

Stack shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. "If you say so. But if she is, I got a friend who knows a guy who can tap her phone. Real discreet-like."

"Nah," Elijah said immediately. "We don't do that. We don't cross that line."

"The fuck we don't?" Stack countered. "We sell drugs, Eli. We ain't exactly saints."

"That's different," Elijah said, his voice firm. "That's business. This is Paris. This is us. We don't cross that line."

Stack held up his hands in surrender. "Aight, aight. Damn. Just trying to look out for my brother."

"I know," Elijah sighed. "But I got this."

But did he? As the day wore on, he found himself second-guessing everything. The way Paris had been acting, the distance between them, the secrets she was keeping... was it possible? Was she seeing someone else? The thought was like a knife to his gut, sharp and twisting. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. Paris wouldn't do that. They wouldn't do that.

But the doubt lingered.

When he got home that evening, the condo was empty. Paris's car was gone, her purse missing from the hook by the door. She'd left a note on the kitchen counter, her handwriting neat and precise.

Went to Gia's. Be back late. Don't wait up.

He crumpled the note in his fist, a surge of frustration rising in his chest. This wasn't like them. They didn't leave notes. They didn't do "be back late." They were a team, a unit. They talked.

He was in the middle of making himself a sandwich when his phone buzzed. It was Paris.

"Hey," she said, her voice tight. "Just checking in."

"Hey," he said, trying to keep his own voice neutral. "You at Gia's?"

"Yeah. We're about to grab dinner."

"Aight. Have fun."

There was a pause, long enough to be uncomfortable. "Smoke?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too," he said, but the words felt hollow, empty.

She hung up, and he was alone again with his thoughts and the gnawing feeling that something was fundamentally broken between them.

He finished his sandwich, but it tasted like cardboard in his mouth. He was cleaning up when he noticed it—a small piece of paper sticking out from under the stack of mail on the counter. He pulled it out, his brow furrowed. It was a receipt from a pharmacy. CVS. Dated two weeks ago.

His eyes scanned the items, his heart starting to pound in his chest. Prenatal vitamins. Pregnancy test. Antibiotics. Pain medication.

The blood drained from his face. Pregnancy test. Prenatal vitamins. Antibiotics. Pain medication.

What the fuck?

He was still staring at the receipt, his mind racing, when he heard the key in the lock. He quickly folded the receipt, shoving it into his pocket just as Paris walked in.

"Hey," she said, her smile forced. "You're still up."

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "Just waiting up for you."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

She crossed the room, dropping her purse onto the counter. "You hungry? I could make you something."

"Nah, I'm good," he said, his eyes fixed on her face. "How was dinner?"

"It was aight," she said, avoiding his gaze. "Gia's being... Gia. You know how she is."

"I do," he said slowly. "She ask about me?"

Paris laughed, but it was a hollow, brittle sound. "Yeah. She wanted to know if you'd finally sold me to a sheik in Dubai."

Elijah smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Tell her I'm working on it."

He watched her move around the kitchen, her movements stiff, unnatural. She was hiding something. He knew it with a certainty that settled like a stone in his gut. The receipt burned a hole in his pocket, a silent accusation.

"You okay?" she asked, finally looking at him. "You're being quiet."

"Just tired," he said, echoing her words from the night before. "Long day."

"Yeah," she agreed, her eyes dropping to the counter. "Me too."

He wanted to ask her about the receipt. Wanted to demand answers, to shake the truth out of her if he had to. But the fear in her eyes, the way she held herself like she was bracing for a blow, stopped him.

"I'm gonna head to bed," he said, pushing away from the counter. "You coming?"

"In a bit," she said, her voice soft. "I just need to... clean up a little."

He nodded, turning to leave the room. But at the doorway, he stopped, turning back to look at her. The moonlight caught the tense set of his shoulders, the way his hand hovered near his pocket like he was reaching for a weapon. And in a way, he was.

She stood there, silhouetted against the moonlight, a beautiful, heartbreaking mystery he was no longer sure he knew how to solve. And that was the problem. He'd always known how to solve her. He knew her tells, her triggers, the exact way to hold her when she was sad or the precise words to say when she was doubting herself. But this woman? This was a stranger. And Elijah Moore didn't like mysteries, not when it came to his own fucking house.

His hand moved from his pocket to his waist, then back again, a restless, agitated motion. He took a step back into the kitchen, his movements deliberate, heavy. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken words and the weight of secrets.

"Actually, nah," he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "We ain't doing this. We ain't doing the 'I'll wait up for you' and 'I'm just tired' bullshit no more."

"Smoke, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small, crumpled piece of paper. He pulled it out, the receipt crackling in the tense silence. He held it up, the moonlight glinting off the CVS logo.

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in a sharp, audible gasp. "Where did you...?"

"Where you think I got it, Paris? It was on the counter. With the rest of the mail." He took another step closer, his presence filling the room, sucking all the air out of it. "You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?"

She stared at the receipt in his hand, her face pale in the dim light. "It's... nothing."

"Don't lie to me," he growled, his voice a low rumble of warning. "Not tonight. Not in our house. You wanna tell me why you bought a pregnancy test two weeks ago? Why you needed prenatal vitamins? Antibiotics? Pain medication?" His voice rose with each question, the calm, observant man she knew giving way to something raw and wounded. "You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, her chin lifting in defiance. "It's private, Smoke."

"Private?" he repeated, his voice incredulous, dangerous. "The woman I love, the woman I share my bed with, buys a pregnancy test and a pharmacy full of drugs, and that shit is private? Nah, Paris. That ain't how this works. That ain't how we work."

He was right in front of her now, his big body blocking out the moonlight, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and fury. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat and grime of a long night's work.

"Talk to me," he demanded, his voice a low, intense command. "Now."

She shook her head, her whole body trembling. "I can't."

"Yes, you can," he insisted, his hands coming up to grip her upper arms, his fingers pressing into her skin. "You can, and you will. What did you do, Paris? What the fuck did you do?"

The dam broke. The tears she'd been fighting back for weeks spilled over, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. A sob tore from her throat.

"I did it," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I did it, Smoke."

His grip on her arms tightened, his heart seizing in his chest. "Did what?"

Her eyes met his, and in that moment, he saw everything—the pain, the fear, the devastating secret she'd been carrying all alone.

"The test," she choked out, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. "It was positive. I was pregnant."

The words hung in the air between them, fragile and terrible. I was pregnant.

For a full ten seconds, the world stopped. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the frantic beating of Elijah's own heart—all of it ceased to exist. There was only Paris's face, pale and streaked with tears, and the three words she had just unleashed into the quiet of their home.

Then, the world rushed back in, louder and more violent than before.

His hands dropped from her arms like they'd been burned. He took a step back, his body recoiling from the impact of her confession. "Pregnant?" The word was a foreign object in his mouth, sharp and ugly. "You were... what?"

His eyes, dark and observant, scanned her face, her body, searching for the truth he could feel in his bones but couldn't comprehend. His gaze dropped to her stomach, flat and perfect under the thin fabric of her shirt. A life. A whole life had been there. Their life.

"When?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "When did you know?"

"The day you left for that run with Stack," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The morning after... the morning you asked me if I was happy."

He remembered that morning. The sun on the balcony, the taste of her lips, the strange, melancholy look in her eyes he'd dismissed as moodiness. He'd kissed her goodbye, told her he loved her, and walked out the door while their world was quietly ending.

"And you didn't tell me?" The question was a low growl, a wounded animal sound. "You didn't think to call me? To text me? To say, 'Hey Smoke, your whole life is about to change, you might wanna come home'?"

"I couldn't!" she cried, her voice rising with panic. "You were in the middle of something dangerous! I wasn't gonna call you and distract you over something like that!"

"Something like that?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief and fury. "Paris, that ain't 'something like that'! That's everything! That's us! That's the future we been building!"

"Building on what?" she shot back, her own anger rising to meet his. "On drug money and late nights and the constant fear that you're not gonna come home? What kind of life is that for a baby, Smoke? What kind of father can you be when you're always looking over your shoulder?"

"So you made the decision for me?" he roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "You took my child—our child—and you decided what was best for me without ever giving me the chance to decide for myself?"

"I did what was best for us!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face. "I did what was best for that baby! I wasn't gonna bring a child into this world just to watch it grow up without a father because you got shot in some alley over a fucking kilo of coke!"

The accusation hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. He stared at her, his mind reeling. She wasn't just angry. She was terrified. She'd been terrified all along, and he hadn't seen it. He hadn't seen anything.

"That's what you think of me?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "That I'd get myself killed and leave you alone? That I wouldn't do whatever it took to be there for my family?"

"I don't know what to think!" she cried, her hands flying up in frustration. "All I know is that every time you walk out that door, a part of me dies a little! All I know is that I can't breathe until I hear your key in the lock again! All I know is that I love you so much it scares me, and the thought of loving something that much, of having a baby that looked like you, that had your eyes... I couldn't do it. I couldn't survive that."

Her words were a confession, a declaration of love and fear so profound it stole the anger from his lungs, replacing it with a hollow, aching emptiness. He understood her fear. He lived with it every day—the fear that this life they'd chosen would one day demand the ultimate price. But he never imagined she'd let that fear dictate their future. Never imagined she'd make a choice this monumental, this devastating, without him.

"So what happened?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. "The test was positive... and then what?"

She looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I went to the doctor."

"And?"

"And I was eight weeks along," she whispered, the words barely audible. "They gave me... options."

He closed his eyes, the image of her in some doctor's office, alone and scared, flashing through his mind. He should have been there. He should have been holding her hand, asking the questions, making the plans. He should have been her partner, her rock, the man she trusted enough to face anything with.

"And you chose... this?" he asked, his voice breaking on the last word.

She nodded, her face crumpling. "I made an appointment."

"At the clinic?"

Another nod.

"And you went... alone?"

She didn't answer, just stood there, her body shaking with silent sobs.

The full weight of her betrayal crashed down on him then. It wasn't just the decision. It was the secrecy. The solitude. The fact that she had faced the most terrifying, life-altering moment of their lives alone, without him. Without a single word.

"Paris," he said, his voice hollow, dead. "Look at me."

Slowly, she raised her head, her eyes swimming in tears.

"Did you do it?" he asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Did you go through with it?"

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She just stood there, her mouth working like a fish out of water, her eyes wide with panic.

"Did you do it?" he asked again, his voice rising, cracking with the force of his pain. "Did you kill my baby, Paris?"

The words were ugly, cruel, a weapon designed to inflict maximum pain. And they did. She flinched as if he'd slapped her, a strangled sob tearing from her throat.

"It wasn't like that," she choked out.

"Then what was it like?" he demanded, his voice rising to a roar. "Tell me what it was like! Tell me how you walked into that clinic alone! Tell me how you lay down on that table and let them... and let them..." He couldn't finish the sentence, the words catching in his throat, strangling him.

"It was the hardest thing I've ever done," she sobbed, her body wracked with tremors. "I cried the whole time. I thought about you, about us, about what could have been. But I did it because I love you! Because I couldn't watch this life destroy you, and I couldn't bring a child into it knowing that might happen!"

"You didn't give me a choice!" he bellowed, his fists clenching at his sides, the need to hit something, to break something, overwhelming him. "You didn't trust me enough to let me be part of that decision! You didn't trust me enough to believe that I could protect you, that I could protect us!"

"I was trying to protect you!"

"By lying to me? By keeping this from me? By letting me walk around here like an idiot, talking about the future, talking about 'we' and 'us' when there was no 'us' anymore? When you'd already chosen to end it?"

"I was going to tell you!" she cried. "I was! I just... I needed time. I needed to process it. I needed to figure out how to tell you without breaking you."

"Breaking me?" he laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Paris, you already broke me. You took something from me, something I didn't even know I had, and you ripped it away. You took my choice, my voice, my child. You took it all."

He turned away from her then, unable to look at her face another second. He walked to the window, staring out at the black water, at the city lights that had once seemed like a promise but now felt like a mockery. Everything they had, everything they were, was built on a foundation of lies. Or maybe just one lie. One big, devastating lie that had hollowed out their relationship from the inside out.

"I can't," he said, his voice low, rough. "I can't even look at you right now."

"Smoke, please," she begged, her voice ragged with tears. "Please try to understand."

"I understand," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I understand that you didn't trust me. I understand that you didn't think I was strong enough to handle it. I understand that when faced with the biggest decision of our lives, you chose to face it alone. I understand all of that, Paris. And it's killing me."

He rested his forehead against the cool glass, his eyes closing, the image of her in that clinic, alone and afraid, burned into his brain. He should have been there. He should have known. He should have seen the signs, felt the shift in her, sensed the secret she was carrying. But he hadn't. He'd been too wrapped up in his own world, too focused on the money, the power, the game, to see that the woman he loved more than life itself was drowning right in front of him.

"When?" he asked, his voice muffled by the glass. "When did you do it?"

"Two weeks ago," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The day after I bought the test. I went in that afternoon."

Two weeks. For two weeks, she'd been walking around with this secret, with this pain, with the ghost of their child, and he hadn't known. He hadn't seen a thing.

He turned back to face her then. "There's nothing to fix," he said, his voice breaking on the last word. "It's already done. It's already broken."

He didn't say another word. He didn't look at her again. He just turned, his movements stiff, robotic, and walked toward the door. He grabbed his leather jacket from the chair, his keys from the bowl, his movements devoid of their usual fluid grace. He was a man acting on instinct, a man running from a pain so profound it threatened to swallow him whole.

"Smoke, where are you going?" she cried, her voice ragged with tears. "Don't leave. Please don't leave like this."

He didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was tight, his tongue thick and useless. Words were meaningless now. Everything was meaningless.

He opened the front door, stepping out into the cool night air, leaving her standing in the middle of their living room, a lone figure bathed in moonlight and heartbreak.

And then he was gone.

The click of the door echoed in the vast, empty spaces of their home, the sound of it sealing her in, sealing him out. Alone in the silence, with nothing but the ghost of a child she'd never know and the devastating weight of a choice made in fear. 

The pier stretched out into the black water of the Gulf, a skeletal finger of wood and light pointing at a moonless sky. Elijah walked it like a man condemned, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, the night air cool against his face. He'd been walking for hours, ever since he'd fled the condo, the roar of the ocean a poor substitute for the silence that had followed Paris's confession.

He stopped at the end of the pier, leaning against the weathered railing, staring out at the endless dark. The waves crashed against the pilings below, a rhythmic, percussive sound that usually calmed him, but tonight it just sounded like chaos. Like the chaos in his head.

Her words echoed there, a relentless refrain. I was pregnant. I did it. I was trying to protect you.

He closed his eyes, the image of her face streaked with tears, burned into his brain. The way she'd flinched when he'd asked if she'd killed his baby. The raw, gut-wrenching pain in her voice when she'd admitted it. The fear. Always the fear.

He'd been so focused on his own anger, his own sense of betrayal, that he hadn't really seen hers. Not until it was too late. Not until he'd already unleashed the cruelest words he could think of, words designed to wound, to punish, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain he was feeling.

Did you kill my baby, Paris?

The words came back to him now, ugly and vicious, and he flinched, a wave of shame washing over him. That wasn't him. That wasn't them. They didn't do that. They didn't weaponize their pain, not against each other. But tonight... tonight he'd been a different man. A man driven by a hurt so profound it had stripped him of his reason, his compassion, his love.

He thought about the life she'd been carrying. Their life. A child with her smile and his eyes. A little girl or a little boy who would have grown up in that condo, who would have run barefoot on the beach, who would have known the sound of the waves as their lullaby. A child he hadn't even known existed until it was already gone.

And she'd faced it alone.

That was the part that kept coming back to him, the part that lodged in his throat like a fish bone. She'd walked into that clinic alone, had faced that decision alone, had endured that procedure alone, all while he was out there playing kingpin, moving product, collecting debts, living a life that had ultimately cost them everything.

He'd failed her. Not just as a partner, but as a man. He'd been so caught up in the game, in the money, in the power, that he hadn't seen what was right in front of him. He hadn't seen the fear in her eyes, the distance in her touch, the subtle shifts in her behavior that screamed that something was wrong. He'd seen it, but he hadn't seen it. Not until it was too late.

He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over her name. He wanted to call her, to hear her voice, to tell her he was sorry, that he was coming home. But he couldn't. He didn't know how. How do you come back from something like this? How do you rebuild a foundation that's been so thoroughly shattered?

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his gaze drifting back to the condo. It was a dark silhouette against the lighter sky, a monument to a life that no longer existed. A life he'd taken for granted, a love he'd assumed would always be there, waiting for him when he came home.

But not tonight. Tonight, there was no one waiting for him. No warm embrace, no soft kiss, no whispered "I love you." Just an empty house, a broken heart, and the devastating weight of a choice made in fear.

Back in the condo, Paris sat on the floor in the middle of the living room, her knees pulled up to her chest, her body wracked with tremors. The moonlight streamed through the large windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the room, shadows that seemed to mock her, to mirror the darkness in her own soul.

She'd been sitting there for hours, ever since he'd left, ever since the click of the door had sealed her in, sealed him out. She'd cried until there were no tears left, until her eyes were dry and burning, until her throat was raw from the force of her sobs. But the pain remained, a dull, persistent ache that radiated through her entire body, a constant reminder of what she'd done, what she'd lost.

She thought about the baby. Their baby. A tiny, perfect life that had existed for a brief, shining moment, a life she had ended. She'd tried to tell herself it was for the best, that she was protecting them, protecting him, from the harsh realities of their world. But in the quiet of the night, with only the sound of her own ragged breathing for company, the excuses rang hollow.

She'd been scared. Not just of the life they were living, not just of the danger that followed them, but of him. Of his reaction. Of the possibility that he wouldn't want this, wouldn't want them, wouldn't want the complication of a child in the middle of their dangerously volatile world.

She'd seen the way he was with kids, the way he softened, the way his whole demeanor changed. She knew he'd be a good father, a great father. But she also knew the life he'd chosen, the risks he took, the enemies he made. And she couldn't bear the thought of bringing a child into that, of loving something that much only to lose it, of facing a future without him because his past had finally caught up with him.

So she'd made the choice. The hardest choice of her life. She'd chosen him over their child, chosen their present over a future that might never exist. And in doing so, she had destroyed the very thing she was trying to protect.

She thought about his face when he'd found out, the way the color had drained from his skin, the way his eyes had darkened with pain, and how it had taken her breath away. She'd expected anger, disappointment, even resentment. But she hadn't expected... devastation. She hadn't expected the look of a man who'd lost everything, a man who'd been betrayed by the one person he'd trusted above all others.

And the words he'd said... Did you kill my baby, Paris? They echoed in her mind, a vicious, cruel refrain that made her shrink even now. He'd been trying to hurt her, to punish her, and he'd succeeded. He'd succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

But she understood. She understood the pain, the sense of betrayal, the feeling of being shut out, of not being trusted enough to be part of such a monumental decision. She'd taken that from him, taken his voice, his choice, his right to be a part of it. And she could never, ever get that back.

She rose slowly, her body stiff and sore, and walked to the window, staring out at the dark water. She wondered where he was, if he was okay, if he was thinking of her. She hoped he was. She hoped he was hurting as much as she was, not out of spite, but out of a desperate, selfish need to know that she wasn't alone in this pain, that this loss, this devastation, was something they shared, even in their separation.

The first hint of dawn was just beginning to paint the eastern sky, a soft, pale pink that promised a new day, a new beginning. But for Paris, there was no beginning, only an endless, aching middle. A long, dark night of the soul with no end in sight.

The sun was just beginning to rise when Elijah pulled his car into the underground garage, the engine's low rumble echoing in the concrete cavern. He'd slept in the driver's seat, his body cramped and stiff, his mind a jumble of fragmented thoughts and painful memories. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, hadn't meant to stay away all night, but the exhaustion had been too much, the weight of his grief too heavy to bear.

He rode the elevator up to their floor, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and anticipation. He didn't know what he would find when he opened that door, didn't know how she would react, how he would react. All he knew was that they couldn't go on like this. They couldn't live in this silence, this separation, this brokenness.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out, his footsteps soft on the plush carpet. He approached the door, his hand hovering over the keypad, his breath catching in his throat. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and keyed in the code.

The door swung open, and the first thing he saw was her.

She was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, exactly where he'd left her, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face tear-streaked in the early morning light. She looked up as he entered, her eyes wide, uncertain, a flicker of hope warring with the fear in their depths.

He closed the door softly behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the vast, empty spaces of their home. He didn't say anything, just stood there for a moment, his eyes taking in every detail of her face, every line of pain and exhaustion, every shadow of regret.

Then he crossed the room, his movements slow, deliberate, and knelt in front of her, his hands resting on his knees. He didn't touch her, not yet. He just looked at her, really looked at her, and in that moment, he saw everything. The fear, the pain, the regret, the love. He saw it all.

"I'm not mad about the choice," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm devastated that you didn't trust me enough to share it."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't look away. "I was scared," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I was so scared, Smoke. Not just of the life, not just of the danger... but of you. Of your reaction. Of the possibility that you wouldn't want this, that you wouldn't want us, that you'd see it as a complication, a problem to be solved."

He shook his head, his heart aching with the weight of her fear. "Never," he said, his voice firm, intense. "I would never have seen you or our child as a problem. I would have seen it as a blessing. As a reason to change, to be better, to be the man you already believed I was."

"I didn't know that," she cried, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "I couldn't know that. All I could see was the risk, the danger, the possibility of losing you. I couldn't... I couldn't build a life without you. I couldn't raise a child without its father."

"And you thought I would let that happen?" he asked, his voice gentle now, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You thought I wouldn't do whatever it took to protect you, to protect our family?"

"I didn't know," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "I was so lost in my own fear that I couldn't see anything else."

He reached out then, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin, wiping away her tears. She leaned into his touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips, the first sound of peace she'd made all night.

"We're a family, Paris," he said, his voice low, intense. "Whatever we face, we face together. That's the deal. That's what we signed up for. You don't get to make decisions like this alone. You don't get to carry burdens like this by yourself. You don't get to protect me by hurting us."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes closing, her body relaxing into his touch. "I'm so sorry, Smoke."

"I know," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I know you are. And I'm sorry too. Sorry for the things I said, for the way I reacted. I was hurt, and I lashed out, and I said things I can never take back."

"We can get past this," she said, her eyes opening, a flicker of hope in their depths. "We can fix this."

"We can," he agreed, his thumb still stroking her cheek. "But it's gonna take time. It's gonna take work. It's gonna take a level of honesty and communication we've never had before. You gotta promise me you'll never do something like this again. You gotta promise me you'll trust me enough to let me in, no matter how scared you are."

"I promise," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I promise I'll try."

"That's all I can ask," he said, leaning in to press another soft kiss to her lips, a gentle, reassuring touch that spoke of forgiveness, of healing, of a future they would build together, one painful, honest step at a time.

He helped her to her feet, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. She rested her head on his chest, her arms circling his waist, her body fitting against his like it was made to be there. They stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, the early morning light streaming through the windows, bathing them in its soft, golden glow.

The path forward wouldn't be easy. There would be more tears, more pain, more difficult conversations. But they would face it together. As a team. As partners. As the two halves of a whole that had been shattered but could, with time and love and trust, be made whole again.

The bass from the club downstairs vibrated through the floorboards of the VIP lounge, a deep thump that matched the frantic rhythm of Elias "Stack" Moore's heart. He was sprawled on a velvet couch, one arm draped along the back, the other wrapped possessively around Gia's waist. She was curled into him, laughing at something his boy Ace had just said, her head thrown back, her throat long and brown and perfect. The strobe lights painted her in flashes of neon—pink, then blue, then green—making her look like a goddess in a technicolor dream.

This was their life. Loud. Chaotic. Unapologetic. Two years of this shit, and Stack still woke up every morning feeling like he'd won the fucking lottery. Gia was his match in every way, wild as hell, loyal to a fault, and just as reckless as he was. She didn't try to tame him. She ran with him, her hand in his, her middle finger raised to the world.

"Aight, aight, enough of that shit," Stack growled, pulling her closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "You laugh too hard at another nigga's jokes, I'mma start thinking you wanna leave a real one."

Gia rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. "Please, Stack. You know I only got eyes for your ugly ass."

"That's what I'm talking 'bout," he said, his voice thick with pride and liquor. He grabbed her chin, turning her face to his, and kissed her hard, a messy, possessive kiss that tasted of Hennessy and want. She kissed him back just as hard, her hands tangling in the thick gold chain around his neck, her body arching against his in a way that promised the night was far from over.

They were the king and queen of their fucked-up little kingdom, he and his twin brother Smoke. While Smoke was the calm, calculating force behind their operation, Stack was the wild, unpredictable energy that kept things interesting. He was the face, the muscle, the one who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, to fuck someone up just for looking at him wrong. He wore his reputation like a badge of honor, a heavy gold chain that announced his presence before he even stepped into a room.

But lately, things had been... different. Not bad, just different. Smoke and Paris were going through some shit, some quiet, heavy thing that had settled over them like a cloud. They were still together, still solid, but the easy laughter had been replaced by long, meaningful glances, the playful banter by soft, whispered conversations. They were healing; Stack knew that, but healing was boring. Healing was quiet. Healing was the opposite of everything he and Gia were.

"You good?" Gia asked, pulling back from the kiss, her dark eyes searching his. "You been spacey all night."

"I'm good," he said, forcing a grin. "Just thinking 'bout all this money we 'bout to make."

"Is that all you ever think about?" she teased, but there was an edge to her voice, a flicker of something he couldn't quite read.

"Nah," he said, his hand sliding down from her waist to cup her ass, squeezing it hard. "I think about this too. All the damn time."

She laughed, but it was a little too loud, a little too bright. "You're so full of shit."

"And you love it," he shot back, his grin widening. "Now, you wanna get out of here? I'm tryna see what that mouth do when it ain't running."

"Stack," she said, swatting at his chest, but she was already standing up, grabbing her purse from the table. "You're so romantic."

"I'm romantic as hell," he called after her as she walked away, his eyes fixed on the sway of her hips, the way her dress clung to her curves. "Romantic enough to give you this dick till you can't walk straight!"

She flipped him off over her shoulder, but she was smiling, and that was all that mattered. As long as she was smiling, everything was good. As long as she was his, everything was right with the world.

One week later, they were sitting in a booth at the back of a hole-in-the-wall Italian place, the air thick with the smell of garlic and bread and secrets. Paris was across from her, pushing a meatball around her plate with a fork, her eyes shadowed with a pain she was still trying to hide.

"You sure you're good?" Gia asked, her voice softer than it usually was. "You been MIA for a minute."

"I'm good," Paris said, but they both knew it was a lie. She and Smoke were trying, Gia knew that, but trying was hard. Trying was messy. Trying left scars. "Just... taking it one day at a time, you know?"

Gia nodded. She didn't know, not really. She and Stack didn't do "one day at a time." They did "one night at a time," one party, one high, one fuck at a time. They did fast and loud and messy, and they'd been doing it for two years without any signs of slowing down.

But something had been slowing her down. Something had been weighing on her, a secret so heavy it was starting to crush her from the inside out. She looked at Paris, at the fragile strength in her eyes, the quiet determination in her posture, and she knew she had to tell someone. She had to say it out loud before it ate her alive.

"I'm late," she said, the words barely a whisper.

Paris's fork clattered against her plate. "Late how?"

"Late late," Gia said, her heart pounding in her chest. "Like, two weeks late. And I've been sick every morning. And my boobs hurt like a motherfucker."

Paris's eyes widened, her fork forgotten. "Gia... are you...?"

"I don't know," Gia said, her voice trembling. "I haven't taken a test yet. I'm scared to."

"Scared of what?" Paris asked, her voice gentle, understanding. "Scared of what Stack will say?"

Gia laughed, but it was a harsh, bitter sound. "Hell no. I'm not scared of what Stack will say. I'm scared of what he'll do."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Stack's a child, Paris," Gia said, her voice rising with a frustration that had been building for months. "A big, loud, reckless child who thinks the world revolves around his dick. He can't even handle his own life, let alone be responsible for another one. You think he's gonna give up the clubs, the parties, the random strippers he swears he doesn't fuck anymore? You think he's gonna suddenly grow up and be a father just 'cause I'm pregnant?"

She thought about the last time she'd found lipstick on his collar, the faint scent of cheap perfume clinging to his clothes. She thought about the lies he told so easily, the way he twisted the truth to fit his narrative, the way he made her feel like she was crazy for questioning him, for wanting more, for wanting better.

"He loves you," Paris said softly.

"He loves the idea of me," Gia countered. "He loves having someone to come home to, someone to warm his bed, someone who looks good on his arm. But he doesn't love me. Not enough. Not enough to change. Not enough to be the man I need him to be."

She thought about the life they were living, the danger that followed them, the constant, low-grade fear that lived in the back of her mind. She thought about bringing a child into that world, a child who would have Stack for a father, a child who would grow up watching his mother's heart break over and over again.

"I can't do it," she whispered, the tears she'd been fighting back for weeks finally spilling over. "I can't bring a baby into this. I can't let him be a father. I can't let myself be a mother in a world like this."

Paris reached across the table, her hand covering Gia's. "I understand," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "More than you know."

Gia looked up, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

Paris took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. "Smoke and I... we were pregnant too."

Gia's breath caught in her throat. "What? When?"

"About a month ago," Paris said, her voice barely audible. "I found out the morning he left for that run with Stack. I went to the doctor. I was eight weeks along."

"Oh my god," Gia breathed, her mind reeling. "Paris... what did you do?"

What she didn't say was, I did it too. What she didn't say was, I know exactly how you feel. What she didn't say was, It's the hardest thing you'll ever do, but sometimes it's the only thing you can do.

But Gia heard it all. She heard it in the tremor of Paris's voice, in the shadows in her eyes, in the way her hand tightened around hers, a silent acknowledgment of a shared pain, a shared secret, a shared choice.

"I'm so sorry," Gia whispered, her own tears falling now. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Me too," Paris said, her voice cracking. "But we made the right choice. For us. For them. We have to believe that."

And in that moment, Gia did believe it. She believed it, and that quieted the fear in her heart, that gave her the strength she needed to do what she knew she had to do.

The clinic was colder than she'd expected, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and regret. Gia sat in the waiting room. The other women in the room kept their eyes down, their bodies hunched in on themselves as if to make themselves smaller, less noticeable. 

A nurse in bright yellow scrubs, her name tag reading 'CHLOE,' popped her head into the crowded waiting room. "Gia Martinez?" Her voice was too cheerful for the grim reality of the place.

Gia shot up from her chair, a jolt of adrenaline making her heart hammer against her ribs. She didn't look at the other women, didn't need to. She could feel their collective sigh, their shared understanding. This wasn't a place of judgment; it was a place of consequence. And she was here to face hers.

The hallway was a blur of beige walls and motivational posters that felt like a sick joke. Chloe led her to a small, sterile room and handed her a paper gown and a plastic cup. "The doctor will be in shortly. Just need you to pee in this for a quick confirmation test first."

The bathroom was tiny, the fan humming loudly, doing nothing to drown out the sound of her own ragged breathing. She stared at the plastic cup in her hand, her stomach churning. She'd known. She'd known. But a part of her, a stupid, hopeful part, had prayed for a false alarm, for a miracle, for anything but this. She sat on the toilet, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the cup, and when she was done, she placed it on the little shelf outside the door like it was a bomb.

Back in the room, she sat on the edge of the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath her, loud in the silence. She didn't lie down. She couldn't. She felt like she needed to be ready to run, to fight, to do something. But there was nothing to do. Nothing but wait.

The doctor who came in was young, no older than thirty, with a kind smile and tired eyes. "Gia? I'm Dr. Evans. We got the results back, and... it's positive. So we need to talk about your options."

Gia just nodded, her throat tight. She'd already made her choice. The rest of this was just... procedure.

"Have you considered what you'd like to do?" Dr. Evans asked, her voice gentle.

"I want it gone," Gia said, the words harsh, blunt, final. "Today. If you can do it today."

Dr. Evans just nodded, her expression empathetic. "Okay. We can do that. I'm going to have you take this pill now, and then you'll come back tomorrow for the second part of the process. It's called a medical abortion. It's less invasive than a surgical procedure, but it will be... intense. You'll experience cramping and bleeding, similar to a heavy period. You'll want to be somewhere comfortable, somewhere you can rest."

She handed Gia a small white pill and a cup of water. Gia stared at it, her mind racing. This was it. The point of no return. She thought about Stack, about his loud laugh and his reckless charm, about the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing in his world that mattered. She thought about the life growing inside her, a life that would have had his wild, untamable spirit. A life she was ending with a single swallow.

She popped the pill into her mouth, chasing it with a sip of water, the pill feeling like a stone in her throat. "Now what?" she asked, her voice rough.

"Now you go home," Dr. Evans said, her voice soft. "And you rest. And you come back tomorrow at the same time. We'll take care of the rest."

The drive home was a blur. The sun was high in the sky, the Florida heat oppressive, but Gia felt cold, a deep, bone-chilling cold that had nothing to do with the air conditioning blasting in her car. She stopped at a red light, her hands gripping the steering wheel, and watched a young mother push a stroller across the crosswalk, the baby inside cooing and kicking its little feet. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she had to fight the urge to throw up.

When she got back to their apartment, the silence was deafening. It was usually never this quiet. Usually, there was music blasting from the speakers, or the TV was on, or Stack was on the phone, his loud, boisterous voice echoing through the rooms. But today, there was nothing. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the frantic, frantic beating of her own heart.

She walked into their bedroom, stripping off her clothes as she went, leaving a trail of discarded garments on the floor. She pulled on one of Stack's oversized hoodies, the fabric soft and worn, his scent clinging to it—cologne and weed. She buried her face in the hood, inhaling deeply, a sob catching in her throat.

She crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, and closed her eyes. She tried to sleep, to escape into the oblivion of unconsciousness, but sleep wouldn't come. Her mind was racing, replaying every conversation, every fight, every moment of their two years together. She thought about the good times—the laughter, the adventures, the mind-blowing sex, the way he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. And she thought about the bad times—the lies, the cheating, the broken promises, the way he made her feel like she was crazy for wanting more, for wanting better.

The cramps started around midnight, a dull ache in her lower back that gradually intensified into sharp, stabbing pains that stole her breath. She curled into a ball, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her face pressed into the pillow to muffle her cries. It was worse than she'd imagined, a physical manifestation of the emotional pain that had been consuming her for weeks.

She thought about calling Paris, about reaching out to the one person who understood, but she couldn't. She didn't want to burden her, didn't want to be the reason Paris's own fragile peace was shattered. So she suffered alone, in the dark, her body wracked with tremors, her heart broken into a million pieces.

When it was finally over, she lay there in a pool of her own blood and tears, her body aching, her soul hollowed out. She stared at the ceiling, at the shadows dancing in the dim light, and she knew that she had made the right choice. But knowing it was right didn't make it hurt any less. It didn't make the emptiness go away. It didn't make the fear of telling him, of facing his reaction, any less terrifying.

The bass from Stack's new subs hit Gia right in the chest, a physical assault that made her already tender uterus clench in protest. He burst through the door of their apartment, his energy a chaotic whirlwind of expensive cologne, weed smoke, and ego. Fresh pair of black and red Jordans, baggy denim shorts hanging low enough to show the band of his Calvin Kleins, and a white tee that stretched tight across his chest. His gold Cuban link swung against his sternum, catching the light from the city skyline visible through their large seamless windows.

"Gia! Where you at, girl?" he boomed, kicking off his kicks and leaving them in the middle of the floor like he always did. "Brought you back some of that good-good from that new spot downtown. That pineapple express got my dick hard as a motherfucker."

He found her curled up on the couch, a throw blanket wrapped around her despite the Florida heat, staring at some reality TV show with the volume turned down low. She didn't turn, didn't even flinch at his entrance.

"The fuck?" he muttered, his good mood starting to curdle. He plopped down on the couch beside her, making the cushions dip, and slung his arm around her shoulders. "Aight, what's wrong with you? You ain't even happy to see daddy."

"I'm tired, Stack."

"Tired? You been 'tired' for two days," he said, his voice losing its playful edge. He tried to pull her closer, to nuzzle her neck like he usually did, but she stiffened, pulling away just enough to create a sliver of space between them. "You mad at me or something? 'Cause I swear to God, if this 'bout them hoes at the club last night, I ain't even do nothin'. I was just talking."

"I'm not mad," she said, her voice flat, monotone. "I just don't feel good."

"You been saying that," he pressed, his brow furrowing. He leaned in, trying to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze fixed on the TV. "What's wrong with you? You sick or something?"

"It's just cramps," she mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

"Cramps?" he scoffed, sitting back, his arm dropping from her shoulders. "Man, you been on your period for a week. That shit ain't normal."

And it wasn't. Gia's cycle was usually as regular as clockwork, a three-day affair of mild bitchiness and a surprisingly high sex drive. But this... this was different. She'd been quiet, withdrawn, her appetite nonexistent. She'd snapped at him that morning for leaving a wet towel on the bed, a transgression she usually ignored or at most rolled her eyes at. She was a ghost in their apartment, a pale imitation of the vibrant, fiery woman he'd been living with for two years.

He watched her, his eyes taking in every detail. The dark circles under her eyes, the way her skin seemed to have a grayish cast to it, the faint tremor in her hands as she reached for her glass of water on the coffee table. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"You ain't been eaten shit all day," he said, his voice low, concerned. "I brought you back some tacos from that place you like. You want one?"

She shook her head, her eyes still glued to the screen. "Not hungry."

"Gia," he said, his voice firm now, a warning. "Look at me."

Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes meeting his. And what he saw in them made his stomach clench. They were dull, lifeless, the fire he loved, the spark that made her her, extinguished. They were the eyes of a stranger.

"What?" she asked, her voice defensive. "What do you want, Stack?"

"I want you to tell me what the fuck is wrong with you," he shot back, his frustration rising. "You been acting weird for days. You ain't laughing, you ain't fucking, you ain't even talking to me. What's up?"

"Nothing," she said, turning back to the TV. "I just need some space."

"Space?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "We live in a two-bedroom apartment with a balcony overlooking the whole damn city. How much more space you need?"

She didn't answer, just stared at the TV, her jaw tight. He could feel the anger radiating off her, a cold, silent fury that was more terrifying than any of their usual blow-out fights. At least with those, he knew what he was dealing with. This... this was unknown territory.

He stood up, running a hand over his low fade, his mind racing. He thought about the last time they'd had sex, a week ago. It had been good, great even, but there had been a distance to her, a sadness in her eyes that he'd dismissed as her being in her feelings about something or other. He thought about the last time they'd really talked, really connected, and he couldn't remember. It had been too long.

"Where's your purse?" he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes were sharp, calculating.

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm looking for my damn keys," he lied, his eyes scanning the room. "I think I left 'em in here somewhere."

She pointed toward the kitchen, her movements stiff. "On the counter."

He walked into the kitchen, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew her purse was on the counter. He'd seen it when he came in. But he needed to know. He needed to see if his suspicions were right, if the fear that had been gnawing at him for the last two days was founded in reality.

He found her purse, a big, black leather tote with gold hardware. He unzipped it slowly, his hands shaking slightly, his breath caught in his throat. He didn't know what he was looking for, not exactly. A receipt? A text message? A note from another man? He didn't know, but he knew he'd know it when he saw it.

He rummaged through her purse, his fingers brushing against her wallet, her keys, a half-empty pack of gum. And then he felt it. A small, stiff piece of cardboard, tucked into a side pocket. He pulled it out, his heart seizing in his chest.

It was a clinic card. Not just any clinic, but a women's health clinic. The name was printed in a soothing, feminine font—"Women's Wellness Center of Tampa Bay." Underneath the name was a list of services: OB/GYN, Prenatal Care, Family Planning, Termination Services.

Termination Services.

The words hit him, knocking the air from his lungs. He stared at the card, his mind reeling, his thoughts a chaotic jumble of fear and confusion and a dawning, horrifying realization.

Termination Services.

What the fuck did that mean? Was she sick? Did she have cancer? Some kind of female shit he didn't even know about? Or... or was it something else? Something worse?

His mind raced, leaping to the most paranoid, the most painful conclusion. She'd been cheating on him. That had to be it. She'd been fucking some other nigga, gotten pregnant, and gone to this clinic to take care of it. To get rid of the evidence. That's why she'd been so distant, so defensive. That's why she wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't touch him. She was hiding something. Hiding someone.

He felt a surge of hot rage; he was seeing red, and that made him want to punch a hole in the wall. But underneath the rage was betrayal.

He walked back into the living room, the card clutched in his hand, his face a mask of confusion and growing anger. She was still on the couch, still staring at the TV, but he could feel her awareness of him, the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding her breath.

"Gia," he said, his voice low, dangerous.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening as they landed on the card in his hand. He saw the panic flash across her face. He knew whatever it was, it was bad.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the card, his voice tight with emotion. "What the fuck is this, Gia?"

The card trembled in Stack's hand, a flimsy piece of cardboard that suddenly felt heavier than a block of gold. His eyes darted from the soothing blue font to Gia's face, which had gone from pale to ashen. The panic in her eyes was all the confirmation he needed. This wasn't about a yeast infection. This was about something else. Something worse.

"What. Is. This?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a low. He took a step closer. "You been cheating on me? That what this is? You out there fucking some other nigga, get knocked up, and decide to handle it on the low? Is that the kind of bitch you are?"

Gia stiffened. "No! Stack, it's not like that—"

"Then what is it like?" he roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. He threw the card at her, it fluttering to the floor between them like a dying bird. "'Family Planning'? 'Termination Services'? What the fuck you terminating, Gia? Your conscience? Or the evidence?"

"It's not what you think!" she cried, scrambling to her feet, the blanket pooling around her ankles. She looked small, fragile, compared to the fiery woman who'd been cursing him out just last week for leaving the toilet seat up.

"Then tell me what to think!" he shot back, his hands flying up in exasperation. "I come home, try to show my girl a good time, and you sitting here looking like you just seen a ghost. You ain't touched me in a week. You ain't ate in two days. And now I find this shit in your purse? What the fuck am I supposed to think?"

He was in her face now, his tall frame towering over her, his presence overwhelming. He could smell the fear on her, sharp and acrid, and it only fueled his rage. He felt trapped, cornered, and his instinct was to lash out, to hurt before he could be hurt.

"You trying to get back at me?" he accused, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Is that what this is? 'Cause of them strippers? I told you that shit was nothing! I told you I was just out there having fun with my brothers! You gonna kill my baby 'cause your feelings got hurt?"

Gia's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with a fire he hadn't seen in days. "Don't you dare," she hissed, her voice shaking with rage. "Don't you dare stand there and make this about your ego. This ain't about you or your strippers or your fun. This is about me. This is about my body. My choice."

"Your choice?" he scoffed, his laugh harsh and bitter. "What about my choice? What about our choice? We a team, Gia! Or at least, I thought we was. But you been keeping secrets. You been making decisions that affect both of us without even saying a word!"

"I was scared!" she cried, tears of frustration and anger welling in her eyes. "I was scared of what you would do! I was scared of how you would react! I was scared of you!"

The words hung in the air between them, a confession and an accusation all at once. And they hit him harder than any punch, sharper than any knife. He, who had sworn to protect her, to provide for her, to be her rock, was the thing she feared most.

"Scared of me?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "Why you scared of me, Gia? I never put my hands on you. I never..."

"It's not that," she interrupted, her voice cracking. "It's... everything. Your temper. Your recklessness. The way you live your life like there's no tomorrow. The way you can't see past your own dick. I'm scared of bringing a child into that, Stack. I'm scared of having a baby with a man who's still a boy himself."

The accusation was a low blow, a direct hit to the heart of his insecurities. He'd always known he was the wild twin, the reckless one, the one who acted first and thought later. But to hear her say it, to hear her use it as a reason to... to what? To kill his child? It was unforgivable.

"So that's it?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "You decided I wasn't good enough to be a father, so you just... what? You took care of it? You erased me? Erased us?"

"I didn't erase you," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "I was trying to protect you! From me! From a life you're not ready for!"

"I'm not ready?" he roared, his control finally snapping. He grabbed her by the arms, his fingers digging into her skin, shaking her hard. "I'm out here risking my life every fucking day to provide for you! To give you this life! This apartment, these cars, these clothes! And you're gonna stand there and tell me I'm not ready to be a father? I'm more man than any of these other niggas out here, and you know it!"

"Let go of me!" she cried, trying to pull away from his grip.

"Not until you tell me the truth!" he demanded, his face inches from hers. "You went to that clinic, didn't you? You went there, and you... you did something. What did you do, Gia? What did you do to my baby?"

The question hung in the air. And in that moment, she saw the hurt beneath the anger, the vulnerability beneath the bravado. She saw the man she loved, the man she'd been trying to protect, the man she'd just destroyed.

And she broke.

"I did it," she whispered, "Stack... I did it. I had the abortion."

The world stopped. The air left his lungs. His grip on her arms loosened, his hands dropping to his sides as if they'd been severed from his body. He stared at her, his mind refusing to process the words, his heart refusing to accept the truth.

"No," he said, his voice flat, dead. "No, you didn't."

"I did," she sobbed, her body collapsing in on itself. "I went yesterday. I took the pills. It's... it's gone."

The cramps. The blood. It all clicked into place, a horrifying, heartbreaking puzzle. He'd been so wrapped up in his own world, his own ego, his own suspicions, that he hadn't even seen. He hadn't even known.

"You... you killed my baby," he said, his voice a choked whisper. "You killed my kid without even talking to me? Without even giving me a chance? What kind of cold-hearted bitch does that?"

"I didn't know how to tell you!" she cried. "I didn't know what to say!"

"You could have said something!" he roared, his rage returning with a vengeance, hotter and more destructive than before. "You could have said, 'Hey Stack, I'm pregnant.' You could have said, 'Hey Stack, I'm scared.' You could have said, 'Hey Stack, I need you.' But you didn't! You just... you just made a choice. You took my child, my future, my everything, and you threw it away like it was nothing!"

He was in her face again, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his body vibrating with a rage so pure, so potent, it scared him. He wanted to hit something, to break something, to hurt her the way she'd hurt him, to make her feel the emptiness, the devastation, the soul-crushing loss that was consuming him.

"I hate you," he whispered, his voice thick with venom. "I swear to god, Gia, I hate you."

And then he turned and walked away. He didn't look back. He didn't say another word. He just walked to the door, his hand closing around the knob, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

"Stack, please," she begged, her voice ragged with tears. "Please don't leave. Not like this."

But he didn't listen. He couldn't. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, leaving her standing in the middle of their living room.

The bass from the strip club's sound system was a deep, gut-rattling thump that Stack welcomed like an old friend. He was three bottles of Dom deep, his vision blurry, his anger a hot, simmering stew of betrayal and pain. He threw a wad of cash at the stage, the bills raining down on a dancer whose name he didn't know and wouldn't remember. Her ass was fat, her smile was fake, and for a moment, for a brief, blissful second, she was enough to make him forget.

"Another round!" he roared at the waitress, his voice slurred, his arm slung around the shoulders of a bottle-blonde bimbo who'd been grinding on him for the last hour. Her name was... something. Candy? Candi? It didn't matter. All that mattered was the warmth of her body against his, the way she laughed at his jokes, the way she looked at him like he was a king.

He was trying to forget. Trying to forget the look on Gia's face when he'd called her a cold-hearted bitch. Trying to forget the way his heart had seized in his chest when she'd said the words, "I had the abortion." Trying to forget the emptiness, the hollow ache in his gut that felt like he'd swallowed a hole.

"You okay, baby?" Candi-Whatever asked, her hand sliding up his thigh, her voice a syrupy-sweet purr in his ear.

"I'm great," he lied. "I'm better than great."

He led her out of the club, into the cool night air, his arm around her waist, his body moving with the liquid confidence of a man who had nothing left to lose. They ended up at his place, their place, the apartment he shared with Gia. The thought of her, of what he was about to do, flickered through his drug-and-booze-addled brain, but he pushed it aside. She'd done it first. She'd killed his baby. She'd broken his heart. This was just... payback. This was just... consequence.

He fucked Candi-Whatever on their couch, the same couch where he and Gia had curled up and watched movies a hundred times. He fucked her from behind, his eyes squeezed shut, pretending she was someone else, anyone else, a warm body to sink into, a temporary distraction from the pain that threatened to swallow him whole. He didn't kiss her. He didn't say her name. He just took what he wanted, a selfish, soulless act that left him feeling more empty than before.

When it was over, he sent her away with a wad of cash and a dismissive wave of his hand. He stumbled into their bedroom, the smell of Gia's perfume still clinging to the pillows, and passed out, a drunk, angry, broken man in a bed that was no longer his.

The sun was just beginning to rise when he woke up, his head pounding, his mouth dry, his body aching. He was alone. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. He sat up, his eyes scanning the room, his heart sinking when he saw her suitcase by the door, packed and ready.

She was gone.

He stumbled out of bed, his bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor, and walked into the living room. She was there, sitting on the couch, fully dressed, her purse in her lap. She looked like she hadn't slept, her eyes red and swollen, her face pale and drawn.

"You came back," he said, his voice rough with sleep and hangover.

"I was waiting for you," she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" he repeated, his brow furrowing. "What you talking 'bout? You ain't going nowhere."

"Yes, I am," she said, standing up. "I can't... I can't do this anymore, Stack. I can't be here. I can't look at you. I can't... I just can't."

She took a step toward him, and he saw it then. The way her nose wrinkled in disgust, the way her eyes narrowed, the way she flinched away from him as if he'd struck her. He looked down at himself, at the hickeys on his chest, the faint scent of another woman's perfume clinging to his skin.

"You smell like a stripper," she said, her voice laced with fury. "And cheap liquor. And regret."

He didn't deny it. He couldn't. He just stood there, his head held high, his jaw tight, a silent admission of his guilt.

"I hope she was worth it," she said, her voice cracking. "I hope she was worth throwing away everything we had."

"She was," he lied, his voice hard, defensive. "She was worth more than you, apparently. At least she didn't kill my fucking kid."

The words were a vicious, cruel attack designed to inflict maximum pain. And they did.

"You're a monster," she whispered, her eyes wide with a dawning, horrifying realization. "You're not just a boy, Stack. You're a monster."

"I'm a monster?" he shot back, his voice rising with a self-righteous fury that was as transparent as it was pathetic. "You're the one who went behind my back, who made a choice that affected both of us without even saying a word! You're the one who killed my baby! And I'm the monster?"

"You're the one who cheated on me!" she screamed, her composure finally shattering. "You're the one who came home smelling like another woman after I told you the most painful thing I've ever had to say! You're the one who proved me right! You proved I was right to be scared, right to not trust you, right to not want to bring a child into this world with you!"

"It's not the same!" he roared, his fists clenching at his sides. "It's not the fucking same!"

"It is!" she cried, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. "It's exactly the same! It's you being selfish! It's you thinking only about yourself! It's you destroying everything good in your life because you're too scared, too immature, too fucking broken to handle it!"

He wanted to argue, to deny it, to defend himself, but he couldn't. Because she was right. He was selfish. He was immature. He was broken. And he had destroyed everything good in his life.

"I'm done," she said, her voice quiet now, resigned. "I'm done with you. I'm done with this life. I'm done with all of it."

She picked up her suitcase and walked to the door, her steps heavy, final. He wanted to stop her, to beg her to stay, to promise her he'd change, he'd be better, he'd be the man she needed him to be. But the words wouldn't come. The pride, the ego, the stubborn refusal to admit he was wrong, it was all too strong.

She paused at the door, her hand on the knob, and turned back to look at him. For a moment, he saw it all—the love, the pain, the regret, the life they could have had, the future they'd just thrown away.

"I loved you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I really, really loved you."

And then she was gone.

He stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door, his mind reeling, his heart shattered into a million pieces. He was alone. Truly, completely, utterly alone.

He sank to the floor, his back against the wall, his head in his hands. The tears he'd been fighting back all night finally broke free, hot and heavy, streaming down his face. He cried for the baby he'd never know, for the woman he'd just lost, for the man he knew he'd never be.

He was so lost in his own grief, so consumed by his own pain, that he almost didn't hear it. The buzz of his phone on the coffee table, a frantic, insistent sound that cut through the silence. He wiped his eyes, his hands shaking as he reached for the phone, his heart pounding in his chest.

It was a text message. From a number he didn't recognize. But he knew who it was. The girl from down the hall from Smoke and Paris. The one he'd been fucking on and off for the last six months. The one he'd forgotten about in the chaos of the last few days.

The message was short, simple, and utterly devastating.

We need to talk. I'm pregnant.

He stared at the words, his mind refusing to process them, his heart refusing to accept them. Not again. Not this. Anything but this.

He threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that was more sob than smile. It was a joke. A cosmic, cruel joke. And he was the punchline. Alone in his empty apartment, with a broken heart and a shattered future, and the ghost of a second chance he knew he didn't deserve.

 @blyffe @transparentphantomface @daddysmoke @championshipshade @christinabae @og-goddesstrill @writingsbytee @bananajoeclone @psychicafrorainbow @blowmymbackout @storiesbyasl  @bananajoeclone @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @nayys-world @monstaxmomma0 @kimmiedream @hotebonynearby @underated345-blog @xeniaonvenus @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kindofaintrovert @mmbee675 @bestleowoman2exist

[sheabuttahwrites]

access X Denied

Michael B. Jordan x Black Plus Size OC

. sounds // feenin' - jodeci . warnings: 18+, sexual content, explicit language . wc: ~1.1k . shea buttah bakery masterlist .

“Hey, pretty.” 

Crystal flinched, gasping at the sound of her husband's voice as he appeared behind her in the bathroom mirror. “Oh my god, Mike.” One hand clutched to her chest, the other gripping the edge of the sink, she leaned toward it taking a relieved breath. “I didn't even hear you come in here.”

“I was being stealthy.” He wore a silly smile on his face, but she wasn't as amused, frowning just slightly.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“My bad," he laughed, quietly, "I didn't mean to.”

“And aren’t you early?”

“Ok, so, check this out.” He stepped closer, placing his hands onto the marble down at her sides, caging her in. “I been thinkin' about you aaaall day, baby. And I couldn’t wait to get home.”

She dried her hands on the small towel hanging next to her, grinning up at his scrumptious reflection. “You missed me?”

“Mhm. So bad, baby.”

A bigger smile was creeping onto her face as he sat his cap and glasses down by the sink, but then she realized something. Her brows scrunched in confusion. “Why are we talking so low?”

“Tink is sleep.”

“Oh, ok. That must’ve just happened.”

“Which means we got 'bout fifteen minutes, give or take,” he said, hurrying out of his t-shirt and tossing it to the floor.

Her head jerked forward, lips pursed, but she was only partially confused now. “Um, to do what?”

Ignoring her completely, he curved his arms around her waist and licked his lips, trailing wet kisses at the crook of her neck.

“Nope.” She whipped around to face him, throwing her hands up to his bare chest before he could wrap her up too tightly. Or get her too loose.

“Why not?”

He was frowning like she was the one not making any sense. So, naturally, she frowned back, aware that he was the actual crazy person.

“Baby, what if she wakes up? What if she walks in here?”

He shrugged. “Lock the door.”

“But, then, what if she needs one of us and we’re in here with the door locked? Being nasty.”

“Baby, I need you.”

“Mike, you gotta focus, boo,” she instructed, snapping her fingers near his face. “Focus.”

He sighed and dropped his head in defeat. He knew she was right, but his hunger was outpacing all of his good sense right now. “If she needs one of us, I can move quickly.”

“Ok, but she’s right in our bed. What if she hears something? She could be scarred for the rest of her little life.”

“Simple. You the loud one. Just be quiet.”

Her eyes widened as her jaw fell slack, into a smile. “Not ‘Mr. huff and puff, moan and groan’ tryna play me--” They both ducked into near-silent laughter, throwing their hands up to catch the noise before it could go too far. “You be quiet, too, shit.”

“Ok, ok. I will. So, come ooon.” He pressed his body against her plushness, allowing her to feel all the frustration he'd been carrying around with him. Her stomach did a violent flip.

“Mike… I don’t know about this.” She bit her bottom lip, carefully sliding her hands down to his abs, knowing she was very close to giving in. He knew it, too.

“Mama… please," he whispered right against her ear, grazing it lightly with his soft lips. "You know you love the way I make you feel.”

He raised one of her legs and pushed himself even closer, sinking his starving fingers into the suppleness of her thigh. The desperation in his words as well as his unsteady movements had her soaking her panties.

“Baby,” she released a frustrated sigh, “...we can’t. Not while Tink’s in here.”

“But she’s asleep, Crys. Come on, we wastin' precious time.”

She stared at him for a second, just to see how serious he was. He stared back with the eyes of a man who didn’t have a playing bone in his body. Without warning, he grabbed her waist and lifted her up onto the sink, sending more than a few of her products tumbling. One even rolled onto the floor.

“Michael!” she whispered, intensely.

“Just let me…” he begged, going straight for her lips. She dodged his kiss, but his hand was caressing her thigh and slowly creeping up her shorts. “Let me make that pussy feel good.”

She gasped when his lips touched her neck right as those filthy words entered her ears. He was talking to her like their baby wasn’t right in the next room. His brain wasn’t in full control and hers was about to follow, her glossy walls clenching around nothing, begging to be touched. 

"But, babe, you know it's just a cat nap. She ain't even sleep for real," she breathed, eyes closed, neck stretched out and giving him more space.

"We got 'bout ten minutes now."

He was relentless. In the moment, there was only one logical thing she could think to do. She knew she would pay handsomely for it later, but that was a problem for future Crystal. “…Tink, baby, daddy’s home!” she suddenly yelled, covering her face right after.

She watched through her fingers as he backed away, blinking slowly, eyes wide. “Crys…” he whispered. She licked her tongue out at him, laughing uncontrollably at the genuine shock in his expression. He shook his head, unable to hold his laughs seeing her lose it. "I can't believe you, girl.”

"I'm sorryyyy! I didn't know what else to doooo!"

His head slumped back and he huffed toward the ceiling, so dramatically. Of course, she just laughed harder. About two seconds later, Tink ran into the bathroom with a huge smile, rubbing the residual sleep from her eyes. “Daddyyyy!”

“Tiiiiiink!” He scooped his baby girl up, peppering kisses onto her cute little face through her giggles. Then he turned back to Crys swinging her legs up on the sink, and cupped his hand over Tink's ear. “That ass gettin' put smoove through the mattress tonight. Believe that.” Crys' mouth dropped. He'd spoken softly, but he didn't want that to curb the severity of his statement. “And I'm not playin'.”

"Oop!" She pulled her lips in and bit them, letting her head fall. She knew she was in trouble, but it was undoubtedly her favorite kind. She couldn't wait for the sun to go down. "Well, put me through it then."

He chuckled, nodding his head. "...Aight."

@blackerthings @judymfmoody @lyrarodriguez @fendionmyfeet @fadingbelieverexpert @chaneajoyyy @astoldbychae @hotgrlcece @daddiespamm @lovethecheri @xo-goldengirl @miyuhpapayuh @silkhoneyy @jiminie-08 @queengodiva619 @soufcakmistress @shiania @motheroffae @savagemickey03 @bigjh @infinity2 @uhhh-nunyabidniz-heaux @deepinmydaydream @queenofklonnie22 @irefusetobeacasualty @honestlyurslol @margepimpson -taglist-

dividers [*/*/*]

[fxther-figure-deactivated202306]

“we met on tumblr”

[blackpinup22]

Met one of my favorite humans on Tumblr. Even though that mane takes 3 months to text back 😂😂

[sheabuttahwrites]

access X Denied

Michael B. Jordan x Black Plus Size OC

. sounds // feenin' - jodeci . warnings: 18+, sexual content, explicit language . wc: ~1.1k . shea buttah bakery masterlist .

“Hey, pretty.” 

Crystal flinched, gasping at the sound of her husband's voice as he appeared behind her in the bathroom mirror. “Oh my god, Mike.” One hand clutched to her chest, the other gripping the edge of the sink, she leaned toward it taking a relieved breath. “I didn't even hear you come in here.”

“I was being stealthy.” He wore a silly smile on his face, but she wasn't as amused, frowning just slightly.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“My bad," he laughed, quietly, "I didn't mean to.”

“And aren’t you early?”

“Ok, so, check this out.” He stepped closer, placing his hands onto the marble down at her sides, caging her in. “I been thinkin' about you aaaall day, baby. And I couldn’t wait to get home.”

She dried her hands on the small towel hanging next to her, grinning up at his scrumptious reflection. “You missed me?”

“Mhm. So bad, baby.”

A bigger smile was creeping onto her face as he sat his cap and glasses down by the sink, but then she realized something. Her brows scrunched in confusion. “Why are we talking so low?”

“Tink is sleep.”

“Oh, ok. That must’ve just happened.”

“Which means we got 'bout fifteen minutes, give or take,” he said, hurrying out of his t-shirt and tossing it to the floor.

Her head jerked forward, lips pursed, but she was only partially confused now. “Um, to do what?”

Ignoring her completely, he curved his arms around her waist and licked his lips, trailing wet kisses at the crook of her neck.

“Nope.” She whipped around to face him, throwing her hands up to his bare chest before he could wrap her up too tightly. Or get her too loose.

“Why not?”

He was frowning like she was the one not making any sense. So, naturally, she frowned back, aware that he was the actual crazy person.

“Baby, what if she wakes up? What if she walks in here?”

He shrugged. “Lock the door.”

“But, then, what if she needs one of us and we’re in here with the door locked? Being nasty.”

“Baby, I need you.”

“Mike, you gotta focus, boo,” she instructed, snapping her fingers near his face. “Focus.”

He sighed and dropped his head in defeat. He knew she was right, but his hunger was outpacing all of his good sense right now. “If she needs one of us, I can move quickly.”

“Ok, but she’s right in our bed. What if she hears something? She could be scarred for the rest of her little life.”

“Simple. You the loud one. Just be quiet.”

Her eyes widened as her jaw fell slack, into a smile. “Not ‘Mr. huff and puff, moan and groan’ tryna play me--” They both ducked into near-silent laughter, throwing their hands up to catch the noise before it could go too far. “You be quiet, too, shit.”

“Ok, ok. I will. So, come ooon.” He pressed his body against her plushness, allowing her to feel all the frustration he'd been carrying around with him. Her stomach did a violent flip.

“Mike… I don’t know about this.” She bit her bottom lip, carefully sliding her hands down to his abs, knowing she was very close to giving in. He knew it, too.

“Mama… please," he whispered right against her ear, grazing it lightly with his soft lips. "You know you love the way I make you feel.”

He raised one of her legs and pushed himself even closer, sinking his starving fingers into the suppleness of her thigh. The desperation in his words as well as his unsteady movements had her soaking her panties.

“Baby,” she released a frustrated sigh, “...we can’t. Not while Tink’s in here.”

“But she’s asleep, Crys. Come on, we wastin' precious time.”

She stared at him for a second, just to see how serious he was. He stared back with the eyes of a man who didn’t have a playing bone in his body. Without warning, he grabbed her waist and lifted her up onto the sink, sending more than a few of her products tumbling. One even rolled onto the floor.

“Michael!” she whispered, intensely.

“Just let me…” he begged, going straight for her lips. She dodged his kiss, but his hand was caressing her thigh and slowly creeping up her shorts. “Let me make that pussy feel good.”

She gasped when his lips touched her neck right as those filthy words entered her ears. He was talking to her like their baby wasn’t right in the next room. His brain wasn’t in full control and hers was about to follow, her glossy walls clenching around nothing, begging to be touched. 

"But, babe, you know it's just a cat nap. She ain't even sleep for real," she breathed, eyes closed, neck stretched out and giving him more space.

"We got 'bout ten minutes now."

He was relentless. In the moment, there was only one logical thing she could think to do. She knew she would pay handsomely for it later, but that was a problem for future Crystal. “…Tink, baby, daddy’s home!” she suddenly yelled, covering her face right after.

She watched through her fingers as he backed away, blinking slowly, eyes wide. “Crys…” he whispered. She licked her tongue out at him, laughing uncontrollably at the genuine shock in his expression. He shook his head, unable to hold his laughs seeing her lose it. "I can't believe you, girl.”

"I'm sorryyyy! I didn't know what else to doooo!"

His head slumped back and he huffed toward the ceiling, so dramatically. Of course, she just laughed harder. About two seconds later, Tink ran into the bathroom with a huge smile, rubbing the residual sleep from her eyes. “Daddyyyy!”

“Tiiiiiink!” He scooped his baby girl up, peppering kisses onto her cute little face through her giggles. Then he turned back to Crys swinging her legs up on the sink, and cupped his hand over Tink's ear. “That ass gettin' put smoove through the mattress tonight. Believe that.” Crys' mouth dropped. He'd spoken softly, but he didn't want that to curb the severity of his statement. “And I'm not playin'.”

"Oop!" She pulled her lips in and bit them, letting her head fall. She knew she was in trouble, but it was undoubtedly her favorite kind. She couldn't wait for the sun to go down. "Well, put me through it then."

He chuckled, nodding his head. "...Aight."

@blackerthings @judymfmoody @lyrarodriguez @fendionmyfeet @fadingbelieverexpert @chaneajoyyy @astoldbychae @hotgrlcece @daddiespamm @lovethecheri @xo-goldengirl @miyuhpapayuh @silkhoneyy @jiminie-08 @queengodiva619 @soufcakmistress @shiania @motheroffae @savagemickey03 @bigjh @infinity2 @uhhh-nunyabidniz-heaux @deepinmydaydream @queenofklonnie22 @irefusetobeacasualty @honestlyurslol @margepimpson -taglist-

dividers [*/*/*]

[dealore]

His Wife •

CW : nasty, smut, missionary, infidelity, wife next door kink, after care sex, little fluff, anal, D-expansion, dirty talk.

A/N : not gon lie I rushed the end a bit. It’s a one shot of 1.2K words so pretty short. I was challenging myself lol. Enjoy 👀

Pairing : Annie and Smoke

Annie had always been the perfect spouse for Joseph, neglecting her needs to fulfill his. Her marriage was kept safe that way. Or so she thought.

She shouldn't be there, in this hotel room, moaning lecherously to her husband bestfriend's bites on her tits. She should have been at home, cooking dinner for the gruff Joseph. And so should he. But no, that bastard was certainly somewhere else with another woman.

Annie was just mirroring his actions. She wasn't at fault.

"when was the last time he fucked you like this, huh?"

"Please don't stop— Elijah—!"

He stuffed her tight pussy to his girth, jamming inside her cunt while his tongue flicked wet on her erected luscious nipples.

Annie's eyes whitened as spams of pleasure overwhelmed her body. Her walls clenched around his length, grazing sensitively along the veins of his soggy dick.

Her brain went numb each time Elijah pounded fat on her G-spot — one fistful hand gripping and sprawling the soft flesh of her ass, the free one spreading her thigh wider.

The bed creaked under their weight, and Annie's nipples twitched inside his mouth, tickling his tongue.

"You're sensitive here?" Smoke grunted, nibbling her swollen meaty buds. He flicked and swirled his tongue around her lacteous breast — lapping, guzzling, drinking each sip of her milk.  "You still breastfeeding, Annie?" He groaned, cockily — his mouth full. "Fuck you taste so good."

"Harder— oh fuck— don't stop— it's so good— oh Lord!" She cried out, her breath coming in gasps, as her fingernails dug into his back.

Smoke abandoned her doused tits in a squelchy pop and pushed himself up, one knee pressed into the mattress — Then, he caught Annie's thick thigh, hoisted it onto his shoulder, pumped his hips faster, thrusting harder into her pussy. "Then don't  think about tapping out baby."

As if matching his deep strokes, the room's air conditioner began to blow harder. Annie's legs went limp, and her cunt clenched fiercely around Smoke's thick cock, baking cream. With a vagabonding hand, Smoke slapped her ass and groped her cheek — the doughy flesh wiggling in his palm. "I'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that, mama."

He jerked once inside her, his fat dick smacking her walls side to side. To each jam, the shape of his cock outlined on her belly, cutting her breath away.

Annie sucked her lip until bleeding, her entire body giving in to the guilty pleasures Elijah was putting her through. Her enormous milk-filled breasts bounced heavily on her chest while her eager little asshole throbbed rhythmically, craving the thick cock of her husband's coworker and best friend.

"Oh fuck—yes, Elijah, your cock is so huge—fuck me harder, please. My pussy is yours—" She begged with her tongue lolling out, a thin trickle of drool running down her lips.

Annie had already forgotten about her bastard husband's micropenis. She had never been taken like this by any man before.

She was overwhelmed by his enormous cock growing stiff and swelling even more in her creampied vagina. Then, suddenly a short popping sound cracked — The condom had snapped, flowing her womb with Elijah's hot cum.

"Shit—"

"Don't stop Elijah...take good care of me..." She panted, her holes pulsing.

Smoke's irises dilated, darkening. He hunched over her face and captured her lips, nudging, nibbling, eating them.

Annie thigh, fell back on the mattress totally boneless and he pressed her knees, gaping them to extreme before burying himself further down.

He penetrated her through her cum-flooded pussy, foaming her creampied cake. He hit her spot, once twice and thrice — his pubic hair brushing against hers as her sensitive dampened clit flattened on his mound — and she gushed, squirting on his abdomen.

"Oh Jesus—YEAAH— Gnngn— Fuck..."  Annie climaxed, her body clenching possessively around his meat.

Elijah pulled out of her squelchy cunt, stretching her hole deliciously. "Pretty needy thing." He spat onto two fingers and shoved them in her gaped foaming vagina. He drove slow then faster while her pussy spurted, queefing.

"You are so soft pretty mama. Look at how sweet your honey is." He licked her juice off his fingers. "That fool is damn lucky."

Annie stared at him with a longing gaze as her dripping wet pussy spat the used condom out of her now gaping hole. She still wasn't sated.

With his still-erect penis dangling in front of him, Smoke watched as Annie got down on all fours. She arched her back, her round ass wobbling uncontrollably. Then she grabbed her voluptuous butt cheeks and squeezed them apart, flashing her glistening, twitching asshole. "If—if please, Elijah... fuck my fat ass. Stuff my tight brown hole with your big cock, please..."

The nerves in Smoke's cock strained violently, his cock went rock-hard as he watched Annie's tight anus, his mouth watering at the sight.

In this position, her pussy was still wide open, leaking cum, and her big clit, nestled in a patch of pubic hair, was twitching.

"You've got a nice ass there, Ma." He rubbed the brown rim of Annie's hole, then slid his thumb inside. "Do you want this big cock in your ass, Ma?"

Without saying a word, Annie arched her back even more, drawing air into her pussy.

Smoke drew closer, then lined up behind her.

With his hardness, he slapped her butt cheeks, then tapped the broad tip against her rear.

"I'm going to fuck your big slutty ass, sweet baby. Don't worry. But first, I'd like to taste it..."

Smoke got on his knees and cupped Annie’s backside with his face, eating her from behind. She nearly suffocated him as she squirmed ; Then, Smoke rose up, knocking his head against her back entrance. “Hold tight baby. Don’t worry I’ll make you feel good.”

Slowly, he drove his length down her body, stroking languidly at first, then quickening his pace. “You right?”

Annie moaned, taking him as best as she could.

She’d never tried it there and it felt so good with Elijah.

After pounding fast into her, Smoke gave in, cumming endlessly.

“Shit…let me marry you instead baby.” He fell limp on her back, smooching her hair.

Annie flustered. And as if common sense suddenly hit her, she jerked away from him, padding to the bathroom. “I— I should— I should— shower and go.”

Smoke straightened up, trailing her steps. “Let me soap you.” He whispered lovingly close to her ear, enveloping her body with his strong arms.

“I can do it myself.”

“I know. But still, I want to do it baby.” He fluttered kisses along her neck, guiding her inside the bathroom.

Nine and forty at night and her husband was still not home. Annie had returned from the hotel four hours ago, fearing Joseph would come early.

Stupid thoughts.

While she lit off the lights in the house, she heard the garage open and saw from the window her husband’s Sedan parked inside.

She hurried to the bedroom and lay on the mattress.

“Oh you don’t sleep yet?” Joseph greeted, entering the room.

“No. It’s quite late, I was worried.”

He laughed gruffly and retorted. “Ha. Don’t worry darling. I was with Elijah. We stayed late night at the office today.”

Elijah, huh?

Annie smiled, shutting the lamp off. “I see. Glad you made home safe.”

Tag list : tell me if you want to be removed from it as usual.

@storiesbyasl @queenofklonnie22 @transparentphantomface @lb-xci @underated345-blog @lovemekaycee @prettygirl2800 @mbjswife @biancalhurtt @brownskincheyenne @issfaith @irefusetobeacasualty @lovemekaycee @underated345-blog @mbjswife @issfaith @swuchiwa @harleycativy @iiiheartfayee , @slysagehurricane , @discordantdream , @xeebop @brownsugarcoffy @lizbehave @chromexbarbie

[icaseybaybee]

[blackpinup22]

Say it louder for the girlies in the baaack

[midnightmemoirsofher]

Midnight Excavation

Pairing: Ryan Coogler x Alexis (OC)

Summary: In the pulsating atmosphere of a crowded lounge, a debate about filmmaking between director Ryan Coogler and screenwriter Alexis quickly evolves into something far more personal. What begins as intellectual sparring over narrative structure becomes a charged game of verbal foreplay, leaving their friends as spectators to a connection that promises to dig deeper than any story they've ever written.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, flirtatious debate, sexual innuendo, verbal foreplay, and strong tension between strangers.

The bass from the lounge speakers vibrated through the floor, a steady pulse beneath the clinking glasses and overlapping conversations. Alexis sat nursing her whiskey sour, half-listening to her friend Morgan go on about some new streaming series while her mind drifted to the treatment she needed to finish by Monday. That's when she felt it—a pair of eyes on her, steady and considering.

She glanced up and met Ryan's gaze across the table. He'd been introduced ten minutes ago- director, writer, quiet as hell, but there was something about the way he watched her that felt different. Not predatory, but attentive. Like he was taking notes. The neat cornrows framing his face caught the dim light, and the glasses perched on his nose gave him an intellectual air that somehow didn't contradict the easy way he leaned back in his chair.

"Yo, I'm just saying," their mutual friend Jamal was saying, "Jordan Peele's got the horror game on lock, but Nolan's structural storytelling? Untouchable."

Alexis snorted. "Untouchable? Man, please. That nigga makes you work for his movies like they're a second job. I wanna be entertained, not enrolled in a graduate seminar."

A low chuckle drew her attention back to Ryan. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, the light glinting off his lenses. "Maybe some stories deserve graduate seminars. The best ones usually do."

Alexis raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe some directors need to learn that emotional connection ain't gotta feel like decoding the Da Vinci Code. Sometimes you just wanna feel something deep without all the foreplay."

Their friends had gone quiet, watching the exchange like they'd stumbled upon prime time entertainment.

Ryan's lips curved into a slight smile as he adjusted his glasses with one finger. "Foreplay is half the fun, Alexis. Builds the tension. Makes the release that much more satisfying."

Alexis felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the whiskey. "Depends on who's doing the playing. Some niggas don't know how to read the room. Don't know when to speed up and when to slow down."

"Is that right?" Ryan's voice dropped lower, somehow cutting through the lounge noise. "And I suppose you're an expert on rhythm? On knowing just how deep to go before you pull back?"

"I know what I like." Alexis leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "I like a story that can handle its own weight. Something that fills you up and leaves you thinking about it long after it's over."

Ryan's eyes darkened behind his lenses. "Funny. I read your script for 'Midnight on MLK'—you definitely know how to handle weight. The way you layered those themes... thick enough to choke on if you weren't paying attention."

Alexis froze mid-sip. "You read my script?"

"Jamal sent it over." Ryan's gaze didn't waver. "You weave time like it's second nature. Past and present bleeding into each other until you can't tell where one begins and the other ends. That's not exactly straightforward, Alexis."

The way he said her name—slow, deliberate, like he was tasting it.

"Time's different when you're writing about Black history," she countered, finding her footing. "It don't move linear. It loops back on itself. Haunts. Kinda like good dick, now that I think about it."

Ryan nodded slowly, like she'd just confirmed something he'd suspected. "Exactly. So why the hate for filmmakers who play with structure?"

Alexis leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Difference is, my structure serves the emotion. His serves his ego."

"Bold claim." Ryan's voice dropped lower, somehow cutting through the lounge noise. "You'd know a lot about ego, wouldn't you? Being a writer and all."

Alexis felt herself smiling despite her best efforts. "Writers ain't got shit on directors when it comes to ego, my friend."

"Friend?" Ryan raised an eyebrow. "We just met."

"Could fix that." The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Ryan's eyes darkened behind his lenses, something shifting between them that made the air feel thicker. "Is that an invitation?"

"Depends." Alexis wet her lips. "You gonna ask me about my process or my preference in whiskey?"

"Both." Ryan didn't hesitate, his voice smooth as honey. "But not here."

Their friends were openly staring now, Morgan and Jamal exchanging looks like they'd just won the lottery.

"Here's the thing," Ryan continued, his voice dropping to that intimate register that made Alexis feel like they were the only two people in the room. "I don't believe in straightforward storytelling because I don't believe in straightforward people. Especially not people who write like you do."

"And how exactly do I write?" Alexis challenged, though her voice had softened.

"Like you're excavating something." Ryan's gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to her eyes. "Like every word is carefully chosen to reveal what's buried just beneath the surface."

Alexis swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "And you think that's what I'm doing?"

"I know it is." Ryan leaned closer still, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Question is, what happens when you finish excavating? When you've revealed everything?"

"Guess that depends on who's watching."

Ryan's smile widened, genuine this time, reaching his eyes. "Well then." He stood up, pulling out his wallet and tossing some bills on the table. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

As he walked away, he paused by Alexis's chair, bending down until his mouth was near her ear.

"Midnight," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "My place. Bring that treatment you're avoiding. And tell me what you're really trying to excavate."

Then he was gone, leaving Alexis with a racing heart and a table full of friends staring like they'd just witnessed magic.

"Damn," Jamal finally broke the silence. "That was like watching two masters play chess."

Alexis picked up her drink, her hand steadier than she felt. "Nah," she said, watching Ryan retreat through the crowd. "That was foreplay."

 @blyffe @transparentphantomface @daddysmoke @championshipshade @christinabae @og-goddesstrill @writingsbytee @bananajoeclone @psychicafrorainbow @blowmymbackout @storiesbyasl  @bananajoeclone @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @nayys-world @monstaxmomma0 @kimmiedream @hotebonynearby @underated345-blog @xeniaonvenus @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kindofaintrovert @mmbee675 @bestleowoman2exist